A Stolen Shadow, page 5
“I see, thank you. Now were either of you aware of any health issues Mr Knight may have had?”
“Spencer!” exclaimed Len. “No, not him. He was as fit as a fiddle. He certainly got plenty of exercise.” He gave Jimmy an exaggerated wink. “If you know what I mean.”
“Due to being a ladies’ man?” asked Jimmy.
“You’ve got it, Sergeant!” Len and Malcolm started cackling again.
Shadow’s head was beginning to hurt listening to the double act, and he couldn’t see the point in staying any longer. He thanked Len and Malcolm for their help and motioned for Jimmy to follow him.
Chapter Three
Down 2 (6 letters)
No sip, Olive! It could kill you
They stepped out of Len’s dressing room and found Angela, who had changed out of her costume and seemed to have regained her composure, waiting for them. Standing next to her, still looking agitated, was Rohan: the tall, bespectacled young man who had been playing the evil henchman.
“I’m sorry, I know you wanted to talk to us all, Chief Inspector,” began Angela, “but one of the little girls’ parents’ aren’t here. They were having dinner over in Harrogate and thought she’d be having a sleepover with her friend who is one of the other dwarves, but she’s upset about what happened and wants to go home instead. I said I’d take her to meet her mum and dad. Rohan has offered to drive us. Is that okay with you, Chief Inspector?”
“Yes, of course, Angela,” agreed Shadow, “but if it does turn out Spencer didn’t die of natural causes, we might still need to speak to all the children.”
Angela grimaced but nodded. “They are all in my class at school, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said, turning away.
“One more thing, Angela,” Shadow called after her. She stopped and turned back. “Who gave you the bottle of green liquid before you came onstage?”
“Nobody gave it to me. It was waiting for me on the prop table. Everything is laid out there in the order it’s going to be used onstage.” She pointed to a long wooden trellis table waiting in the wings, then she and Rohan disappeared back into her dressing room.
The two detectives approached the table that was covered in all sorts of paraphernalia. There were some carrots for the pantomime horse, another handbag for the dame, the picks and axes for the dwarves and a basket of apples for Snow White.
“That’s a point,” said Jimmy. “I thought it was meant to be Snow White who was poisoned, not Prince Charming.”
“I don’t think accuracy was this production’s top priority,” replied Shadow, “but get forensics to check those apples for poison anyway.” His eyes quickly scanned other the items then stopped when he spotted something he recognised.
“But at least we know where the major’s missing antique sabre is now,” he said, pointing to a gleaming sword with a curved blade.
“Really? Is that it? Are you sure, Chief?” asked Jimmy.
“Yes, look at the crest on the handle.”
Jimmy took his phone out of his pocket and tapped at the screen a few times. He squinted at the photos he’d been sent, then down at the ornate weapon on the table.
“You’re right, Chief. What’s it doing here?”
“Waiting to be used in a fight scene by the look of it,” replied Shadow, who had an uncomfortable feeling that Spencer Knight’s death was looking less and less like it was due to natural causes.
“I think there was meant to be a sword fight between Prince Charming and the queen’s henchman. Angela was telling me Rohan was quite nervous about it.”
“I’m not surprised if they were using real swords.”
“Look, Chief, the other sword is clearly fake. You can tell as soon as you pick it up. It’s made of wood with a metal coating, so it makes a clashing sound. Why would someone put a real sword here?”
“To make a point!” quipped Ben, who had appeared from the stage.
“I won’t tell you again,” growled Shadow as the chuckling scientist waved an evidence bag containing a bottle of green liquid in front of his face. “What have you got there? I thought the bottle was empty.”
“This is a different bottle, Chief. A full one. Ollie, Sophie and I were chatting. We thought if the bottle Sophie had did turn out to have poison in it, then it would have been quicker and easier for the killer to replace the bottle itself rather than empty the contents and refill it. That’s a bit of a faff. If that was the case, then they would need to have hidden the original bottle somewhere, so Ollie and I started poking about and I found this buried in the sand.” He pointed to the red fire bucket on the floor next to the prop table. Shadow felt as if a heavy weight had just settled on his shoulders. It looked like they could definitely forget about natural causes.
