A stolen shadow, p.4
A Stolen Shadow, page 4
“Why did you break the fourth wall, Angela?” he demanded.
“He’s not breathing, and I can’t feel a pulse,” she whispered. By now, most of the cast were onstage and crowded around the motionless prince. Angela quickly rounded up the dwarves and ushered them away. Jimmy dropped to his knees and started checking for signs of life, but almost immediately looked up at Shadow and shook his head.
“I’m going to try CPR, Chief. Maybe he’s had a heart attack,” he said and, with the help of Len, turned the prince over and began chest compressions while Shadow called an ambulance. As he finished the call, Snow White began sobbing. An older man, dressed in black, put his arm around her shoulder and tried to comfort her. While everyone else’s eyes were on Jimmy, Shadow knelt down and carefully retrieved the empty glass bottle from where it had rolled beneath the toadstool. Despite his sergeant’s best efforts, he didn’t think Spencer Knight had suffered a heart attack, and he didn’t think there was any chance of him being resuscitated. He carefully slipped the empty bottle into his pocket, then placed his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. His sergeant stopped pummelling the dead man’s chest and looked up.
“It’s been nearly ten minutes. Leave him be now,” Shadow said gently. Jimmy’s face fell, but he nodded his head in resignation. Snow White began sobbing even more loudly and Len had turned pale beneath his thick make-up.
“Could you please all return to your dressing rooms and stay there. We’ll come and speak to you as soon as we can,” said Shadow.
“What about the children?” called Angela from the wings, her voice still shaking. “Can they go home?”
“Yes,” he replied, “contact their parents and ask them to come and collect them. We’ll arrange to speak to them later if necessary.”
He waited until the cast had reluctantly shuffled offstage, then he stepped out on to the stage. The lights of the auditorium were on but so were the footlights and he had to shield his eyes from the glare.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Chief Inspector Shadow,” he began, and the restless audience fell silent. “I’m sorry to inform you that the rest of this evening’s performance has been cancelled. I should be grateful if you would leave the theatre as quietly and calmly as possible.”
“What about our tickets?” shouted someone he couldn’t see.
“Will we get a refund?” asked a voice nearer the stage.
“Why’s it been cancelled?” called out another anonymous audience member.
“What’s happened to Prince Charming, Chief Inspector?” asked another with a slight Scottish accent, which Shadow recognised immediately. It was Kevin MacNab, a journalist from the local newspaper and one of his least favourite people. That’s all he needed: the press sticking their noses in. Shadow held up his hand to silence the increasing swell of voices.
“I’m sure the box office will be happy to answer your questions. Thank you.” And with that he quickly stepped back behind the curtain. Jimmy had been joined by Tom. They were both on their mobiles calling for assistance. Shadow stared down at Spencer Knight’s handsome, lifeless face. His blue eyes were staring up at him, and he had to resist the urge to close them. Sophie wouldn’t want him to be touched. Tom was the first to finish his call.
“What can you tell us about him?” asked Shadow.
Tom shrugged. “Not much, Chief. I only spoke to him a couple of times. His name was Spencer Knight. He had his own business and was a bit of a ladies’ man by all accounts. I think he and Lottie, the girl playing Snow White, were having a bit of thing.”
“Wasn’t she a little young for him?”
“Maybe, but Angela also said the two of them were pretty close,” replied Jimmy, who had finished his call as well.
“Do you know if he’d complained of feeling unwell?” Shadow asked Tom.
“I don’t think so. He seemed liked a pretty fit guy. He played golf and tennis and went swimming a lot. He was a member of that flash new gym that opened near the university and the North York Golf Club.”
“Do you think it was natural causes, Chief?” asked Jimmy. Shadow shook his head and removed the small glass bottle from his pocket.
“I don’t know. But I do know he collapsed after drinking whatever was in here.”
He unscrewed the top and sniffed. There was a faint whiff of citrus fruits.
“It’s only meant to be lime cordial with some green food colouring in it,” explained Tom.
