Written To Death

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Spotting Alex's approach, a uniformed constable rushed to hold the door open. Out the corner of his eye, Alex saw the cab driver's open-mouthed expression as he pulled away.

“Where's the action?” Alex enquired loudly, struggling to be heard over the barrage of questions from the mob gathered outside.

“The body was found on the stage in the assembly hall. Sergeant Guptar was there coordinating everything, the last I heard. I've been left here to try to keep order and stop anyone unauthorised from getting in.”

“Alex, I'm glad you're here. Can you tell me what's going on? Since your people arrived, we've been kept back and not told anything.” Alex glanced around to see his friend, Brian Phelps, deputy headmaster of the school. Colleagues at university, they'd practically lost touch afterwards, but had re-established contact in recent months. This followed a series of incidents with a delinquent pupil who'd made spurious accusations against one of his teachers. Alex didn't have any formal involvement with that investigation, but he'd been drawn into making unofficial enquiries as his son had been in the same class. Alex and Brian now met infrequently for a drink, taking the opportunity to catch up on old times.

They shook hands in greeting.

“There's nothing much I can tell you. I've only just arrived back from holiday. I was in France this morning and Barcelona this afternoon. In fact, my plane landed little more than an hour ago. What have you learned so far?”

“I suppose that explains the tan. I've been told very little. I was taking a class when everything kicked off. I heard someone was stabbed in the main hall and none of the pupils or teachers or any of the school staff was involved. The police and the ambulance service were called. All the kids were sent home early to keep them away from the incident and we've been trying to put the word out to cancel the evening classes too. Some parents and the press are camped outside the door, but what can we tell them?”

“Don't worry, that's not your problem. No doubt, we'll be making a public statement soon. Can you tell me anything about the victim?”

“Haven't a clue. I know the local writers' club was using the hall, but that's about all.”

“I've not had an update yet, but I can confirm what you've told me is correct. There's been a stabbing, the incident involves the writers and the victim is dead. But keep it to yourself for the time being; our people will make the announcements.”

“Which one was it? I've met a number of their group. They get quite involved with the school, judging our essay competitions and providing prizes. It's quite prestigious for them to be involved with the school as a couple of them are published authors. In return, they get the free use of our facilities. It's a 'win - win' scenario, or it was until now.”

“I'm sorry, Brian, but there's nothing more I can tell you at the moment. We'll get a chance to talk later. I'd better get on.”

Alex had been at the school many times, so didn't need to be shown the way. He raced along the corridor throwing open fire doors as he went and leaving them to ease shut. Arriving at the main hall, he was far more cautious entering, to ensure nothing would be disrupted. He needn't have worried as the large room itself was almost empty, save for an ambulance crew standing in the corner. All the action was taking place onstage and the unfolding scene was macabre. Alex stepped forward and could make out the heavily bloodstained body of a smartly dressed middle-aged woman lying prostrate on the floor. As far as he could judge, she appeared to be of average height and build, with pale skin and neatly coiffed hair framing a round attractive face. He recognised Doctor Duffie in attendance, examining the corpse. Sergeant Sanjay Guptar was standing behind, notebook in hand, fastidiously recording every detail which came to mind. Sharing the stage were four, white-suited, 'scene of crime' specialists each carefully examining, measuring, sampling and photographing anything which sat still long enough for them to record.

“What have you got for me?” Alex's voice resounded through the large empty hall and all but one head turned.

Sanjay bounded from the stage while the others returned to their duties.

“Nothing new, Boss. Just going through the formalities.”

“Where's everyone else?” Alex asked.

“I sent the kids and most of the teachers home. Anyone who'd been on or around the stage at the time and anyone else thought to be even remotely connected are still here. We've taken over some of the classrooms to get them out from under our feet. Also, many of them were rather upset. It's hardly surprising, really. I thought it best to keep them out of sight of the body.”

“Good, where are they?”