“Wow! Good work, Ben!” exclaimed Jimmy.
“Yes, well done,” conceded Shadow. “Right, gentlemen, now we know we probably are dealing with a murder, let’s find out who is responsible for the props.”
“I can help you there, Chief Inspector,” said Len Horning, who had appeared without any of them noticing. “It’s the marvellous Miss Edmundson. Susan Edmundson.”
“I know her,” said Jimmy. “She used to work in the office at Angela’s school, but she retired.”
“She’s been part of our merry band for years. She’s in charge of props and costumes. She’s quite the seamstress. I call her our wardrobe mistress, but she doesn’t like it. Says it has ‘connotations’.”
“And where might I find Miss Edmundson?” asked Shadow, his patience starting to wear thin again.
“Malcolm sent her home. She was in quite a state about what happened to Spencer.”
“Did nobody hear me when I asked for everyone involved in the production to remain here?” replied Shadow, trying not to sound exasperated.
“Oh, Susan wouldn’t have been any use to you. She looked like she was going to keel over any moment, poor thing. You wouldn’t want another casualty on your hands now, would you, Chief Inspector?”
“Thank you, Mr Horning. You are free to go too,” said Shadow firmly. “And if I could ask you not to mention the incident this evening to anyone until the circumstances of Mr Knight’s death have been established. I understand you have a radio programme, but—”
“I’m shocked you could think such a thing, Chief Inspector,” interrupted Len dramatically. “I’ll have you know I’m the soul of discretion. Not that it matters much. Half the city saw what happened onstage tonight.” And with that he strutted back down the corridor.
“Should I call Major Armitage and tell him we’ve found his sabre?” asked Jimmy when the pantomime dame had disappeared.
“No,” replied Shadow thoughtfully. “At least not yet. He was here earlier. Did you see him?”
Jimmy shook his head. “No. Who was he with?”
“Nobody. He was here alone, and he disappeared in the interval.” He turned to Ben, who was still looking proud of himself. “Can you take the sabre back to the lab with you and check for fingerprints, traces of blood and anything else unusual you can think of?”
“No problem, Chief. I’ll see if we’ve got a bag big enough. Oh, and by the way, Sophie wanted to know if it’s okay to move the body now?”
Shadow nodded. “Yes, that’s fine,” he agreed. The scientist disappeared, and a few seconds later Shadow and Jimmy stepped to one side and lowered their heads as the body on the stretcher was quietly carried past them. They weren’t the only ones to see Spencer being carried away. From the far end of the corridor came the sound of loud sobbing. Shadow turned and saw Lottie, still in her Snow White costume, dash back into her dressing room, tears streaming down her face.
“Should we speak to her now or wait until she calms down, Chief?” asked Jimmy.
“Let’s go now, before she disappears like our prop lady and pantomime horse,” he replied. Shadow was about to knock on Snow White’s dressing room door when it was opened and the older man, dressed in black, who had been comforting her earlier stepped out.
“I’m sorry, Chief Inspector. I know you wanted to speak to us all, but I really don’t think my Lottie is up to it. She’s very sensitive at the best of times. Can I take her home and I promise we’ll come and see you in the morning?”
“Can I ask your name?” asked Shadow.
“Stanley Beresford, sir. I’m Lottie’s dad.”
Before Shadow could respond, Jimmy had thrust his hand out.
“I’m Sergeant Chang, Mr Beresford. We spoke earlier today about the missing sabre.”
A flicker of confusion crossed Stanley Beresford’s face as he shook Jimmy’s hand, but before he could say anything, Shadow stepped in.
“If Sergeant Chang already has your details, then perhaps we could visit you both tomorrow instead, Mr Beresford. Your daughter may feel more comfortable talking at home.”
“Yes, that would be better, thank you, Chief Inspector,” replied Stanley.
