Murder at the matinée – Part 2

Sherlock:

Dropping Tom off at Baker Street first, we still reached the Lyceum half an hour before the performance would begin and in the foyer, Colonel and Mrs Fraser already awaited us, so we could walk upstairs together. At this point it might be wise to mention, that either of them was still unaware of my full name and so I enjoyed the anonymity that a rather common surname affords a man, just being the husband of a valued family friend lately married.

The box we occupied was to the right of the stage, where the orchestra was already tuning their instruments. I looked around interestedly. The theatre was astonishingly packed, considering it was a Friday afternoon, and then again, most people I did see, were surely not in need of following an occupation. As I glanced around, refraining to use one of the opera glasses that were provided in every box, I chanced to see a middle-aged man with a twirled moustache and a goatee and a woman several years his junior, in a prominent bright green dress, argue, either face contorted in anger. Only when another couple stepped into their box, which was almost opposite ours, did they stop, turning away from one another in a way that clearly showed, that they had not resolved their differences. The man who had just entered seemed to notice, too, that something was not right and was granted with an insincere smile from the crossed lady and a forced, but more honest one from her spouse. When nothing further happened, I turned my head towards the other end of the theatre, opposite the stage and for a moment, I thought I saw another indignant face. A middle-aged man of solid stature, his hands dug deep into the pockets of his frock coat, had glanced at the very same pair, I had just had my eyes fixed upon, but as soon as one of that party had looked up, he had turned around hastily.

"Harriet, your dress is absolutely beautiful." Mrs Fraser told her friend and I was a little annoyed that it had only been my wife's dress she had been graced with that compliment.

"Yours as well, Anne, this particular shade of mahogany suits you extremely well. You look stunning in it."

"Oh, thank you very much." the woman exclaimed and for a moment I thought she might pay back the compliment. "I only just got it last week. I was not sure about it since it seems a bit daring, don't you think?"

Ah, that was, what this was all about, the insecurity at wearing the latest folly. Inwardly I rolled my eyes.

"Mine is neither as fancy as yours nor as fashionable," Harriet answered in an off-hand, though evasive manner. "But I feel most comfortable in it. I am afraid I have only altered the sleeves on mine this summer, so I could wear it for another season - and it was lucky I had some fabric left over."

I never was very interested in women's clothing, but I could not resist turning my head to have another look at my wife's dress and compare it to that of her friends.

Mrs Fraser indeed wore an extremely fashionable gown, in said warm mahogany colour, and accompanied by an 'interesting' looking headpiece. Her dress was more revealing than Hattie's and it was also much more adorned, with frills and an overload of beadwork, and still, while one woman was perhaps more up to date, and her dress suited her well, the other one looked more sophisticated and breathtaking. Turning towards the audience again, I saw the occasional man stare at my wife and cast an envious look towards me, as they became aware of her and her beauty and the lucky fellow by her side. I was not quite sure, whether it annoyed or thrilled me, but I certainly was proud to be calling her my wife. Very much so, I have to admit.

The lights went out and the music began playing. Leaning back in the comfortable chair, I felt Harriet's hand upon my own, that was resting in my lap. Smiling I got hold of it gently with my other, caressing the back of it absent-mindedly to the rhythm of the music.

The concert was excellent and closing my eyes, and thus shutting out all other senses, I gave myself up to its magic – and to Hattie's soft touch. It was nice to share something this beautiful with the woman I loved with all my heart.

xxx

It was the end of the first half of the performance and the bell sounded for the break while the lights got turned up and blinded each of us for a moment when a scream pierced the exalted silence and the call for a doctor rang shrilly through the auditorium. Irritated I looked around. I, as well as many others, had still been absorbed in the last sounds of the wonderful music and was not willing to return to reality just yet. Harriet though stiffened next to me and her eyes searched for the source of the call. She eventually fixed her eyes on a certain box.

It was the very one, I had seen the couple quarrel in earlier. Now the lady in green looked horrified and her husband appeared almost lifeless, while the other couple seemed shocked and at a loss as to what to do. When after an instant, no-one moved, but everyone stared at the desperate people, and no other doctor arrived at the scene, my wife got up hurriedly and I knew where she was off to. - So much for a quiet afternoon at the theatre!

I saw her enter the box, which caused a bit of a stir within, but standing her ground, she seemed to assure the others, that she indeed was a doctor and that she would take care of the patient. Many a curious face was turned towards the ongoings, but eventually, most people had filed out of the stuffy room and had gone to refresh.

I watched Harriet search for the man's pulse – first at his wrists, then at his neck, but as soon as she had touched the man's jugular, obviously because she had been unable to detect a heartbeat at the first location, her hand darted back and she straightened her back abruptly. Something was not right. Bending down again slowly, I was surprised to see, that with one hand, she seemed to hold the man's head, while with the other she reached for something that I could not see, but that seemed to be wound about the unconscious man's neck.

Still staring at my wife I saw her calm down the rest of the group before turning around slowly and looking in my direction. Her face was pale and I could see her form the words: "I need your help, Sherlock!"

Excusing ourselves from the Fraser's, who had patiently waited for us, I made my way over to the box in question.

"Ah, there you are!" my wife smiled, though I could see it was forced. "Brilliant, I think while we try and help your father, you, Mr Thompson, might take care of the ladies and get them a cup of tea. It must have been quite a shock when he collapsed." she gestured at the lifeless form slumped down in his chair.

"I cannot leave my husband!" the woman in green refused to leave, close to hysterics, wringing her hands and her eyes bulging from their sockets in a frenzied panic her eyes darting from one to the other.

"You must not forget your own well being, madam," Harriet argued, and somehow managed to steer her out of the box, hastily closing the door behind her, leaning against it, shaking.