“First, we moved them to the music room next door. We have a couple of uniforms sitting in with them and we're taking them out one at a time for interview. Donny and Mary are in one room and Phil and Steve in another.”

“Any feedback?”

“Nothing much yet, but it's early days. The man holding the knife when she was stabbed is suffering from shock and had to be sedated, so I doubt we'll make much progress there. His name's Bert Singer. He's aged about seventy and looks pretty frail. We're lucky he's not had a coronary. One body's enough to cope with.”

“He can't be too frail,” Alex mused, “if he's been able to carry out a lethal stabbing. What can you tell me about the knife?”

“It's been thoroughly examined, bagged and tagged. There's nothing particularly unusual about its appearance. It has a solid steel, double-edged blade, about five inches in length. The hilt's made of heavy plastic and is another six inches long. However, there is something special about it. It's been designed especially for theatre and is one of a pair. The second one looks identical, but the blade retracts on contact. If you stab it against anything, it does no harm. They're used in performances like magic acts or stage murders as substitutes for each other. The real knife is shown first to prove how dangerous it is. Then the knives are switched and the dummy one is used for the act. It appears to cut into someone, but no harm is done.”

“Except it didn't work this time. What went wrong? Did the blade stick or did something go wrong when they did the swap?”

“Neither. The switch happened as planned, but there was a third knife, identical to the first and someone swapped it for the dummy one.”

“Give me that again.”

“Okay,” Sanjay replied. “There's meant to be two knives, a real one and a dummy. The actors watch the real one being demonstrated and see it's solid so, by default, the other must be the dummy. Then they can feel confident using it when they're exchanged. As a further security, the dummy has a little notch in the handle so the actor can tell the difference. It should be i***t proof, except in this case the dummy was replaced by a second real knife which also had the notch in the handle.”

Alex exhaled slowly in a quiet whistle. “Could it still be an accident? Could the supplier have sent the wrong thing?”

“Not a chance. The two knives were tested before they went onstage. They were even larking about with it, from what I've been told. Besides, we've found the dummy. It had been dropped in a litter bin in the side room offstage, the one they used for storing their costumes and props.”

“It's definitely premeditated then,” Alex surmised.

“It sure looks that way, Boss.”

“Okay, give me a full rundown. How many of the group have we got here? And what can you tell me about them?”

“Right, I've already told you about Bert. We have another twelve of the actors, or writers actually. First, there's the victim's husband, Graeme Armstrong. He's not one of the writers, but he helps with the sound and lighting. Apparently, he's in a drama group and knows about all things technical. He's an engineer in his real life.”

“Now that is interesting,” Alex's attention fully focused. “Family are always the first suspects needing to be eliminated, and if he was at the scene and he has technical skills, then we need to closely examine his story.”

“Yes, Boss, we have it covered. Phil and Steve are talking to him as we speak.”

“Good, we can follow up later if necessary. What are Donny and Mary doing?”

“You mean 'The Osmonds' or our very own pairing?” Sanjay jested.

“That was Donny and Marie, not Donny and Mary. Anyway, I thought you're the one who slags off Phil for his schoolboy humour and bad jokes. Now here you are trying to compete. I'm tired, I can't take much more. Just fill me in,” Alex continued, labouring over his words to add emphasis.

“Sorry, Boss. I sent them to interview Patricia Bannister. She's the group's secretary. She was standing next to Sheila when the stabbing took place.”

“Who does that leave?”

“The next in line are Scott Burton, Lionel and Aaron Goldstein, Fiona Wark and Debbie Quinn. Here's a list of all the Club's members noting which ones were here at the time.”

As they were talking, they continued walking in the direction of the music room. Their progress was halted by the sound of a door slamming followed by a peal of laughter. Then they caught sight of Phil and Steve moving in their direction.

“You would hardly credit it,” Phil's voice boomed out then stopped after spotting Alex and Sanjay.

