Hidden Secrets - 18. Five of Cups

Nothing had gone wrong over the weekend, or at least, if it had, Colin hadn’t left any notes about it. He hadn’t written anything in the diary at all, but that was Colin all over.

After my experience on Friday evening, I wondered if it would feel any different crossing the stalls area on my way to check the boilers and switch on the plenum. No, it was the same prickly sensation, the same smell of slightly off meat. I didn’t see any ghosts on the way there or back. Maybe everything would be all right after all?

I got on with the usual Monday tasks; checking the Dolby levels in each screen, cleaning the lenses and portholes. After a weekend, there were often greasy fingerprints on the side of the glass facing the auditorium, especially downstairs, where they were easier to reach.

After I’d laced up the two mini screens and was on the way back through the foyer, Sylvia beckoned me over. I hadn’t spoken to her since the day of Maurice’s visit, so I’d known this was inevitable.

‘Morning, Sylvia,’ I said brightly.

‘Is it true?’ She leaned across the neatly stacked rows of sweets. ‘You and the boss are courting?’

What a delightful, old-fashioned word. ‘Well, yes.’

‘There you go. What did I say to you?’

She’d said lots of things. ‘Er… ?’

‘People who work in the business always end up together.’

‘Well, it’s the long shifts and all that.’

‘And we all thought he had a girlfriend, too.’ She laughed. ‘Just goes to show, you can’t always tell. Good on you both.’

‘Thanks.’ At least someone didn’t have a problem with us.

‘Maurice came in again on Saturday.’

Dan had told me that already. I wondered if she could be fishing; if kindly Sylvia was the mole passing on information to whoever. ‘Was he all right?’

‘Back to his usual self, I’d have said. Mind you, that’s how it goes with Alzheimers.’

‘Thankfully, none of my family have had it.’ Heart attacks and strokes seemed to be the fate of dad’s elderly relatives, whereas mum’s side just lived to a healthy old age.

‘You should be grateful for that.’

She didn’t seem to be digging any more. Maybe I’d been wrong? ‘Anyway, best get on. I expect I’ll see you again later on my way through.’

‘See you, love.’

It must have been around two-thirty when I crossed the foyer again after putting the feature on in screen two and spotted Maurice at the kiosk, talking to Sylvia. I quickly ran up the stairs to avoid being seen and reached the top box safely, locking the door behind me to prevent him wandering up. It made me feel a bit guilty, but I didn’t want to provoke him.

It was a pleasantly sunny afternoon, warm enough to sit on the window ledge overlooking the road alongside the Regal. It was a wide, tree-lined avenue. The houses were large and Victorian and had mostly been converted to offices or nurseries. I saw Maurice on his way down the cinema steps. He paused for a while on the pavement, as if reluctant to go home. Perhaps he was puzzled to be finishing his shift so early in an afternoon? I wondered if Dan had told him to leave.

Eventually, he set off toward the crossing. There wasn't much traffic about, but he was still very careful. Maybe Brenda had drummed it into him, or perhaps it was simply that crossing the road safely is a skill learned at a fairly early age and therefore sticks in the mind, even when that mind is slowly disintegrating. I noticed he waited patiently at the kerb and only stepped off when the green man lit up.

I must have heard the screech of tyres before he did. I certainly saw the car first. It was a large SUV; the kind often used by mothers taking their offspring to school. The windows were heavily tinted. I think it was dark blue, but everything happened so fast, I couldn't be certain.

Maurice was looking across to the opposite pavement as he crossed briskly. It wasn't until the car was nearly on top of him he even saw it. I shouted his name, trying to warn him. I doubt he’d have heard, not through the closed window and from so high above. The tyres screeched again as it swerved, sending him flying sideways against the metal barrier on the edge of the opposite pavement. He fell in a crumpled heap. His glasses skidded away from him.

By the time I thought to look at the car, to try and identify it better, or even to get the registration number, it was already powering away down that respectable road at high speed.

I ran down the box stairs, forgetting I'd locked the door, losing precious seconds as I fumbled with the key. I was out of breath by the time I got to the foot of the exit way and hit the panic bolt on the door.

