Death in the Stars Read online

  She took a cheque book from her bag and reached for the pen that had signed so many autographs.

  ‘What age is Reggie?’

  ‘He’s eight.’

  ‘And where does he go to school?’

  ‘He boards at Ampleforth and I believe he’s happy there. Jarrod’s not Catholic but he took instruction and agreed to have Reginald brought up in the faith.’

  So she was not the person who had enquired about a place at Giggleswick School for Reggie.

  She passed me a cheque for two hundred pounds.

  ‘This is too much.’

  ‘Bring me peace of mind and it will be more than worth it to me. Now where will you start?’

  That was a good question, with no single answer. ‘We need to follow up the two accidental deaths and to find out the post mortem results on Billy.’

  ‘What will you do first?’

  ‘I told you about Mr Sykes. Between us, we’ll see whether there’s more information to be had.’

  ‘He won’t go to the police?’

  ‘He’ll come to me first. If the deaths truly were accidental then your fears are unfounded.’

  ‘Not the police. I don’t want the police involved, just in case.’ A look of great sadness came over her. ‘I doubt now that Jarrod and I will ever be together again, after these horrible episodes of his. But we’ll always be married. There’s an unbreakable web between us, and that’s not just to do with me being Catholic. We don’t mate for life, but we marry that way. There’s a reason for that term wedlock.’

  Now was not a good time to discuss the metaphysics of mating. ‘Since we know he is in Leeds, I want to speak to Jarrod. Would he stay overnight, or go back to Bridlington?’

  ‘I hope he won’t drive back in the dark. He’s reckless on that motorcycle.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve ridden it myself and toppled off.’

  ‘If he does stay here, where might he go?’

  ‘I’ve thought about this, and the fact that he said he would type his script. There’s a typewriter at his mother’s. I’ll give you her address.’ I took out my notebook, turned a page and handed it to her.

  She wrote Mrs Compton’s address. ‘Oh, and I’d better tell you, she loathes and despises me. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of telephoning to see if he’s there.’

  ‘You should. Not give her the satisfaction, but telephone. It would save time.’

  ‘She’ll be in bed and won’t thank me for ringing. And if he isn’t there, she’ll worry.’

  There was a tap and the door opened. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you had company.’ It was Sandy Sechrest, the amazing memory woman, still dressed in black.

  ‘It’s all right, Sandy. Do come in.’

  Sandy glided towards Selina, hugged her and kissed her cheek. ‘I can’t believe it. That’s why I didn’t say anything in the car. What a dreadful shock, especially for you, to set off with Billy and come back alone. You must feel so bereft, darling. None of us can believe it.’

  Selina squeezed her hand. ‘I know.’

  ‘I’m here for you. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. And Sandy, Kate Shackleton is going to look into all the deaths, Dougie’s, Floyd’s and Billy’s. They may be accidental but they may not. May I count on your discretion and to help Kate, and the man who works with her, what was his name, Kate?’

  ‘Mr Sykes. Jim Sykes.’

  ‘Of course, though I don’t know how I can help.’

  Selina began to cry. She took a dainty lace-edged hanky from her clutch bag and blew into it with a good deal of energy. ‘First Dougie, then Floyd and now Billy. It’s too much to bear.’

  Sandy spoke soothingly. ‘You’ve turned the corner, Selina, believe me. I’ve cast you a new horoscope and I can assure you that from now on everything will be all right. There’ll be no more deaths of those near and dear to you, not for many years.’

  The mysterious memory woman gave a small bow and left.

  How did she know everything would be all right, unless she was the one responsible for the deaths?

  It was my turn to take my leave, without the bow, but first I had to find a way of asking Selina a question.

  As if we were still having the conversation about young Reginald, I asked, ‘And are you and Jarrod happy with Reggie’s school?’

  ‘Oh yes. He’s doing very well there. We have high hopes for him, and neither of us wants him to go into the business.’

  Perhaps Jarrod was not as happy with Selina’s arrangements for her own and Reggie’s life as Selina had thought.

  ‘When you took out your pen to sign Ruth Dyson’s autograph book, you had a pencil tin in your clutch bag. Was that Reggie’s? Children often like a new pencil case.’

  She gave a small gulp. ‘I see now why you were recommended. That was Billy’s. I carried it about for him.’

  ‘To hold a cigar?’

  ‘Not a cigar, no.’ She bit her lip. ‘He put me in charge of his morphine. You believe I gave him an overdose when I injected him.’

  ‘No. If you had, there would have been a reaction earlier.’

  We were at the front door. Selina did not open it. ‘You know you are welcome to stay.’

  ‘I need to be home.’

  She would have come out with me but I stopped her. ‘Don’t get cold. You stay indoors. As soon as I have something for you, I’ll be in touch.’

  I hesitated.

