Classic Calls the Shots (3 page)

Other
door? I thought I must have misheard, but sure enough at the far end there was another double-doored entrance. I walked over to it, and found it merely bolted.

‘Very useful,' I commented, and Tom grinned. ‘I take it that was found bolted
after
the Auburn's theft?' That could be the only reason that Dave or Roger hadn't mentioned it.

‘Yes. Easy enough to unbolt it during the day. The car was out for a while.'

‘And then bolt it again during the kerfuffle after the theft was discovered.'

‘If you say so. Police weren't interested.'

‘Why on earth not?'

‘Go outside and have a look.'

I pushed open the doors and he followed me on to the gravelled area outside. I saw the reason the police must have dismissed this exit. Staring me in the face were the waste bins and a rubbish dump on concrete hardstanding. There was just about room to get a car out here from the barn, but it would have had to turn sharply towards the rough grass bordering the boundary fence. With less than adequate headlights by today's standards, the Auburn wouldn't like that, but it could be done. What could not be done was to drive it straight through a fence with no gate in it. Like this one.

Aware that Tom was watching me, I walked over to it. It was of solid wood, about four foot high, running along about thirty yards before its job was taken over by a six-foot-high hedge. With his eyes on me, I checked every support post and cross-strut, without success. I could see no signs of anything being disturbed. On the other side of the fence was a farm track but for a car there was no way of reaching it.

I couldn't work out Tom's attitude. He wasn't eager for me to find any explanation of how the Auburn had disappeared, but on the other hand he seemed so devoted to Bill that he surely could have had no hand in its disappearance himself. ‘Nothing there,' I said. ‘Where does the track lead though?'

‘Nowhere much. Joins up with another track and eventually winds up on the Lenham Heath road. The other way, it stops when it reaches the wood. No way through to a road there.'

He made no other comment. I can be pig-headed at times (Zoe and Len who work for me claim this is all too often) and I hate giving up so I took another look at that hedge: tall, prickly, green. No place for an Auburn. Then I noticed that some of the bushes didn't look in tip-top condition, so I took a walk alongside the hedge where the grass was long, but the ground not that bumpy, and there were no ditches. The closer I got, the unhappier the bushes looked. I got down on my knees and found that it wasn't my imagination. The ground had been disturbed here for a distance of about twelve feet or so, and on the other side of the hedge ran the farm track. It wasn't beyond the bounds of possibility that someone had carefully dug up these bushes, left them roughly in place, and removed them to take the Auburn through last Thursday night.

I decided not to share my discovery with Tom and he didn't pursue the matter. What I was doing must have been fairly obvious, however, and so I tackled it another way. ‘How well known was it that this door was only bolted, not locked?'

‘Anyone in the cast or crew – and staff, of course.'

‘All three hundred of them?'

‘You got it, Jack.'

In fact I might have got him. ‘If Bill Wade is as popular as you imply, why should any of them want to pinch his car?'

‘Bill's popular, but his wife isn't. I told you that. The Auburn is Bill's but Angie fancies herself in it and drives it around all the time. No one else is allowed to touch it without her say-so – even Miss Richey who drives it in the film.'

‘So the thief is more probably someone who has it in for Angie.' Like Tom, I thought. ‘Or could someone want to ruin the film?'

‘No one wants that, Jack. Don't get that idea. It's going to be a winner – if Madam doesn't muck it up first. Want to see the rest of the place?'

The subject was being turned, and he took me over to the main leg of Stour Studios, opposite the garages. These were much taller, much grander buildings, and although one was the converted granary and another a barn conversion, the other two were purpose-built, as was the canteen opposite it.

Behind them in a field adjoining the complex stood what looked like the bottom half of the Eiffel Tower and in another corner the Brandenburg Gate with part of the Unter der Linden. ‘That's where we shoot the exteriors,' Tom told me.

I dismissed this area as an exit route, as there was no way the Auburn could have reached it.

‘Are these the studios or the production offices?' I asked Tom as we walked towards the nearest of the four buildings.

