This has been a title in search of a story for a long time now.  I used to work for a Mr Lenihan, and took a lot of messages for him.  He has nothing whatsoever to do with the final story, nor have any of his messages.

“Is there anyone in the room called…..Bob?  Could be Rob?  No, wait, it’s Ron!  Have we a Ron among us?”

From his mid-row seat at the back of the auditorium, he saw a hand go up somewhere near the front, silhouetted by the stage lighting.  On the stage sat Adriana, a rather stately woman in a thin, full-length air-blue dress.  Although approaching old age, her eyes remained sharp, and her voice bore the stamp of authority.

“You’ve lost a brother recently, haven’t you, Ron?”

“Yes!”  The monosyllable expressed his surprise.

“He says he’s fine.  He would love to tell you about his new life, but it is forbidden.”

“You mean God might cut him off?”

A ripple of amusement spread through the theatre, but it was not shared by the medium. She sat impassively, waiting for the audience to settle.

“He has some news for you.  He says you met a young lady on the bus today?”

After a pause Ron replied.  “Yes.”

“He says you should hang on to her – she’ll be good for you.”

She stopped for a moment and appeared to listen to the rest of the message.

“You’ll be engaged in April and married in September….and he says you’ll probably want proof of his identity.”

“Yes, if that’s allowed.”  Ron nodded vigorously.

“He says, when you were four he was swinging an umbrella and he caught you in the eye.  Do you remember?”

“Blimey!  Yes, that’s right!”

“He says he’s very sorry.”

“Bit late now!” said Ron.

Again there was a ripple of laughter, and this time even Adriana herself was unable to suppress a giggle.

After a few minutes, the laughter having subsided, she composed herself and went into a light trance.  The audience became quiet, expectant.  Lenihan sat back and allowed a sigh to pass his lips.  He felt in his pocket for the cord, its thickness and strength some comfort to him.  He still had no idea who had sent him the ticket with the note telling him to be here, but someone knew something for sure, and that someone must be dealt with.

“Do we have a John anywhere in the audience?”  enquired the medium suddenly.

He prayed someone else would answer, reasoning that there must be at least a handful of Johns present. 

“John?  Anyone?”  Adriana’s voice lifted on the last syllable as if to gently coax a response.

The silence in the theatre was almost unbearable.  He became aware that he was holding his breath, and was beginning to perspire with nerves.

"The spirit is most insistent," said Adriana.  "Could we perhaps have the house lights up a moment?"

As the surrounding light slowly increased to reveal him and his fellow audience members like rabbits caught in headlights, he did his best to keep calm by breathing deeply, slowly, but the persistence of the medium, and the rapt audience attention made his heart beat faster.

“Ah, there!”  The medium pointed towards him, then inclined her head slightly to one side.  "Are you sure that's him?"

She appeared to listen for a few moments to an unheard voice, before turning back to him.

"Is your name John, sir?"

He wanted to deny it, but the pressure of the situation made him nod, almost involuntarily.

“There you are!" she said, briskly.  "You can't hide from the spirits, you know."

Her teasing tone made the audience laugh loudly, and Lenihan sank down slowly in his seat.

"Don't distress yourself, sir.  I shan't embarrass you further,  But the spirit does have a message for you."
 
She appeared again to listen, then her face broke into a quizzical frown.

"Strange," she said.  "He won't give it to you here.  He says it's a private message.  Can you join me later on?"

There was a buzz of anticipation in the crowd, some of those nearest to him turning to Lenihan to see his reaction.

Again he felt forced to nod.  He felt the perspiration free-flowing from every pore. 

“Good.  Now, let’s move on!” cried the medium, and as he allowed himself a sigh of relief, she settled herself into another trance.

He sat through to the bitter end, her performance washing over him as he thought back to the night it had happened; the moonlight on the wooden steps in the old house, the room at the top with its bare floorboards and peeling seventies wallpaper, and the solitary wooden, armless chair in which Dexter had been sitting, waiting for him.  He remembered the cauldron of anger and fear that bubbled up inside him, when the proposal had been made.  The knife had been between his victim’s ribs before he knew anything about it.  Lenihan had watched him double up, a rivulet of blood opening up at the corner of his mouth, growing to a stream and dropping in pools on to his shirt and jacket.

