Crooked Herring

by L. C. Tyler

  And so on and blah-de-blah-de-blah. There were ten reviews in all – much the same as the one above. Sussexreader, a bit like Thrillseeker, seemed to concentrate mainly on one single writer he admired, though that is not completely unknown on Amazon. I checked his reviews for other writers. Nothing for Ethelred, good or bad. Nothing for Crispin Vynall. A couple of nice five-star reviews for Peter James and one each for Peter Lovesey, Joan Moules and Simon Brett, all Sussex-based, suggesting that Sussexreader took the ‘Sussex’ bit of his alias seriously and also read widely within the genre. Everything suggested he was knowledgeable and literate.

  Yet there was something about them that was vaguely familiar – as if I’d read the guy’s work before.

  I needed to talk to somebody who knew Crispin well, and I doubted that I could pitch up on Emma’s doorstep with a copy of Murderous Hampstead (say) and hope to question her without her suspecting anything. Who else would know him well, I wondered?

  That’s why I have just phoned Mary Devlin Jones, and arranged to meet her in Holborn tomorrow morning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Extract from a tape recording. The two people whose voices feature on the tape would appear to be Elsie Thirkettle (ET) and Mary Devlin Jones (MDJ). Diary entries point to the date being on or about 10 January. The background noise and the opening conversation suggest a cafe.

  MDJ: … that you have there?

  ET: No. Absolutely not.

  MDJ: I could have sworn that I saw a tape recorder in your bag when you leant across to it.

  ET: Oh, that. You mean the tape recorder in my bag.

  MDJ: Yes.

  ET: That tape recorder …

  MDJ: Yes.

  ET: I brought it along because I need to record an interview later with one of my writers.

  MDJ: But you didn’t just switch it on?

  ET: No.

  MDJ: OK. Because, if you had, it would be a bit weird.

  ET: Right. Definitely. So, I think that’s everything. Your skinny latte. My hot chocolate with whipped cream and more chocolate on top. Biscuits. Do you think we need more biscuits?

  MDJ: I’m good.

  ET: Morally or biscuit-wise? Ha, ha!

  MDJ: Just biscuit-wise. Thank you.

  ET: Don’t mention it.

  MDJ: It was great to hear from you out of the blue. Obviously I’m very pleased you wanted to meet up, since I’ve just left my last agent.

  ET: Yes, I’d heard that. I’ve always been a great admirer of your writing, Mary. Could you just talk me through what you’ve done?

  MDJ: But you’ve read the books, obviously?

  ET: Obviously. Still, talk me through it, anyway.

  MDJ: Well, Blood on the Cutting Room Floor was the first.

  ET: That’s the one that won the CWA New Writing Award?

  MDJ: Yes. They only ran that particular competition for a couple of years, so I was lucky to make it. I first got the idea for it …

  ET: The book was described as … [rustling of papers] … a fine debut, very much in the style of Stuart McBride and Crispin Vynall.

  MDJ: Is that Marcel Berlins in The Times?

  ET: Yes. Very much in the style of Crispin Vynall, he says …

  MDJ: And Stuart McBride.

  ET: But also Crispin Vynall.

  MDJ: Yes. That’s what the review says. Both of those writers.

  ET: You knew Crispin quite well in those days. The two of you were pretty close?

  MDJ: Close? Oh, I get it. It’s back to this business that Crispin wrote the bloody thing for me, isn’t it? Is somebody spreading rumours again? I honestly thought I was free of that crap now. Jeez, some people must have very little to do.

  ET: So, he didn’t write it?

  MDJ: Are you sure that tape recorder is off? I think I can see a red light. Or are you running a micro-brothel in your handbag?

  ET: Ha, ha!

  MDJ: So is it turned on?

  ET: Ha, ha!

  MDJ: Meaning it is?

  ET: Absolutely not.

  MDJ: [uncertainly] OK. Whatever.

  ET: So, did he give you any help? You and he were a bit of an item … I mean, I can see how it might happen. Innocently. Was the book really one hundred per cent yours?

  MDJ: I can’t believe you asked me that question. Do I actually have to give you an answer?

  ET: That’s why I asked the question.

  MDJ: OK, I can see that, if you are going to be my agent, we need to clear one or two things up. It got in the way of my relationship with my last agent, to be perfectly honest.

  ET: Your last agent being …

  MDJ: Janet Francis.

  ET: The same agent as Crispin?

  MDJ: Yes.

  ET: Just a thought – she wasn’t jealous of you and Crispin? I mean, she didn’t fancy Crispin herself?

  MDJ: I don’t think so. I mean, she’s much too old for him.

  ET: She’d be about the same age as he is.

  MDJ: That’s what I mean.

  ET: So it was just the whole plagiarism thing, then, that caused the problems between you and Janet?