‘Studios. Numbers One and Two for intimate scenes, Number Three for the big productions. Dressing rooms, Costume and Make-Up are here too. Next to this building is construction, set-dressing, storage, props, gaffer's and best boy's stuff and audio equipment. The next is the production offices, and the one after post-production. You've seen the canteen; above that is the green room and hospitality.'

There's jargon for you. Luckily I knew the gaffer and best boy were in charge of lighting, and the green room was where the cast could retire and meet guests. Every speciality has its own jargon, the combined shorthand and code of the trade. Even the car world has some. Jargon helps sort the insiders from outsiders, and here at Stour Studios I was definitely among the latter. That was good – I needed to be. Nevertheless I had to find the missing Auburn quickly, and I wasn't going to do it by hanging around admiring the place from the outside. I needed to get the measure of this cast and set, and the studio buildings were where they would be working.

I followed Tom eagerly as he went in through the door of Studio One. They'd just finished shooting there, but it was still full of crew and cast as well, judging by the thirties' costumes. I was so busy looking around me at the set (a rather splendid bedroom) and the overhead lighting, cameras and cranes that I forgot to look down as well. Which is why I wandered on to the carpeted set and tripped headlong over a cable stretched thoughtfully an inch or two above the floor level between a daybed and the set's wooden wall.

I partly saved myself from crashing headlong by grabbing at the bed, but still collapsed ungracefully on to the floor, sprawled out and staring straight at a pair of elegant feet shod in thirties' high-heeled ankle-strapped sandals.

I
'd seen photos of Louise Shaw before, even seen her in a film or two, but nothing prepared me for the real thing.

Louise Shaw would not win any run-of-the-mill beauty contests, but that did not matter one whit. Dark curls escaping from a red beret, warm concerned eyes – concerned for me – and a face as calm and perfect as Mona Lisa's. She was, I guessed, about thirty but in her case age was immaterial. ‘Age cannot wither her . . .' I must have spoken out loud because she looked startled.

‘Just worshipping at your feet,' I said cheerily, sitting up and checking my ankle which had twisted in the fall.

‘You'd find that more comfortable if you stood on your own.' Concern had changed to amusement. ‘Are they intact?'

I experimented by getting upright again. ‘They are.' The black curls clustering at the nape of her neck and peeping out from the beret entranced me, but I tried not to stare. She was wearing a peach-coloured silk pyjama-type cocktail outfit, and it suited her.

‘That's good.' She hesitated, clearly wanting to talk to Tom privately.

‘He's OK, Miss Shaw,' Tom obliged. ‘He's with the police.'

‘Jack Colby,' I introduced myself, as Louise still looked uncertain. ‘I'm working with the Car Crime Unit on the missing Auburn. Tom's showing me round the studios.'

‘Losing that car was the last straw,' she murmured, then she couldn't hold back. ‘What
is
going on round here? Tom, be careful. Angie's on the warpath. I've had another spat with her over my scene with Cora. She wants to have a go at you now.'

‘She's already had it,' Tom said. ‘It looks like the dole queue for me this time for sure.' He grimaced.

She looked horrified. ‘She can't do that. Not again. I'll speak to Bill and Roger.'

‘No use. She's got them both where it hurts. You don't need enemies like her.'

‘Too late, I have. Anyway, it's right to speak out,' Louise said firmly, and won my heart for ever.

Then who should appear but Roger Ford himself. His assured look was in place, but it must be a necessary mask in his position. ‘Sorry, Louise, sorry, Jack, but I need a word with you, Tom.'

Louise didn't move. ‘Tom seems to think he'll lose his job again, but he's surely mistaken?'

Roger had conveniently already turned away, indicating that Tom should follow him off the set. Left alone (apart from a studio full of crew), Louise, clearly furious, looked ruefully at me. ‘How about I finish the tour with you, Jack? I'm not needed by Costume for another hour and a half; it will help me cool off. Give me five minutes to change.'

