To Kill A Critic

by Michael Leese

  Roper could have been describing his own personal circumstances. The DCI realised he needed to tread lightly. He said. “Not everyone has loads of friends and lives with a loving partner.” A tight smile appeared. “The last time I lived with my wife, things were far from happy, so sometimes you are better off on your own.”

  He noticed that Roper was doing that thing of looking at him obliquely while staring down at the floor. It was his way of masking his intense interest in the subject matter.

  “If I’m quite honest, once things settled down after the divorce, life was much better. I may be on my own, but I get to do the things I want. No one complains when I disappear to watch Arsenal and have a few beers. Then it’s fish and chips and back home to watch a film. Lovely. Much better than having a row.”

  Roper looked up. “Why would someone try to stop you watching football?” Only a very good actor could have managed to look more sincerely puzzled.

  “Let’s just say that when you’ve been married for a while, things change. But that’s life.” He knew this wasn’t going to be enough so added. “Tell you what, love and marriage, big subjects. Why don’t we discuss them properly over a pint and maybe something to eat?”

  “Tonight?”

  “If we have the time, yes.” Hooley knew that one way or another he was going to have this discussion. He didn’t mind, but did take the view that his relationship expertise came more from the getting it wrong side of things, rather than getting it right. If he could keep Roper at bay for a few days perhaps he could think of something positive.

  He was saved from having to say more as Julie Mayweather walked in. She was dressed in her ‘casual’ style, which meant she had taken off the jacket that went with her uniform.

  “What do we have?”

  Hooley pointed at Roper. “Apparently, I made an important point last night. Or Roper thinks I did.”

  “Jonathan?” She looked at him with an inquiring expression

  “It has to be someone he knew well enough to let into his flat, but not so well that they were a friend or lover.” He looked slightly embarrassed as he said this, but the moment quickly passed. It had taken Hooley a lot of time to convince him it was OK to say lover in front of his boss. He’d been worried that she might think he was being rude.

  “Are you thinking someone like a handyman, or a cleaner? We just got the time of death back and he was killed in the morning, around 10am. So that would fit the time a cleaner might have been there.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” said Roper. Unaware that this minor admission of failure was being greeted with pantomime shock by Hooley and a suppressed laugh from Mayweather. “I was thinking it might be a decorator, or an interior designer.”

  Hooley interrupted. “We’re just going to talk to his agent again. I’m thinking Roper and I should go and see him, rather than do it over the phone.”

  “Good idea. I’m told he didn’t have many friends and the agent was one of the few people who was genuinely close to him.”

  Hooley looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

  “You’re going to find this hard to believe, but one of the few people who knew him was our own Chief Constable. It turns out they met 20 years ago when he was sent to the man’s house to offer him protection after the furore over one of his reviews got out of hand and threats were being made.”

  Hooley snorted. “Given that they are both opinionated know-it-alls, that doesn’t come as the biggest surprise.”

  Mayweather looked puzzled as she said. “Is it just me, or does anyone else have trouble hearing things in here? It must be something to do with the acoustics.”

  Roper shot out of his chair and was about to reply when he was stopped in his tracks by the DCI’s raised hand. Mayweather turned on her heel and left.

  As she disappeared from view Roper looked annoyed. “Why did you stop me speaking? I was about to explain there was nothing wrong with the acoustics. It must be her hearing that’s at fault.”

  “That’s precisely why I interrupted you before you could say anything. There is nothing wrong with her hearing. She was just pretending.”

  “Pretending? I don’t understand.”

  “Never mind, add it to the list of things we can talk about when we discuss love and marriage.”

  ◆◆◆

  George Mavers was regarded as the finest theatrical agent in London, representing a roster of top names. He operated from a three-room office close to the heart of Covent Garden.

  The first, a reception, also acted as a small waiting area. It housed a large leather settee of indeterminate age, and a magnificent walnut desk at which two people sat, a slender young woman with a tattoo sleeve covering her right arm, and a very large man, aged in his early forties, with a cotton sleeve covering his left arm. They made an arresting sight.

  Hooley and Roper were sat on the settee waiting for Mavers to come free from a telephone call. The DCI was happy with the wait, it gave him a chance to relax and catch up on events. He eyed the pair at the desk and noticed they seemed to be sharing the duties of answering the phone and dealing with paperwork, even though the man appeared built for guarding duties.

  It was coming up to lunch time and Hooley’s nose twitched as a huge platter of sandwiches, covered in clear protective film, was delivered and taken through to the rear of the office.

  All thoughts of his own food were dismissed as Mavers appeared. He was about the same height as Hooley, very skinny like Roper, and looked to be about 70 years old, with long, white hair that was still thick and parted in the middle.

  He was wearing a suit made from a sort of grey and black check, a pink shirt and a large, black, bow tie. Hooley imagined that in other circumstances he might have looked quite dapper, but despite wearing a pair of tortoiseshell glasses, his red-rimmed eyes revealed his distress at the news of the Robert Randall’s murder.

