Murder Unprompted

realised how much I rely on it. When you’re using it, you just repeat the words you hear, regardless of the sense. I got caught last week because I got fed the wrong line. Even if it’s nonsense, you still repeat it.

‘Which is what Micky Banks did. He just kept repeating what you were saying. He knew there was something odd, which was why he turned round to look into the wings, hoping for some signal from you.

‘By then I reckon you had your back to the stage and were facing the barrel of the gun. At the moment the murderer squeezed the trigger, you threw yourself sideways, the bullet missed you, but hit Micky Banks, who was standing directly behind you.

‘You then looked round in shock to see him fall. At that moment Lesley-Jane saw your face — she told me you “looked over your shoulder at her”, but I didn’t at the time realise that meant you must have been facing away from the stage. Anyway, Lesley-Jane jumped to the conclusion that everyone else has since jumped to — that you shot Micky — and screamed.

The murderer was meanwhile standing, shocked at what had happened, but still holding the gun. Rather than risk the danger of another shot, you followed your natural instinct to run. You grabbed your jacket from the Green Room and rushed out of the theatre.

‘It was probably only when you got outside that you realised how much circumstances looked against you. All your recurrent fears of the world ganging up on you came to the surface, and you ran away. Somehow you got down here, where you have been since, quietly starving and poisoning yourself to death.

‘After you had gone, the murderer went backstage, abandoning the gun on the way. The hue and cry started for you, but you could not be found. Rumours spread that you had committed suicide. This was all good news for the murderer. So long as you didn’t reappear, or if, when you did reappear, you were dead, there was no danger of the police looking for any other killer.

‘The accidental shooting of Michael Banks must have been a shock, but, as time passed, the murderer must have begun to feel very secure from the danger of discovery.’

Charles looked at Alex’s haggard face, which now glowed with a new light. ‘How’m I doing so far?’

‘Bloody marvellous, Charles. That’s exactly what happened.’ A shadow passed over his face. ‘But how you’re ever going to convince anyone else that’s what happened, I don’t know. .’

‘If we explain to the police.’

Alex shook his head. ‘Come on, Charles. The police are not notorious for their imagination. Everything is stacked against me, you have to admit. I bet the gun was even covered in my fingerprints.”

Charles had to admit that it was.

‘So I know. And now, thanks to a very neat bit of deduction, you know. But I don’t see that either of us could produce a shred of evidence to support our extremely unlikely thesis, so I don’t see that we’re much further advanced. If I give myself up, I’ll be charged with murder.’

‘Hmm,’ said Charles. ‘Then what I’ll have to do is to get a confession from the real murderer.’

Alex snorted hopelessly. ‘Good luck.’

‘I think it may be possible. And that, of course,’ said Charles, ‘brings me to the identity of the real murderer.

‘Very difficult to work that out at first. So long as I was looking for someone who might want to murder Michael Banks, I was getting nowhere. But once I got the right victim, finding the right murderer became easier.’

‘Who do you think it was then?’ asked Alex. Charles told him.

‘Dead right,’ said Alex.

Charles looked a mess when he got back to the car, but Frances made no comment. Nor did she mention the fact that she’d been sitting there for nearly three hours.

‘How’s Anna Karenina?’

‘Fine. She is now living with Vronsky as if they were married.’

‘Good for her. Mind you, it’ll end in tears.’

‘And how are you?’

‘Fine.’

‘Anything I can do for you?’

‘There are three things, actually.’

‘Name them and I’ll see if I can help.’

‘Right. First, I would like you to drive me to Taunton, so that I can catch a train back to London, in order to be at the Variety Theatre this evening for — among other things — a performance of Th e Hooded Owl.’

‘That’s possible.’

‘Second, I want you to buy blankets, food, a portable heater and some sort of stomach medicine, and come back here.’

‘Right here?’

‘Yes. Then I want you to follow instructions I will give you to a small derelict hut, where you will find a very sick man, who needs looking after.’

‘Shouldn’t I get a doctor too?’

‘No. Not for the moment. I promised him I wouldn’t involve anyone official until I’ve. . sorted something out for him.’

‘And how long am I likely to have to play Florence Nightingale? When will you have sorted this something out for him?’

‘I’ll do it tonight. Then I’ll let the emergency services know and someone will come out for him.’

‘I see. Well, that sounds a jolly way to spend a half-term. And, if I may ask, what was the third thing?’

‘To give me another chance.’

‘Oh, Charles,’ said Frances sadly, ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The train from Taunton was delayed. It was after the ‘half’ when Charles arrived at the Variety Theatre. The business of getting into costume and make-up and then giving his performance as the father in Malcolm Harris’s The Hooded Owl meant that details like confrontations with murderers would have to wait.

He was on stage for most of the first act, and it was only when the curtain fell for the interval that he could concentrate on anything other than the play.

As soon as he walked into the Green Room, he knew that something was wrong. Actors and actresses, who spend all their professional lives creating fictional atmospheres, do not stint themselves when real opportunities come along.

‘What’s up?’ he asked Salome Search, who was draped over a sofa doing Mrs. Siddons impressions.

‘It’s Lesley-Jane,’ the actress breathed dramatically.

‘What? What’s happened to her?’

‘She passed out in the wings after her last exit.’

‘Good God!’

‘Yes, she was in a dead faint.’

‘Where is she?’

‘She’s been taken up to her dressing room. The St. John Ambulance man’s up there with her.’

‘Do you know what it is?’

‘No. But. .’ Salome Search’s three years at R.A.D.A. had taught her that the pause before a sensational line can be extended almost infinitely. ‘There was blood in the wings.’

‘Oh, my God!’ Charles turned towards the Green Room door and the stairs to the dressing rooms.

But the doorway was blocked by the figure of Wallas Ward, holding up limp hands for attention.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said the Company Manager, ‘you may already have heard that Miss Decker was taken