Bryant & May 09; The Memory of Blood

matter. Then they went after his money man, his best friend, destroying his financial empire in the process. Kramer knows someone is out to get him. But here’s the interesting thing. Despite his secret being known to another individual, he doesn’t know who his own enemy is. Intriguing, no?”

“A woman,” said May suddenly.

“Hm. I was thinking about that possibility.”

“The harming of a child by throwing it about. Frightening an old lady, but not intending to kill her. It feels like a woman somehow, one who’d been angered by Kramer’s behaviour. Particularly if we say that Gregory Baine’s death was suicide.”

“I see what you mean. Kramer’s enemy finds out that Mona Williams knows something which can give the game away. But she’s an old lady, she’ll frighten easily – she can be scared into silence.”

“The plan goes wrong. And revenge is not properly dealt. Kramer’s still around and his life continues; nothing seems to touch him. He’s not as broken up over his child as he was meant to be, because he’s not the father. He’s not destroyed by Baine’s death, because for all we know there could be another offshore company designed to protect his finances from Baine. So there could still be another attempt to hurt him.”

“But why doesn’t this enemy simply kill Kramer if he wants revenge?” Bryant asked.

“Where’s the pleasure in that? Someone needs to see Kramer suffer. Merely being rid of him won’t take away that gnawing anger. The killer wants to watch the pain slowly building in the victim’s eyes. Nothing is working out as it was intended to. Hardly anything has gone right. Something else is bound to happen now.”

“Women,” repeated Bryant. “There are four in the case. Delia Fortess, the female lead; Ella Maltby, the set designer; Jolie Christchurch, the front-of-house manager; and Judith Kramer.”

“Incredible,” May marvelled. “Last week you parked your car to get a bag of boiled sweets and spent the rest of the day trying to remember where you’d left it, but you can remember the name of everyone in the investigation.”

“I have a system for finding Victor now,” Bryant replied.

“I only park in places where I upset people. That way I can always find someone who remembers my car. Hang on, I’ve left one female out. Gail Strong.”

“Ah, the disreputable Ms Strong. I’m not sure I believe a word she’s said to me so far. Maybe we should talk to her again.”

“After we’ve grilled Ella Maltby about her scold’s bridle.” Bryant made a strange sound between a sink gurgling and a cow waking up. This noise usually indicated that he’d had an idea.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ve just had another thought. According to my Twentieth-Century British Theatre, when the Lord Chamberlain banned the plays he destroyed the reputation of the theatre’s owner, who died in penury. You don’t suppose someone at that party was a descendant of the original owner, looking for revenge against Kramer now?”

“Incredible as it may seem, no, I don’t,” said May.

“OK, it was just a thought.”

The taxi sloshed through gutters filled with rainwater, wending its way into the deepening northern light.

? The Memory of Blood ?

35

La Ronde

In the warehouse that had become the headquarters of the PCU, Bryant took one suspect and May took the other. Ella Maltby sat in the common room with her arms folded and her boots turned outwards in a gesture of defiant unhelpfulness.

“The bridle in my props room is one of three we made,” she explained icily. “When Ray brought the scripts to us, we first chose a different play, and it featured a scene where the village gossip was locked into a bridle. Robert was never really happy with the second act, and eventually we junked it in favour of The Two Murderers.”

“What happened to the other two bridles?”

“I imagine they stayed in the props room at the theatre.”

“Aren’t you in charge of that?”

“Yes, but I didn’t have to keep track of them; they weren’t exactly lethal weapons.”

“They were, as it turned out.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Who had access to the props room?”

“Everyone. I mean, we wouldn’t keep it locked unless there were weapons involved in the production. Anyone who needs to get into the backstage area of the theatre has to sign in at the stage door.”

“So access is strictly limited to cast, crew and theatre staff.”

“That’s right.”

“And at the time when Mona Williams was attacked, you say you were – ”

“At home. By myself.”

Bryant had nothing more. Banbury had found no prints on the bridle and had not been able to lift anything from the stalls carpet. “All right, you’re free to go, but don’t go far,” he told Maltby. “At least you could have come up with a decent alibi this time. No wonder you haven’t got any friends. Janice, make her sign something, then kick her back onto the street.” He wandered into May’s interrogation.

“This reminds me of An Inspector Calls,” said Neil Crofting. “Mona was terribly good in that. I shall miss her. A real trouper. What do you think happened?”

“We’re pretty sure someone tried to intimidate her and went too far,” May told him. “You were by her side on the night of the party. Did she see or tell you anything unusual?”

“Let me think. I’d had rather a lot to drink. She usually gives me far too much information, a running commentary on the state of her innards, what she doesn’t like about the leading lady, how Andrew Lloyd Webber is killing the theatre, why she can’t eat sprouts before a show, that sort of thing. We were like an old married couple.” He wiped a misted eye. “She chattered a lot, the usual tittle-tattle about the company. Mona was a terrible old gossip. Loathed the director, thought he was an idiot. It’s hard to believe she’s gone. She made a lovely Ophelia in her time. There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. She had the legs for it, you see.”

“What did she talk about specifically?” May prompted.

“Well, various people came up to pay their respects – she was a bit of a grande dame, after all, waiting in one spot for everyone to circle past her and pay respects like a remnant of the Hapsburg Empire, then she relayed the talk on to me. She said Russell was drinking too heavily, Delia had a yeast infection, Ray was complaining his nicotine patches didn’t work, Marcus had been seen backstage with Judith, Ella was being a bore about her ex-girlfriend, that sort of thing. But the big scandal was that Robert’s wife and mistress were both in the same room. And I don’t think Judith had an inkling.”

“You know his mistress?”

“It wasn’t common knowledge, but we both knew because we’ve worked with Robert in the past, and we recognized the signs.”

“What sort of signs?”

“The ones that tell you when a man is about to become infatuated again. We were there going over our scenes on the night Robert first met her. And we could tell from the first moment what was going on. You could see the sparks from the stage.”

“Who is his mistress?”

“Gail Strong,” said Crofting, as if it was obvious. “She set her cap at him. A disgraceful display. I suppose he was flattered, a man of his age.”

“When was this?”

“Oh, a couple of months ago, way before she joined the play. I think she’d been introduced to him through