Death and the Chaste Apprentice (11 page)

While the actors and musicians had been chewing over things in the alcove, Superintendent Dundy had been sweating his way through some preliminary questioning of Mrs. Capper in the little manager's office behind the reception desk.

No, Mrs. Capper had said, she didn't mind talking. Would rather, really. Would rather go to bed knowing she'd got it over. And if she talked it through with him, perhaps the memory of poor Des lying there with the dagger between his shoulder blades would become less horribly vivid.

So talk she did, with Iain Dundy keeping her, at the start, on fairly neutral background topics.

“When did we come to Britain? Let's see, it was the time of the miners' strike—not the last one, the one before that. Seventy-four, was it? I remember because there was no electricity most of the time, and lots of the industries were shut down, and the shops, and I wanted to go home after I'd been here a couple of days, I can tell you.”

“Home?”

“New South Wales. Des was manager of a very nice hotel in Dubbo. I wish we'd never left. People don't go sticking knives into each other in Dubbo.”

Dundy let pass this romanticization of her past. “Why did you leave?” he asked.

“Just chance, really. There was this English hotelier stayed with us, got pally with Des—everyone got on well with Des—and offered us a job. Des thought if we didn't go then, we never would, though it wouldn't have broken my heart if we never had. This was back in—oh, seventy-three, it must have been. So eventually we came over, and Des became bar manager of this big hotel in Bournemouth. Then it was manager of the Excelsior in Carlisle, then here. All of them hotels in the Beaumont chain. Des was very pleased to get Ketterick. It's what he called a prestige hotel in the group, and it gave him a bit of a stake in this festival that's going on now.”

“You weren't so pleased?”

Win Capper shrugged. “Drinkers are pretty much alike wherever you are, that's what I say. And the people who go on about what a lovely hotel it is don't think of the amount of walking that's involved!”

“But what about your husband? Had he enjoyed his time since you both came here?”

“Oh, yes. Happy as a lamb with two tails. All this airy-fairy arty stuff was meat and drink to him. But of course Des was a very well read man.”

“And he got on well with people?”

“Oh, yes! Des was always good chums with people right from the word go.”

“Why was that?”

“Well, he never put on airs. He was always chatty and always had an appropriate word for everybody. As I say, he knew an awful lot. He had an inquiring mind.”

Iain Dundy wondered whether an inquiring mind was really likely to make a hotel manager popular. Des Capper was dead, after all. Perhaps he had pursued his inquiries in foolish or dangerous directions. He said: “You mean he was interested in everyone?”

“Well, I meant more that he knew what everybody was interested in, so he was on their wavelength and could talk with them. Like about acting and singing with this lot now. He could give them tips, little bits of advice. And I think he was very useful on the festival committee. He'd really wised himself up on the play they're doing, and he was starting to read up about this opera with the silly title. He said he had to be clued up, so he could discuss with the people staying here. He was very thorough, was Des. And a walking encyclopedia sometimes!”

More like a barroom philosopher, Dundy guessed, and a know-all to boot. Des sounded quite unbearable.

“So what exactly happened tonight?” he asked.

“Oh, Lord . . . I wish I could forget it. . . . We opened at six, but just for members of the audience, because we don't open to members of the public until after the play's over. We were quite busy. I was behind the bar, and Des was going around talking to people in the Shakespeare, as he usually did. I had to call him over to help me, and I told him we wouldn't be able to cope at interval time without him. He said he'd come. Then of course the audience started drifting out into the yard to take their seats, and Des knocked off. That was the last I saw of him until—”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“He said he might go and watch the play for a bit from the back. Frank—that's the doorman—says that's what he did. Dawn and I were busy in the bar, so I didn't think about him until he didn't turn up at Interval.”

“You and this other barmaid— Dawn is it?”

“Yes. She's one of the waitresses, and very capable.”

“You were together in the Shakespeare Bar the whole time until Interval?”

