Kincaid smiled his most infuriating smile, the one that meant he found her vehemence amusing. “Well, I guess we had better ask him, hadn’t we?”
CHAPTER 11
Alison Douglas protested when Gemma rang her early the next day. “But, Sergeant, how can I possibly ask the ushers to come in this morning when they worked last night? And some of them have other jobs or school.”
“Do the best you can. The alternative is having them down to the Yard, which I doubt most of them would be too keen on.” Gemma tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. A restless night and a drive back to London in the thick of the commuter traffic had left her feeling shirty, but that was no excuse for taking it out on Alison. And it was not the most reasonable of requests, after all. “I’ll be there before noon,” she told Alison, ringing off.
Replacing the receiver in its cradle, she surveyed with distaste the paperwork swamping Kincaid’s desk. She felt none of her usual satisfaction in having appropriated his office, but rather the same discomfort that had kept her awake into the wee hours. Something had been different about Kincaid last night-at first she had only been aware of a rather feverish quality to his behavior, but as she tossed and turned through the night she came to the conclusion that his responses to her had altered as well. Had she only imagined the easy companionship of the previous evening in London? He had sought her out. Had his delight in her flat and evident enjoyment of her company caused her to drop her barriers a dangerous notch too far?
She shrugged and rubbed her eyes, trying to massage away the fatigue, but she couldn’t erase the fleeting thought that the change in Kincaid’s manner had something to do with his visit to Julia Swann.
In the end, Alison managed to bring in four of the ushers, and they sat cramped together on folding chairs in her office, looking disgruntled but curious.
Gemma introduced herself, adding, “I’ll try not to keep you any longer than necessary. Do any of you know Tommy Godwin, the Wardrobe Manager? Tall, thin, fairish man, very well dressed?” Looking at them, she wasn’t hopeful that sartorial elegance had a place in their vocabularies. The three young men were neat but ordinary, and the girl had managed what Gemma recognized as low-budget dressing with a bit of flair. “I want to know if anyone saw him last Thursday evening.” The young men glanced sideways at one another from blank faces. Behind them Alison stood with arms crossed, leaning lightly against the wall, and Gemma saw her mouth open slightly in surprise.
Shaking her head slightly at Alison, Gemma waited, letting the silence stretch.
Finally, the girl spoke. “I did, miss.” Her voice held a trace of West Indian cadence, probably acquired from parents or other family members who were first-generation immigrants, thought Gemma.
Letting out the breath she’d been unconsciously holding, Gemma said, “Did you? You’re sure it was Thursday evening, now? Pelleas and Melisande, right?” She hadn’t really expected such a positive result, still didn’t quite trust it.
“Yes, miss.” The girl smiled as if she found Gemma’s doubt amusing. “I see all the productions-I can tell which is which.”
“Good. I’m glad one of us can.” Gemma smiled, silently kicking herself for sounding patronizing. “What’s your name?”
“Patricia, miss. I’m a design student-I’m interested in costumes, so sometimes I help out a bit with Wardrobe. That’s how I know Mr. Godwin.”
“Can you tell me about Thursday evening?”
The girl glanced round at Alison as if seeking permission from the nearest authority. “Go ahead, Patricia, tell the Sergeant. I’m sure it’s quite all right,” responded Alison.
“Mr. Godwin came into the lobby from the street doors. Usually I stand just inside the auditorium and listen to the performance, but I’d just come back from the Ladies’ and was crossing the lobby myself. I called out to him, but he didn’t hear me.”
Gemma didn’t know whether she felt relief or disappointment-if Tommy had been telling the truth about watching the performance, he couldn’t have been in Wargrave with Connor. “What did he do then, did you see?”
“Went in the next aisle over. Roland’s,” she added with a sideways glance at the best-looking of the young men.
“Did you see him?” asked Gemma, turning her attention to him.
He smiled at her, comfortable with the sudden attention. “I can’t say for sure, miss, as I don’t know him, but I don’t remember seeing anyone of that description.”
At least he hadn’t called her “madame.” Gemma returned the smile and turned her attention back to Patricia. “Once you’d gone back to your post in the auditorium, did you see him again?”
The girl shook her head. “The mob started out just after, and I had my hands full.”
“Intermission so soon?” asked Gemma, puzzled.
“No.” Patricia shook her head more forcefully this time. “Final curtain. I’d only realized I needed to go for a pee”-she sent a quelling glance at the young men-“just in time.”
“Final curtain?” Gemma repeated faintly. “I thought you meant he’d come in just after the performance began.”
“No, miss. Five minutes, maybe, before the end. Just before eleven o’clock.”
Gemma drew in a breath, collecting herself. So it might have been Tommy in the Red Lion after all. “Did you see him later on, Patricia, when you were clearing up?”
“No, miss.” Having entered into the spirit of things, she sounded as if she genuinely regretted having nothing more to offer.
“Okay, thanks, Patricia. You’ve been a great help.” Gemma looked at the men. “Anyone else have anything to add?” Receiving the expected negatives, she said, “All right, clear off, then, the lot of you.” Patricia trailed out last, looking back a little shyly. “Bright girl,” said Gemma as the door closed.
“What is all this about Tommy, Sergeant?” asked Alison, coming to sit on the edge of her desk. She brushed absently at the wrinkles in her brown wool suit. The fabric was the same soft tone as her hair and eyes and made her look, thought Gemma, like a small brown wren.
“Are you quite sure you didn’t see him until you went to Gerald’s dressing room?”
“I’m positive. Why?”
“He told me he was here in the theater during the entire performance that night. But Patricia’s just contradicted that, and she seems a reliable witness.”
“Surely you don’t think Tommy had anything to do with Connor’s death? That’s just not possible. Tommy is… well, everyone likes Tommy. And not just because he’s witty and amusing,” Alison said as though Gemma had suggested it. “That’s not what I mean. He’s kind when he doesn’t have to be. I know you wouldn’t think it from his manner, but he notices people. That girl, Patricia-I imagine he gave her some encouragement. When I first started here I tiptoed around everything, terrified of making a mistake, and he always had a kind word for me.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Gemma, hoping to soothe Alison’s hostility, “but there is a discrepancy here, and I must follow through on it.”
Alison sighed, looking suddenly weary. “I suppose you must. What can I do to help?”
“Think back to those few minutes in Sir Gerald’s dressing room. Did you notice anything at all unusual?”
“How can I tell?” asked Alison, her feathers ruffling again. “How can I be sure my recollection’s not distorted by what you’ve told me? That I’m not making something out of nothing?” When Gemma didn’t respond, she went on more quietly. “I have been thinking about it. They stopped talking when I came into the room. I felt as if I’d put my foot in-you know?” She looked at Gemma for confirmation. “Then after that awkward bit, they seemed a bit too hearty, too jolly, if you know what I mean. I think now that’s why I only stayed a minute, just long enough to offer the usual congratulations, although I didn’t consciously realize it at the time.”