So Much Blood

Table of Contents

Cover

The Charles Paris Mystery Series

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

The Charles Paris Mystery Series

CAST, IN ORDER OF DISAPPEARANCE

SO MUCH BLOOD

STAR TRAP

AN AMATEUR CORPSE

A COMEDIAN DIES

THE DEAD SIDE OF THE MIKE

SITUATION TRAGEDY

MURDER UNPROMPTED

MURDER IN THE TITLE

NOT DEAD, ONLY RESTING

DEAD GIVEAWAY

WHAT BLOODY MAN IS THAT?

A SERIES OF MURDERS

CORPORATE BODIES

A RECONSTRUCTED CORPSE

SICKEN AND SO DIE

DEAD ROOM FARCE

A Charles Paris Mystery

Simon Brett

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

 

First published in Great Britain in 1976

by Victor Gollancz

eBook edition first published in 2011 by Severn Select an imprint

of Severn House Publishers Limited

Copyright © 1976 Simon Brett.

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

A CIP catalogue record for this title

is available from the British Library.

ISBN-13: 978-1-44830-001-3 (epub)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being

described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this

publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons

is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by

Palimpsest Book Production Limited

Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

TO THE CITY OF EDINBURGH

Chapter headings by Thomas Hood

(1799–1845)

CHAPTER ONE

‘
MAURICE SKELLERN ARTISTES
,' said the voice that answered the telephone.

‘Maurice—'

‘Who wants him?'

‘Maurice, for God's sake. I know it's you. Why you always have to go through this rigmarole of pretending you've got a staff of thousands, I don't know. It's me—Charles.'

‘Ah, hello. Pity about the telly series.'

‘Yes, it would have been nice.'

‘And good money, Charles.'

‘Yes. Still, in theory it's only been postponed. Till this P.A.s' strike is over.'

‘When will that be, though?'

‘Don't know.'

‘What is a P.A. anyway? I can never understand all that B.B.C. hierarchy. Do you know what a P.A. is?'

‘Vaguely.' Charles Paris had a feeling that a P.A. was either a Production Assistant or a Producer's Assistant, but his knowledge of the breed was limited to an erotic night in Fulham with a girl called Angela after recording an episode of
Dr Who
. And they had not discussed the anomalies of the P.A.s' conditions of service that led to the strike which in August 1974 was crippling B.B.C. Television's Drama and Light Entertainment Departments. ‘Anything else on the horizon, Maurice?'

‘Had an enquiry from the Haymarket, Leicester. Might want you to direct a production of . . .' he paused, ‘. . . the Head Gabbler?'

‘
Hedda Gabler
?'

‘That's it.'

‘Could be fun. When?'

‘Not till the spring.'

‘Great.' Heavy sarcasm.

‘Might be a small part in a film. Playing a German football manager.'

‘Oh yes?'

‘But that's very vague.'

‘Terrific. Listen, Maurice, I've got something.'

‘Getting your own work, eh?'

‘Somebody's got to.'

‘Ooh, that hurt, Charles. I try, you know, I try.'

‘Yes. My heart bleeds, an agent's lot is not a happy one, mournful violin plays
Hearts and Flowers
. No, it's for
So Much Comic, So Much Blood
.'

‘What?'

‘You know, my one-man show on Thomas Hood. Thing I did for the York Festival and the British Council recitals.'

‘Oh yes.' The tone of Maurice's voice recalled the tiny fees of which he had got ten per cent.

‘A friend of mine, guy I knew in Oxford who now lectures in the Drama Department at Derby University, has offered me a week at the Edinburgh Festival. Some show's fallen through, one the students were doing, and they're desperate for something cheap to fill the lunch time slot. Just for a week.'

‘Charles, how many times do I have to tell you, you mustn't ever take something cheap? It's not official Festival, is it?'

‘No, on the Fringe. I get fifty per cent of box office.'

‘Fifty per cent of box office on a lunch time show on the Fringe of the Edinburgh Festival won't buy you a pair of socks. There's no point in doing it, Charles. You're better off down here. A voice-over for a commercial might come up, or a radio. Edinburgh'll cost you, anyway. Fares, accommodation.'

‘I get accommodation.'

‘But, Charles, you've got to ask yourself, is it the right thing for you to be doing, artistically?' Maurice made this moving appeal every time Charles suggested something unprofitable.

‘I don't know. It's a long time since I've been to Edinburgh.'

‘Charles, take my advice. Don't do it.'

