CHAPTER 45: TRAGIC ROMANCE

Makeup studio - backstage

"Hello, Miss. We'll skip presentations and get straight to the point: We want the truth from you," Sherlock starts off unceremoniously, addressing the sobbing young woman. She is standing in the middle of the studio with her arms wrapped around her torso to comfort herself.

She raises her face streamed with tears and gives him a confused look. "The truth about what?"

He flashes her an eloquent grin. "Your affair with the victim, obviously."

Her eyes widen in shock, and she brings a hand over her mouth, unable to restrain her instinctive response, "How do you know that?"

"The costume designer has just been quite outspoken about backstage rumours. In all fairness, it wasn't even necessary, considering the heart-breaking state of grief you are currently in. We can also include Mrs Storing's subtle allusion that she dropped during her interrogation about the intimate relationship you shared with her husband." Sherlock recaps the clues like he is listing the ingredients to a cooking recipe.

"What allusion? I didn't get that." Lestrade frowns at the detective, who spits out disdainfully, "Clearly."

"This is the worst day of my life. First, Vincent dies, and now my secret is exposed. I—I need to take a seat," the make-up artist stammers and plunges into an armchair in front of the lighted mirrors of the studio, massaging her back. "You must excuse me, but I guess the tragic news put a strain on my health." She closes her eyes for a second, fighting her fatigue.

Sherlock narrows his eyes and studies her. "Miss...?"

"Trevors, Megan Trevors," she whispers.

"Miss Trevors, how long have you been in a clandestine relationship with the victim?" He asks harshly.

She sighs, knowing that there's no point in dodging the question.

"Almost six months. I knew that part of the crew had found out about it, but I had no idea that even his wife had discovered about us. On an unrelated note, is that her perfume that got stuck on your clothes? Vincent was right: it's nauseating," she complains, wrinkling her nose in a grimace of disgust.

Sherlock cocks a brow, impressed. "It can't be more than a faint whiff now. How can you smell it?"

"What do you mean? It's all over you. I can't even breathe," she bemoans, taking quick breaths.

Sherlock squints at her overreaction. "How could you think his wife suspected nothing about the two of you when you were travelling the world together on, I quote, pleasure weekends?" He recalls Mrs Storing's exact words.

Megan looks genuinely surprised. "Did she really call them that? She is probably wrong; I don't think that's what he was doing. And for the record, no, I never went with him. He preferred to travel solo," she whiffles. It is quite obvious she never felt welcomed at his getaways.

John turns to his friend with an insinuating look and mutters under his breath, "Mr Storing was neglecting his spouse and didn't even want his lover to tag along. Should we believe he was polygamous and the purpose of his mysterious trips to Africa and the Middle East was to visit his other wives? After all, why would he deliberately choose to travel alone every single time to such destinations?"

"To be fair, he wasn't quite on his own," Megan interjects after overhearing him. The prospect of being just one of many for him horrifies her. "He was invariably accompanied by his private orchestra."

Greg frowns. "What do you mean?"

She tries to shrug off the feeling that Victor loved his beloved instruments more than her and replies, "He used to carry those bloody instruments anywhere. He was always travelling together with all his cases and a bunch of hideous hired musicians. I hate that he preferred going on his trips, probably performing for sheikhs or uncultured but rich warlords, rather than staying with me. As I said before, I don't think he went around the globe for women. I believe he was trying to scrape together some money to repay his debts."

"You might not be wrong there, and yet your theory makes no logical sense. You said he wouldn't go anywhere without his instrument cases, right?" Sherlock inquires, and the make-up artist nods. "Well, where are they now? We have been to his dressing room; I'm sure that a pile of bulky cases wouldn't go unnoticed, and yet that room was mostly empty. Did they just vanish the moment he died?"

Megan shakes her head with a blank look.

"I wish I could help you with that, but I wasn't involved in his little jaunts," she murmurs, out of breath.