I wasn't the first on the scene. It's amazing how quickly people flock to an accident, like vultures to a corpse. A besuited office worker had already arrived. He'd probably been staring out of his window when it happened. Two cars had also stopped, blocking the road. Other drivers blew horns impatiently, oblivious to what had happened. Already, a huddle of people had clustered around Maurice and someone was talking on their phone, presumably calling an ambulance.

'Is he dead?' a man asked.

Someone else said no, they'd seen him move.

‘You're going to be all right,' said the office worker to Maurice. 'No, don't try to move him,' he told another would-be ‘helper'. He seemed to have taken control.

A slick of violently red blood had gathered in the gutter by Maurice's head. The glasses lay where they had fallen, one lens smashed, the other amazingly intact. I picked them up. I handed them to the man in charge, who was sitting on the edge of the kerb and continuing to reassure Maurice help was on its way. I told him the old man's name. There was nothing else I could do.

'Did anyone see it?' a man asked. 'I heard the tyres, then…’ and he smashed his fist into his other hand.

'The lights were definitely red,' a woman said.

'I saw it,' I said. 'You're right. The car didn't stop, just hit him and went straight through.’

'What sorta car was it?’

'A big SUV. I didn't see what make.’

‘What shape were the rear lights?’

'I don't know.’

A traffic jam had begun to build up, even though the accident couldn't have happened more than five minutes ago. Horns sounded as cars crossed the wrong side of the island to get round. The scene was starting to bother me. Although there were no smashed vehicles, I suspected there would have been a similar gathering around the scene of that other crash. Cliff's crash.

Staff clustered by the cinema front doors, attracted by the noise. I went over to them.

'What's happened?' Sylvia asked.

'Someone's been knocked down.' I didn't want to tell her it was Maurice. 'They've called an ambulance.’

'I've got a first aid certificate.’ Robert sounded enthusiastic. 'Maybe I should go and help?’

'There's no need. It's all under control and there's too many people already.’

Dan emerged into the foyer just as I heard the wail of a siren cutting the thin afternoon air.

'Someone's been run over,' Robert told him in an excited voice.

Dan glanced at me. I think I must have been looking a bit pale by then, although I felt okay. It hadn't really sunk in properly. 'Did you see anything?' he asked me.

I nodded. 'From upstairs.' I sensed he probably wanted to comfort me, but was reluctant to do so in front of the other cinema staff.

’I'll let the police know when they get here.’

Of course. The police would need statements. Why couldn't I have seen the number plate? Why couldn't I ever do anything useful? Even just a few numbers or figures would have been a help. I tried going over exactly what I had seen, but all that really stuck in my mind was the initial screech of the tyres and the sight of Maurice falling at the roadside like a thrown doll.

Robert leaned out of the door. 'Ambulance is arriving.' We all watched as it pulled up on the opposite side of the lights. The crowd parted to let the paramedics through, then surged back again.

I realised no-one would know who he was. He probably wouldn't know who he was by now, if he was even conscious.'I'd better go and tell them what I saw.’

'I'll come with you,' Dan offered. Robert tried to tag along with us, but Dan sent him back. ‘They don’t need any more onlookers.’

He remained hovering by the front doors, a sulky expression on his face.

'It's Maurice,' I told Dan, once we were out of earshot. 'Someone needs to let his wife know.’

'Leave it for the police.’ He turned to me. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘A bit shaken, that’s all.’

Dan nodded. ‘Excuse me,' he said, pushing his way through. 'We need to speak to the ambulance crew.’

People muttered in protest, but we got through. The paramedics had just finished strapping Maurice onto one of those boards they use to protect someone’s spine. There was an oxygen mask over his face. Without his glasses, he seemed naked, vulnerable.

'My projectionist saw what happened. He knows the man.' Dan told the nearest paramedic, a tiny woman wearing a large hi-vis coat.

I spoke my piece. 'His name's Maurice Gudgeon. He's suffering with Alzheimer’s.’

'Do you know where he lives?’

The address had totally slipped my mind. Forsythia Drive? Magnolia Way? ‘No, sorry.’

'I've got the address in the office,' Dan said. 'And his wife's phone number.’