“Then we’ll wish you a good evening and I hope Lottie feels better soon.”
Stanley merely nodded then stepped back into the dressing room without another word. The two detectives walked back down the corridor.
“I wasn’t going to say anything about finding the sabre, you know,” whispered Jimmy.
“I’m glad to hear it. I think it’s best we don’t say anything about finding it to anyone until we hear back from Ben and Ollie,” Shadow hissed back. They were now in the wings. On the stage, police tape had cordoned off the area where Spencer had fallen. Ben and Ollie were still working and chuckling to themselves. Shadow turned to Jimmy. “We may as well go home. I don’t think there is anyone left for us to speak to. We’ll start again in the morning when, hopefully, Sophie will be able to tell us exactly what killed Spencer Knight. Before you go, check with Malcolm Webster that you have everyone’s contact details, then send him on his way too.”
Shadow walked through the eerily empty auditorium and out through the foyer, nodding to several uniformed officers who were still on duty.
“Chief! The press are still hanging about,” called out Tom, who was coming down the stairs behind him. “I thought I should warn you.”
“MacNab?”
“Yes. Malcolm had invited him to review tonight’s performance.”
Shadow grunted then noticed the constable’s arms were full of camera equipment.
“Jimmy said you were filming the performance.”
“That’s right, Chief.”
“Good. Let me have a copy of the recording as soon as you can. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The Minster bells were striking midnight when he stepped out into the cold night air. As Tom had warned, MacNab and a photographer were waiting by the entrance. They both sprang forward when they spotted Shadow.
“Chief Inspector Shadow, can you confirm that a man died here tonight? Is it true you and two of your colleagues witnessed his death? Can you confirm the dead man is Spencer Knight? Are you treating his death as suspicious?”
Shadow ignored the barrage of questions and merely snapped “No comment” in response as he put his head down and continued on his way. Fortunately, the rain had stopped, but the temperature had dropped under the clear sky and his breath formed little clouds in front of him as he walked. He was deep in thought and halfway down Parliament Street when he stopped abruptly, remembering his suitcase was still in his office. Cursing to himself, he turned and headed back to the station.
Twenty minutes later, he was trudging along the towpath, lugging his case along and dodging puddles where the swollen river had spilled over on to the bank. He was sure his case hadn’t felt this heavy when he’d left Italy forty-eight hours ago. The three geese that were huddled together on Florence’s roof watched him approach silently with their beady black eyes.
“Perhaps you’ll appreciate me after living with a dog for a few weeks,” he muttered as he stepped aboard, hauling his case after him. He unlocked the door and flicked on the light. The place was spotless. Far cleaner and tidier than when he’d left it. He’d been braced for the smell of wet dog but there was no trace of the previous occupants except for a handle on one of the cupboards in the galley kitchen. For months it had been hanging off, but now it was once again screwed firmly to the door. He went through to his bedroom and found the bed had been made with fresh sheets and all corners neatly tucked under, betraying Jake’s previous life in the army. The bathroom was equally immaculate. He removed his jacket and tie and returned to the sitting room.
He opened his suitcase and rummaged through the dirty laundry until he found one of the bottles of wine from Luca’s vineyard. Bianca, Luca’s wife, had insisted on packing him up a couple of them, along with a box of her handmade almond biscuits. His hosts were equally insistent about sending several cases of their next vintage to him. He opened the bottle and poured himself a large glass. As he took the first sip, he was immediately transported from cold, damp North Yorkshire, back to the Grecos’ sun-drenched family home in the countryside near Lecce.
While he was there, they had spent most evenings sitting on the terrace overlooking the vines, eating and listening to Luca tell stories, mainly about Luisa. It had been over thirty since she’d died, and he barely ever spoke about her. It had felt good to be with people who remembered her as clearly as he did and had loved her as much as he had. He’d visited places she’d told him about and Luca had taken him to see her grave. He’d stood in the shade of the olive trees, tracing her name on the gravestone with his fingers and wishing he hadn’t waited so long to pay his respects.