  MDJ: Except there wasn’t any plagiarism. Let’s just get this over, shall we? If it helps at all, I admit it – I mean the infatuated with Crispin Vynall bit. In those days what I was writing was very much Vynall pastiche – a bit the way Henry Holiday now writes Vynall pastiche, only with decent plots. I admired the bloody man – Crispin, I mean. I thought he was the cat’s bollocks. I tried to imitate him. It’s not that surprising that he liked it as a judge for that competition. I had a bit of an inside track, you might say. And he helped me edit it before it went to the publisher – I didn’t have an agent until Crispin introduced me to his – but that was all. It was my bloody book, OK? Sorry, did I splash you with that coffee?

  ET: Only a bit. Maybe if you didn’t wave your cup around like that …

  MDJ: Sorry.

  ET: But after the book came out. You and Crispin saw a lot of each other?

  MDJ: I’m really, really sorry. I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning if you like. Shall I get some more paper napkins for you?

  ET: No, I’m good. But I mean, why not go out with him? The fact that he’s married apart, of course. I’ll grant you he’s got a few wrinkles, but he has money and he has influence.

  MDJ: True. I suppose that’s a good summary of why I slept with him. But it had no connection with the prize. I won that fair and square.

  ET: Of course you did.

  MDJ: I did discuss the second book with him. A bit. But his suggestions were … well, odd. He thought I should introduce elements of the supernatural – cross-over horror and crime thriller. And I did try, but it never felt comfortable. That’s probably why that one never really worked out. I don’t think he wanted the second book to be a success, to be quite honest. He wanted a dutiful handmaiden, not a competitor.

  ET: Then he dumped you.

  MDJ: As he had dumped others in the past. One of these days somebody’s going to bump him off, just like one of the characters from his books.

  ET: One day?

  MDJ: Well, at some point in the future. I can’t be more specific than that.

  ET: He’s alive and well now?

  MDJ: As far as I know. I haven’t actually seen him since last June, but I’d have heard if something had happened … or do you mean …?

  ET: No. I don’t mean anything. But you’re certain you haven’t killed him?

  MDJ: Only fictionally.

  ET: Book three.

  MDJ: Yes, he was in that, thinly disguised. It’s the way we writers get revenge. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. Crispin said he sometimes did the same thing in his books – a thinly disguised caricature of somebody he disliked, clearly identifiable for those who knew, but always just on the right side of libel.

  ET: He did a few of those?

  MDJ: So he said.

  ET: And they’d have upset people?

  MDJ: That was the plan.

/>   ET: Can you remember any names?

  MDJ: He was always a bit cagey about that for obvious reasons. I know the ineffectual blackmailer in his third book was supposed to be Johnny Rayne.’

  ET: His agent before he signed up with Janet Francis?

  MDJ: Yes.

  ET: He died of a heart attack last year, so it can’t be him.

  MDJ: Can’t have been him doing what?

  ET: Nothing. Nothing at all. Who is Crispin seeing now?

  MDJ: In addition to his wife? Or doesn’t that count?

  ET: They seem to have split up.

  MDJ: Wow! I didn’t see that one coming. She finally gave him the push? Good for her.

  ET: So I heard. Who was he consorting with at Bristol last year?

  MDJ: Nobody really. I mean, all sorts of things go on at conferences like that, but nobody likes to make it too obvious with their agents and publishers and readers all hanging around. You never know who’s going to tweet a photo of you chatting in some cosy corner. One moment nobody knows, the next it’s gone to 10,000 followers, and that’s before the re-tweets. Betrayal’s no longer the polite, leisurely thing it once was. Since you ask, however, I did see him in the bar quite a lot with a Swedish writer – Elisabeth Söderling? But I wouldn’t want to spread gossip. There may have been nothing in it. That’s Söderling with a couple of dots above the O.

  [Unidentified voice]: You all done with that?

  ET: Gosh, did I finish them? Could you bring some more? With chocolate?

  [Unidentified voice]: We don’t bring them. You have

  to go up and order them from the counter.

  ET: Do I? You couldn’t fetch one little packet? No? OK, I’ll just grab that …

  [Obscure noises for some minutes]

  [Second unidentified voice]: Two pounds seventy.

  ET: For that? Two pounds seventy?

  [Second unidentified voice]: You can put it back if

  you don’t want it … well, no, not if you’ve

  taken a bite out of it obviously.

  ET: Fair enough. But two pounds seventy …

  [Sound of coins being counted out very slowly]

  [Second unidentified voice]: Thank you.

  [Obscure noises then a thump]

  MDJ: You shouldn’t have dragged your bag all the way over there. I’d have watched it.

  ET: I didn’t think of that.

  MDJ: Or were you worried I would fiddle with your tape recorder while you were away?

  ET: No. Of course not. It’s off. None of this is being recorded. I cannot stress that too strongly. I suppose you don’t know where Crispin is now?

  MDJ: Why should I?

  ET: No reason. If he vanished suddenly, you’ve no idea where he might have gone? Where does Elisabeth Söderling live?’

  MDJ: Stockholm. Can we talk about my work for a bit? And your terms? I assume that’s why we’re here? Crispin’s a bit … well … in the past. I don’t write that sort of thing any more. And, like I say, the story about him writing my book is rubbish. I just wish I knew who’d started that one. I could murder them …

  ET: Yes, of course. Your current work. So you do cat detectives now?

