Murder Dancing (18 page)

‘No idea. Whatever it was it must have been urgent.'

‘If nothing else, it proves that our killer's still here and is part of the company,' said Ian. ‘Now, I'm sending this officer to hold the fort until my team gets back here. He has to keep an eye on our lovely boys. Are they all at the Manor?'

‘All the dancers. I don't know about Damian and Sebastian,' said Libby.

‘I'll call in there on the way past and send them up here.'

‘Do you trust them to come up on their own?' asked Ben.

Ian tutted. ‘I'll bring them,' he said shortly. ‘Will you go and join the others?'

Ben's eyebrows rose. ‘Are we suspects? We've only just got back from Nethergate.'

Ian grinned. ‘No, I want to know what you can pick up from the gossip.'

The dancers in the large sitting-room were surprisingly quiet. The uniformed officer stood self-consciously by the door.

‘DCI Connell has given us permission to tell you what has happened,' announced Libby. The officer looked startled. ‘And to ask you to remain here. He will be sending his team back to check over the theatre and ask if you know anything about what happened this morning. He is bringing Damian and Sebastian up here to join us.'

‘What
did
happen?' came a chorus.

Libby moved to the big urn to pour herself a cup of coffee. ‘Apparently, Max let himself into the theatre and went to the sound box. Then someone hit him on the head. He doesn't know what happened, or even why he went over there.'

‘But he'll be all right?' said Paul.

‘The paramedics seem to think so, but DCI Connell thinks the hospital will keep him overnight.'

Damian and Sebastian burst through the door, both looking pale.

The dancers all turned to them.

‘What are we going to do?' said Tom.

‘Don't ask me,' said Sebastian. ‘I was only Stan's assistant.'

‘And I'm only the bloody rehearsal pianist,' said Damian, and sat down suddenly on the floor.

‘You all right, mate?' Young Lee went down on his haunches next to him.

‘Oh, God, I don't know,' said Damian. ‘No, I'm not. This is all so awful.'

‘Come on,' said Libby, ‘let's all make ourselves comfortable. Can I get you coffee, Damian?'

Eventually, she got them all settled on the large sofas and armchairs under the dubiously watchful eye of the officer. Ben grinned at him and left for the kitchen.

‘So tell me what happened this morning,' said Libby, looking round at the serious faces. ‘Did Max come up here first thing?'

‘He was just finishing breakfast in the pub when I came down,' said Damian, who seemed to have taken hold of himself.

‘And he was just going out of the door when I arrived,' said Sebastian.

‘Did he say why he was going to the Manor?'

‘He said he was going to the theatre,' said Damian.

‘One of the policemen had come over to the hall yesterday afternoon to tell us the theatre was clear,' said Will. ‘It was when Max had gone over to see you.'

‘Did he say anything to any of you?' Libby asked the dancers.

‘We were all in here having breakfast. He looked in and asked if we'd seen you and Ben because he wanted to go to the theatre,' said Dan. ‘We said we hadn't, and he went off to the kitchen to ask Hetty.'

‘So everyone knew where he was going,' said Libby, frowning.

‘But we were all here!' Paul's voice was high. ‘It couldn't have been one of us. None of us could have been hiding in the theatre.'

There were murmurs of agreement from all corners of the room.

‘And Ben and I weren't even here,' said Libby. ‘Weird, isn't it?'

‘But what are we to do?' repeated Tom. ‘They'll close the theatre down again, and we were supposed to open on Wednesday.'

‘If Stan was here,' began someone, and then stopped.

‘Once the police have talked to you,' said Libby, ‘I should go and find yourselves some lunch at the pub – Harry's always extra busy on Sundays – and either go over to the hall on your own, or come back here. You might know a bit more by tomorrow. Are you ready to go, do you think?'

‘Oh, yes.' Jonathan looked round at his colleagues for agreement. ‘As long as we keep going on Monday and Tuesday, I think we could go up on Wednesday, even if Max isn't there. What do you think, Damian?'

‘I suppose so. I don't really know. I don't have to play, do I?'

‘No, but you know what it should look like,' said Libby.

‘Yes.' Damian shrugged.