If Win Capper understood why he was asking this, she gave no sign. She just answered obediently, as if she were a child in class answering by rote.

“Dawn went to fetch the snacks from the kitchen. That took three or four minutes, I should think. Otherwise we were together the whole time.”

“And you had to cope together at Interval?”

“That's right. We were so rushed that I didn't have time to ring around for Des.”

“And after the Interval you didn't get worried?”

“I knew he would have come if he could.” She dabbed at her eyes, which were very full. “I didn't
think.
How could I? And I knew we could cope after the show, because most people go straight off home. Dawn told me that; she'd helped out previous years. Anyway, after the interval we got everything shipshape again and got the glasses washed, and then, when the concert finished, people started coming in again.”

“When was that?”

“Twenty, twenty-five past nine. The Town Hall's only five minutes away, and some of the residents came straight back here. Our interval had finished a bit before nine—ten or five to. Then, of course, when the play ended, towards ten, we filled up quite considerably.”

“Tell me about finding him.”

“Oh, my God, do I have to? You've seen—” She swallowed at the memory.

“Try to do it quite objectively, as if it were someone else involved, someone else's body.”

She looked up at him as if hardly understanding, but then she swallowed again and tried.

“We were quite busy until just after eleven, but after I'd called ‘Time' I realized I hadn't seen Des since before seven. And that wasn't right. He'd have wanted to go round the Shakespeare and talk to people after the play, see how they thought it had gone. I wasn't exactly
worried,
because he could have been in the Webster or the Massinger, but the Shakespeare is very much
his
bar and the easiest to
get to from Reception and the flat. And then Frank said he hadn't seen him since soon after the play started. That didn't seem right, either. So I rang the flat, and there was no reply, and then I
did
start to wonder.”

“Did your husband have any history of illness?”

“No, always fit as a fiddle. Like I said, he had this thing about health and lots of little tips about how to keep in shape. He read up on it you know. . . . Still, he is over sixty. . . .
Was
 . . . So you do think about heart attacks. . . . Anyway, I went to the manager's office, and he wasn't there, and I opened the door that leads up to the flat and called—”

“Was the door unlocked?”

“Yes. It usually was, except at night. So I went up the stairs and opened the door into our lounge, and—well, there he was. You couldn't not see him.”

“Was the body exactly as it is now? Did you disturb it in any way?”

“No. Or not much. You see, I screamed, and then I knelt down and looked at his face, so I maybe touched his shoulders. But I know a dead body when I see one. And there was the knife between his shoulders—”

“You recognized the knife?”

“Oh, yes, it was a knife that Des brought back from India years ago. Had it before we were married. It was always on the little table by the sofa.”

“Had you or your husband ever entertained any of the present festival guests at the hotel in your private flat?”

“Not that I know of. Why would we?”

Why indeed? Dundy thought.

“Did you notice whether anything else had been disturbed in the flat?”

“No, I just got up and . . . ran downstairs. Screaming. It was so horrible.”

Iain Dundy looked at his watch. “I think that's all we
need from you tonight, Mrs. Capper. Have you got anything to make you sleep?”

“Not personal. Des didn't approve of things like that. But there'll be something around somewhere in case one of the hotel guests asked for it.”

“Then I suggest you take it. You'll be able to use one of the hotel rooms to sleep in, won't you? Oh—one last question: Did your husband, to your knowledge, have any enemies?”

She looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Oh, no. Des didn't have an enemy in the world. Anyone'll tell you the same.”

He jumped up and opened the door for her, and she walked across the foyer to where Dawn was waiting for her by the door into the Shakespeare. At the sight of a friend and female sympathy, Win tottered a little as she walked and then crumpled into her arms, to be led inside.

“Excuse me, sir.”

Dundy swung round and saw that there was a young man standing talking to the constable at the main entrance. He had an air of fledgling copper about him, but he wasn't a policeman Dundy knew. This he was sure of because he was black, and black policemen were rare enough to notice. When he raised his eyebrows, the young man came over.