  The DCI was not a man given to fanciful thoughts but as he followed Mavers he could feel a deep sense of melancholy emanating from him. He glanced at Roper and could see that even though the younger man often struggled with emotions, his own or others, on this occasion he too was looking subdued, so intense was the grief of the man they had come to see.

  They followed Mavers past the second room, which was filled with rows of desks topped with computer screens. Each space was occupied by a young man or woman, all tapping away at their keyboards. This is where the sandwiches had been delivered.

  The agent turned and saw Hooley looking into the room.

  “Facebook, Twitter, Instagram…” he rolled his eyes and waved his hand at the room. “Meet the team that keeps all our clients busy on the different social media sites. If it was left to me I wouldn’t bother, but you can’t get away from it today, so I leave that side of things to them.

  “With a few keystrokes they can achieve what it used to take me weeks of careful preparation. It’s a lot more efficient, but a lot less fun than a long-lunch with a showbiz journalist. In fact, you can hardly get a journalist out for a lunch time drink now.” He shook his head. “Quite amazing.”

  He led them into his office where there was a coffee maker near the window and a set of chairs arranged around a low table. His desk was in the far corner. But it was the photographs on the wall that made Hooley stop in his tracks. They featured just about every famous personality of the last 50 years, or at least those who had registered with the DCI.

  Mavers caught his eye and smiled. “No one ever gets old on these walls,” he said, before gesturing at the chairs.

  “Take a seat gentlemen, and can I get you a coffee? I’ve been drinking too much of it so I feel a bit twitchy, but it was that or wine and I don’t think that would have been a good idea. I just can’t believe he’s gone. I know he was hated by lots of people, but there was a grudging respect that he did know his job. Deep down, most people realised they deserved to be given a bit of slap for shoddy work.”

  He busied himself making the two requested drinks then bro
ught them over, placing them on the table he sat down, sighed and turned to Roper.

  “You’re the man who came up with the Rainbow Spectrum, aren’t you?”

  Hooley and Roper looked surprised at his statement, so Mavers carried on. “I represent all sorts of people. The head of MI5 retired recently, and I have been working with her. She told me about you and it was such a remarkable story that I remembered your name.

  “When they rang through and told me you were here I was very impressed. If one man can be relied upon to get to the bottom of this, then it has to be you.” He turned to Hooley. “No disrespect to yourself Chief Inspector. I was also told that it’s thanks to you that Mr. Roper enjoys such a successful career with the Met. So, what do you need from me?”

  Hooley checked with Roper to see if he wanted to take the lead, but realised that the younger man was so stunned at being singled out for praise by a stranger that he wasn’t going to be saying anything for some time.

  “As you rightly say, our Mr. Roper has a remarkable way of looking at the world. In this case he has come up with two key questions. Do you know if Mr. Randall had a lover, and was he planning to redecorate?

  “It may seem an odd pair of questions but there is some solid reasoning behind them. If you could answer, to the best of your ability, then I will try to explain.”

  Mavers puffed his cheeks out and sat back in his seat. “As far as I know he didn’t have a lover. We never discussed it, but I rather got the impression that sex was something he could quite happily live without.

  “He was also one of the few people I know who was entirely comfortable in their own company. He didn’t need to have any friends. I was as close to him as anyone, and I knew very little about him.

  “He used to take me out to lunch once a month. He liked to go to what I would describe as ‘normal’ restaurants, ones that he really enjoyed eating in. But as I say, we talked mostly about the state of the world. He was such an acute observer it was always fascinating to hear him describe what he had seen.”

  He stopped and looked at the two men in turn. “As to the question of redecoration, well that does sound like a very strange question, but you’ve asked me to take it seriously, so I shall, and it’s going to be a short answer. I have no idea if he was planning to decorate. In the thirty years I represented him he never once invited me to his flat or even talked about it.”

  Hooley decided he wanted to ask another question before explaining Roper’s theory. “He had two suitcases full of what might be described as hate mail. They were under his bed. Did he ever talk about that?”

  Mavers pushed himself back into the chair, he had edged forward as he spoke. “A little bit. Most of the letters were addressed here. They were the usual ‘green ink’ rantings and for years I had ordered that they be thrown away, but he found out.

  “For some reason he found them amusing and asked for them to be kept in reception and he would come in from time to time to pick them up. But apart from that we never really spoke of them.”

  He leaned forward in his seat, looking at each man in turn. “Why are you asking about them? Are you thinking the killer might have been one of the writers?” He suddenly looked very tired and ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t bear to think that is the case. It means we might have received it here.”

  “Don’t worry, the letters had nothing to do with it.” Roper had been so silent up to that point that both men turned to him.

  “How can you be so certain?” asked Mavers.

  “Something you just said added to the impression I had formed of him and his abilities. He was obviously a bit like me in the way he noticed things. I have already said that it is obvious he knew the killer because he let him into his flat. Earlier on today, DCI Hooley asked me a similar question about why I was sure the killer didn’t write one of the letters.

  “Well my answer goes back to something I learned at school. When someone wants to hurt you, they give themselves away. They seem to look at you from the corner of their eyes and their shoulders are stiff.