Sherlock scrutinises her body language and smirks. All those question marks are getting on his nerves. It's time for some big revelation.

He takes some steps towards her menacingly. "You might know nothing about his weekends, but we know you were with the victim minutes before he was killed; we found traces of smudged makeup on his face when we fished his body out of the water. Besides, the costume designer testified that he saw Mr Storing coming out of this makeup studio with shock painted all over his face. Did you threaten him, told him he was going to die by your hand?"

Megan looks terrified. "No! You have to believe me. In fact, I—" she stops mid-sentence, but the stern look on Sherlock's face forces her to go on.

"I was trying to blackmail him," she confesses sheepishly.

John shoots her a puzzled look. "About the affair? But it was common knowledge among your colleagues."

Sherlock smiles smugly while shaking his head.

"No, John. Her secret was slightly more sensational: she's pregnant with him."

"How can you possibly know that?" She bursts out, her eyes seem on the verge of popping out of her head.

"Because I have been observing you, Miss Trevors. First hints: you are fatigued and suffering from backache. You gave us proof of outstanding sensitivity to certain smells when you could detect Mrs Storing's perfume on our clothes even though we didn't come here straight from her dressing room. One last clue: shortness of breath. All the signs of pregnancy are evident. I guess it also explains why the victim was so upset when he left this room; it must've been a shock for him to know he knocked up the wrong woman."

They all simultaneously give him a death stare for his utter tactlessness, but he ignores them and goes on, "You had just broken the good news to him when he rushed out of this studio, hadn't you?"

She nods with a guilty look on her face. "I did. But I didn't kill him. I simply wanted to extort some money from him to help me raise the baby. Anyhow, I was putting makeup on the actors this afternoon; there are witnesses."

Sherlock dismisses her with a wave of his hand.

"No need to go into detail. We already know about your alibi; Mrs Storing told the same story, and I assume she isn't your biggest fan, so we can imagine she had no reason to lie for you. I just wanted to see what you would reveal under pressure."

John and Lestrade roll their eyes at his unconventional methods of interrogation and let him carry on. He gawks at the woman.

"Now, I have other questions for you. Tell me, was it unusual that Vincent Storing felt the need to rehearse right before the show?"

She shrugs. "Not exactly. He did that when he was particularly nervous."

"I guess that your announcement only added fuel to the fire," Giulia comments.

Lestrade intervenes to do some actual police work.

"Has he ever talked about enemies with you? Anyone who resented him?"

"No, he had quite a lovely relationship with the members of the company, not to mention that the producer was his guardian angel," Megan replies.

"Yes, his wife told us they have been friends for a long time," John recalls, and Megan feels the need to clarify, "It's not simply that. The producer, Samuel Humphrey, literally saved him. He bailed him out of jail: Vincent was arrested for gambling and disorderly conduct. Samuel always took care of everything and covered things up, preventing the journalists from snooping around. We, the crew, have been advised not to talk to the press, ever. Apparently, there was one gossip columnist, in particular, who would do anything to destroy Vincent's reputation."

Sherlock nods. "We're familiar with him: Gordon Ammel."

The make-up artist tilts her head, surprised. "Did you just say Ammel? Are you sure?"

"Quite certain. He introduced himself to us, and Calvin Dewey confirmed it as well."

Megan furrows a brow. "That's odd. Many years ago, before Abigail—his wife, there was another woman in Vincent's life. Her name was Bella Ammel. She was his fiancée. This can't be a coincidence."

"What happened to Bella?" Lestrade asks.

"Vincent called the wedding off at the last minute because in the meantime he had met and fallen in love with Abigail. He decided to marry her instead, and Bella was so heartbroken she committed suicide soon after. He told me about her sometimes. He couldn't help but feel responsible for what had happened to the poor girl," she recalls.

