The Cinderella Killer (20 page)

‘Hi. Are you all right? I was worried you weren't at rehearsal.'

‘I'm OK, Charles. Well, a bit battered, but I'll survive.'

‘Battered? You mean someone's beaten you up?'

‘No. Emotionally battered. I've just had another long session with Detective Inspector Malik.'

‘Oh, really? About Jasmine?'

‘You bet. They seem, like, extremely keen to find her.'

Charles was unsurprised by the news. From what Lefty Rubenstein had said, it sounded like Jasmine del Rio was the police's primary suspect for the role of murderer.

‘I've just been having a coffee with Tad. You heard he was out of the show, did you, Kitty?'

‘No, I only just got back here when they were breaking for lunch. What's all this about, then?'

Charles gave a brief résumé of the morning's events, from Tad's spat with Tilly Marcus to his confrontation with the stage manager in Starbucks. Kitty grinned wryly. ‘Can't say he's any great loss. Have you heard who they're getting in to replace him?'

‘No, I've only just come back from the coffee shop. No doubt it'll be another boxer,' Charles suggested mischievously.

‘I wouldn't put it past them.' Kitty took a ferocious pull on her cigarette. She looked very wretched.

‘Did you get any impression from Detective Inspector Malik whether the police are suspicious of Jasmine?'

‘You mean putting her in the frame as the murderer?'

‘Yes, all right. That's what I did mean.'

‘Hm …' Kitty wrinkled her nose. ‘Don't know. Malik just said that finding Jazzy was their number-one priority. I suppose that could mean they've got her down as the murderer. But I kinda got the impression …' A sob shuddered through her slender frame, cutting off her words.

‘What impression, Kitty?'

‘The impression that Malik thought something might have happened to Jazzy.'

‘By “something happened” do you mean she might be dead?'

‘I sort of got the feeling that's what Malik was hinting at.'

‘Did she have any reason for suggesting that?'

‘If she did she wasn't about to share it with me.'

‘No surprise there. Did you get any suggestion from Malik that she knew about the connection between Jasmine and Kenny Polizzi?'

‘Oh yes, she knew all about that.'

‘How? You didn't tell her, did you?'

‘No. Laura Hahn did.'

‘Really? Why would she do that?'

‘She's so worried about Jazzy's disappearance. Laura reckoned telling everything she knew to the police might help them find her.'

‘Hm …' Charles was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘I was thinking about something you said at lunchtime on Sunday …'

‘Oh yeah?'

‘We were talking about whether anyone in the
Cinderella
cast had come on to Jasmine …'

‘I remember.'

‘And you sort of implied that someone might have come on to her and she might have gone out and had a drink with him.'

‘Mm.'

‘Did that actually happen?'

‘Yes, it was like, first, second day of rehearsals. She came to the digs after she'd been with him and we had a right old giggle.'

‘What was so funny about it?

‘Well, he'd come on to her all smooth and chatty and after they'd had a drink he asked Jazzy back to his digs and she's, you know, a game girl and she hadn't had any action for quite a while, so she was a bit randy and … Anyway …' Kitty Woo let out a throaty giggle ‘… when they actually got into bed, in spite of his smooth talk and all that, he couldn't get it up!'

This prompted another wave of hilarity. Charles waited till it had subsided, then said, ‘You've very deliberately avoided telling me the name of the man in question.'

‘Yes, I have, haven't I?' Another short burst of giggles. ‘It was Tad Gentry.'

‘Ah,' said Charles. ‘Was it?'

And he wondered how ‘TV's Mr Sex' would feel towards a woman who had witnessed him failing to get an erection.

Charles wasn't reckoning on a lot of rehearsal for him that afternoon. Even though the first public performance of
Cinderella
was a mere three days away, almost all of Baron Hardup's scenes were with the Ugly Sisters, and the production was currently one short in the Ugly Sister department.

Or so he'd assumed. But when he arrived back in the smaller rehearsal room he was surprised to see on Danny Fitz's face the biggest smile – and indeed the only smile – he had ever witnessed.