  ‘What?’ she asked. ‘Have you thought of something?’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask the Powolskis and Maurice Montague whether they can shed any light?’

  ‘They’ll be in the kitchen still.’ She kissed my cheek. ‘Thank you for everything. Come back to me soon.’

  ‘I will. As soon as I have something to tell you, I’ll be in touch.’

  *

  The Powolski siblings were sitting on opposite sides of the kitchen table, smoking and drinking black tea. Maurice Montague sat along from the brother, an evening paper in front of him. He was asking them questions from a quiz in the paper.

  I had met them at the party and now apologised for interrupting their quiz.

  Babs spoke first. ‘Please do to interrupt. Maurice asks questions to which only he knows the answers.’ She smiled.

  We all shook hands. ‘You were all wonderful tonight. It was a great treat.’

  They accepted my compliment and looked interested in what I might say next, all except for Maurice who said that he felt there might be a curse hanging over this company.

  Not only had Dougie Dougan and Floyd met with terrible accidents but the railway company had damaged Maurice’s mandolin and Jake’s pony had taken a bite out of his accordion.

  Adam Powolski must have heard these stories before but he was patient towards his fellow performer. ‘I check our wires every evening now. You cannot trust any living human being with your life or your instruments.’

  I sympathised. ‘Billy’s death must have come as a great shock to you all.’

  Babs nodded. ‘He was such a funny man. I have learned all his jokes.’

  ‘You know him so much better than I do. Did he seem in any way unwell last night?’

  They all said that he did not.

  ‘The last thing he did was to light a cigar. I thought it might be a comfort to the person who gave it to him if I could tell them that he had a moment in which to enjoy it.’

  I was pleased with this devious way of asking my question.

  Unfortunately, no one had any idea of who might have given Billy a cigar, though they agreed he would not have bought it himself.

  I left them to their newspaper quiz and tea, and wished them goodnight.

  Maurice Montague caught up with me. ‘I’ll walk you to your car.’

  The moon shone brightly as we left the house. Globes of electric light on the drive competed with moonbeams. My Jowett car looked like a miniature of a motor set alongside Selina’s Bentley.

  ‘I’m obliged to you for keeping my confidence
, Mrs Shackleton. I was that pleased with setting the seal on my arrangement with the Grand Pygmalion today that I let myself run on.’

  ‘Think no more about it. I’m glad for you.’

  ‘I’ll be sorry to part with my instruments but it will be a relief to be settled.’

  He did not sound entirely certain. ‘It will be lovely to be in such surroundings and I’m sure that the customers will greatly appreciate your playing. I’ll come in myself.’

  ‘I hope you will. I’ll keep my fiddle, but the rest can go so if you know of anyone who wants an item, let me know. Everything’s in tip-top condition except the chewed accordion.’

  ‘May I ask you a question, Mr Montague?’

  ‘Ask away, and call me Maurice.’

  ‘Maurice, earlier you said that a person must know when it is time to go, must jump before they are pushed.’

  ‘Did I say that?’

  ‘Were you thinking about others in the company who were pushed?’

  He gulped. ‘I was speaking generally.’

  ‘Pardon my curiosity but I’m interested in your profession, or what will soon be your former profession. It’s so glamorous from the outside, yet it must be hard, and hard to let go.’

  ‘I haven’t promised myself that I’ll let go entirely. An artiste is always on the lookout.’

  ‘Who were you thinking of, who was pushed before they jumped?’

  ‘People whose time was up.’

  ‘And who decides when that moment comes?’

  ‘Who do you think? You wouldn’t have to be around too long to see Beryl snipe at me and the young Powolskis, just because Selina is kind to them. And the public is fickle. Some acts lose their appeal. Perhaps mine is one of them.’

  ‘You were wonderful. Everyone loved you. I’m always sorry that I never saw Dougie Doig and his dogs. Was his an act that lost its appeal?’

  ‘I did wonder whether he was preoccupied that night of the accident. Dougie was in his prime, but two of his dogs were old.’ Maurice took the last cigarette from a packet of five. The struck match lit his tired face. ‘You’re thinking someone had it in for him.’

  ‘The thought crossed my mind.’

  He tossed the spent match across the grass. ‘You could be right.’

  ‘You mentioned Beryl?’

  ‘She resents it when people come too close to her Selina.’

  At that moment, Sandy Sechrest swept out of the house, pulling a dark cloak around her. She stopped by the car. ‘You off, Sandy?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  My moment had passed. Maurice turned to go. ‘I’ll turn in myself now. Goodnight, Mrs Shackleton. Goodnight, Sandy.’

  We wished him goodnight.

  ‘May I offer you a lift, Miss Sechrest?’

  ‘Thank you but no. I like to walk.’

  That was as much information as I would gather tonight. I climbed into the car and started the engine.

