Act of Murder (21 page)

He touched the swell of his gut and sighed.

‘Jonathan?’

The voice startled him, and he sat upright on the wooden bench.

He turned to find Susan Coupe and James Shorton standing now between him and the stream.

‘You seem to be in another place,’ Susan said.

He noticed that her eyes were red, as if she had been crying.

‘In a manner of speaking, I was.’

‘Jonathan, is there anything wrong?’ Susan Coupe’s voice was full of concern.

‘Wrong?’ He dragged his gaze from the darkness of the water that flowed beneath the bridge. ‘Why, of course not.’

‘You seem somewhat preoccupied.’

Jonathan Keele laughed, a chesty, hearty sound. ‘You could say that, my dear!’

Shorton placed his hand on Susan’s as if to give her some reassurance. Jonathan wondered what it was that had upset the girl.

‘Will you walk back to the theatre with us, Jonathan?’ Susan asked.

‘And you can tell us just what you intend to do with the great fortune you will be given tomorrow,’ Shorton added.

‘Tomorrow?’ he asked, standing up with a great effort.

Susan smiled fondly. ‘Your benefit performance! Surely you haven’t forgotten that?’

He shook his head and allowed her to link his arm with hers. He had, indeed, forgotten. With everything that was on his mind at the moment, his benefit was the last thing to occupy it.

*

As Benjamin entered the theatre by the stage door, he was surprised to find someone standing by the small cubicle that was normally occupied by old Norman, the stage-door
custodian.

‘Can I help you?’ Benjamin asked.

Detective Sergeant Slevin gave his warmest smile and introduced himself. ‘I wish to speak to a member of your company.’

‘And who might that be?’

‘Mr Herbert Koller.’

Slevin saw the man swallow hard.

‘Herbert? But what could you possibly want with him?’

‘I’d rather discuss that with him, sir. A confidential matter, you understand. I thought I might find him here.’

‘Yes. Yes, of course. But as I am his manager, so to speak, I think I have a right to know why he is of interest to the police.’

‘Just a few questions, sir. Then I will be on my way.’

Benjamin looked around nervously. ‘He isn’t here.’

‘So I gather. Can you tell me where he might be found at this time? His hotel?’

‘We do not stay in hotels, sergeant. The expense of a lengthy tour such as ours would be . . . well, suffice it to say that we use rather more modest accommodation.
Lodging-houses.’

‘I see. And where might Mr Koller’s lodgings be found?’

The spark of defiance seemed to die in Benjamin’s eyes. ‘I’ll take you there if you like. I share the same lodgings.’

‘That won’t be necessary, sir. Just the address will suffice. I think I can find it.’

‘Find what?’

Both men turned around and saw three people standing in the doorway that Benjamin had left open. There, standing between a young man and one very much older, was the most beautiful girl Samuel
Slevin had ever seen. The dark hair beneath her bonnet had a few wisps out of place, and they caressed her smooth ivory cheeks that were slightly reddened from the cold.

Benjamin quickly made the introductions.

‘But who are you here to see, sergeant?’ said Susan Coupe, approaching him with a cool look of curiosity in her eyes. ‘Is it to track down the lunatic who accosted myself and
James here yesterday?’

‘Lunatic, miss?’

‘A madman who kept clapping his hands before our faces and who stared so wickedly into James’s eyes.’

‘Ah, Clapper!’ He gave an apologetic smile. ‘A local character. No real harm in him. Alas, no, I’m here on quite different business.’

‘Which is?’

‘I have all the information I need, Miss Coupe. Just the address, sir?’ He turned to the actor-manager, who gave an elaborate sigh and muttered the address in Darlington Street.
‘Thank you. If you will excuse me, miss?’ He gave a small bow and immediately felt foolish, a feeling increased when she smiled and held out her hand for him to kiss. He took it, felt
its softness, the slender, almost bird-like bones that lay beneath the pale flesh, and touched it lightly with his lips, all the time knowing full well that in some strange way he was being mocked
by this confident, statuesque vision. As he closed the stage door behind him, he heard Morgan-Drew say, ‘Really, Susan!’ and the vision replying, ‘He fascinates me.’

*

With her enigmatic words still ringing in his ears, Slevin walked jauntily along Darlington Street, pulling his coat collar close around his neck to ward off the bitterly cold
wind. Flecks of snow flew wildly around his head.