Giulia immediately pieces it all together. "Bella and Gordon share the same last name, but he is too young to be his father, and I doubt he could be a cousin or another member of the extended family. If I were to make a wild guess, I'd say the journalist was trying to ruin Mr Storing's life and marriage just like he had done to his sister."

"It's possible. However, I can confidently tell you that he never succeeded. All his efforts only earned him a bunch of defamation lawsuits against him by our company," Megan recounts.

"Insult on top of injury. It wouldn't be a stretch to imagine he took his ultimate revenge against our tenor," John suggests.

"But the timeline doesn't make sense," Giulia objects. "Thanks to the gossiping costume designer, Gordon Ammel was about to print the perfect scandal that would tear Vincent's life apart: the backstage affair with his makeup artist. The journalist was so close to getting his revenge and causing Vincent Storing pain and trouble. Why would he kill him?"

"You heard Calvin Dewey: rumours travel fast behind the scenes. Maybe the victim got word of the soon-to-blow scandal and confronted the journalist. We can even place Gordon Ammel at the theatre at the time of the murder. Perhaps things got out of hand," Greg supposes.

Sherlock interrupts their stream of consciousness.

"Fascinating speculations, you all, but we need to analyse the facts. We don't even have to interrogate him. We all know the journalist has an alibi and a witness for the time frame of the murder; he was with Calvin Dewey in the costume department, getting his story. Besides, why would Vincent Storing even care about a scandal? He was about to start over in America. He would gladly leave behind all the British gossip."

At that remark, the makeup artist snaps her head up and looks at the detective with watery eyes.

"What did you just say? Vincent was about to leave me behind? All alone to raise his child? He never mentioned such a thing. Why would he do that? Why would he leave without a word? That's so unfair," she whines, sobbing.

Sherlock is struck by a sudden realisation.

"It is, isn't it? He didn't breathe a word to anyone in the company, not even to his producer and saviour. That's a low blow. However, rumours travel fast behind the scenes. What if Samuel Humphrey caught wind of his golden goose's imminent departure? What if he discovered he was about to lose his investment of a lifetime?"

John smirks at him. "Judging by his outburst of rage that we witnessed when we entered the theatre, I'd say he looks like a quick-tempered man. If he found out that his golden boy was about to betray him, who knows what he would be capable of?" He trails off suggestively.

"You don't seriously think that—" Megan protests but is cut short by Sherlock, who finishes her sentence.

"... that he could have killed his best friend in a fit of rage? You, of all people, should know that a skilfully painted smile can be just a facade." He simpers at her and leaves, eager to find his next prey.

Author's note: Dear readers, I thought it could be useful to provide you with a quick recap of the protagonists of this case. Let me know if it is all clear.

· Vincent Storing: victim and tenor of the theatre company. Over the last few years, he used to travel with some hired musicians to Africa and the Middle East during the weekends. Neither his wife nor his mistress ever accompanied him.

· Abigail Storing: victim's wife and soprano of the company. She knew her husband was unfaithful and had dilapidated all their savings, but he had promised to start over with her in the US after signing a rich contract for a tournée. They were planning to start a family.

· Calvin Dewey: costume designer. A medical school dropout, he hoped to hit the big time as a tenor, after abandoning the prospect of working with his father in a funeral home. He fought with the victim over costumes because of the victim's skin allergy to silk.

· Megan Trevors: victim's mistress and make-up artist of the company. She is pregnant with the victim's child. She tried to blackmail the victim to extort money for the baby.

· Gordon Ammel: gossip columnist hellbent on unearthing a scandal to destroy Vincent's life, as revenge for his sister's suicide. His sister, Bella Ammel, was the victim's fiancée before he met his present wife and dumped her.

· Samuel Humphrey: victim's best friend and producer of the company. He has repeatedly rescued the victim whenever he got into trouble. He has invested his whole life and career in Vincent's talent.

Remember that the Game is still on.

In the meantime, let me thank you all for sticking with me and this story, for reading and reviewing.