permission. Big deal. Did you ever ask our permission? Eh?’
‘We got permission from the couple in that house over there, who, as I understand it, are the only people with a legal right to live here.’
‘What do you know about legal rights?’
‘I know who deserves them.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I mean I know the difference between someone who works for a living and someone who just scrounges on the state.’
‘Hey, who you calling a scrounger, man?’
‘You know bloody well who I’m calling a scrounger.’
‘You want a punch in the mouth?’
‘Why, do you?’
Slap on his cue, at this moment Peter Lipscombe appeared beaming through the crowd. ‘I say, is everything okay?’
His appearance did at least avert the incipient fight between Bob Tomlinson and his antagonist, but it didn’t bring the start of filming any nearer. He tried to explain the complex costs of filming to the crowd, but they didn’t seem susceptible to budgetary arguments.
The actors were still standing round in the lit area, ready to resume work if required, but eventually Robin Laughton came across and suggested they should go into the caravans until the atmosphere settled a bit.
Charles found himself in the make-up caravan with Aurelia Howarth. The actress busied herself with Cocky in his little basket.
‘Quite frightening, all those people, aren’t they?’ he observed.
She shrugged. ‘I suppose so. It reminds me of entertaining the troops during the War. You got that same feeling of the power of a crowd.’
‘And you don’t find that frightening?’
‘Not really, darling.’ She sounded genuinely unconcerned, though a note of anxiety came into her voice as she turned back to the dog. ‘How’s my little boy then?’
‘Do you think we’ll get anything done tonight?’
‘Oh yes, surely, darling. They’ll get bored and go away.’
The noise had certainly died down. Charles looked through the caravan window. The crowd was dwindling.
‘Yes, they’ve made their point. And if the police do come. .’
‘I think it would be as well if the police didn’t come,’ Dame Aurelia Howarth observed shrewdly. ‘That might just antagonise them further.’ But her attention was elsewhere. ‘How’s my little Cocky then?’
‘Is he okay?’ Better show an interest.
‘He’s not a well boy.’
‘He means a lot to you.’
‘Of course. If anyone hurt Cocky, I’d. .’ She looked at Charles very straight and he felt the daunting power of those famous blue eyes. When she continued, her voice was very quiet, but very determined. ‘I’d kill them.’
Everything fell into place. As well as determination, there was obsession in the eyes. On three occasions Aurelia Howarth had had the opportunity. She had been definitely identified as the one who had threatened Sadie Wainwright. The PA had certainly spoken dismissively of Cocky. Was it not likely that Scott Newton and Rod Tisdale had done the same? Or was he back to his earlier blackmailing theory? Had Scott Newton witnessed Sadie’s death and. .?
Well, if there had to be a confrontation, there was no time like the present. Charles took a deep breath. ‘Aurelia, when Sadie Wainwright died — ’
But before he could say more, they were disturbed by a sudden shout of anger from outside. The crowd had once again erupted in fury. Charles and Aurelia rushed to the door of the caravan to see the cause.
It was the location caterers. Oblivious to the commotion, they had started to lay out a lavish selection of salads and meats and wines on trestle tables outside their bus. A section of the crowd had seen this and, infuriated by the ostentation, screamed for the others to join them as they rushed forward.
The horde descended, seizing plates and bowls and throwing them to the ground. When the film crew tried to intervene, they had food hurled at them. Within seconds, everyone was involved in a bizarre fight outside the location caterers’ bus.
Terrines of pate cracked against skulls, rare beef slices slapped in faces, glazed chicken wings rediscovered flight, strawberries spattered, mayonnaise flowed down denim shoulders, coleslaw matted into layered hair.
How the fight would have developed was impossible to say. An awful thud and a scream froze the action and drew everyone’s attention back to the lit area.
In the middle of it lay the still body of Robin Laughton, pinned beneath the metal mass of a toppled light.
‘Oh no.’ Aurelia Howarth’s face had lost all its colour. ‘Not another death. Oh, my God, no!’
But there was no doubt that the Floor Manager was in a death situation.
CHAPTER TEN
Since they had already been summoned to move on the crowd of spectators, the police were on the scene of the death quickly. They took charge and were very efficient. Technicians and actors were asked to wait in the caravans until the police were ready to take statements from them. The crowd who had disrupted the filming seemed to have melted away. They would have stayed and argued their rights with the police over the filming, and enjoyed the exercise; but now there was a death to be investigated they made themselves scarce.
Two plain-clothes detective-sergeants were taking the statements. The one Charles got looked bored and seemed keen to get the basic questions over as quickly as possible. ‘You see anything unusual?’
‘Well, the whole scene was fairly unusual. With the fight going on, food flying in every direction.’
‘Yes, I know all that. I mean, anything unusual near the light that fell and killed Mister. .’ He consulted notes. ‘. . Laughton.’
‘No, but I did notice that the wheels of the light were firmly locked earlier.’
‘Yes. What I’m really asking is did you see anyone tamper with the light-stand. I gather the crowd was trying to break up your filming, so I suppose we can’t rule out the possibility of sabotage. Did you see anyone go near the lights?’
‘No, but everything was such chaos that — ’
‘Yes, Mr Paris. At the time of the fight, did you see where John Odange was?’
‘Who’s John Odange?’
‘He’s the black guy who was apparently leading the crowd.’
‘Oh yes. I saw him by the food. I remember, because he emptied a lemon meringue pie over our producer, Peter Lipscombe.’ Charles couldn’t help smiling. The image was one that would stay with him and bring comfort in his old age.
‘So you didn’t see Odange go near the lights?’
‘No.’
‘Hmm.’ The detective-sergeant sounded disappointed. ‘We’ve had trouble with him before.’
It seemed that the black youth’s view that society was conspiring against him may have had some justification. ‘No,’ said Charles firmly. ‘He was right at the centre of the crowd all the time. If he had tampered with the lights. everyone would have seen.’
The detective-sergeant nodded in a bored way. ‘We’ll have to pull him in and talk to him anyway. Okay. Mr Paris, if you could ask the next member of the cast to — ’
‘There is one thing,’ said Charles. There was no point in keeping all his suspicions to himself. After all, it was the police’s job to investigate crime and they were much better qualified to do it than he was.
‘Yes?’ There wasn’t a lot of interest in the word.
