Political Death (18 page)

The younger generation was another matter. Sarah Smyth had paid visits to Hippodrome Square on her father's behalf. As for Archie Smyth, he was definitely not a character of whom one could safely say that he wouldn't harm a fly. Had they been out to protect their father? Politics was one of the worlds where the bubble reputation, that evanescent thing 'a good name' was all important.

At this point Jemima stopped. She had an inkling that her thoughts had taken her down an important path. But she was brought right back to the subject of the Diaries. Where were they now? Millie Swain had entrusted them to Hattie Vickers at the theatre; there was general agreement about that. How had they disappeared? Who had access to the cupboard or safe apart from Hattie herself?

Who had stolen them and why? Had they been destroyed by now? Above all, how had Hattie Vickers come to die: another very convenient demise? It was time not before time to make a call she had been meditating ever since the death of Imogen Swain. She had to talk to Chief Detective Superintendent John Portsmouth.

Jemima reached for the telephone. Tompey," she began, 'do you fancy a drink? two drinks?"

"I've heard it said that drink loosens the tongue," Pompey responded cautiously.

"My point exactly. And two drinks will loosen two tongues, mine as well as yours. Remember the Faber Case? You gave me some help with my research, we had a jar or two then. Now, I want to put a scenario to you. So you'll have to do some more homework, legwork rather, for me, get the police to help you, that is me, with my enquiries. Two deaths, Pompey, one quite recent, one very recent, an old woman and a young woman, see what you can sniff out."

One of Us

There were tears at the Irving Theatre that evening. A company meeting was called to announce the death of Hattie Vickers. There were of course no drinks, given the nature of the occasion and the performance ahead -no public drinking anyway.

Jemima Shore's meeting with Pompey of the Yard took place at the Groucho Club a little later. The venue was Pompey's choice. He had a fondness for spotting literary celebrities, to report back to Mrs. Portsmouth, discerning the most unlikely faces Salinger? Surely not in the smoke-filled ground-floor bar. At this Groucho meeting there were drinks but no tears.

At the Irving, Charley Baines was choking back sobs and Millie Swain cried openly. Roz, the company manager, was ill (and had been ill before Hattie's death with the same flu which had stricken Mike at the Stage Door). But in any case Randall, as director, star and founder of the company, would always have dominated proceedings. The meeting was held onstage and that lent a certain gruesome element to the proceedings. The Safety Curtain was down, but that did not prevent the feeling pervading the cast that Hattie had lain dying in the stalls not far in front of them. The cheerful inner set showing the Illyrian court, and including a good deal of unspecified blossom of a vaguely psychedelic nature, did not help either. Nor for that matter did the vivid outer curtain in front of which Millie would shortly play the first scene with her Sea Captain: What country, friends, is this?"

To denote a stormy scene far removed from the harmony of Illyria, a mediaeval map had been adapted in a pop-art style, showing a tempestuous wave-ridden sea where various huge and threatening monsters were visible. In one corner the legend "Here be dragons' could be seen. In another, the designer had the happy conceit of putting a large erect naked Cupid with his arrow, and the legend, "Love Conquers All', in case people had difficulty understanding what this production of Twelfth Night was all about.

On the fringe, at the Addison, the legend had been in Latin: "Amour Vincit Omnia', or what was thought to be Latin. But on the transfer to the West End, the producer's beautiful Japanese wife, never normally known to speak, had objected. Nobody grasped what her point was but everyone hastened to agree with her in case they were committing some unspeakable offence by Japanese standards. (Only Charley Baines had the cynicism to whisper to Hattie Vickers as it happened, "Besides, she's the producer's wife.")

Only later was it discovered that the objection by the producer's wife had been to the incorrect spelling of Love in the French manner instead of the Latin "Amor'.

By this time the curtain legend had been changed to English at considerable expense. But, English or no English, the painted monsters of the deep seemed to point more clearly to Hattie's fate than the priapic Cupid.

Randall Birley did not show a great deal of emotion when he addressed the company, but his voice was uncharacteristically flat as if he were making an enormous effort to show leadership by not breaking down. Only when Randall alluded to the police was the full extent of the horror understood by the company.

