Chapter Seventeen

He watched them leave from his car, parked further down the road; the guy with the frilly shirt, and his red haired bimbo. So that’s why the wife was looking for a playmate on Hotnights.com.

Lawrence Calder skirted around the detached house, before slipping through the tall front gate. The six foot hedge masked him from prying eyes.

Lauderdale’s cat flap was half finished, and Calder kicked in the rest of the door. Upstairs he opened the wardrobe, and grabbed a turquoise shirt from an abundance of ruffles, and then his sweating face lit up: Hanging out of the top pocket of a blue velvet jacket were a set of keys, with a tag that read ‘Peking Theatre Spares’.

‘Damn, I’ve forgotten the handcuffs,’ said Orvid.

They were part of his act, but Karin had been receiving extra tuition; mainly in his bedroom.

‘You have to stop taking them Orvid,’ said Karin as he turned the car around, and referring to his prescription.

‘And what if we can’t cope?’

‘Have the voices ever told you to kill anyone?’ she asked.

‘Not yet.’

‘Then what have you got to lose?’

‘My freedom.’

But would that suit Karin? After all, he could see Sofia in Monks Hill, and plan an escape, for both of them.

Calder was starting the engine, just as Orvid turned the corner.

‘Strange,’ he said to Karin ‘I could have sworn that was Dr Calder.’

‘Maybe he does house calls,’ said Karin.

Calder looked at the shirt on the passenger seat; truly criminal.

Orvid didn’t call the police. Nothing was stolen, and he didn’t have insurance for the door.

There was a drumroll from a stage assistant, whilst another led the handcuffed Karin to the guillotine. The handcuffs were antique wrought iron, and Karin was suitably attired as Marie Antoinette.

Orvid wore a leather hood; the same one Karin had graced the previous night. She knelt in front of the guillotine, her heart pounding.

Orvid placed a large watermelon under the heavy blade, and it was duly sliced in two, should the audience doubt the shiny machine of death. Karin’s pretty neck was next on the chopping block, and there was another roll of the drums.

The blade plummeted, and the head was severed into a basket. Someone in the audience screamed, a theatre hand in on the act, and there was a stunned silence as the curtains closed. Orvid slipped through.

‘Ladies and gentleman, there has been a slight accident,’ he announced. ‘If you would kindly leave your seats for refreshments,’ he always got a cut from the bar ‘I shall endeavour to rectify the situation, or call the appropriate authorities.’

They fought their way to the bar in stunned tones.

‘Are you OK?’ asked Orvid as he moved the mirror away from the guillotine.

‘Fine thanks,’ said Karin.

‘So that’s how the girls lose their heads over you,’ she said looking in the basket.

‘Ladies and gentleman, thanks to the wonders of modern surgery, I give you Karin,’ announced Orvid, and she took centre stage to rapturous applause.

‘You were brilliant,’ Orvid whispered in her ear ‘whatever can I do for you?’

‘Too me, would be better,’ she whispered back.

They headed for his rooms, but any costume play was about to be rudely interrupted. There were two detectives waiting inside.

‘Orvid Benedict?’ asked the curly haired one.

‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Haven’t you seen the posters?’

‘No, but we did find the body,’ replied the shadowy grey one.

Orvid shook his head, and for one sweet tantalising moment the CID officer in the long dark coat, thought he was going to confess.

‘I’m not with you,’ said Orvid.

‘Libby, your wife,’ said curly mop.

‘Yes, I know who she is. We’re separated actually,’ and he quickly sat down before he fainted. ‘She’s dead?’

The younger officer nodded.

‘Glass of water Sir?’ he asked.

‘Thank you, but no. I need something a little stronger,’ said Orvid.

‘Look I’m sorry Sir, but you’ll have to come to the station to answer a few questions.’

‘All routine Sir, unless you’ve got something to hide,’ said the greyer, cynical detective.

He smiled: A magician who was screwing his assistant, and an estranged wife fighting for half his cash. Nice.

‘I’m coming with you,’ said Karin to Orvid.

She wasn’t the slightest bit fazed. Besides she’d already lost her head earlier in the evening.

Two days later Orvid pulled his show; he was in no mood to continue, and fluffing his lines. The Peking owners were gutted, and threatening court action, but Orvid wasn’t picking up their phone. The police let him go, but he knew from the look in their eyes he was a person of interest; there was no act on the night of the murder.

‘We could always escape abroad,’ said Karin.

‘But I’m innocent,’ said Orvid.

‘So is my sister.’

‘They’ve got my passport,’ said Orvid.

‘I have friends who deal in fake ID’s.’

‘What about Sofia?’

‘I was coming to that,’ and she grinned mischievously, from ear to ear.