  As I was about to move off the drive, a motorcycle sped along the road, its rider clad in black and with a white muffler wound around the lower part of his face and trailing out behind him.

  Twenty-One

  Losing The Way

  The journey home from Selina’s house in Roundhay unnerved me. Street lights had dimmed. Darkness made the way hard to follow. The moon hid its face. I did not know the area well enough to be familiar with landmarks. The direction was south a little way, towards the town, and then veering west. Streets twisted and turned. Where I expected there to be a junction there was none. When I thought the road should be straight, it forked. For twenty minutes or more I drove blindly, feeling utterly lost, wishing I had driven back into town and out again. All the while some inner voice whispered to me of a dark, deep current of events. To be lost in this way was a warning. If I found my way home, before running out of petrol and before bumping into some obstacle in the dark, I should give up this task, return Selina’s cheque and advise her to go to the police.

  At last, a familiar landmark came into view, the dark moor, soon followed by Hyde Park public house, in darkness but with its own unmistakeable shape.

  I expected that Mrs Sugden would have gone to bed. If so, she had obligingly left on a light in the hall.

  Leaving the car by the kerb, I walked to the door, fishing for my keys. It opened. There was Mrs Sugden, still fully dressed.

  ‘Where have you been? We were that worried about you.’

  ‘I had to go home with our client and find out just where we stand.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘I went home with her. As to where we stand, I’m not entirely sure.’

  ‘Well Mr Sykes is here. He wasn’t prepared to leave till we had word of you. Come through and warm up. I can feel the cold coming off you like icicles.’

  Sykes was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea. He poured one for me. ‘That was such a moving tribute Selina Fellini paid to Billy Moffatt. I was telling Mrs Sugden.’

  ‘Yes it was.’ I circled the mug with my hands, trying to bring life back into my frozen fingers.

  ‘How did he die? She didn’t say.’

  ‘That’s a good question. He collapsed. I believe there’ll be a post mortem. He’d taken drugs for years. The last thing he did was smoke a cigar. I’ve asked Ernest Brownlaw to test it but he hasn’t come back to me. It’s probably nothing.’ There might be a moment when they needed a fuller story of that but for now I wanted to hear what my trusty assistants had to say.

  It being the warmest room in the house, the three of us stayed put in the kitchen. The foolscap sheet on which Mr Duffield’s assistant had typed the articles regarding the deaths of Douglas Dougan and Floyd Lloyd lay on the table by the sugar basin. Mrs Sugden added water to the teapot. She could barely keep the outrage from her voice. ‘I consider it a diabolical liberty that after the night and day you’ve had, nobody fetched you straight home from that there theatre, and you half dead on your feet.’

  ‘I couldn’t refuse to go back with Miss Fellini but I did turn down an invitation to stay the night.’

  ‘Any normal person would need her own bed.’ Mrs Sugden pushed a plate of sandwiches towards me.

  Sykes had treated himself to a small bottle of whisky and poured a finger in my tea. I took a drink, and picked up a sandwich. ‘Potted meat?’

  ‘Bone marrow and cucumber. Do you the world of good after the night and day you’ve had.’

  I related Selina’s fears and her story, the estrangement from her husband and the oddness of Jarrod having entered and left the theatre without being seen by the doorkeeper or front of house staff who all knew him. ‘I do believe he was the person who opened the door of the royal box after the interval.’ I also told them about the motorcycle speeding off into the night as I left Selina’s house. We agreed that could have been anyone.

  ‘I saw him,’ Sykes said. ‘A tall fellow put in an appearance standing in the royal box, dressed in black and with a white muffler. Maybe it’s one of these cases where she regards herself as estranged and he doesn’t. If he has suspicions of a rival, that could explain his appearance. Might he have found his way into the same viewing area as you for the eclipse?’

  ‘It was admission by ticket. Anything’s possible but from how Selina described him, tall, disfigured, she or Billy would have noticed him.’

  Sykes took a sandwich. ‘What did you think of my little experiment in the theatre tonight?’

  ‘I wondered what you were up to.’

  Mrs Sugden looked at him. ‘You didn’t tell me about that.’

  ‘I raised my hand during the memory woman’s act. That odd remark in Mrs Shackleton’s letter about the deaths of two performers at the time of a new moon set me wondering. I asked Miss Sechrest the memory woman for the dates of new moons over the past eighteen months, just to see if she was in the least rattled or made a connection.’

  ‘And did she?’

  ‘She answered coolly enough as you saw, giving her usual “Am I c
orrect?” knowing full well that she was correct. I wanted to see whether Miss Fellini’s fears were hers alone or had pervaded the company.’

  I thought back to that moment. ‘She hesitated. She does that for effect, but that hesitation, after your question, seemed to me to be different, more genuine. Sitting in the stalls, you were closer to her. What did you think?’