"The police!" burst out Kath Lowestoft, who played Maria and, like Charley Baines, had counted herself a friend of Hattie's. Kath had huge surprised blue eyes which gave the impression of being quite circular. She dabbed at her tears with a piece of Kleenex and focused this alarmingly intense gaze on Randall once more. "Not the police! Oh poor, poor Hattie. She hated the police and things like that, authorities."

"For God's sake, Kath, don't you understand? It's not to do with her. It's to do with us." The acerbity beneath Randall Birley's measured tone was evident. "We all have to talk to the police. Anyone who knows anything about this ghastly," he hesitated, 'this ghastly tragedy, has to tell the police anything they know."

"But it was an accident," persisted Kath, eyes watering again. "Wasn't it?"

"Randall," said Millie Swain softly but clearly, 'poor Mike at the door is terribly upset. I think you should talk to him. He keeps saying it's all his fault, he should have done the locking up on Saturday night, not left it to that poor little girl. His words. I kept telling him no one can help having flu." Charley Baines noticed that Millie was not standing close to Randall, nor did her body language indicate any particular closeness between them (compared to meetings in the past). He guessed that the incident of Randall's arrival with Helen Troy the night before had not been forgiven.

"He was sitting there crying, big Mike crying, when I came in. Just staring at his bloody television and howling." This was Alice Martinez, a sparkling (if possibly too mature) Olivia; the den mother of the company. Alice Martinez had acted a great deal with Randall in the past and there were those (including Millie Swain) who assumed there had once been a romance between them, despite the age gap. Whether the rumour was true or not, Alice Martinez had a sweet nature which made her universally popular, even with Millie.

"What's he so upset about? Will someone tell me?" Kath again, whose particular grief seemed to express itself in persistent questioning. "He was always foul to poor little Hattie. Pretended not to recognise her, thought she was a visitor, asked who she wanted to see, stupid tricks like that."

"It's called guilt, Kath." Charley Baines put an arm around her shoulders. "He feels he should have been the one to cop it, not her. Or rather he feels he could have taken care of himself better than Hattie could let the ' bugger have it, words to that effect."

"You see, Kath, I'm afraid the police don't think it was an accident," Randall explained. '"Cannot rule out foul play", that's the message. That's why we all have to talk to them, tell them anything we know."

"Including where we all were on Saturday night?" Millie Swain's voice was carefully expressionless but it was clear to several of the cast, including Charley Baines that her main interrogation was directed at Randall Birley. "Apart, that is, from all being in the theatre."

"Are they thinking that she surprised someone some homeless person?" suggested Kath, sounding more tentative. Then her blue eyes welled up again. "Oh how ghastly! Mike's absolutely right to be upset. Hattie was so little and Mike's a hulk to put it mildly. He really could have seen the bugger off."

"How did this lethal homeless person get in?" asked Charley Baines abruptly. "Has anyone thought about that?"

"I suppose the police have," murmured Alice Martinez.

Suella Martin, one of Olivia's ladies-in-waiting, who was black, muttered something to the tall dark-haired man standing next to her who was playing Sebastian (he did bear quite a decent resemblance to his stage twin, Millie Swain).

"Did you say something, Suella?" asked Randall sharply; his charming matinee idol manner was singularly lacking today. Suella Martin stared back at him but said nothing.

"Well, I've got a comment on all this," went on Charley Baines as if no one had spoken. "I can buy Hattie leaving the outer pass door open when she went to the front of the house, although she wasn't supposed to do that. But I know that she did it at least once, told me that she didn't want to cut off her retreat. Her retreat!" He laughed mirthlessly. "But supposing, just supposing this wasn't a violent member of the homeless community'

"The homeless what?" asked someone, possibly Suella again, sotto voce. Someone else laughed.

"Don't laugh," said Millie Swain. "It's not funny. Charley is quoting our present Prime Minister. He actually used that phrase on telly on Sunday morning. Christ! The homeless community. Vote Labour on Thursday or you're all insane."