“Chief, you really shouldn’t be touching that without gloves on,” said Jimmy as he produced an evidence bag from somewhere inside his leather jacket.
“Do you always carry one of those?” asked Tom.
“Yep. Usually. Sophie laughs at me, but you never know when they might come in handy. Like now. Don’t look like that. It’s important to follow procedure.”
“Says the man who interfered with the body,” huffed Shadow as he dropped the bottle into the small plastic bag Jimmy was holding open.
“I was trying to save his life,” protested Jimmy.
Shadow grunted and turned his attention back to Tom.
“Do we know who his next of kin is? Was he married? Children?”
“No,” replied Tom, “I never heard him talk about any family. Francesca is his business partner. She was meant to be playing the evil queen, but she didn’t show up tonight. Malcolm and Angela both tried calling but nobody has heard from her.”
“All right. You stay here with the body and try contacting her again. We’ll go and have a look in his dressing room.”
Shadow and Jimmy stepped backstage for the second time that evening. The atmosphere had completely changed. It was empty, all the dressing-room doors were shut, and the only sounds were hushed conversations and muffled sobbing. Spencer Knight’s dressing room was almost at the end of the corridor and the door was unlocked. The two detectives stepped inside. Shadow looked around the small space. There was a table and chair in front of a mirror surrounded by lights, a washbasin in the corner and a metal rail where Spencer’s clothes were hanging. Jimmy began searching through his jacket pockets.
“He left his phone and wallet here.” He opened the leather wallet. “There are three credit cards, all platinum, and at least a couple of hundred in cash. He must have thought it was safe to leave stuff in here without needing to lock the door. His phone’s here too, but it’s locked.”
“See if forensics can get into it. Anything else?”
Jimmy removed the driving licence and a business card from the wallet and began reading. “Spencer Knight, forty-two years old, lived at an address on Bishopthorpe Road. He had his own business, Knight and French Associates.”
“And what did Knight and French Associates do?”
“It says here, financial advisers.”
“That covers a multitude of sins. Any mention of who his next of kin might be?”
“His contact in case of an emergency person is Francesca French, his business partner.”
“Maybe not just his business partner then,” mused Shadow. “Check his trouser pockets too. Any sign of tablets or medication of any sort?”
Jimmy began rummaging again but shook his head. At that moment, there was a quick knock and Tom put his head around the door.
“Sorry to interrupt, Chief, but Sophie and forensics are here.”
When they arrived back onstage, they found Sophie kneeling next to the corpse. She looked up when she heard them. “Welcome home, Chief. Hi, Jimmy,” she said and shook her head. “Only you two could go the pantomime and end the evening with a dead body.”
“Evening, Sophie,” said Shadow. “He collapsed after drinking this.” He gestured to Jimmy, who produced the glass bottle in the plastic bag and handed it to his wife. “But it could be natural causes. Any thoughts?”
Sophie took the evidence bag and frowned. “It’s hard to say, Chief. There is a slight blue tinge to his lips and nails and his pupils are slightly dilated, which could indicate poisoning, but I won’t know until I have analysed this and examined him properly.”
Shadow nodded but before he could reply, Jimmy stepped in.
“Hey, Soph, guess what? He lived on Bishopthorpe Road.”
She looked up with interest. “Really?”
“Why is that significant?” asked Shadow with a frown.
Jimmy looked a little embarrassed. “It isn’t for the case, Chief, but we’ve been thinking about trying to buy a place and Bishopthorpe Road is one of our favourite areas. I know it isn’t very sensitive, but, well, it might mean that this guy’s place will be coming on the market and—”
“Houses there are like gold dust,” completed Sophie.
“Popular area, is it?” asked Shadow, who, living on a boat, had never had much interest in the city’s property market.
“Very,” she replied. “Jimmy wants us to hang out with all the hipsters.”
“Hipsters? Didn’t they used to be called yuppies?”
“Not in this century, Chief,” Sophie said with a laugh.
“Are you saying I’m getting old, Sophie?”