‘What's happened?' Charles asked.

‘Finally something good.' There was also more animation in Danny's manner that he had ever witnessed. ‘The first sensible decision that has been made throughout this entire benighted production.'

‘Tell me more.'

‘Well, the first bit of undiluted good news is that that charm-free, talent-free bonehead Tad Gentry is no longer in the show.'

‘Yes, I did know about that.'

‘But the even better news is that Bix has finally listened to one of my ideas.'

‘Oh?'

‘For the replacement, for the actor to play Nausea.'

‘So who is it?'

‘I wonder if you're too young, Charles, to have heard of Arthur Bodimeade.'

‘Certainly not. He was a legend in the theatre. But surely he can't still be around, can he?'

‘He's very much around. He's ninety-four years old and he lives right here in Eastbourne. What's more, Bix agreed to let me offer him the part of Nausea and – the even better news – Arthur's agreed to step into the breach.'

As if on a cue, the rehearsal-room door opened to admit a little old man, whose overcoat must've fitted when he had more flesh on his bones. Now he looked like a stick insect wrapped in a towel. The skin on his face was parchment-thin and he wore round glasses with lenses as thick as the bottoms of jam jars. What hair remained on his head had been dyed jet black and Brylcreemed down as though there was still enough of it to have a parting. One freckled, claw-like hand carried a dark grey trilby, the other a small leather suitcase. His black shoes had a high polish rarely seen outside military establishments.

Arthur Bodimeade and Danny Fitz were clearly old friends. And there was a wonderful physical contrast between them, Danny built like a docker, Arthur tiny and bird-like. When introduced to Charles Paris the newcomer said, ‘Yes, of course, I have heard your name, but probably not seen much of your recent work. I don't find it so easy to get to the theatre these days.'

‘Well, it's a real honour to meet you. I've heard so much about you.'

Arthur Bodimeade's watery eyes twinkled. ‘Nothing too bad I hope.'

‘All good.'

‘Flatterer,' came the almost skittish response.

‘And I am delighted to see that you are still working,' said Charles.

‘Oh, I do still get offers,' said Arthur Bodimeade. ‘The trouble is these days they all seem to be for old men.'

FAIRY GODMOTHER: My magic powers and inspiration
Now will make … a transformation!

C
harles Paris found that afternoon's rehearsal a wonderful education. If watching Danny Fitz work on his own had been a masterclass, then some more elevated description would have to be found for the interplay between Danny and Arthur Bodimeade. They referred to various traditional pantomime routines in a kind of shorthand. ‘Can we fit in the Drink of Truth here, do you think?' ‘Let's do the Money Lending Gag.' ‘Is this the moment for the Busy Bee?'

And each, by some kind of instinct, knew exactly what followed. Though the two actors had never actually worked together, they came from the same tradition. The physical contrast between them made for a perfect double act. And they were walking repositories of pantomime history.

The other remarkable sight Charles observed that afternoon was the transformation of Arthur Bodimeade. Frail and doddery when he wasn't acting, the moment he started the crosstalk with Danny Fitz, the years dropped off him. He was suddenly light on his feet, lithe as a teenager. Actors describe the magic that enables someone laid up with crippling flu to go on stage and give a fine performance as ‘Doctor Theatre'. And Doctor Theatre was certainly doing his stuff with Arthur in that rehearsal room.

The most astonishing achievement of the afternoon was the emergence of a script. The scenes Danny had been trying to get together with Tad had had no life and felt like clumsy irrelevances bolted on to the
Cinderella
story. But the routines he worked up with Arthur had their own kind of logic and pushed the narrative forward. The two old actors were clearly adept at tailoring their material to different storylines. With slight adjustments their routines could be – and had been – fitted in to any pantomime from
Aladdin
to
Babes in the Wood
. With minor word changes and the interpolation of a few characters' names, the script they ended up with that afternoon could have been written specifically for
Cinderella
.