When he reached the address he had been given, although he knocked quite loudly, and several times, there was no answer. Yet he could have sworn he heard voices beyond the door. He moved to the
curtained window and peered through, but the curtains were thickly woven and afforded no glimpse of what lay beyond. When he returned to knock again, he was more than a little alarmed when the door
immediately flew open and a large woman stood there with a look of concern on her face.

‘Good afternoon,’ said Slevin.

He was about to introduce himself when she said, ‘If you’re the doctor you’re bloody quick an’ no mistake. Only sent for you five minutes ago.’

‘Doctor? No, ma’am. I’m Detective Sergeant Slevin of the Wigan Borough Police.’

‘Police? Hell’s teeth! What do you want wi’ me?’

‘Not you. A guest of yours. Mr Herbert Koller.’

She narrowed her gaze and nodded, stepping aside and indicating that he should enter. ‘Well then, an’ isn’t that a coincidence?’

‘What is?’

‘Well, here’s you lookin’
for
Mr Koller, an’ here’s me lookin’
after
him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s Mr Koller I’ve sent to the doctor for.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he collapsed in my front room not ten minutes ago. An’ I’ve the divil to rouse the poor soul!’

When Slevin entered the front room, he saw the one he was seeking lying prostrate on the floor before a roaring fire. There was no sign of movement from Mr Herbert Koller.

8

Mrs O’Halloran watched from the doorway as Slevin and the doctor, who had arrived some ten minutes after the policeman, laid her lodger on the bed.

‘How are you feeling now?’ the doctor asked Herbert.

‘Rather weak,’ said Herbert, giving a sickly smile to show courage in adversity.

‘I shouldn’t wonder. But I think you will be fine in a day or so.’

Mrs O’Halloran uttered a groan. ‘An’ him due to perform tonight. What will poor Mr Morgan-Drew say?’

Herbert gave a small cough. ‘We have a more than adequate understudy who can step into the breach, Mrs O’Halloran.’

As the doctor left, Mrs O’Halloran gave Slevin only a few minutes with the invalid.

‘It’s all I require,’ he said, and waited for her to close the door.

‘Well?’ came the frail voice from the bed. ‘How can I be of help, sergeant?’

‘You paid Mrs Georgina Throstle a visit earlier.’

For a few moments, Herbert closed his eyes, licking his lips and breathing in shallow gasps. ‘Mrs Throstle?’

‘Yes.’

‘I . . . went to pay my respects. Her husband . . .’

‘She says you knew him.’

Slowly he opened his eyes once more. ‘I have met him.’

‘Where?’

‘Here. In Wigan.’

‘What were the circumstances of your meeting?’

‘It was a . . . a chance meeting. In a public house. The Shakespeare. You know it?’

The public house in question was a matter of yards away from both the Royal Court and the Public Hall, and was a popular venue for theatre-goers and actors alike.

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing. We . . . swapped stories. You know the sort of thing. Audiences. Scenery. Equipment costs. We were almost in the same business. But not quite.’

‘How often did you meet him?’

‘Only once.’

‘But you felt you needed to offer his wife condolences following such a brief encounter?’

Herbert once more closed his eyes but continued to speak. ‘The world of make-believe, sergeant . . . it lives by rather more bohemian rules. One doesn’t need a formal introduction or
a lengthy acquaintance to –’ He broke off and began a short coughing fit.

‘I’ve been informed that you and Mrs Throstle had sharp words.’

‘Nonsense!’

‘Reliably informed.’

Herbert screwed his eyes shut to suggest a searing pain. ‘I may have been voluble in my condolence,’ he said after a few seconds. ‘I am used to declaiming rather loudly from
the stage, you see. Sometimes one gets carried away.’

Slevin looked down at him and stood up. It was obvious that he would extract no more useful information from the man, and so he bade him farewell. As he stepped onto the landing, Mrs
O’Halloran was standing at the top of the stairs. She beckoned him silently to follow her downstairs. When they reached the hallway, she said to him in a low voice, ‘Doctor says he
wants a word. He’s outside.’

Curious, Slevin thanked the landlady and walked out onto the pavement. A small carriage was waiting there, the driver hunched into his heavy coat and muffler, the doctor seated inside looking
impatiently at his watch.

‘You wanted to see me?’ shouted Slevin through the open window.

‘Ah yes. Can I give you a lift, sergeant?’

‘I’m going back to the station.’

‘Very good. I am visiting a patient on Market Street. Please.’

