‘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.
‘Of course this death could just have been an unfortunate accident. .’
‘That’s rather the way it looks, Mr Paris. Unless we can get any evidence to the contrary.’
‘The only thing is. . it’s not the first accident that’s happened on this show. First there was a PA who — ’
‘Yes, yes, Mr Paris, thank you. I’m well aware of all that. Every one of your colleagues who I’ve talked to has mentioned the sequence of accidents, and I’m sure it’s been very worrying for you. Maybe someone quoted Macbeth in a dressing room or something.’
The detective-sergeant spoke as to a tiresome child. It was something Charles had got used to through his career. For a lot of people, actors would always remain a self-dramatising and infantile breed.
He kept his temper. ‘Okay, it may sound fanciful. All I’m saying is that, if you are thinking of sabotage, then it need not have been perpetrated by someone in the crowd; it could have been someone connected with the production.’
‘Thank you very much for your invaluable advice, Mr Paris. Yes, I admit it does sound a little fanciful, but we will certainly bear every possibility in mind in our investigations. I can assure you that we are already aware of the coincidence of accidents which have surrounded your precious production, and if there is any link between them, you can rely on us to find it. Now, if you will allow me to get on. .’
Charles wasn’t sure. Maybe the police had got the show under surveillance, maybe they had followed all his reasoning through step by step, maybe they were way ahead of him and just waiting to make an arrest. All he knew was that it would be a long time before he shared his suspicions with the police again. Their opinion of amateur detectives was all too clear.
Outside in the street, where the apparatus of filming had mostly been cleared up, he met Jay Lewis, looking young and waif-like in the moonlight.
‘Have you been through the grilling too?’
She nodded. ‘Not very nice. Poor Robin.’
‘Has Aurelia gone?’
‘Yes. I organised a car for her about an hour ago. She looked exhausted. I’m just waiting for mine to come.’
‘Ah.’
‘Actually, Charles, you’re Bayswaterish, aren’t you? I’m Notting Hill. You could share the cab.’
‘Great. If you’re sure that’s okay.’
She was. In the cab she still seemed waif-like, so it was only kind for him to put his arm round her. On the journey, with the predictable interruptions to give directions to the driver, who appeared never to have driven in London before, a degree of intimacy was established.
They arrived outside her flat first. She didn’t seem keen to leave him. ‘My flat-mate’s away. I don’t really like to go in on my own. After what happened to Robin.’
Charles, ever the obliging gentleman, dismissed the cab. As they climbed up the stairs, he said, ‘About your flatmate, you know I said I wanted to pick her brains on Film Research. .’
‘Oh yes.’
‘I wonder if you’d mind asking her about a movie Aurelia did with her husband. Late Thirties, I should think. Called Death Takes a Short Cut.’
‘I’ve never heard of it.’
‘Nor have I, sweetie. That’s why I’m asking.’
‘Hock-A. I’ll ask her.’
Jay Lewis opened the door of her flat. Once she had closed it, she came into Charles’s arms.
In bed he disentangled himself lazily. ‘Very nice indeed.’
‘Really. You mean it?’
‘Certainly do.’
She sighed. ‘There’s so much to learn.’
‘As a PA?’
‘Yes, and. .’
‘And sex?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Well, I think you have a natural aptitude for it.’
‘Good.’ She snuggled into his shoulder. ‘You know. Ernie Franklyn Junior says a PA should really be prepared to sleep with anyone.’
‘Oh, does he?’ said Charles Paris. ‘Thank you very much.’
West End Television Ltd,
W.E.T. House,
235-9 Lisson Avenue,
London NW1 3PQ.
6th July, 1979.
Dear Charles,
I enclose some revised pages for the beginning of Part Two of this week’s script. As we lost last night’s filming and are working so close to time, Bob and I have decided it’ll be simpler to do a rewrite and replace the exterior scene with a new scene in the hall. I turned to Willy and Sam who, at incredibly short notice, have come up with the enclosed, which I think is terrific and well up to the standard of the other scripts I’m getting from them for later episodes. I think we really are on to a very exciting series!
On a slightly sadder note, I heard this morning that Dob’s little dog, Cocky, died during the night. As you know, she doted on him and is bound to be very upset. I’m sending this letter to you by taxi to ensure that you get it before going to rehearsal on Saturday. Do be gentle with Dob.
Once again, many thanks for all your hard work on the series. See you at the Crew Run on Monday.
With the warmest good wishes,
Yours sincerely,
Peter
Peter Lipscombe
Producer The Strutters
The detective part of Charles’s mind was in confusion. Every time he got near a theory which linked the deaths around The Strutters, something new came along to break it up. On the Thursday night he had been convinced that Dame Aurelia Howarth had arranged the murders of Sadie Wainwright, Scott Newton and Rod Tisdale, because she had gone slightly dotty and was convinced that they all meant harm to her precious little dog.
But, even as he had reached that conclusion, another death had occurred, a death in which Aurelia could not possibly have had any hand. He was getting rather sick of providing alibis for his main suspects.
And now, to add to the confusion, Cocky had died. So any motivation the dog might have provided for Aurelia was gone. If any more deaths happened, there would have to be another reason for them. Just as there had to be another reason for Robin Laughton’s death.
Again Charles was struck by the random nature of all the deaths, except for Rod Tisdale’s. If anyone did unlock the wheels of the huge light and push it over, they can’t have had Robin Laughton as a specific target. There was no guarantee that the Floor Manager would be standing in the right place at the right time (or, from his own point of view, the wrong place at the wrong time). Like Scott Newton’s death, the latest accident seemed a random act of sabotage. There was no guarantee that the light would hit anyone, and certainly no guarantee that it would kill anyone it did hit.