  “I know there are other signs to look out for, but I learned a long time ago that those two are the most important. If you see those two things, you know someone is about to attack you, they can’t hide it. Robert Randall would have understood this as well.”

  This was greeted by a moment of silence as both men contemplated the price Roper must have paid to have that sort of knowledge.

  The quiet was broken by Mavers. “I can imagine how you were able to come up with the Rainbow Spectrum.”

  They stayed for another half-an-hour, but there was nothing else of any real value from the agent. Hooley left him his telephone number, urging him to ring if anything else occurred to him.

  Leaving the agent, they headed towards the Strand where they turned right towards Trafalgar Square.

  Hooley said. “Let’s walk down towards the river and get the tube from there. I could really do with a bit of exercise; it helps to stop me seizing up.”

  “I keep telling you about good quality fish oils and combining them with Vitamin D3. All the studies talk about the benefits to older people and it’s not just your joints, it’s your heart and cognitive functions too.”

  Hooley was never far from being on the receiving end of a lecture by his self-appointed guardian. He’d tried to explain it wasn’t a good idea to discuss other people’s health without their consent, but it made no difference. The only consolation was that Roper meant well.

  The DCI was keen to get off the health agenda and back to their case. “Did you get anything out of that? I know the agent was as helpful as he could be, but he didn’t have a great deal.”

  “Actually, I thought it was quite helpful. At least now we know some of the things that weren’t the reasons.”

  Hooley almost came to a halt as he contemplated the enigmatic response. Roper hadn’t missed a step and he had to hurry to close the gap as they walked towards the Embankment underground station, where they would catch a train back to their Victoria office. A short while later, as he watched the doors of the District line slam shut with a sort of groaning noise, he still couldn’t quite get his head round Roper’s comment.

  ◆◆◆

  “I think I’ve found something.” It was the first words the younger man had uttered since sitting down at his desk three hours ago. Even a visit from Mayweather had failed to break his concentration as he ploughed through a variety of archives.

  “Five years ago, Randall wrote a very critical review of a new play. He said it was one of the worst things he had ever been to and said it was a disgrace it had ever made it as far as the stage.

  “He urged anyone who had pre-booked tickets to demand their money back claiming the theatre was engaged in a fraudulent act by ‘pretending’ this was a genuine play.” He gave it ‘No Stars’, something he had never done before.

  “Apparently, the theatre management pulled it that night and the playwright went missing for a couple of weeks, and there was a bit of a panic that he had killed himself. But in the end, they found him in a hospital in Blackpool. He’d gone home to drown his sorrows and collapsed after ten days of constant drinking and sleeping rough.”

  Hooley winced. “He really didn’t take any prisoners, did he? I’ve never thought of the impact his reviews had on the writers, it must be terrible to get something like that. But having said that, what makes you think there is a link to our case? Are you suggesting that this writer is the killer? I know they say revenge is best served cold, but five years is a long time to bear a grudge.”

  “No, it’s not,” said Roper, his cheeks were flushed, and he looked annoyed. For some reason he had taken offence at this last comment. “Only last week you complained about another DCI. You told me, and you know I have perfect recall. ‘I can’t stand that man. I’ve known him more than 20 years and you mustn’t trust him at all. If he shakes your hand check your fingers afterwards.’

  “I also remember telling you that having that
much anger was very bad for you, especially someone as unfit as you. It just adds to your bad stress and makes you at risk from a stroke or…”

  “OK, OK. I get the message.” Now it was Hooley’s turn to flush, although his owed more to embarrassment than anger. “Yes, you’re quite right, as always. I did say that, but it’s not as though I have a plan to murder him, so I think it’s a bit different.”

  He waited for Roper to calm down. He knew how much the younger man hated it if he thought people were telling him things that weren’t true. It was amazing what he could store in that brain of his.

  It took a couple of minutes for Roper to get back on his theme. Finally, he said. “There are two other clues. The play was about a lion tamer, and another thing that Randall said was that the writer should save himself any more embarrassment by running away to join the circus and become a clown.

  “I also found a story written a couple of years later in the Evening Standard. It said the writer, Paul Dobson, had come back to London and was now working as a stage designer, and doing very well at it.”

  Now Hooley was looking expectant. “You’re thinking that this Dobson fella makes a good fit for the person who did his best to turn Randall into a clown. Add in his stage designing skills and you might just have someone who is pretty good at interior design. I like the sound of this; let’s get an address for him and see what he’s got to say for himself.”

  “He’s working on a production at the Savoy Theatre. We were quite close to there earlier on today.”

  ◆◆◆

  An hour later they were at the theatre, along with a couple of youthful detectives. Hooley wasn’t quite sure what would happen, but if it involved any running around he liked to leave that sort of thing to the younger generation.

  The DCI produced his warrant card and demanded to speak to the manager who must have been lurking just out of sight, since he appeared almost instantly. He obsequiously wrung his hands as he listened to Hooley explain they needed to speak to Paul Dobson. Roper had even found a picture online which he had copied and sent to the DCI’s phone; he was now showing this to the manager.