‘Very different from the cheerful person of Friday morning,' Libby told Ben when she went into the kitchen. ‘The police have arrived. There are scenes of crime in the theatre and a couple of plain clothes bods questioning the dancers. But I don't see how it could have been any of them. As young Paul said, they were all together. None of them could have been hiding in the theatre.'

‘I do wonder what Max wanted in the lighting box,' said Ben. ‘There's nothing up there.'

‘Perhaps he was going to leave a note or something. For Peter, perhaps. He doesn't know where Pete and Harry live, so he'd have had to leave it there, because the caff isn't open yet.'

‘Was he intending to rehearse there today, I wonder?' said Ben. ‘He didn't say anything to the dancers?'

‘No. The police told him they could use the theatre when they finished rehearsing yesterday. None of them said what they did or said last night.'

‘And he didn't tell them this morning?'

‘No. Just came in to ask if anyone had seen us.'

‘That's right,' said Hetty. ‘D'yer want dinner at lunchtime or dinnertime today?'

Ben and Libby both laughed. ‘Bringing us down to earth as usual, Mum,' said Ben. ‘What's more convenient for you?'

‘I'm a bit behind with the extra coffee, so six o'clock do yer?'

They agreed, just as a knock sounded at the front door.

‘I'll go,' said Ben, levering himself away from the sink where he was leaning.

‘It'll be more police,' Libby said to Hetty.

But it wasn't.

‘I'm so sorry to bother you,' said the tall young man in the beautifully cut suit. ‘I'm looking for Max Tobin.'

Chapter Nineteen

‘You'd better come in,' said Ben. ‘At least, as long as you aren't a journalist.'

The young man looked shocked. ‘No, of course I'm not.'

‘Hey, look – it's Owen!' called a voice from the large sitting-room.

The young man turned round to greet the crowd of dancers who piled out into the corridor.

Ben, joined by Libby, stood and watched as greetings were exchanged. Eventually, he butted in.

‘Perhaps you'd better come with me and I'll explain what's been happening.'

‘Happening? Oh – I know about the murder …'

The dancers had fallen silent.

‘Yes, go with Ben,' said Tom, giving the young man a little push. ‘He'll tell you.'

Libby led the way into the kitchen and offered coffee or tea. The young man declined both.

‘So you're Owen, a friend of Max's, I take it?' said Ben.

‘Max's partner,' said Owen. ‘Owen Talbot. I run the school.'

‘Ah,' said Libby. ‘Good to meet you, Owen. This is Ben Wilde, my partner, his mother Hetty Wilde, and I'm Libby Sarjeant. We run this place between us.'

‘Yes, Max said.' Owen smiled. ‘He was very impressed. He does know I'm coming today, but he wasn't at the hotel, and I didn't know where this rehearsal room you've been using is.'

Libby and Ben looked at each other, Ben gave a slight nod and Libby launched into an explanation of the morning's events, while Owen became paler and paler.

‘You sure you don't want coffee?' said Hetty gruffly, when Libby ground to a halt.

‘Perhaps I will, now,' said Owen. ‘Then I must go to the hospital.'

‘Of course you must, but we ought to check that he's still there. For all we know they might have taken one look at him and decided to send him home,' said Libby.

‘I suggest we call DCI Connell first and ask him,' said Ben. ‘He went to the hospital with Max, you see.'

‘You do it, Ben,' said Libby. ‘Ian will only get cross with me.' She turned to see a bewildered expression on Owen's face. ‘The DCI is a friend of ours. It can get awkward. So tell me, are you just down here for a visit?'

‘Yes. We've given the students the week off and they're all coming down to see the piece on Thursday. Max seemed pleased last night that it was going to be able to go ahead even after all the trouble.'

‘You spoke to him last night? Did he say anything to you? Out of the ordinary, I mean? Only no one seems to know why he went over to the theatre this morning, or more specifically into the sound box, not even Max himself.'

‘He doesn't? He could speak, then?'

‘Oh, yes. Grumbled about having to go in an ambulance.'

‘That sounds like Max.' Owen managed a slight smile. ‘But no, he didn't. I just confirmed that I'd be down today and he said he'd give the boys an afternoon off.'

‘Nothing else at all?'

‘No – just trivial, ordinary, everyday stuff. I said should I bring his mail down, that sort of thing.'