After supper, Luca and Bianca’s four children had often joined them too, sometimes arguing, sometimes joking but never silent. In comparison, Florence felt very quiet, yet while he’d been away, he’d missed being here. Despite what Jimmy might have thought, he’d never had any intention of not returning. If Luisa had lived, perhaps the two of them could have made a life together in her home country. Now, it was too late. His life was here. His work and the people he knew and who knew him. Then as the Italian sun had tanned his face, he’d found himself worrying if Sophie or Rose were upset about how the wedding had ended and wondering what Maggie was doing.
He looked down at the shirts and socks spilling out of the case on to the floor. He’d been planning on taking them to the laundry and asking Maggie out to dinner, but now she was going away to Spain. Not that there was any guarantee she would have accepted anyway. She had definitely been a little cool when they’d bumped into her earlier, but he couldn’t work out why. While he was having supper at the Golden Dragon, Rose had rather pointedly asked if he’d contacted Maggie while he was away.
“To wish her a happy Christmas or let her know when you planned to return,” she’d said, fixing her dark, intelligent eyes on him.
“No, I didn’t want to bother her. Besides, it seems some people didn’t think I would return,” he’d murmured, frowning at Jimmy, but Rose had merely clicked her tongue as she’d cleared away the plates.
He told himself it was true. He hadn’t liked to bother Maggie, especially over the festive period when she was sure to be busy with her enormous extended family. Now he thought perhaps he should have done. After all, it was Maggie who had bought him the plane ticket and persuaded him to go to Italy in the first place. What had she said? That it was time he said goodbye? He’d done just that when he’d laid a bouquet of white roses on Luisa’s grave. He didn’t know how long he’d sat there under the olive tree thinking about her and their life together and what could have been.
Now, thanks to Luca and Bianca, he could remember the good times they had shared without being stabbed by the pain of regret. But just because he’d laid his past to rest didn’t mean his future was looking any clearer. He downed the last of his wine. He couldn’t think about any of that now. He needed to go to sleep. Tomorrow, he had a murder to investigate.
*
The next morning, despite his late night, he was awake early and arrived at Bettys as they were opening. The only thing to spoil his breakfast was his neighbour’s reading material. As the smartly dressed grey-haired lady held up her copy of the York Herald, he noticed the headline on the front page.
Panto Death – police enjoy show as Prince Charming collapses
It didn’t help that the article was accompanied by a photo of a grinning Spencer Knight and another of Jimmy, Ben and Ollie all in their neck braces trooping out of the theatre and looking every bit as cheerful as the dead man.
“For crying out loud! You would think they’d have the brains not to leave together,” he muttered as he stood up and went to pay his bill.
He arrived at the station to find Jimmy in the process of setting up an incident room. A whiteboard was now covered with photographs. Spencer Knight’s was in the middle and surrounded by images of most of his fellow cast members. Not for the first time, Shadow was struck by his sergeant’s similarity to an excitable Labrador puppy as Jimmy came bounding over to him.
“Morning, Chief. Guess what?” he asked eagerly.
“Sophie has confirmed Spencer Knight was poisoned.”
“Yes. It was an overdose of methadone. Sophie is still waiting for the blood test results to see exactly how much was in his system, but it was found in liquid form in the bottle Spencer drank from. Sophie said it would be odourless and although it might have tasted bitter, it probably wouldn’t have been noticeable mixed with the lime cordial and green food colouring that were in the bottle too. The bottle Ben found only contained the cordial and colouring.”
“Then let’s start looking for suspects,” said Shadow, turning his attention to the board covered in photos. Surrounding Spencer were Malcolm, Len Horning, Lottie Beresford, Stan Beresford, Steve and Matt West, Rohan and an older woman Jimmy had labelled as Susan Edmundson.
“Those are all the people who had access to backstage,” explained Jimmy. “Um, I haven’t put Tom up there obviously or Angela because, well, I know she was the last person to handle the bottle Knight drank from…” he paused “…but she is my sister. Is that okay, Chief?”
