Jack in the Box by Hania Allen

seconds later with a long black dress. She laid it on the table lovingly. ‘Bombazine. From our production of Lady Windermere’s Fan. You don’t see it much these days.’ She nodded towards the clothes lying on the ironing board. ‘But that’s my stuff now. And what’s in those packing cases. I was about to start pressing the costumes when you arrived,’ she added in a pained voice.
    ‘We’ll try not to keep you long, Miss Manning. So, when did you first meet Mr Quincey?’
    ‘Lord, now you’re asking. When the play ran here first.’
    ‘Jack in the Box?’
    ‘Can’t remember the year, though.’
    ‘’85.’
    ‘If you say so,’ she sniffed.
    She seemed disinclined to continue, more from apathy than a genuine reticence to talk about the past. ‘Mr Quincey was the director, wasn’t he?’ Von prompted.
    A light came into her eyes. ‘After the play ended he set up the business and went on the road. He asked me to leave the Garrimont and join him.’ Her expression softened. ‘Rosie, he said, you’re the best. I can’t do it without you. That’s what he called me, Rosie. Course I went. I mean, I couldn’t leave him in the lurch, could I?’
    ‘You were here as wardrobe mistress in 1985?’ said Steve.
    ‘I’ve just said so, haven’t I?’
    ‘Then you’ll remember the Jack in the Box murders,’ Von said quietly.
    Her hands flew to her chest and she clutched at the rope of pearls. ‘Those boys,’ she breathed. ‘Of course I remember.’
    ‘Max Quincey was a suspect.’
    ‘He never did it, he was innocent. He couldn’t have killed those boys. He didn’t have a harmful bone in his body.’ Her voice broke. ‘It was a vicious slander, that’s what it was. A wicked thing to say.’
    ‘Why do you think he was a suspect, Miss Manning?’
    ‘He was fingered, that’s what he was,’ she spat out. ‘He was seen at the Duke, talking to young boys. And he always had a doll with him.’ She nodded towards the sewing machine. Beside it, on the floor, stood a Jack in the Box, already popped. ‘I asked him why he carried them around. Good for luck, Rosie, and good for business, he used to say. He was trying to publicise the show, you see. Lord knows, he didn’t need to. After the first murder we were sold out, right to the last day, we were.’ She smoothed her skirt, running her fingers over the pleats. ‘Everyone knew he liked little boys. But that wasn’t his fault, it’s the way he was made. That detective, what was his name, Harrington, he didn’t like men who did, well, you know what I mean. Anyway, he had to drop the charges in the end. No evidence, you see.’ She jabbed a finger at Von. ‘That boy that survived, he listened to a tape of Mr Quincey’s voice. Said it definitely wasn’t him.’
    Von was impressed. If Rose could recall details like this after fifteen years, she had an excellent memory. ‘Who else was here back then, Miss Manning, that’s still here now?’
    ‘Just myself and Mr Quincey.’
    ‘Miss Horowitz told us Michael Gillanders was also here.’
    ‘What would she know, she wasn’t around then. But she happens to be right. Michael Gillanders was in the play when it first ran. A minor part.’ Her mouth twisted into an expression of distaste. ‘If you ask me, he should have stayed with it. Hisacting skills leave a lot to be desired. Mr Mediocrity, that’s who he is. Can’t understand why Mr Quincey gave him the star role, Jack the Lad.’
    ‘Jack the Lad?’ said Steve.
    She fixed him with her steely gaze. ‘The name of the character. I take it you don’t know the play.’
    ‘We’ve got tickets for opening night,’ said Von. ‘So what sort of a person is Michael Gillanders?’ She smiled conspiratorially, hoping Rose would take her into her confidence. ‘Apart from being a bad actor.’
    Rose sighed heavily. ‘I really can’t think why Mr Quincey ever took him on tour. I asked him once and he said, Keep your friends close, Rosie, but your enemies