Suddenly the black youth leapt in the air, waving a piece of paper in his hand. ‘Hey, look, man — five pounds. You ever see one like that, man? Come on, everybody, this man’s giving away five pound notes. Make sure you all get one.’
‘No, no,’ protested the unfortunate Locations Manager. ‘I haven’t got enough for everyone. I just wanted to persuade everyone that — ’
‘What is it — bribery now?’ The black youth was suddenly very quiet. ‘Oh yes, money buy off everything, eh? Well, listen, man, why should we put up with you coming round here? What you say it is — comedy show? So you think the way we live’s funny, eh?’
‘No, not at all. We just want to get on with our work. Look, you wouldn’t like it if we came along and interfered with your work now, would you?’
This proved an unfortunate thing to say. ‘Our work, is it? Sorry, brother, we don’t have any work. That’s why we live here, you know. That’s why we live in these houses. That’s why we don’t like you making fun of our houses.’
The Location Manager was beginning to lose his temper. ‘But they’re not your houses. You’re only bloody squatters.’
‘And why are we squatters, man? We’re squatters because this lousy government don’t build no houses. We’re squatters because this government don’t care about anything except making the rich richer.’
Hearing the political turn of the conversation, Bob Tomlinson decided to join in with his common touch. ‘Listen, mate, I’m with you. I vote Labour, just like you do. I don’t want this lot in. But they’re here and all we have to do right now is to get the work I got to do done, and get into bed for a good night’s sleep. So what do you say? You give us no bother and we’ll give you no bother.’
He chuckled disarmingly, but didn’t persuade his audience. ‘What do you mean?’ asked the black youth. ‘You don’t give us any bother, huh? You take over the whole bloody street, and half the side streets of it. You fill the whole place with your bloody vans and buses and your big cars — all your bloody BMWs and Rovers and Bentleys and Daimlers and Mercs — and you say you don’t give us no bother. Why should we be put out by you fat cats, eh?’
The Location Manager nodded to Bob Tomlinson and walked away. ‘Now listen, son,’ said the Director in a new, hard voice. ‘He’s gone to phone for the police. We have police permission to be here, you know, and if they come along, I think you’d be wise to be out of sight.’
‘Oh, I see, it’s threats now, is it? What d’you think we care about the bloody pigs. Okay, so you’ve got police 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?’