Simon Brett - A Comedian Dies

Charles felt closer to Lennie Barber at that moment than he had since they had first met. Gone was the mask of cynicism and the disquieting obsession with his bowels; it was the real man who had been talking.

Barber looked at his watch. ‘Better be off, I suppose.’

‘Aren’t we going to have another drink?’ Charles was reluctant to break the new mood between them.

‘No, I don’t think that I. . Well. .’ The comedian looked embarrassed. ‘The fact is, I haven’t got any money with me. It’s my round and I like to pay my bit. Better be off, I think.’

‘No. I’ll get them.’

‘But you got the last lot.’

‘Don’t be silly. Come on, while we’re still both flush with telly money.’

‘Huh.’ Barber seemed to be about to pass an opinion on what he thought of telly money but decided against it. ‘Look, tell you what. . how about you lend me a fiver and I get them and pay you back?’

‘Fine.’ Charles handed over the money and their glasses were refilled. Barber took the change.

‘Pay you back when I get to a bank.’

They sat companionably with their whisky. Charles began to feel a glimmer of enthusiasm for the project. He liked the idea of working with Lennie Barber. And, if the show were anything like a success, it could be a very profitable partnership. His brief experience had taught him that Light Entertainment fees were considerably fatter than Drama ones. And then there were all the extras that that sort of work led to — club bookings, businessmen’s lunches where large piles of notes were handed over in payment, commercials. Charles had always said that that sort of show business was not for him, but then he had never been offered it. Given the opportunities it could bring he might not take such a high moral tone.

Lennie Barber broke into his speculations. ‘You got anywhere about Bill Peaky?’

‘You mean the murder?’

‘Yes. Last time you mentioned it you were trying to track down that girl Janine.’

‘I found her. She didn’t kill him.’

‘Any idea who did then, Monsewer Poirot?’

Charles hesitated. He had to be careful to whom he confided his suspicions. On the other hand, he did need to find out more about Chox Morton, and Lennie Barber had been in the same company right through the summer. Besides, Charles trusted the comedian completely. He took the plunge and mentioned Chox’s name.

‘Really? Well, he certainly had the technical knowledge.’ Lennie Barber screwed up his face and reviewed the suggestion. ‘Yeah, but why?’

‘Did you know he was on drugs?’

‘Yes, I did actually. Silly little bugger. Good God, there are enough natural things around to shorten your life without adding to them. I used to drink — I mean really drink — so I suppose I know a bit what it’s about. What, you reckon he just got high and didn’t know what he was doing?’

‘No. Bill Peaky found out the drugs thing and threatened to shop him.’

‘Did he? Well, surprise, surprise. Yes, that’s true to form. Whoever did kill him, you know, did the world a great service.’

‘I reckon Chox is highest on the list of possible at the moment. If only I could get some sort of evidence, if only someone had seen him on the stage during the interval. . Lennie, you know that theatre. Do you reckon he could’ve fixed the wiring without anyone seeing him?’

‘Yes, I’m sure he could. For a start, the first thing anyone on-stage does when the first-half curtain comes down is get off. Go to their dressing rooms, cup of tea in the Green Room, whatever. So it was very unlikely anyone would be around to see him.’

‘Except Norman del Rosa doing his Peeping Tom act.’

‘But surely he’d have mentioned if he had seen anyone apart from Peaky?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘And even if anyone had seen Chox, I don’t reckon they’d have thought twice about it, Charles. He was always wandering about the place with cables under his arm. Part of the furniture. Added to which nobody’d be looking for anything suspicious, anyway. You forget that you’re the only person who thinks of this thing as murder.’

‘Well, me and about half of the cast of the show who I’ve so far accused of doing it.’

‘Yeah, but nobody suspected murder at the time. By now they’d have forgotten what happened a month ago.’ The comedian’s forehead wrinkled, then cleared. ‘I have thought of something, though. If he did want to be onstage unnoticed while he sorted the wiring out, he could have gone into the lighting store.’

‘That was actually on-stage?’

‘Yeah, everything all higgledy-piggledy in that place. It was just in the wings. That’s where the faulty cable come from anyway. Also, thing about that was it had a lock on the door, ’cause of the expensive gear they kept there. I used to reckon Chox sometimes went in there to give himself a fix.’

‘Yes,’ Charles interpolated, excitedly, ‘that must have been it. Because I remember now, Miffy Turtle said the lock had gone on the Gents that day. So if Chox wanted to hide away, he’d have had to go to the lighting store.’

‘Right. Yeah, I reckon that’s what he must’ve done. Not that we can prove it. So it doesn’t really help much.’

‘Mmm.’ The inevitable was looming large in front of Charles. ‘So, if there’s no likelihood of my finding any evidence, I guess that means another confrontation.’

‘Maybe. I wonder.’

‘You have another idea?’

‘I don’t know. Just a thought. You see, I got to know Chox quite well while we was down in Hunstanton. I don’t mean I got close to him — I don’t think anyone did that, but I think he kind of trusted me. I wonder if we were to talk to him together. . I’ve a feeling he might be more forthcoming that way, relax a bit, you know. What do you say?’

‘Sounds a great idea to me.’ Anything rather than steeling himself to another solo encounter with a supposed murderer.

‘Well, look — What’s the time? Hmm. I got to go back to see Walter, try and get some more of this bloody script sorted out. So that’ll take. . I don’t know, three bloody years to get it anything like respectable. But let’s say till seven. Can you meet me round Chox’s place about eight?’

‘Sure. Where’s he live?’

Barber gave an address in North Kensington. ‘I’ll ring him first to check he’s going to be in. You ring Walter’s office in a couple of hours and I’ll be able to confirm that. Otherwise, see you there at eight.’

Charles arrived shortly after eight. The road in North Kensington had been built for prosperous Victorians, but now the trees which lined it were scraped and scabby and the tall facades of the houses diseased by neglect. Paint flaked from porticoes, toothless balcony railings gaped, overflow pipes scored green smears down walls and the doorsteps were littered with dustbins and old magazines. A dusty cortege of outmoded Fords, some wheel-less, some lividly splodged with aerosol paint, lined the gutter. The aerosol artist had also left his blurred testimony on the trees and every bit of wall that he could reach.

The large front door out of which Lennie Barber emerged had been slashed with lines of spray paint, silver mocking the dirty blue beneath.

‘I was waiting just inside the hall, Charles. Not the sort of area to hang about in. Lot of muggings round here. Also not too many friendly white faces, know what I mean?’

Charles nodded and followed Barber into the dimly-lit hall. The outline of what had once been an impressive sweep of stairs emerged from the gloom ahead. But its classical proportions had been distorted by the random juttings of hardboard walls with which the fine old house had been converted into bedsitters.

‘Like I said, Charles, when you rang, he’s expecting us. I said you was coming. He didn’t sound suspicious or anything. I think he may have just had a fix. Didn’t sound all there. If he’s still in the state, it might be good for us. He’ll be relaxed and talk. Then we’ll find out what really did happen.’