It was an offer I couldn't refuse, much as I suspected she needed down time between calls. I waited outside in the sunshine, watching all the comings and goings. This inner courtyard was mostly paved and a decorative fountain now adorned the spot where I seemed to remember there had once been a well. There were many people around, but I didn't get the impression of general bonhomie. Far from it. Heads were down, any conversation seemed muted.

Louise returned right on cue, however, now clad in jeans and T-shirt which were somewhat at odds with the film make-up.

She must have read my thoughts. ‘Working girl,' she quipped.

By the time she had given me the tour round both the production and post-production, not to mention the construction buildings, I wondered how films ever managed to get made. There were so many departments, so many different trades at work, and so many offices each with its own grand name that it was a miracle any one person could manage to be in charge. It also brought home to me just how many people might have been in a position to steal that Auburn – and in consequence that I needed to put aside all lustful thoughts about Louise and concentrate on my job. I made a supreme effort.

‘Can you tell me what's going on here apart from the film, Miss Shaw?' I asked, as the tour seemed to be nearing its conclusion. ‘Something seems wrong.'

‘Call me Louise,' she said absently. Then: ‘I don't mind telling you. But first, do you think you'll get the Auburn back?'

‘Truth is that I don't know. If it was a straightforward theft I'd stand a better chance, but from what I've seen here, that might not be the case. Any chance it was a home-grown job?'

‘Every chance, I'd say. It could be disastrous for the film if it's not found quickly. This is a relatively low-budget film like
Running Tides.
That was one of those outsiders that come out of nowhere and take practically every award going. Roger's hoping
Dark Harvest
will do the same, but every penny counts. If schedules get disrupted—'

‘And Auburns lost.'

Louie smiled. ‘Quite. You can see for yourself how much planning goes into just one scene, and once Bill gets an idea in his head, such as the Auburn, he won't be budged. But I can't see why anyone would want to scupper the film. Quite the opposite. We all have mouths to feed, people to look after.'

A husband? I wondered. I could hardly ask straight out. Too early.

She broke the pause that followed. ‘Do you know anything about
Dark Harvest
?'

‘Not the plot or your role, but Bill explained the revenge theme and how the cars fit in.'

‘Good. We actors don't usually notice the overall effect, the mood, as we shoot scene by scene, partly because they're usually out of order. On this film, though, if we look at the storyboards before we shoot, or watch the dailies, the rough cuts, afterwards, we can sense something unnerving, almost menacing.'

‘Clouds in the bright blue sky?' I contributed, not very brilliantly.

‘At least one can see clouds. Here that's not always the case. But this time it's not only the film itself, but the studios, this set, this production. It seems dogged by bad luck at the very least.'

‘And at worst?'

‘Someone intent on ensuring it doesn't succeed.'

‘You talked of the Auburn as the last straw.'

‘If the theft was only a practical joke,' she said, ‘the car might reappear next Monday.'

‘Why a joke? Have there been others?'

‘A whole spate of them. That cable you tripped over. It shouldn't have been there. Dead against the gaffer's rules. It was probably meant for me. When we blocked the scene yesterday, I was to dash from the daybed to try to escape Cora's fury. I'd have fallen right over that cable, but Bill switched the move at the last moment.'

In anyone else I would have thought this a case of paranoia but this was Louise and I believed her.

‘We've had a series of odd happenings, first in London and now here,' she continued, ‘and several of them have involved me. Individually they mean nothing, but added together it's not only scary but ominous. I lost my mother's charm bracelet, my car wouldn't start but it proved to be something quite simple. There have been one or two threatening letters and other minor irritations. Angie's historical notes file was found in charred pieces. The worst hit was the caretaker.'

‘What happened?'

‘He's permanent staff and does all the maintenance work. His dog Henry made a good guard dog, but Henry was a great scrounger round the canteen waste bins. Sometimes his own plateful was put out for him, but last Thursday morning he was found poisoned.'

The day the Auburn was taken. Coincidence that the guard dog was eliminated? ‘That sounds more than creepy, Louise. It sounds vicious. What about Angie Wade? Anything else happen to her apart from the burnt file?'