Then came the long hour in the cold, empty room, working out his options.  The black bulk of the corpse lay on the bare wood, later to be dragged down the stairs and out to the car, wrapped in a white sheet he had found in the adjoining room. Now he was driving, jumping at every sudden sight and sound, suffering panic and frustration at every red light.  Then the same moonlight that had lit the stair shone brightly on the surface of the lake, and he was swimming out with an arm round his grim cargo.  And oh, the wave of relief as he gave up the body to the deep, and turned towards the shore.

Now clambering up the bank, through the trees and back to the car, making certain he was not seen, climbing dripping wet into the car and heading back to town, his heater on full blast to dry out…

He became aware of applause around him, and realised that people were rising from their seats.  He quickly followed suit, finding an attendant at the door to ask directions to Adriana’s dressing room.  He was led back down the central aisle and through to the backstage area, entering a maze of narrow grey-brick walls, lit by over-bright bulbs, until they came to a cream-coloured door marked “Star dressing room,” the “star” being emphasized by a five-pointed cardboard symbol sprayed gold.  A metal slot held a piece of card marked “Adriana.” 

The attendant knocked and, without waiting for an answer, opened the door.

“Someone to see you,” he said.

“John?”  she asked.

The attendant looked at him questioningly and he nodded.  The path was then cleared for Lenihan to enter the room.  He heard the door close behind him, and was quickly waved into a chair by Adriana.

“So what’s it all about?”  he said.

She took her time settling in her own chair at her dressing table, and swiveling round to face him.

“You probably found that a bit theatrical,” she replied at last.  “I’m sorry, but it was the only way.”

Lenihan felt sticky and uncomfortable, and wished she would get to the point.

“You know, John,” she began, lighting a small cigar, “it’s rare these days that I have a genuine insight, but in your case….well, let’s say the spirits were quite forthcoming. I’m so sorry – where are my manners!  Would you like some tea?”

He nodded, and she poured from a silver teapot on the dresser into a china cup, and passed it to him. Lenihan accepted it silently, and took a welcome sip to soothe his dry throat.

“The dream came to me about a month ago.  I didn’t really pay it much attention at the time.”

Lenihan’s eyes narrowed as he took another sip of his tea.

“My brother was sitting in some empty, dingy room.  Then someone came in.  After that it was a mixture of images – a car, a lake, a man in damp clothes locking his car outside a house.”

“Go on.” 

“Well, it upset me of course, but nothing more.  After all, my brother was still on my mind, and it was probably natural that my subconscious mind would try to find solutions.  So I left it at that.  Until this booking, that is.”

Lenihan sat silently, his hand drifting towards the cord.

“Incidentally,” said Adriana casually, “if you should have any thought of silencing me, you ought to know that I’ve already been to the police.  Told them how, while finding my way here, I had seen the house from my dream.  That I had checked up and found the name of the occupant.  I also told them that someone had been embezzling money from the firm my brother worked for, and that it was possible he had discovered something.”

His hand retreated.  “And what did they say?”

“They thought I was a crank.  Well, they were hardly going to call me in as a consultant, were they?  But think about it. If anything should happen to me now, you would at the very least be a line of enquiry.”

Lenihan became aware of a mild headache.  The unpleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach may well have been induced by the shock, but it was soon to be replaced with something far more definite and horrific.

“In a short time,” said Adriana levelly, “you will feel agonizing pains in your stomach, and then you will begin to vomit.  God bless Arsenic.”

“Help!”  The cry rebounded off the bare walls.

“Oh, they can’t hear you,” said Adriana, calmly.  “They’ll all be in the bar by now.  And when they come back I’ll explain that you were a little the worse for wear and are sleeping it off on my chaise longue.

“Alright, you bitch,” seethed Lenihan.  “But if I’m going, so are you!”

He pulled the cord from his pocket and threw it round her neck, pulling with all his strength, but the first of the pains was already invading his body, and his hands let go of the cord, as he was forced to clutch his stomach.

Adriana stood over him as he writhed on the floor.  It had been her intention to watch him die horribly and slowly, while the stagehands downed their after-show pints and shared dirty jokes.  But a mixture of queasiness and fear of discovery made her pick up the cord from where it lay, throw it around his neck, and pull until his tongue protruded and his body went limp.

She left the corpse where it fell, and dropped into her chair with a heavy sigh.  Taking another thin cigar from the packet, she lit up, inhaled deeply, and turned to listen to the voice at her side. 

“What, dear?” she said to the empty air.  “Yes, it’s all over.  Justice has been done.”