“They sent me from the station, sir. I'm Metropolitan CID, but I was there visiting a mate from training days. They thought I might be useful because I was in the audience tonight.”

“Here, for the play?”

“That's right, sir.”

“You might well be useful. Are you free at the moment?”

“Free for the next forty-eight hours.” He held out his hand. “I'm Peace, sir. Charlie Peace.”

“I
DON'T KNOW
how much help I can be,” said Charlie Peace as Dundy gestured him to the vacant armchair in the small office. “The bloke on the door says he was killed in the hotel here.”

“That's right.”

“I can't say I registered much from inside the hotel while the play was going on. Women collecting up glasses in the bar, staff watching the play from the dining room—not much more than that.”

“Why were you at the play?”

“Came with a girlfr— Well, a girl. Student at London University. She asked me along, and I came to see if she was really interested or whether it was the okay thing these days for girl students to have a black boyfriend.”

“And which was it?”

“We said polite farewells at the gate.” Charlie's mouth expanded suddenly into a great, generous grin. “Plenty more where that came from.”

“But you've got a clear idea of the play itself?”

“Oh, yes. It wasn't half bad, really, and one or two good laughs. Oh, I remember what went on onstage. It's what went on behind the stage that you'll be interested in, won't it, sir?”

Dundy sighed. “It will. Most of that will have to wait till tomorrow, though. Shall we contact the Yard and see if we can use you for a couple of days? Then you might get days off in lieu.”

“If you could,” said Charlie. “Days off have been pretty scarce as long as the football season's lasted. Are you going to be doing anything more tonight, sir?”

“Well, there was one thing. . . . Did you notice that doorman chappie, Nettles?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Know him by sight. Probably even exchanged a few words, back in the days when I was on the beat.”

“My guess from the look of him is that beneath that old-soldier exterior there lurks a leaky-mouthed individual who'd tell you his life story for the price of a pint.”

“I think that's probably true, sir. The bloke on the door says he's already had his war memoirs.”

“He didn't give him his boss's life story as well, did he?”

“Afraid not. But he did say the place had gone to the dogs since he took over.”

“Right. That sounds like an antidote to Mrs. Capper's ‘not an enemy in the world' delusions. Let's have him in now.”

• • •

“Is that what she said?” asked Frank, the doorman, shooting a cynical smile across the manager's desk at Iain Dundy and taking in Nettles and Charlie as he licked his lips in anticipation. “Life and soul of the Shakespeare, popular with all and sundry?”

“That's pretty much what she told me,” said Dundy, looking straight at him.

“Balls,” said Frank succinctly. His mouth was still working with relish at the prospect of character assassination ahead, and there was a glint in his old eyes. “Balls with the best of intentions, I don't doubt. I'm sure she believed every blessed word she spoke. But it's balls nonetheless.”

“Not popular?”

“About as welcome as the death-watch beetle.”

Frank expanded in his chair in the manager's office. This was the life. This was something to take home to the missus. A murder investigation and him in on the ground floor. Key witness, in fact, by reason of his position outside the main entrance.
And
he could tell them a thing or two about the hotel, the superintendent would find, a thing or two that he wouldn't hear from anyone else. There wasn't much that had escaped him in the last week or two.

Iain Dundy looked at Frank skeptically: his big body expanding with self-importance, his furry mustache twitching with relish at the idea of being part of a murder inquiry. He had been through the events of the evening with him, when he had last seen Des, and so on, and that had been moderately satisfactory. Now he was getting on to the nitty-gritty, which was hearsay and conjecture, and all the more enjoyable to Frank for that. He'll tell me everything, thought Dundy, but will that everything be right? He looks like the sort of man who turns suggestions into conjecture and conjecture into fact in the twinkling of an eye. Basically a stupid man but possibly to be trusted on the things he knows best. And he must have come to know Des Capper pretty well.