"What is it, dear?" I asked, looking from her to the passed out man and wondered, why Harriet had not simply asked the other man, to help her lay the patient on the floor, which certainly would be more comfortable for the patient.

"He is dead, Sherlock," she answered me quietly, leaving the door and walking towards the body. "To be precise, he has been murdered."

I stared at her aghast.

"Surely you cannot be serious!" I finally cried out, at the same time taking a closer look.

"But I am. See - " Shielding the man from view, she indicated at a small red line around the man's neck and then, to my utter shock, she grasped his hair and bending the head backwards, I caught sight of the man's trachea and oesophagus.

"He is all but decapitated. Only the sturdy ligaments of his spine keep the head in place, but all the soft tissue has been severed."

"But how?" Even I was too stunned to take much in.

"By this."

Harriet had reached behind the man and a thin wire that glittered and gleamed in the glaring light that shone from the chandelier, competing with its crystals and the gilding, appeared.

"What it is exactly, I do not know, nor what it is used for – apart from trying to cut off a dead man's head, obviously," she said, her voice shaken.

I glanced about the small compartment. From the eight chairs that the box had, he had chosen one of the two closest to the door. His wife, the lady in green, had sat in the front row of chairs, as far away from her spouse as she possibly could, while the other two had occupied the two chairs in front of the deceased.

"Why would someone kill a man in such a public place as a theatre?" Harriet had looked around also.

"Perhaps it was the only place the killer could get at him?" I suggested. "It would not be the first time it had been done."

"But the risk of getting caught!"

"When the light is out, you would hardly see him in the shadows." I pointed out. "No one would see."

"But he could have been heard." she insisted.

"Not necessarily, all the other people and the music can easily cover a muffled outcry."

"But his son and daughter in law sat right in front of him."

Sighing at the current pointlessness of our conversation, she asked me to help her lay down the body on the floor, and out of sight. But doing so, was fairly tricky, as his head was dangling most precariously once it was brought into horizontal position and I almost feared it would fall off after all. But eventually, it was done.

"We need to call the police," I remarked. "What about the rest of the family? Any suggestions?"

"Well, we need to tell them, but I don't think right now is a good idea, at least not the women. The wife is in hysterics as it is already, I don't want to imagine the wail that will follow the news of her husband's demise, let her calm down first. If word gets out, panic might ensue and that would be the last thing we would want."

She had a point there. Murder and crowds did not mix well.

First we had considered that Harriet should stay with the body, while I should go and call the police, but in the end, though, it was Harriet who went to call the police and I stayed behind, taking the opportunity of searching the box for evidence of a murder most shocking and most public.

xxx

Harriet:

When I stepped outside, the young man, who belonged to the small group, wanted to make his way in and it was almost by force, that I could keep him from rushing into the box.

"Sir, please, calm yourself." I entreated him, placing my hand on his lapel and pushing him back slightly. His upbringing kept him from shoving aside a lady, but I knew in his desperation he was close to losing his reserve.

"What is going on? Why are you keeping me from my father? My stepmother is beside herself with worry." he pointed at the lady in question, who sat on one of the upholstered benches, that lined the opposite walls, while passers-by glanced at her curiously. But at least she had already grown much calmer already.

"If you could come with me, I will tell you, but we cannot let you in just now," I whispered, but the urgency with which I spoke caught the man's attention and he followed me demurely to the outside.

"Now, tell me, doctor, what is this all about? How is my father? Will he be all right?"

I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the one task I hated most in my line of work – telling people that a loved one had died. But it had to be if I did not want to cause a stir after all.

"Mr Thompson, I am very sorry, but… - your father has died. He was dead already when I first saw him, there was really nothing I could do, but now we will have to call the police."

He stared at me, presumably looking for a sign that I was making a very bad joke. It was then, that I caught sight of a constable and waving my hand, he came towards us.

"Yes madam, is there a problem?"

"We have a body inside one of the boxes," I answered, knowing that the biggest shock for the young man was yet to come. "The man in question has been murdered."

Both men stared at me and I was acutely aware, that once again, my sex interfered with my profession and my credibility.

It was the young constable who spoke first, a sceptical look on his plain face: "And you would know such a thing, because?"

"Because I am a doctor," I replied coolly, turning towards young Mr Thompson.

The young gentleman stared into space, all colour drained off his face, but he stood tall and erect as if he had swallowed a broomstick. There was something in his behaviour, that told me, he was less surprised than he should have been at my revelation of his father having been killed.

"And you are certain?" the policeman enquired, seemingly unsure of how to proceed, being young and green.

"I am certain."

"Can the crowd be kept away from the body?"

"Yes, my husband is keeping vigil in the box and will keep everyone out who tries to enter," I replied.

"And he can be trusted? You know, if what you say is true, there might be evidence there, that he might inadvertently destroy and the inspector will not like that."

He had obviously had made such a mistake himself sometime during his short career. I almost had to bite back a laugh, assuring him: "Yes, my husband can be trusted, in a matter such as this, he has actually worked for the police once or twice and is familiar with the procedure."

That admittedly was an understatement.

"Oh, all right, I'll go for an inspector then." the young official agreed, turning around on the heels of his police-issue boots and hurrying down the street.

"Are you all right, sir?" I asked the son of the deceased. He nodded, lost in his thoughts.

I waited for several minutes and just when I turned to walk back into the theatre, I heard him speak, very quietly and very calmly: "I have told him, he should take the threats seriously. I told him so. But he would not seek help. He was so sure he could deal with it on his own."

"So you saw this coming?" I asked, equally quiet, watching the people return to their seats as the half-hour break ended.

"Yes, but I had never thought it would happen in such a public place. How, doctor, how was it done? Was he poisoned?"

"No..." I trailed off, while it occurred to me, that the man might have been drugged before he was killed.