This was manifestly not a popular statement with the rest of the cast. As a matter of fact, of those who were registered to vote in London, and intended to use their vote, a good proportion was probably going to vote Labour, especially given the new alliance with the Liberals. But there was an uneasy feeling that a political discussion at this juncture was disrespectful to Hattie.

It was also distracting. But Charley Baines decided not to be distracted. "Supposing not the lethal homeless, nor even that well-known brute, the single mother," he went on, daring anyone, including Millie, to interrupt. "Supposing it's one of us?"

"I think that's absolutely appalling' Alice Martinez was trembling as she spoke. But Charley was relentless.

"You see, I've been thinking about the keys. Whoever did it knew exactly what to do about the keys."

"Which was?" The curt question came from Randall.

"You told us the theatre was found locked. So the murderer must have known enough to lock the Stage Door from outside and then post the keys back in. The cleaners presumably had their own keys."

"How do you know all this? While we're on the subject." There was something unpleasant about Randall's tone. " "I know it because Hattie and I were good friends. And once she got spooked about locking up and I went with her. And she explained it all to me. That's how I know about the Stage Door too, because I told her she shouldn't do that, it could be dangerous." Charley's voice began to break. "And it was."

He pulled himself together, and in a truculent tone to match Randall's added, "And I spent Saturday night in

Joe Alien's till far too late, getting completely pissed, as anyone of a hundred people, who were not similarly pissed, will tell you."

"It's still appalling' Alice began once more. This time it was Kath who interrupted her.

"I just have to say this. I do. It's true that Hattie was worried about something, very worried. Oh God, I can't believe it," she wailed. "You see Hattie was this terrible worrier about things, she did have a therapist, but if the therapist was away it was because she hadn't got a family, not a real one, her adoptive parents were both dead, and she felt too insecure to look for her real parents'

"But not too insecure to talk about it," put in Charley rather sadly.

"Honestly, Kath, what's this got to do with it?" asked Randall. "I'm sorry, I know you're upset, God knows we're all devastated, but sooner or later we've got a show to do."

"Kath, you must tell all this to the police," said Alice more gently.

"I will! I will! But I wanted you all to know in case someone else remembers, remembers anything at all."

"I don't even begin to understand what you're saying' came quite loudly from one of the men in the cast.

"Hattie was frightened. That's what I'm saying. She knew something that frightened her." Kath turned towards the director and star.

"Randall, don't you know what it was? I have this feeling-'

"You're upset, Kath, it's understandable that you have feelings, this feeling and that feeling," was all that Randall said. He still did not sound friendly.

"I don't know what it was," went on Kath. "She never quite got round to telling me; several times I thought she would but she always backed off. And yes, I will tell all this, all of it, to the police," Kath ended sullenly. "And anyone else who's interested."

Millie Swain moved to Kath's side and hugged her.

"We all need to do something positive. That's the only way. We'll have a sort of benefit. On election night. We'll take a collection for Hattie. We'll give it to something she would like. In her name. I don't care what the management says. Fuck the management."

"Save the Whale?" suggested Alice. "She had this sticker."

"Bosnian children?"

"Something to do with adoption? Adopting Bosnian children. That would be positive."

"Shelter the homeless?" But there was undeniably something awkward about that last suggestion, and shortly afterwards the meeting broke up.

Jemima Shore's meeting with Pompey of the Yard at the Groucho Club was more satisfactory in the sense that drinks flowed (whisky for him, white wine for her) and the atmosphere was generally speaking cosy, unlike that at the Irving Theatre. Nor did Pompey deplore, as he had done in the past, what he called Jemima's feminine instinct. Jemima preferred to call it simply her instinct, or, if he preferred it, an imaginative quantum leap of the mind.

The forces of public feminism, or the enquiring mind of Mrs. Pompey, or some combination of the two, had taken their toll of Detective Chief Inspector John Portsmouth. Quite a time had elapsed since he had first collaborated with Jemima, over the case of a missing child, in which a television appeal had played a beneficial part. Experience had taught them to trust as well as respect each other. In some cases a nod was as good as a wink; in other cases, more explicit confidences had to be made, but each knew they would not be betrayed. In short Jemima was, in Pompey's opinion, close to being 'one of us'.