'If you could pass it on to the police. They should be here any minute.' They left us standing there while they expertly loaded Maurice into the back. Another siren heralded the approach of the police, who immediately set to clearing the way for the ambulance to depart.

Dan repeated his information. One of the police officers accompanied us back to the cinema, while the other dealt with the crowd.

I was glad to go through what I had seen before the memories became too blurred. It was at this point I realised I couldn’t be certain about the colour of the car. Had it been blue, or black? In my memory, the screech of tyres was predominant. That was what had drawn my attention.

‘Why would the tyres have screeched?’ I spoke my thoughts out loud. ‘It’s a straight road.’ I replayed the images in my mind. Maurice had checked the road before he crossed. I was fairly sure there had been no vehicles in sight. ‘I think it might have been parked, then accelerated hard.’ I hadn’t noticed a parked car, but that’s how the mind works. You only notice things your brain thinks of as being important at the time. While I’d been gazing out of the window I'd firstly been daydreaming, then watching Maurice leave the cinema.

'So you’re saying the vehicle was parked, then pulled away?' The police officer scribbled furiously, writing down what I had said.

I nodded, becoming more certain of my recall. 'I'd have noticed if it had been driving along at speed. No, it definitely accelerated, fast.' Which now that I thought of it, was rather an odd thing to do if there wasn't much traffic about and the lights ahead meant you would have to stop right away. Unless it hadn't meant to stop at all. Unless the driver had been waiting there for someone to step out into the road.

The policeman was obviously thinking the same thing. 'You're sure that's what happened?' he asked cautiously.

‘Absolutely.'

'And Mr Gudgeon was crossing at normal speed?’

'Yes.' I remembered the swerve now. 'I'm pretty sure the car swerved toward him.’

Dan had been listening to all this. 'Are you saying it was deliberate, Terry?’

'I'm saying what I saw.' I knew we would both be thinking the same.

'Why would anyone want to knock over a harmless old man?’

The policeman sighed. 'There are some sick people around these days. I don't suppose you got a look at the driver?’

'No. It all happened too fast and I was too high up. The windows were darkened as well.’

'No idea of the make of the vehicle?’

'I shook my head. 'There are so many of those big SUV’s around.' I had a thought. 'I could probably identify it from a picture.’

‘That might help.’

Suddenly I realised it was time to put the next show on in screen three and I had to excuse myself. There wasn't anyone in for the second show yet, but I needed to start the program just in case someone turned up. It also provided for some valuable time alone. I didn't like the way I was beginning to feel. It was similar to having had too much alcohol too fast, but without the 'couldn't care less' attitude alcohol provides. I wished someone would hand me a drink, to be honest. It might help to make what had happened fade into the background a bit more.

Lacing up projectors helped. It made today feel as if it was still normal. I kept thinking of Maurice outside the front doors of the cinema, tapping on the glass. How I wished he was out there now, strolling home after his cinema visit. This visualisation was so strong I could almost believe it was true and the accident had been nothing but a figment of my over active imagination.

Just then my phone bleeped to tell me I had a text. I checked it on the way to the door and stopped dead. The message was from an unknown number and in block capitals, just like before.

MR NOSY PARKER C WHAT HAPPENS TO BLABBERMOUTHS

This had to be proof the act had been deliberate. I knew I had to tell the police. They’d want to know the rest of the story. But how could I tell them without sounding like a loony? Still, if it was their only chance to catch whoever had deliberately run over poor Maurice, it would be worth it. I took a deep breath and returned to the office.

‘Ah, Terry,’ Dan said. ‘You just need to read through this statement and sign it, then you’re free to get on.’

‘I don’t think so.’ I took my phone out and showed them both the message I’d just received. ‘This isn’t the first one like this I’ve had,’ I told the officer. He wrote down the words and the number, then called in, presumably to have it checked. ‘Did you keep the first one? he asked.

I nodded and found it.

IF U DONT STOP POKING UR NOSE BAD THINGS WILL HAPPEN

‘It was sent last Thursday. I tried calling the number, but it was disconnected. I thought it was just some stupid prank. Kids playing around, you know?’

The officer - his name tag said Branksome - sighed. ‘I’m going to have to ask you a few more questions now, you realise?’

‘Of course.’