“No, not you, Chief. You were born old.”
Shadow couldn’t really argue, and besides he was distracted by a commotion coming from behind the curtain. He had to stifle a groan as Ben and Ollie appeared through the red velvet. At the best of times, he found the two forensic scientists exasperating, but today the two of them were approaching him with matching grins and neck braces identical to Jimmy’s.
“Chief! You’re back!” they chorused.
“Don’t tell me you two slipped getting out of a taxi too?”
“No, we fell off the chairlift when we were trying to take a selfie,” explained Ben.
“What have we got?” asked Ollie.
“We think he might have been poisoned,” replied Sophie.
“Oh no he hasn’t!” joked Ben, sending Ollie into peals of laughter.
“Hey, Ben. Where’s Jimmy?”
“He’s behind you!”
“For crying out loud!” exclaimed Shadow, the last of his patience having evaporated. “Can you at least try to be professional for once?”
“Come on, Chief. We’re at the pantomime,” replied Ben. “It’s only a bit of fun.”
“It could also be a crime scene. It’s bad enough that you look like the Three Stooges. Do I have to remind you that a man is dead? Show some respect.”
“Sorry, Chief,” replied the two scientists in unison again. Shadow turned away, shaking his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jimmy mouthing “Who are the Three Stooges?” to Sophie, but his wife merely smiled and shook her head again.
Shadow sighed. “Come on, Sergeant Chang. Let’s go and speak to some of the cast.”
“Who do you want to speak to first, Chief?”
“Under normal circumstances, I would have said the last person to handle the bottle before Knight drank from it, but as that was your sister, let’s start with our pantomime dame. What did you say his name was? Len something?”
“Horning, Chief. Len Horning.”
Shadow knocked on the door bearing the dame’s real name and his heart sank when he stepped inside to find Len was not alone, but sharing a bottle of gin with the director, Malcolm Webster.
“Ah, Chief Inspector Shadow and Sergeant Chang, allow me to introduce my partner in crime, Len Horning. The two of us created the Ebor Entertainers ten fun-filled years ago.”
“Drink, officers?” offered Len. He’d removed his wig but was still in costume and full make-up and was refilling the chipped ceramic mugs he and Malcolm were drinking from.
Shadow shook his head. “No thank you, Mr Horning,” he replied.
Malcolm raised a finger to his lips. “Not a word to Harriet. She’s away at a conference, but she thinks I’ve knocked the bottle on the head, so to speak.”
Shadow wasn’t remotely concerned if Malcolm had given up being teetotal and returned to his old ways, but he was struck by the fact that neither man seemed particularly upset by the sudden death of their co-star.
As if reading his mind, Malcolm put down his mug and cleared his throat.
“So, Chief Inspector, are you able to tell us what happened to poor Spencer? Terrible thing to occur and on opening night too. Did his heart give out or do you suspect foul play?”
“We are still trying ascertain the cause of Mr Knight’s death, but we would like to ask you a few questions.”
“Chief Inspector, if I may, I should like to anticipate your first question. Did he have any enemies?” asked Malcolm.
“And did he?” replied Shadow. He had actually been going to enquire about the dead man’s health, but he decided to play along.
Malcolm looked at Len and grinned. “Well, where do I start?” began Malcolm.
“Spurned lovers!” suggested Len.
“Cuckolded husbands!” added Malcolm.
“Jealous admirers!” Len again.
“Cheated clients!” And back to Malcolm.
Shadow thought it was a pity they hadn’t chosen to put on Cinderella instead of Snow White. Malcolm and Len would have been the perfect double act to play the ugly stepsisters.
“So would you say Mr Knight was a ‘ladies’ man’?” asked Jimmy, his notebook poised ready.
Len reached over and gave him an affectionate pat on the arm.
“Now, that is the understatement of the year, Sergeant Chang!”
“I heard he was in a relationship with the girl playing Snow White,” said Shadow.
“Darling Lottie! The star of our show, but you could hardly call it a relationship, Chief Inspector. More of an infatuation,” replied Malcolm.