As he emerged from Waverley Station, Charles Paris sniffed the caramel hint of breweries in the air and felt the elation which Edinburgh always inspired in him. It is, he thought, a theatrical city. The great giant's castle looms stark against the cyclorama, and from it the roofs of the Royal Mile tumble down a long diagonal. There are so many levels, like a brilliant designer's stage set. Plenty of opportunities for the inventive director. The valley of Princes Street, with a railway instead of a river and the Victorian kitsch of the Scott Memorial instead of an imposing centrepiece, is ideal for ceremonial entrances. From there, according to the play, the director can turn to the New Town or the Old. The New Town is designed for comedy of manners. Sedate, right-angled, formal, George Street and Queen Street, regularly intersected and supported by the tasteful bookends of Charlotte and Saint Andrew Squares, stand as Augustan witnesses to the Age of Reason.

The director should use the Old Town for earthier drama, scenes of low life. It is a tangle of interweaving streets, wynds and steps, ideal settings for murder and mystery, with a thousand dark corners to hide stage thugs. This is the city of Burke and Hare, of crime and passion.

The Old Town made Charles think of Melissa, an actress who had been in a show with him at the Lyceum fifteen years before. After a disastrous three months he had returned to London and his wife Frances, but Melissa had made Edinburgh seem sexy, like a prim nanny shedding her grey uniform behind the bushes in the park.

On Sunday 11th August 1974 the city still felt sexy. And this time Charles Paris was free. He had left Frances in 1962.

Everything smelt fresh after recent rain. Charles felt vigorous, younger than his forty-seven years. He decided to walk. Frances would have caught a bus; she had an uncanny ability for comprehending any bus system within seconds of arrival in a town. Charles would walk. He set off, swinging his holdall like a schoolboy. The only shadow on his sunny mood was the fact that Scottish pubs are closed on Sundays.

He couldn't miss the house in Coates Gardens. Among the self-effacing homes and hotels of the Edinbourgeois there was one whose pillars and front door were plastered with posters.

There followed lists of dates, times and prices for this complicated repertoire, from which Charles deduced that the show he was replacing was Isadora's Lovers. For some reason Lesley Petter was unable to Examine the Myth in Dance and Song. He felt annoyed that the poster had not been amended to advertise
So Much Comic, So Much Blood.
They had known he was coming for more than a week. And publicity is enormously important when you're competing with about two hundred and fifty other shows.

The doorbell immediately produced a plain, roly-poly girl in irrevocably paint-spattered jeans.

‘Hello, I'm Charles Paris.'

‘Oh Lord, how exciting, yes. I'm Pam Northcliffe, Props. Just zooming down to the hall to make the axe for
Mary.
Going to build it round this.' She waved a squeezy washing-up liquid bottle. ‘So the blood spurts properly.'

‘Ah.'

‘Brian's in the office. Through there.' She scurried off down the road, bouncing like a beach-ball.

The shining paint on the partitions of the hall was evidence that the house had only recently been converted into flats. The door marked ‘Office' in efficient Letraset was ajar. Inside it was tiny, the stub-end of a room unaccounted for in the conversion plans. A young man in a check shirt and elaborate tie was busy on the telephone. He airily indicated a seat.

‘Look, I know it's the weekend, I know you're working every hour there is. So are we. It's just got to be ready. Well, what time tomorrow? No, earlier than that. Midday . . .'

The wrangle continued. Charles looked at a large baize covered board with the optimistic Letraset heading, ‘What the Press says about D.U.D.S.' So far the Press had not said much, which was hardly surprising, because the Festival did not begin for another week. In the middle of the board was one cutting. A photograph of a girl, and underneath it:

UNDERSTUDY STEPS IN

It's an ill wind, they say, and it's certainly blown some good the way of Derby University Dramatic Society's Anna Duncan. When one of the group's actresses Lesley Petter broke her leg in an accident last week, suddenly 20-year-old Anna found she was playing two leading roles—in a play and a revue, both to be seen at the Masonic Hall in Lauriston Street when the Festival starts. Says Anna, ‘I'm really upset for poor Lesley's sake, but it's a wonderful chance for me. I'm very excited.' And with lovely Anna on stage, Fringe-goers may get pretty excited too!

The reporter, whatever his shortcomings in style, was right about one thing. Even in the blurred photograph the girl really was lovely. She was pictured against the decorative railings of Coates Gardens. Slender body, long legs in well-cut jeans, a firm chin and expertly cropped blonde hair.