Dan leaned over the desk. ‘Shall I call Colin in?’

‘Probably no need.’ I checked my watch. ‘I’ve screen two to get back on in fifteen minutes, but after that there’s a good half hour before upstairs finishes.’

PC Branksome opened his notepad to a new page. ‘So, would you like to tell me what you think this is all about? Start from the beginning.’

So I did. ‘I only started the job here four weeks ago.’ It felt like much longer. ‘Anyway, right away I noticed there was a damp patch on the carpets in screen three. I did some research and found out the cinema was built over a well. Maurice was a regular visitor to the cinema. Sometimes he was fairly lucid and gave me some useful tips…’

‘Lucid?’

‘He’s suffering from Alzheimer’s. He was the previous chief projectionist for some years.’

‘Ah. So he told you about this well?’

‘Not exactly. Colin - the other projectionist - told me about it and the handyman confirmed it.’

‘And this links to the text messages how?’

I knew I was rambling. ‘It’s a bit of a long story before we get to that. When I tried to ask Maurice if he knew about the well, he said he wasn’t allowed to talk about it. Someone had told him to keep quiet. He’d chat quite happily about any other aspect of the cinema, but as soon as I mentioned the well, he seemed to get… frightened.’ It hadn’t quite happened in that order, but it was close enough and so far I’d managed to keep the supernatural out of it.

PC Branksome carried on scribbling.

‘I’m not going too fast, am I?’

‘No, I’m used to this and we’ll read it over afterwards to make sure nothing’s been left out.’

I glanced at my watch again. Still some time before I had to lace up. ‘I always like to find out the history of a place when I start working there, so I began to ask questions. It turned out the last time this well was uncovered was when the cinema was tripled in nineteen seventy-five.’

‘Tripled?’ he asked.

‘When it was converted from a single screen into three,’ I explained. ‘Anyway, Maurice was one of the people who worked here back then. I wondered if someone had hidden something down the well, he’d seen them doing it and had been told to shut up?’

‘You thought there might have been some sort of criminal activity?’ He looked up.

‘Well, possibly. I mean, there’d been a failed burglary just a couple of months prior to the work starting. I expect you’ll still have records of that.’

‘Buried deep in our archives, no doubt.’

I wondered what to say next. Should I mention Jack’s letter? I supposed it might be considered evidence of a kind, even though it was vague. ‘Then, while I was having a clear out of the chief’s office upstairs I found a part of a note written by the chief projectionist at that same time.’

‘In nineteen seventy-five?’

‘Correct. The note seemed to imply he had been forced to become involved with something dodgy and his only option was to leave the cinema before ‘they’ got hold of him.’

‘You still have this note?’

‘It’s at home. Anyway, Jack - that was his name - walked out of his job around a year later. When a colleague called at his house to drop off some bits and pieces he’d left behind, he wasn’t at home. The neighbours said they’d heard shouting and thuds. The police were called and found some blood and overturned furniture.’ I checked the time again. ‘I’m going to have to go and get a show on. Maybe it would be best if you came along, so we can carry on talking. Otherwise, if I come back here I’ll have to scoot off again in around ten minutes.’

‘I could do with stretching my legs,’ PC Branksome said. ‘Lead the way.’

I was glad I’d tidied up the downstairs boxes. There probably wouldn’t have been room for two people to stand inside when they were still full of rubbish.

The police officer looked at the projector and platter. ‘I didn’t expect it to be so big.’

I so wanted to make a suggestive reply to that. If it had been anyone else, I would have done. ‘These projectors are around thirty years old,’ I said instead.

‘I thought it was all on a DVD these days.’ He seemed fascinated by the film laying on the middle plate.

‘Not yet. There’s been a lot of talk about replacing film with digital over the past few years, but it’s still too expensive.’ I quickly cleaned down the machine, then laced up. Now I was accustomed to this equipment it only took around two minutes. I checked everything, as I’d do before any show, then said, ‘Okay. I’m going to be starting the projector and those plates will begin turning as well, so keep clear.’

Once the adverts were under way, I turned down the sound monitor. ‘Right. Where was I?’

‘“The police were called and found some blood and overturned furniture,”’ he read.

