Dread Murder by Gwendoline Butler Page B

lad. Leave it to me.’
    â€˜They weren’t really pieces of meat, were they? Not from an animal, anyway.’

    Mearns gave Charlie a sharp look.
    â€˜Were they human legs?’
    The Major did not answer.
    â€˜Why were they sent to you?’ asked Charlie quietly.
    This was a question the Major had been asking himself, and now he thought: ‘Perhaps whoever sent it thought I ought to know. Wanted me to know.’ But the Major did not say this aloud.
    â€˜And the other bundle, the one that was round and heavy …’ Charlie could guess what was round and heavy. He lost a little colour.
    â€˜Forget it, boy.’ He was only a boy, thought the Major. ‘This is all rubbish.’
    But Charlie was thinking, a deep frown creasing his forehead. ‘Am I right? Are they bits of a body? Where’s the rest of it? Is it on the way? Where is it now? Where the blood is? Is that what you’re going to the Theatre for?’ Charlie thought of Miss Fairface. What would she say? A body in her Theatre. Because it was ‘her Theatre’. While she was performing in it, no one else counted. Mr Thornton – or whatever he was called – did not exist.
    Charlie prodded Major Mearns further. ‘Is that what the woman who was strangled saw? Did she see something?’
    â€˜I have no idea,’ said the Major. ‘Or not much of one. Dol knew something. Whether she had seen anything or not is another matter.’
    â€˜She might have seen the killing. Or she might have known where the rest of the body is.’

    â€˜We can leave that to Felix,’ said the Major, trying to end the boy’s line of questioning.
    But Charlie read in the Major’s face that he intended to sniff around. ‘You need a dog for that,’ he thought, ‘and I know one. You need a keen sniffer who wants to find food. The lean, hungry and nameless dog with Spike was such a one. But I shan’t tell you that; it’s my secret.’
    The two of them walked to the Theatre side by side. They passed through the front of the Theatre, which was being brushed out, although to Charlie’s young nose there was still that smell of cheap wine, ale and tobacco smoke, not to mention body odours – smells that were less pleasant.
    The Major passed through without comment; old soldiers had smelt everything.
    Charlie cast an assessing eye over the rows of narrow, wooden seats that faced the stage. He had stood at the back last night on one of his wanderings round the Theatre.
    â€˜Don’t look comfortable,’ he said.
    â€˜Not meant to be comfortable.’ The Major strode on.
    â€˜Keep you awake – that’s the idea. Drink too much and get comfortable, and you’re off.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t go to sleep; it’s exciting.’ Just how exciting the Theatre, plays and the performers were, Charlie was beginning to realise. He wanted to be part of it.
    The Major turned and looked into the boy’s face with a sympathetic smile. ‘No, I don’t think you would do,’ he said. Then he marched on, through the backstage area to where the woman had been killed.

    The Major had protected the boy from a good sight of the dead woman; but Charlie had seen a strangled woman near the blacking factory, so he knew what she would have looked like.
    A swollen, flushed face with the eyes popping out, the lips drawn back over the teeth in a smile that was not a smile – he had indeed caught a glimpse of Dol’s face.
    â€˜You’d better get back to see Miss Fairface – see if you can do any errands for her. She may want something.’
    â€˜And you want me out of the way because you are going to look for the blood in the yard,’ thought Charlie.
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    They both saw the stain. The blood had been cleared away with sawdust thrown over the area, but the deep redness showed through like a shadow. It looked like a map of the world.
    â€˜Traddles’