  MDJ: No. My detective owns some cats. Have you actually read the books?

  ET: You bet! Great books, all of them. I mean the cats help out …

  MDJ: Only in their capacity as cats.

  ET: One’s called Hercule?

  MDJ: It seemed amusing.

  ET: [polite laugh]

  MDJ: Yes, about as amusing as that. Certainly not more. So, in principle, would you want to take me on? You represent Peter Fielding, don’t you?

  ET: Ethelred? Yes. But don’t worry – I represent some very successful writers too.

  MDJ: It’s just that I’ve always had a soft spot for him – Ethelred, I mean.

  ET: Why?

  MDJ: Because he’s a gent, I suppose. A throwback to a better and more civilised age. I’ve never heard him slagging off other writers. Or agents. He’s a genuinely nice person. Really well liked. And I sort of owe him.

  ET: Whatever.

  MDJ: So, are you interested in representing me? I understand that you might not wish to say anything on the record but …

  ET: Good point. Hold on. I just need to check something in my bag. Ah, yes, here it is. Now we can talk properly …

  RECORDING ENDS

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  From the journal of Elsie Thirkettle

  My meeting with Mary Devlin Jones went well. One thing that I am now convinced of is that she was stitched up over the plagiarism. But by whom?

  She had omitted one small fact from her account. The most effective witness in her defence might have been Crispin, but he had entered the fray somewhat late in the day with a short and rather bland statement to the effect that he had merely helped her with some editing. Well, that’s all you get if you have written the person concerned into one of your novels and then subjected their alter ego to a couple of weeks of excruciating torture over 150 pages.

  But it was unlikely, however sore he was feeling, that Crispin would have started the rumour himself. Emma, conversely, was both sufficiently well informed and sufficiently well motivated to screw Mary’s budding career. I was fairly sure that a little more research might trace the original rumour back to her – I was less sure that it would help solve the problem of where Crispin was and whether Henry had killed him.

  Back, then, to the death threat letter.

  I got the sheet of paper out from the place where I carefully store such things, and re-examined it. It was on cheap A4 of the sort sold in supermarkets pretty well anywhere. I was pretty sure there’d be no fingerprints on it. There’d be mine and Ethelred’s, of course, but probably not the writer’s. The ink was ballpoint – probably also from a supermarket or a freebie picked up at a conference. The block capitals were neat and without much character. The various spelling mistakes were clearly deliberate – a literate man pretending to be otherwise.

  JUST A POLITE WARNING, ETHELLRED, TO LET YOU KNO TO STOP STICKING YOUR NOSE INTO OTHER PEOPLE’S BIZNIS. YOU’LL STAY OUT OF IT IF YOU KNOW WOT’S GOOD FOR YOU. YOU’RE NOLONGER WRITING CHEAP AMATEUR DETECTIVE FICTION. IT’S VERY DIFFERENT WHEN IT’S REAL LIFE AND YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND ITS INNS AND OUTS. YOU AREN’T LORD PETER WHIMSY, WHATEVER YOU MAY THINK. AND YOU WOULDN’T WANT TO BE THE SECOND BODY THAT SHOWS UP, WOULD YOU? BE WARNED; WE KNOW ICKSACTLY WOT YOU’RE DOING. A FREND.

  Most of the ‘mistakes’ were blatant, clumsy things. It was the product of a writer of fiction with too much time on his hands. ‘Inns and outs’, for example, was an improbable error, coming from somebody who could spell ‘amateur’. And, I noticed, it was not only Ethelred’s name that was misspelt. Lord Peter Wimsey had suffered the same fate. But there was one error that, for me at least, stood out the most. Most of us grow up with a blind spot for one or two words – however many times our spellchecker puts us right. In an uncorrected handwritten note they are almost a signature. Running together ‘no’ and ‘longer’ into a single word looked like one of these. After all, we have ‘nowhere’ and ‘nobody’ and ‘nothing’. Why not ‘nolonger’? I used to do it myself, so I tend to notice it when it does crop up. And I was sure I’d seen it before very recently – and more than once. The question was where?

  I made myself a coffee and opened a packet of chocolate biscuits. But the answer to the question was so obvious that I had eaten scarcely three-quarters of them before the answer was revealed. It was Thrillseeker on Amazon:

  In A Bad Way to Die, Joe Smith finds himself the only witness to a gang-land killing. Bravely he goes to the police, who promise him protection if he will testify, but a corrupt officer lets the killers know where to find him and Joe is nolonger safe.

  Well, well, the author of the death threats and Thrillseeker (that is to say, Crispin) both thought there was such a word as ‘nolonger’. I went through Sussexreader’s reviews too:

  Henry Holiday is eme
rging as one of the most exciting talents of his generation of crime writers. With an older cohort of authors nolonger delivering the goods, young wordsmiths such as Holiday are stepping up to the mark.

  Interesting.

  I looked again at the death threat and the other spelling error I had just noticed. Maybe that too would show up in the Amazon reviews? It certainly rang a bell. Another trawl produced this, from Thrillseeker’s review of 15 December: