A Comedian Dies (15 page)

‘What's UEF?' asked Charles.

‘United Entertainments Federation. Big do, being televised. We'll meet a lot of important people there and get a chance to let them know the show's happening. Got to think PR, you know.'

Lennie Barber grimaced. ‘Jesus, I can do without all that show-business schmaltz.'

‘That's not the point. It's important.'

‘I'll see you there, Walter,' said Miffy.

‘Oh, I didn't know that was your scene. What'll you be doing there?'

‘Picking up an award?' asked Steve Clinton. ‘Best Supporting Rôle – won by Miffy Turtle's truss.'

‘In fact, I will be there to pick up an award. Most Promising Newcomer.'

‘Most Promising Newcomer'? You?'

‘No. Bill Peaky.'

The mention of the dead comedian's name caused a long silence, as the collective memory recalled the shock of his death. Charles suddenly realized how many of those present had been in Hunstanton for that terrible matinée. Everyone except the manager of the Leaky Bucket, Steve Clinton and Virginia Moult.

Surprisingly, it was Chox Morton who voiced their common thought. ‘It was horrible, that. Tonight was horrible too, but not like that. I still see it sometimes in my dreams.' He paused, his thin face trembling. ‘I won't ever forget what I saw that day.'

Charles looked quickly round to see if any of his potential suspects gave anything away. Predictably (according to his latest theory of the murder) Walter Proud seemed the most flustered. ‘Well, we don't want to dwell on that, do we? Terrible tragedy, of course, but in this business you've got to look to the future. Doesn't do to get maudlin.'

‘Funny, though,' Chox Morton's voice went on. It was distant, musing. ‘Funny that Bill should have been electrocuted after we had been discussing it so recently.'

‘Discussing electrocution so recently?' asked Charles with what he hoped was the appearance of diffident inquiry.

‘Yes. I forget how we got round to the subject, but one day in Hunstanton, between a matinée and an evening show, somebody asked me about it, how that kind of accident happens. Got me to explain it all. Surely you remember that?'

‘Yes, I remember,' said Lennie Barber, unconcerned.

‘In the Green Room, wasn't it?' After Lennie had admitted remembering the incident, Miffy Turtle grunted agreement. So, surprisingly, did Walter Proud. Catching Charles' quizzical eye, he said, ‘Yes, I was down that day.'

‘Funny,' observed Charles, hoping again that he sounded nonchalant. ‘So it was just the four of you talked about it?'

‘No, one of the dancers was there too,' said Miffy. ‘Kid called Janine.'

Damn. It was getting impossible to eliminate anyone from this inquiry. Except Paul Royce. He hadn't been there, so he wouldn't have heard Chox's advice on how to commit electrocution. Charles longed to ask who had first raised the question, but feared that he couldn't make that sound like idle interest. Maybe he could get Chox on his own at some point and ask.

The roadie continued speaking in the same abstracted way – ‘We went through it in some detail. How the wires would have to get changed round for it to happen. Didn't realize at the time, it all seemed quite funny. Not funny in retrospect, though. I don't think I'll ever forget what I saw that day . . .'

He mesmerized them into silence.

Needless to say, it was Steve Clinton who broke it. ‘I dunno. Sounds like the annual meeting of the Trappists' Debating Society.'

For once people seemed to take notice of him, or at least his words had the effect of breaking the rather eerie mood Chox had created. ‘Come along, gents, got to be closing soon,' said the manager.

‘Yeah, I'd better go and get my gear together.' Chox disappeared behind the curtain that led to the boxroom and lavatory.

‘Now anyone fancy coming back to my place in town for a quick nightcap?' asked Walter Proud heartily. But his forehead was glistening with sweat and Charles could see in his eye the glint of fear. Was it just the fear of being left on his own or was there more to it?

Charles waited to see how the others reacted to the offer before he answered. A little plan was forming in his head, a plan that had absolutely nothing to do with detective work. He had noticed that Virginia Moult had come in her own car.

He also noticed with satisfaction that she declined Walter's invitation. And, with growing satisfaction, that Miffy Turtle, Paul Royce and Steve Clinton accepted it. He looked at Lennie Barber, urging acceptance on him.

‘I may come, Walter.' The comedian grimaced. ‘Sorry, got a touch of the old gut. I'll be back in a min. Just got to go to the khazi.' He moved with some pain towards the lavatory.

Charles stood in front of Virginia Moult. ‘Where the hell's Sutton?' he asked.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, which tube line's it on? Which rail line? Is it near an airport? How does one get from it to anything like a civilized part of London?'

‘God, I wish I had your subtlety. Yes, all right. I'll give you a lift.'

‘Thank you very much.'

‘Where do you live?'

‘Bayswaterish.'

‘I live in Chiswick.'

‘That sounds very nice.' Bless you, Arthur Bell and Sons, for the silver tongue your whisky gives me. Why the hell can't I chat women up when I'm sober? ‘I couldn't help noticing,' he continued while the mood was on him, ‘that you seem to be wearing a wedding ring.'

‘Funny that. Must be because I'm married.'

‘Ah. That would explain it.'

‘Yes. He's in Rome for a month.'

‘Ah.'

‘Car's parked just round the back of this place.'

‘Great.' Then with a sudden access of detective conscience, ‘Must just go and have a quick word with someone. See you out there.'

‘Don't be long. It's late.'

As Charles pushed through the curtain to the back of the club, he met Lennie Barber emerging. ‘Better?'

‘Yeah. Bloody guts. Still, can't complain. My usual trouble's constipation, so I suppose this is a step in the right direction. Wish it was only a step rather than a bloody trot, though.'

‘You going back to Walter's?'

‘Yes. Never sleep too good straight after the act.' How considerately everyone was playing into his hands, Charles thought.

Chox Morton was packing up a small bag of electrical equipment. He jumped like a rabbit when Charles approached. ‘What do you want?'

‘Chox, you know you were talking about Hunstanton.'

‘What about it?'

‘Saying how you discussed electrocution from guitar amplifiers.'

‘So?'

‘Can you remember who actually raised the subject? Who first asked about electrocution?'

‘Here, what is this?' Chox moved suddenly to get past, but Charles reached out quickly and grabbed the boy's wrist.

The reaction was incredibly fast. Chox's free hand shot out and karate-chopped at Charles forearm, numbing it and freeing him.

The roadie nursed his wrist. His thin face was tight with emotion. The sunken eyes glared feverishly. ‘Don't you ever touch me like that.'

‘What do you mean? I just wanted to ask you a question.'

This seemed to relax him. ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I . . . I over-reacted. I . . .' The boy fought for coherence. ‘I've had some trouble in the past, with homos, know what I mean? Sorry, I just don't like people touching me.'

‘OK. Sorry to grab you like that.'

‘Forget it.' The roadie turned to leave.

‘All I want you to tell me is, who raised the subject of people being killed by electrocution from guitar amplifiers?'

Chox looked back at Charles, a small smile twisting his thin lips. ‘I can't remember,' he said, and left.

Virginia Moult's cottage in Chiswick was neat and Victorian, like a set for one of those turn-of-the-century television series that sell so well abroad. The bedroom was the largest room, though that didn't say much. By the time the bed had been fitted in, there wasn't a lot of space for anything else. Which meant there was little point in standing around. Charles flopped onto the bed.

Virginia moved to the pile of wafer-thin stereo equipment, stacked like filing trays on a walnut table. ‘Do you like Music While You Work?'

‘If it's good enough for the British Forces Network in Germany, it's good enough for me,' replied Charles, remembering the regular announcement on the famous radio programme.

Virginia slammed in a cassette and started to strip off. There were speakers either side of the headboard and the stereo was so good that Elton John was virtually in bed with them.

Virginia lay beside him, naked except for a silver whistle charm on a chain round her neck. That, with her large breasts and tightly prominent bottom, made her look like a gym mistress. And somehow Charles felt he was going to be put through his circuit training.

He reached over to her shoulder and crushed the duly satisfying breasts against his chest.

‘Hey, there's no hurry,' she said. ‘Weekend. You are hungry.'

‘Eat when I can.'

‘I, on the other hand, have regular meals.'

‘Come on, you said your husband was in Rome for a month.'

‘Yes, but he only left this morning.'

‘Ah. What do you do it for?'

‘Other men? Fatuous question.'

‘Just fun, you mean?'

‘That and . . . He's meeting his mistress in Rome.'

‘Oh.'

‘He's a film producer. She's in the movie. That's part of the reason. Also I suppose there's time passing.'

‘Cram as much experience in while you can?'

‘Guess so. Dear God, you're a fat lot of good. When I want to go to bed with a
memento mori,
I'll look for a skeleton. Tonight what I had in mind was a real, live man.'

‘Of course. Apologies for the maudlin turn of the conversation. Let's start again.' A pause. ‘Nice music.'

‘Yes, nice music. From my brand new stereo set-up. Very superior. And tax-deductible. Bought on the advice of one of my writers.'

‘I didn't know writers were stereo buffs.'

‘This one is. Very deeply into it. Actually, I think he's rather contemptuous of the stuff he recommended for me. He builds his own equipment. That's what the real experts do. Oh yes, what he doesn't know about plugs and transistors and amplifiers and leads isn't worth knowing. I went round to his flat once – only once, he didn't like people visiting, but I was curious – and, God, the great mound of hi-fl gear he'd got. Don't know how his girl-friend put up with it – except she wasn't around much. Off touring. Dancer or something.'

During this long, musing speech. Charles had found himself listening with mounting excitement. He could hardly find his voice to ask, ‘Which one of your writers are you talking about?'

He knew the answer before she spoke. ‘Paul Royce.'

‘You say his girl-friend was a dancer.'

‘Yes, with one of these pop modern lots. Not that I met her. He never brought her anywhere. I think they've broken up now, anyway.'

‘Did he ever mention her name?'

Again Virginia didn't have to say ‘Janine' before Charles' thoughts started on a Cresta Run of their own.

‘Charles, I seem to be losing your interest again.'

‘I'm sorry. I was miles away.' With a great effort of will he brought his mind to bear on the matters in hand. And very soon his concentration was rewarded.

FEED: What do you think of this idea of Pay-As-You-View television?

COMIC: It depends how much they are going to pay us.

‘Gerald, it must have been him. It all fits. He had the motive – the fact that Peaky was screwing his girl. He certainly had the violent temperament. Having seen what he did to Janine, I can vouch for that. He had the opportunity – he went backstage during the interval that day in Hunstanton. And, most important, he had the technical knowledge to commit the crime.'

‘Who did you say you found this out from, Charles?' The solicitor's voice down the phone was tinged with suspicion.

‘His agent, Virginia Moult.'

‘Something in your voice tells me you have been tomcatting again. I don't know how you keep it up, Charles.'

‘Nor do I, Gerald.' Charles picked up the innuendo with feeling. His body still ached from his protracted gym lesson.

‘Don't be crude, Charles.'

‘Sorry. It comes of mixing with all these comedians.'

‘I think you should get back to Frances. Really organize yourself.'

‘Hmm. I must ring her.'

‘Anyway, what are you going to do about Royce?'

‘I'll have to talk to him, confront him. There's no way I'm going to get any proof in this case, unless there's a missing eyewitness who's yet to come forward.'

‘What about Janine?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Suppose she saw Royce fiddling with the wires. And he beat her up to make her keep her mouth shut.'

‘It's a possibility. She said she was with the theatre St. John's Ambulance man during the interval.'

‘Have you checked that?'

‘No.'

‘Well, it would be an easy life so that she could claim ignorance of what lover boy did.'

‘With lovers like that, that poor girl doesn't need enemies.' Gerald's idea was a good one. The speed with which Janine had covered up her boyfriend's identity when Charles questioned her suggested that she at least thought him capable of murder. If she had actually seen him setting up the crime, her behaviour made even more sense.

‘You don't fancy doing that, do you, Gerald?'

‘Doing what?'

‘Checking the alibi. When you say you're a solicitor, people'll tell you anything.'