“Keep your voice down,” Alex barked. “It's hardly appropriate under the circumstances. Now what do you find so funny?”

Phil looked down at his feet, embarrassed, realising his insensitivity.

“Well, out with it,” Alex pursued.

“We interviewed Graeme Armstrong, the husband of the victim. He told us about the play they were performing. Apparently, it was written by his wife and the story's about a group of actors performing a play when an accident takes place and one of them gets stabbed.”

“Yes, Phil, I was aware of that already and the parallels are clear to what's actually happened. But I still don't know what you were laughing at,” Alex confronted.

“No, it's something else I found funny. Armstrong said to us that although it was his wife's play, he'd come up with the idea for the title and his wife agreed. He called it, Abridged Too Far,” Phil replied.

“Clever, yes, but not funny,” Alex stated. “Hardly a justification to laugh out loud.”

“Okay, Sir, I suppose not. It appealed to me, though,” Phil answered.

“I was quite taken with it too, Boss,” Steve added, supportively.

“Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to put you two together,” Sanjay sighed. “More importantly, what have you found out that's relevant to the enquiry?”

“Yes, of course, sorry. To start with, he was unusually calm. It was quite bizarre. His wife has been murdered, stabbed through the heart. Now here he is, all matter of fact, talking to us as if he was describing a television programme,” Phil replied.

“It really was quite surreal,” Steve added. “He gave us a graphic description of what happened and showed no emotion whatsoever.”

“He could be in shock,” Alex suggested. “Perhaps it hasn't sunk in yet, what's really happened, and he's working on autopilot. Has he been seen by a doctor?”

“The medical crew offered to examine him, but he'd have none of it,” Steve said.

“Well, what did you get from him?” Alex asked.

“He seemed to be completely open. He answered everything we asked. His wife wrote the play as entries for a national competition. A number of the Association's members submitted an entry, but Sheila's was the one picked by the writing group to represent them.”

“Interesting,” Alex replied. “Might any of the others have been aggrieved not to have been picked?”

“I asked the same question,” Phil said. “He thought it was unlikely. He said all the submissions were examined by a sub-committee then read out at one of their meetings and Sheila's won overwhelmingly. There was no serious competition.”

“It doesn't mean someone wasn't upset by the decision,” Sanjay posed.

“True,” Phil replied, “but there wasn't any suggestion of anyone taking umbrage.”

“Early days, wait 'til we've noted everyone's version before drawing any conclusions,” Alex admonished.

“Yes, Sir,” Phil said. “How was your holiday? I thought you weren't going to be back until tomorrow.”

“I'm not,” Alex stated. “Or rather I shouldn't be. This is my boys' school and Sanjay rightly thought I should be told what was going on. While I had a good break, the holiday's most definitely over.”

“And how's the lovely Sandra?” Phil persisted.

“She's fine, at home doing the unpacking, I hope. But you should be aware that it's Inspector McKinnon to you, now she's had her promotion,” Alex chided.

“Yes, Sir, of course, Sir, right away, Sir, three bags full, Sir,” Phil responded, while mocking a boy-scout style salute.

Alex could only smile and shake his head as he walked away with Sanjay.

Steve turned to Phil, “How do you get away with talking to the Chief like that?”

“Like what? That's how I talk to everyone. But seriously, the boss is a really good guy. I've worked with him for years. Most of the time he's one of the lads, but he knows how to crack the whip when he has to. Sandra, his partner, worked in this unit too, until she got her promotion. The Boss is a lucky man. She's really smart and quite a doll, not at all bad to look at. But I'd better not let her or the Boss hear me saying it. You're new here. You just need to learn the ropes. You'll soon settle in. I'll help you.”

“I'd appreciate it,” Steve replied. “I worked CID in Edinburgh for two years before transferring here. There was no eye candy there and my chief was a real tyrant. You were frightened to open your mouth in his presence if he didn't ask you to first. It may take me a while to adjust.”