Baron Hardup's contributions to the Ugly Sisters' scenes had never amounted to a great deal, just the odd feed line to throw in, and with the new routines he had even less to do, but Charles couldn't have minded less. Like most actors (though they all deny it) the first thing he did on receiving a new script was to count his lines, and like most actors he felt pretty miffed when one or more of them was cut. But working with Danny Fitz and Arthur Bodimeade was such a treat that he wouldn't have cared if he had no lines at all in their scenes. He was getting enough of a charge from being in the presence of genius.

At the end of the afternoon's rehearsal, Charles suggested that he should treat Danny and Arthur to a drink at the Sea Dog, but both demurred. Danny said he wasn't really a pub person, and Arthur said he was too tired. And indeed, out of the panto routines, he did look every one of his ninety-four years. Charles wondered how that frail frame would stand up to the challenge of two shows a day, matinee and evening, from Monday to Saturday for the six-week run. He hoped Doctor Theatre would be able to keep up the good work.

So Charles was sitting alone in the Sea Dog with a post-rehearsal large Bell's. The wonders of the afternoon had driven thoughts of Kenny Polizzi and Jasmine del Rio out of his head, but now they came crashing back in.

He was particularly intrigued by Kitty's news that Detective Inspector Malik and her team seemed to be pointing at Jasmine as Kenny's murderer, and tried to work out why that might be the case. Of course he didn't know how much the police knew. It was quite possible – indeed almost certain – that they had evidence of which he knew nothing.

But the scenario that was taking shape in his head, that Jasmine had wanted to blackmail Kenny, didn't give her any motive to kill him. In fact, she'd very definitely have wanted to keep him alive, a ready and continuing supply of hush money. Her secret had become more valuable with the passage of years. A minor actor in Hollywood going to bed with a fourteen-year-old girl wasn't big news. But the star of
The Dwight House
having gone to bed with a fourteen-year-old girl … that was very different, particularly in these days when there was a voguish obsession with ‘historical' sex crimes.

The other possibility, that Jasmine had been so traumatized by her under-age sexual experience with Kenny that she had nursed a hatred of him for years until she finally got the chance to expiate it by killing him, just didn't work for Charles. From what he'd seen of Jasmine – and from what Kitty had said about her friend – she was a pretty tough cookie. And with a precocious sexuality. It was even possible, given her character, that she might have been the instigator of the sexual encounter.

In Charles's mind, the one thing that might suggest some guilt attached to Jasmine del Rio was her disappearance. The timing, the fact that she hadn't been seen since Kenny's murder, did perhaps justify some suspicion.

But Charles definitely agreed with Detective Inspector Malik that the next step to solving the crime must involve finding Jasmine del Rio.

Charles wasn't very good at checking his mobile phone for messages. It didn't really ring that often. And he was even worse at checking it for text messages. He had switched off the alert tones so as not to disturb rehearsals, which was a good thing. Mobile phones going off were very unpopular with directors. But he kept forgetting to switch the alerts back on again.

Now in the Sea Dog, having just been up to the bar for his second large Bell's (and having left his
Times
crossword in his digs), he decided to check his text messages.

There was only one. It read:
‘Don't try stepping into Kenny Polizzi's shoes. Or you'll end up the same way he did.'

Again Charles tried calling the number from which the text had been sent. Again there was no response.

Foolishly he'd deleted the former threatening text, so he couldn't check whether they were sent from the same phone. The number didn't look familiar, though.

This new threat shook him up a bit, certainly more than the first one had done. It was effectively saying that if he continued to play Baron Hardup, he would be killed. And after what had happened to Kenny he knew there was someone out there ready to put that threat into action.

He wondered what he should do, what action he should take. He supposed the obvious course would be to tell Detective Inspector Malik. The texts might be significant to her enquiries. But something in him was reluctant to take that step. Was it possibly because of his agreement to share information with Lefty Rubenstein, as though the two of them were conducting their own investigation?

Even as he had the thought, his mobile rang. The call was from Lefty – more synchronicity perhaps?

‘So what's new?' asked the lawyer.