‘Does he get much mail?' asked Libby. ‘Only I don't any more. It's all email and texting.'

Owen smiled. ‘Ours, too, but we do get proper post. Student applications, that sort of thing. The occasional letter. We got one this week, as it happens, from a friend of ours in Italy.'

‘That'll cheer him up, won't it?' said Libby. ‘Anyway, here's Ben. What did Ian say?'

‘He says go by all means, he'll meet you in the A and E department. He thinks Max will be discharged after some X-rays, and asked if you would bring him back here?'

‘Not home to London?'

‘He said here. That may be Max's choice.'

Owen finished his coffee and stood up. ‘Thank you for the coffee and for filling me in.' He sighed a little. ‘I expect I shall see you soon.'

‘He was nice,' said Libby, when Owen had been seen off in his racy black saloon.

‘I wonder why Max has never mentioned him?' said Ben.

‘No reason to, I suppose. I wanted to ask him loads of questions about the incidents in London.'

‘Libby!' warned Ben. ‘Don't start prying. And why would he know any more than any of the others?'

‘Well, you never know. What about other students? The ones who aren't in the company? Was there any jealousy?'

‘I expect Ian will ask all those questions, so I shouldn't worry about it, if I were you.' Ben turned to his mother. ‘Is there anything we can do for you, Mum?'

‘No, you get off. Tell Peter and Harry to come to dinner, too.'

Libby went into the large sitting-room, where she found three police officers talking to the dancers.

‘Sorry to interrupt,' she said, ‘but just to say Ben and I are off now, and Max told Owen that you were having the afternoon off, so we'll see you all tomorrow.'

At the bottom of the Manor Drive they turned right and knocked on Peter and Harry's cottage door.

‘Hello! To what do I owe this honour?' Peter, in jeans and a dilapidated sweatshirt, opened the door.

‘We bring news,' said Libby, ‘and to invite you and Hal to Hetty's for dinner at six.'

‘Well, come in, then, and I shall offer you a libation.'

Provided with beer for Ben and red wine for Libby, between them they told Peter this morning's news.

‘Good Lord,' said Peter. ‘How spectacular. I suppose the young man couldn't be bluffing and came down hours earlier to hit Max over the head?'

‘He couldn't have got into the theatre,' said Ben. ‘That's the stumbling block.'

‘What about the back door. That's the way you got in.'

‘Because I've got a full set of keys. So have you. But nobody else has. So even if someone had stolen Max's own keys – which they hadn't, because he opened the theatre himself – they wouldn't have the keys to the back door. And all the doors are alarmed, anyway.'

‘We don't always set the alarm, though,' said Libby. ‘We're rather lax about it, but there isn't much to steal.'

‘There's a hell of a lot of very expensive equipment in the FX box,' said Peter.

‘I suppose so,' conceded Libby, ‘but think how long it would take to get it all out. And Hetty would be sure to hear.'

‘I don't suppose burglars would know or care about Hetty,' said Ben.

‘Anyway, it means Owen Talbot couldn't possibly have been the one who bopped Max on the head,' said Libby. ‘In fact, at the moment it looks as though nobody could have.'

‘If only we knew what he was looking for,' said Ben.

‘I expect he feels the same,' said Peter. ‘Now do you want another drink, or are you going to save yourselves for tonight?'

Declining, Ben and Libby strolled back up the Manor drive and round to the back of the theatre, where Libby remembered just in time that they'd left the Range Rover. When they got back to Allhallow's Lane, Ben opened a tin of soup for lunch while Libby phoned Fran to keep her up to date.

‘So that's that, so far,' she finished. ‘It's obviously all tied in, but how and why, goodness alone knows.'

‘Doesn't it seem all a bit cack-handed to you?' asked Fran.

‘Cack-handed? How do you mean?'

‘Amateurish.'

‘I expect most murders are amateurish unless they're gangland killings,' said Libby. ‘You don't train to become a murderer.'

‘No, but spur of the moment. Opportunistic.'

‘My argument still applies.'

‘All right.' Fran laughed. ‘But it seems as though Stan's murder and the attack on Max were both a reaction to something. Not planned like the rigging of the rat. Or the Kabuki curtain.'