Authors: Peter Robinson
After they had dashed down the alley in the chilly evening, the warmth of the Crooked Billet greeted them like a long lost friend. They unbuttoned their coats and hung them by the door, then pulled two tables together near the fire to accommodate the thirsty thespians. Banks tried to keep track of the introductions and the links between actors and roles. Olivia, played by Teresa Pedmore, and Viola, Faith Green, interested him the most Marcia Cunningham, the costumes and props manager, was there too. It was a casual and unorthodox method of questioning possible suspects, Banks was aware, but he wanted to get as much of a feel of the troupe as he could before he decided where to go from there.
‘I still can’t imagine why you want to talk to the cast,’ Conran complained. ‘Surely you can’t think one of us had anything to do with poor Caroline’s death?’
‘Don’t be so bloody naive, Mr Conran. There’s a chance that anyone who knew her might have done it. Certainly she seemed to know her killer, as there was no sign of forced entry. How long did you stay at the pub the night she died?’
‘I don’t know. About an hour, I suppose. Maybe a bit longer.’
‘Until just after seven?’
‘About that, yes.’
‘Then you went home?’
‘Yes. I told you.’
‘There you are, then. You could be lying. You’ve got no alibi at all.’
Conran reddened and his hand tightened on his glass. ‘Now just wait—’
But Banks ignored Conran completely and went to the bar for another drink. The director certainly seemed jumpy. Banks wondered why. Maybe it was just his artistic temperament.
When he got back to the table, his seat had been taken by a distraught Sir Toby Belch, who seemed to think his part could do with some expansion (perhaps to match his stomach) despite the limitations Shakespeare had imposed.
Banks managed to squeeze himself in between Teresa Pedmore and Faith Green, not a bad place to be at all. Teresa was deep in conversation with the man on her right, so Banks turned to Faith and complimented her on her rendering of Viola’s soliloquy. She blushed and replied quickly, her breathy voice pitched quite low.
‘Thank you. It’s very difficult. I have no formal training. I’m a schoolteacher and I do like to get involved with the plays the department puts on, but . . . It’s so difficult doing
Twelfth Night.
I have to remember that I’m really a woman dressed as a man talking about a woman who seems to have fallen in love with me. It’s all very strange, a bit perverted really.’ She put her hand to her mouth and touched Banks’s arm. ‘Oh God, I shouldn’t have said that, should I? Not after poor Caroline . . .’
‘I’m sure she’d forgive you,’ Banks said. ‘Did you have any idea of her sexual inclinations before her death?’
‘None at all. None of us did. Not until I read about it in the papers. If you’d asked me, I’d have said she was man-mad.’
‘Why?’
Faith waved her hand in the air. ‘Oh, just the way she behaved. She knew how to string a man along. A woman knows about these things. At least, I thought I did.’
‘But you never actually saw her with a man?’
‘Not in the way you mean, no. I’m talking about her general effect, the way she could turn heads.’
‘Did you notice any personality conflicts among the cast? Especially involving Caroline.’
Faith rubbed one of her long, blue tear-drop earrings between her finger and thumb. She was probably in her early twenties, Banks thought, with especially beautiful silvery hair hanging in a fringe and straight down to her shoulders. It looked so vibrant and satiny he wanted to reach out and touch it. He was sure sparks would fly if he did. Her eyes were a little too close together and her lower lip pouted a bit, but the total effect had an interesting kind of unity. As he had noticed on the stage, she was tall and well-formed. It would be difficult, without very good costumes, to conceal the fact that Faith Green was all woman.
She leaned closer to speak to Banks and he smelled her perfume. It was subtle, and probably not cheap. He also smelled the Martini Rossi on her breath.
‘I didn’t notice anything in particular,’ she said, flicking her eyes towards the rubicund Sir Toby and Malvolio, who looked like an undertaker’s assistant, ‘but some of the men aren’t too keen on Mr Conran.’
‘Oh? Why’s that?’
‘I think they’re jealous.’
‘But the women like him?’
‘Most of them, yes. And that’s partly why the others are jealous. You’d be surprised what shady motives people have for joining in amateur events like this.’ She widened her eyes and Banks noticed that they were smiling. ‘S-e-x,’ she said. ‘But he’s not my type. I like my men dark and handsome.’ She looked Banks up and down. ‘Not necessarily tall, mind you. I don’t mind being bigger than my boyfriends.’
Banks noticed the plural. Surely there had never been schoolteachers like this in his time?
‘I hear there was something between Mr Conran and Olivia – Teresa, that is.’
‘You’ll have to ask her about that,’ Faith said. ‘I’ll not tell tales on my friends out of school.’ She wrinkled her nose.
‘Can you tell me anything more about Caroline?’
Faith shrugged. ‘Not really. I mean, I hardly knew her. She was beautiful in a petite, girlish sort of way, but I can’t say she made much of an impression on me. As I said before, I thought she was a bit of a flirt, myself, but I don’t suppose she could help the way the men flocked to her.’
‘Anyone in particular?’
‘No, just in general, really. Most of the men seemed to like being with her, including our director.’
‘Did he make a pass at her?’
‘No, he’s too subtle for that. He plays the shy and vulnerable one until women approach him, then he reels them in. At least he did with Teresa.’ She clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Look, I
am
telling tales out of school. How do you do it?’
Banks smiled. ‘Professional secret. So in your opinion, Caroline Hartley was a flirt, but nothing ever came of it?’
‘Yes. I suppose that’s how she kept them at bay.’ Faith shook her head and her hair sparked like electricity. Maybe I was blind, but I’m damned if I could see what she really was.’
‘What did you think of her as an actress?’
Faith traced a ring around the top of her glass. ‘She was young, inexperienced. She had a long way to go. And it was only a small part, after all. Young Maggie over there’s taken it on now.’ She nodded towards a serious-looking young woman sitting next to Conran.
‘But she was talented?’
‘Who am I to say? Perhaps. In time. Look—’
‘Did anything odd happen at rehearsal the day Caroline was killed? Does any incident stand out in your mind, however petty it might have seemed at the time?’
‘No, not that I remember. Look, will you excuse me for a min? Have to pee.’
‘Of course.’
Banks waited a moment or two, then attracted Teresa Pedmore’s attention. Her hair was as dark as Faith’s was silver. She had the healthy complexion of a young countrywoman, and it didn’t surprise Banks to discover that she was a milkman’s daughter from Mortsett, now working in the main Eastvale Post Office and living in town. But that was where her rusticity ended. The haughty tilt of her head when she spoke and her fierce dark eyes had nothing to do with simple country life. There was an aura of mystery about her; Banks found its source hard to pin down. Something to do with the economy of her body language, perhaps, or the faintly sardonic tone of her voice. And she was ambitious; he could sense that from the start.
‘It’s about Caroline Hartley, isn’t it?’ she said before Banks could open his mouth. As she spoke, Banks noticed, she was looking over at James Conran, who was watching her with a frown on his face.
‘Yes,’ Banks answered. ‘Can you tell me anything about her?’
Teresa shook her head. Coal-black hair danced about her shoulders. ‘I hardly knew her. Even less so than I thought at the time, according to the papers.’
‘I understand you were involved with Mr Conran?’
‘Who told you that? Faith?’
Banks shook his head. ‘Faith was subtly evasive. Were you?’
‘What if I was? We’re both single. James is fun once you get to know him. At least he was.’
‘And did Caroline Hartley spoil that fun for you?’
‘Of course not. How could she?’
‘Didn’t he switch his attentions from you to her?’
‘Look, I don’t know who’s been telling you all this, but it’s rubbish. Or are you just making it up? James and I ended our little fling ages ago.’
‘So you weren’t jealous of Caroline?’
‘Not at all.’
‘How did Caroline behave among the other women in the cast?’
Teresa laughed, showing a set of straight white teeth rarely seen outside America. ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at.’
‘Was she close to anyone?’
‘No. I thought she always seemed aloof. You know, friendly but distant. Casual.’
‘So you didn’t like her very much.’
‘I can’t say I cared one way or the other. Not that I’m glad she’s . . . you know. This is only the second play the company’s done since James took over, but it was Caroline’s first. None of us knew her that well.’
‘How did she get the part?’
Teresa raised her dark, arched eyebrows. ‘Auditioned, I should think. Like everybody else.’
‘You didn’t notice her form any close attachments to other women in the play?’
‘There are only three of us. What are you trying to say, that I’m a lesbian too?’
Banks shifted in his seat. ‘No. No, I’d say that was very unlikely, wouldn’t you?’
Slowly, she relaxed. ‘Well . . .’
‘What about Faith?’
Teresa gave her cigarette a short, sharp flick with her thumbnail. ‘What did she tell you? I saw you talking to her.’
‘She told me nothing. That’s why I’m asking you.’
‘There was nothing between them, I can assure you of that. Faith’s as straight as I am.’ She took a breath, sipped some milky Pernod and water, then smiled. ‘As far as the others go, I don’t think you’ve got much chance of finding a murderer among them, quite frankly. Malvolio’s such a puritan prig he probably even whips himself for taking part in such a sinful hobby as acting. Sir Andrew’s thick as pigshit – excuse my French – and Orsino’s so wrapped up in himself he wouldn’t notice if Samantha Fox waggled her boobs in front of his face.’
Banks looked over at Orsino. He had muscular shoulders – clearly the fruits of regular weight-training – dark, wavy hair, hollow cheeks, bright eyes and an expression set in a permanent sneer, as if all he saw outside a mirror was unworthy of his regard.
‘None of them three had much to do with Caroline anyway, as far as I noticed. They had some scenes together, but I never saw them communicate much offstage. And you can forget the others, too. I know for a fact that Antonio’s queer as a three-pound note, Sebastian’s very happily married with a mortgage, a dog and two-point-five kids, and the Clown, well . . . he’s very quiet actually, and he never seems to socialize with us.’
‘Have you ever noticed him talking to Caroline off-stage or between scenes?’
‘I’ve never noticed him talking to anyone. Period. One of the strangest transformations you can imagine. A wonderful Clown, but such a dull, depressing-looking man.’
Banks asked her a few more general questions but found out nothing else. Before long, Teresa was asking him about his most exciting cases and it was time to move on. He chatted briefly with some of the others but got no further. Finally, he went back to James Conran, excused himself from the company and walked out into the cold evening, but not before Faith Green managed to catch him at the door and slip him her telephone number.
Outside, Banks caught his breath at the cold. Bright stars stabbed pinpoints of light in the clear sky. Who, Banks wondered, had believed that the sky was just a kind of black-velvet curtain and the light of heaven beyond showed through the holes in it? The Greeks? Anyway, on nights like this it felt exactly that way.
There had been something wrong about his conversations in the Crooked Billet. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but everything had seemed too easy, too chummy. Everyone he spoke to had been nervous, worried about something. He hadn’t missed the way Faith excused herself before answering one of his questions, nor the way Teresa played with her cigarette when he asked her questions she didn’t like. Those two would merit further talking to, definitely. Surely there must have been minor tiffs or conflicts among the cast of a play? According to the people he had talked to, it had all been happy families – much too squeaky clean for his liking. What were they covering up, and when had they decided to do so?
He put his headphones on. In winter they acted as earmuffs, too. The tape he had in was a collection of jazz pieces by the likes of Milhaud, Gershwin and Stravinsky performed by Simon Rattle and the London Sinfonietta Tracy had bought it him for Christmas, clearly under instructions from Sandra. When Banks switched on the Walkman the erotic clarinet glissando at the opening of Gershwin’s
Rhapsody in Blue
almost bowled him over. He turned down the volume and walked on.
The tree was still lit up outside the church in the market square, but there were no carol singers in evidence this evening. The cobblestones were icy and he had to step carefully. The blue lamp glowed coldly outside the police station. It was seven o’clock. Just time to drop in and see if any new information had turned up before going home for dinner.
He walked into the bustle of the police station and went straight upstairs to his office. Before he could even shut the door, Susan Gay called after him and entered.
Banks sat down and took his headphones off. ‘Anything new?’
‘I followed up on the record shops,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Most of them are open now because they’re having post Christmas sales. Anyway, I’ve tracked down two copies of that
Luddite poori
thing sold in the past three weeks.’
‘Good work. Where from?’
‘One from a small speciality shop in Skipton and another from the Classical Record Shop in Leeds. But there’s more, sir,’ she went on. ‘It seemed a long shot, but I asked for a description of the purchaser in both instances.’