“But on whose part?” added Len, arching his heavily pencilled eyebrow.
“Angela Chang was covering for someone who didn’t turn up tonight,” Shadow pressed on.
“Oh, what a trouper the lovely Angela has been! As well as keeping an eye on all the kiddies, she offered to be the understudy for Snow White and the evil queen. She’d been here for all the rehearsals, so she knew the script by heart,” explained Malcolm.
“Which is more than you could say for Francesca,” added Len.
“Francesca French, who should have been playing the part of the evil queen?” asked Shadow.
Len huffed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t turn up on purpose. She’d been spitting feathers ever since Malcolm told her she was too old to play Snow White. He was quite right of course. She was forty if she was a day. I told her straight. ‘Even the best make-up artist can’t work miracles, love, and no matter how good the lighting is nobody is going to believe you are a winsome teenager.’ Oh, she looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp!”
“Do you know where we can find Miss French or is it Mrs French?”
“I believe she prefers Ms and the person to ask would have been Spencer. They were partners in business as well as other things if the gossip is to be believed.”
“Did they live together?”
“Nooo!” replied Len, shaking his head vigorously. “Not that I don’t think she would have leapt at the chance if he’d asked her. But moving in with someone, that was a bit too much like commitment for our Spencer. What if someone better came along? Although, I think she was trying to get him to invest in a cottage with her. They were meant to be doing it up to sell on, but I think she thought she’d wear him down over time. Patience of a spider that one!”
“What about the rest of the cast?” asked Shadow as Jimmy tapped away at his notebook.
“Well,” said Malcolm, “the pantomime horse was Steven West at the front and Matthew West at the rear, so to speak.”
Shadow frowned. He’d come across those names during a previous investigation.
“The two brothers who run a ghost-walking business from above a shop on Shambles?” he asked.
“Cousins actually, Chief,” supplied Jimmy, earning himself a scowl. It was bad enough trying to keep track of what Len and Malcolm were telling him without his sergeant complicating things with unnecessary details.
“And if you have ever had the misfortune to experience one of their walks and their thespian skills – or lack of them – then you will know exactly why I made sure they were hidden away inside Dobbin,” said Malcolm waspishly.
“Even so, I would like to speak to them.”
“Oh, you can’t, I’m afraid. They went to the pub. The Guy Fawkes Inn, I believe. Said they needed a drink to steady their nerves. I told them it would be fine.”
“I did ask all adults involved in the production to remain here at the theatre,” replied Shadow, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“But why?” protested Len. “We still don’t know what happened to Spencer, and if it was foul play, it couldn’t possibly be Steve or Matt. They are literally sewn into that costume and don’t come out until the final curtain call.”
“You mean they are dressed as the pantomime horse for nearly three hours?” asked Jimmy incredulously.
“Quite, Sergeant Chang. It’s Matt I feel particularly sorry for. Apparently, the key is not to drink anything for at least an hour before the performance. It gets very warm in old Dobbin; the poor souls come out quite dehydrated,” explained Len, sloshing more gin into the two mugs.
“Hence the need for liberal libation,” added Malcolm.
“I see,” interrupted Shadow, keen to get the line of questioning back on track. “Who else is there we can speak to?”
“Let me see. Derek and Diane Dawson are responsible for sound and lighting, but they are up their control centre in the gods and never come backstage. Susan is in charge of costumes and props. Stan Beresford helps us out backstage, moving scenery – that sort of thing. In truth, I think he likes being here to keep an eye on Lottie. She’s his pride and joy.”
“Even more so since he lost poor Ann,” added Len. “God rest her.”
“Oh, and there’s Rohan Kapoor, our evil henchman,” continued Malcolm.
“Now if anyone was ever cast against type,” chuckled Len, shaking his head. “Such a sweet boy.”
“No acting background whatsoever and so uncoordinated, but darling Lottie brought him to rehearsals once and he sort of stuck around. I believe he’s helping Angela with the little ones now, Chief Inspector.”