He held open the door of the carriage and Slevin climbed in. As they trotted away from the house, the doctor leaned back and smiled.

‘Well, sergeant. What do you think of our patient?’

‘Mr Koller? We’ve only just met.’

‘Same here. Strictly speaking, he isn’t my patient. But of course, under the rules of the Hippocratic Oath I am bound to say nothing.’

‘I understand.’

‘I will merely make an observation.’

There was a mischievous twinkle in the doctor’s eye, and he placed his hands together, pointing them towards his travelling companion. ‘Well, my observation is this, sergeant –
I am reliably informed by his good landlady that Mr Herbert Koller is a very good actor. Do you agree?’

‘Oh, I agree wholeheartedly,’ he replied with a grim smile. ‘A very good actor indeed.’

*

Benjamin was glad that Jonathan had knocked on his door and spent the following half-hour in his company. There was something reassuring about the ageing actor. They had known
each other for many years, and often, at least until this particular tour, when they were appearing in the same production together, they would find the time to settle down in some corner of a
public house, or occasionally take an invigorating stroll and simply enjoy the delights of gentle conversation. He knew that the old man valued not only his company but also the support he had
offered five years ago, when his dearest granddaughter had died in such tragic circumstances. Jonathan had stayed with him in Cheyne Walk for a month, and, by dint of often painful conversations
and long, meditative silences before a roaring fire, he had helped him accept at least the fact, if not the manner, of her passing.

Now, in the small dressing-room, the conversation had developed along casual and familiar lines until Jonathan suddenly stooped over and gripped his stomach with a heavy groan.

‘Jonathan? Are you all right?’

The old man closed his eyes briefly before opening them once more. This time, there were tears beginning to form there.

‘What on earth is wrong?’

A heavy sigh seemed to draw all the breath out of the man, and he took several seconds to respond.

‘My apologies, Benjamin. I hadn’t intended that.’

‘Intended what?’

‘These . . . moments are becoming more frequent.’

The expression on Benjamin’s face told its own story.

‘I am ill.’ He spoke the words simply, his voice low and tremulous.

‘How ill?’

‘I have a matter of months.’

There was a lengthy silence before Benjamin said, ‘I am so sorry.’

‘No need. You see, in a way I welcome it. It is both a punishment and a reward. Isn’t that a remarkable thing?’

‘How do you mean?’

But before he could answer, there came a timid knock on the door.

‘Yes?’ Benjamin snapped.

The door opened and Norman, the doorman, peered around and looked at the actor-manager with worry etched deep in the lines of his face.

‘Sorry Mr Morgan-Drew. Summat of a problem.’

‘What sort of problem?’ He glanced at Jonathan, who now sat slumped back in his chair, the effort taken to break such shattering news having taken its toll.

Norman bit his lip. ‘Young lad at the stage door. Says Mrs O’Thingy sent him.’

‘Mrs O’Halloran?’

‘Aye. Her. He says she says there’s summat up wi’ Mr Koller.’

‘Up? What’s
up
?’

‘She says he’s indisposed.’

‘What!’

‘’S’what she says. Tell Mr Morgan-Drew that Mr Herbert Koller is indisposed.’

‘How?’

Norman shrugged. ‘Dunno. Didn’t say.’

‘Where is the lad now?’

‘Gone. Delivered his errand an’ then rushed off. Didn’t wait for no reply.’

He turned to Jonathan, who had remained motionless. ‘Jonathan, I . . .’

‘Of course,’ came the faint reply. ‘I understand.’

‘We must continue this, and you will tell me more. Is that clear?’

Jonathan patted him on the hand and gave a feeble smile. ‘Go!’

Within minutes Benjamin was inside a carriage, even though Darlington Street was within walking distance. He sat on the edge of his seat as he was driven, ‘with all haste’, to Mrs
O’Halloran’s lodging-house.

As soon as the carriage pulled to a halt and the cabbie was paid, he rushed through the door and was met by a concerned-looking Mrs O’Halloran, who quickly ushered him upstairs with a
promise to bring them both a ‘hot cup o’ tay’. Her Irishness came to the fore in times of crisis.

When he entered, the room was dark and Herbert seemed to be asleep. Taking great care not to step on any creaking floorboard, he moved slowly to the bed, where he sat in the chair thoughtfully
provided by Mrs O’Halloran, and sat down. He did indeed look pale.