‘Jack, yes. Maurice mentioned Jack had once threatened him and pushed him down the box stairs. I wondered if he’d been the one to tell Maurice to keep his mouth shut. If it all connected in some way?’ I paused while he wrote it down, unsure myself if it made a coherent story. ‘Anyway, when I was clearing out the room, I also found some items of historic interest; manuals and suchlike and I thought Maurice might like them as reminders of happier times. So I called his wife and arranged to visit him at home.’

‘And this would be when?’

I cast my mind back. ‘A week ago today. Last Monday. He enjoyed looking at the manuals and we were chatting about the old days when they used to have live shows at the Regal. Then I mentioned the names of some people who used to work here. Brenda suddenly went quiet and so did Maurice.’

‘Can you remember who you mentioned?’

I struggled to recall exactly what had been said. ‘There was a girl called Jenny. She and Brenda were friends. She’d left and gone to Australia with Trevor, her boyfriend. But when his name came up - Trevor’s - Maurice began to get upset and Brenda said I should probably leave. On the way out she said something to me about not dredging up the past.’ I hoped I wasn’t implicating her in some way, so I hastily added. ‘She didn’t like to see her husband getting stressed, obviously.’

PC Branksome nodded. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, Maurice came in to the cinema again. That would have been last Wednesday.’ I glanced out of the porthole. The second trailer had started. There was one more before the feature change. ‘I’m going to have to stop again in a moment. Then, once this film’s running, I’ve a half hour before I need to go upstairs.’

‘What do you usually do in between putting shows on?’

‘Make up new films, plate off old ones. A bit of maintenance. There’s always something to be done, especially in a cinema this old.’ I went over to the porthole, turning the sound monitor up slightly as the pre-show tag began to run. Dimming the lights to half and fading the sound, I changed the lens and masking to Cinemascope, then re-focussed as the censor hit the screen. I set the sound to the correct level for the feature and flicked the end sequence on. ‘That’s it. Would you like to stay here or go back to the office?’

‘Here’s fine. So, you say Maurice came in on Wednesday?’

‘Yes, during the afternoon. I was on my way upstairs when I heard raised voices in the foyer. Maurice was having an argument with Dan…’

‘That’s Dan Perkins, the manager?’

‘Yes. Maurice wanted to go to the projection box, but we don’t let him, because it might be dangerous. He kept insisting he was the chief here and he was getting very upset because he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t being allowed to do what he still thinks is his job. Dan told me to go and ring his wife while he and Sylvia tried to calm Maurice down. So I did. By the time she got here, he was a bit calmer, but on his way out he said something like, “they put him in the hole. I saw them.” Brenda got him out of the place pretty quickly.’

‘Any idea what he meant by that?’

‘Well, I thought he might have meant a body, especially as he also said something about a person being killed.’

Did you kill him was what he’d said, but I wasn’t going to tell the police that. ‘He was upset. He might have been remembering something from a film.’ I don’t think PC Branksome believed that any more than I did. ‘Then, on Thursday, I got that text.’

He consulted his notebook. ‘"If you don’t stop poking your nose bad things will happen?"’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Which you thought might be kids messing around?’

‘Well, yes, at the time. I certainly didn’t think there was enough grounds to report it to the police.’

‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘We’ve a lot more experience with crime than you do.’

‘I know. It just seemed trivial, that’s all. But then when I thought about it, I realised I'd been asking questions about the past and a lot of people knew that. Perhaps I stirred something up?’

‘Hmm.’ It was a non-committal sound. ‘Is that everything?’

‘Up to today and you’ve already got that written down.’

‘Then let’s check through it, then we can get you to sign it and I’ll get back to the station. We may have some more questions for you later. If you remember anything else in the meantime, here’s my number.’ He handed me a card.

‘Thanks.’

I had to get up to the top box once we’d done. Once the show was running, I went to the staff room to make a cup of tea. I needed it by then.

It was as I was drinking it I heard footsteps on the stairs and Dan came in. He looked unusually serious, even given today’s events. ‘Couldn’t tell you this over the walkie talkie. I’ve just had to send Sylvia home in tears. Brenda called her to say Maurice died in hospital. It’s not just a hit and run now, it’s murder.’