by L. C. Tyler
‘I hope so – but it’s better we see it first, before the police. Can you get hold of it and send it to us straight away?’
‘Yes, of course. No sooner said than done. I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Tell Ethelred I’m on the case.’
He rang off. OK, I’d been a bit of a disappointment up to now, but I was about to make up for that. Big time.
I had the number of the club, so I rang it and asked for Kevin.
‘Detective Inspector Elsie Thirkettle here,’ I said. ‘I’m going to drop in tomorrow morning and pick up the old CCTV equipment.’
‘But you did it today,’ he said.
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Some guys turned up, just like you said. I wasn’t around at the time, but somebody told me they just took it all away.’
‘Your boss had said the machine was going to be scrapped?’
‘Yes.’
‘So there’s just a chance these guys had been sent by your boss to pick it up and take it to the tip?’
‘Wasn’t it the police, then?’
‘I’d say that that was somewhere between very unlikely and completely impossible.’
‘Was it important?’
‘Let’s hope it wasn’t as important as I thought it was,’ I said.
Of course, Cervantes was a galley slave for five years before his agent sprung him. With luck Ethelred wouldn’t have to wait quite as long as that.
It’s fortunate under the circumstances that I had a Plan C. It wasn’t quite as legal as Plans A and B, but it would do perfectly well. And my first step was to make contact with Henry’s mole at Francis and Nowak. I was pretty sure I knew who it was.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Extract from a tape recording. The two people whose voices feature on the tape would appear to be Elsie Thirkettle (ET) and Tuesday Lane-Smith (TL-S). The exact date is unclear but diary entries point to its being mid-January. The background noise and the opening conversation suggest a very cheap cafe just off Tottenham Court Road.
TL-S: Thank you so much for buying me lunch. I honestly didn’t think I’d done you that much of a favour.
ET: Politeness costs nothing. Well (brief pause) twelve pounds fifteen pence, including VAT and service.
TL-S: Do you want me to pay my half?
ET: (long pause) No, no, no. (Long pause) Of course not. So, how are you enjoying life at Francis and Nowak?
TL-S: Brill! I’d really, really like to be an agent. I’ve only got another couple of weeks there, though. It’s just an internship thingy. You know?
ET: I might have a permanent post coming up at the Elsie Thirkettle Agency …
TL-S: Really?
ET: It’s technically possible. Do you like Janet Francis?
TL-S: She’s a bit fierce. Except when she’s drunk, of course. So, she’s fine after lunch. I’ve never met the other partner. Nowak?
ET: He’s gone. Janet ate him for breakfast in 1997. So, how did you get the internship thingy?
TL-S: Oh, a cousin of mine … Henry Holiday… he’s a famous writer, you know? … He knows Janet Francis really, really well and he fixed it up.
ET: And does he take any interest in how you’re getting on?
TL-S: Oh, yes! He’s überinterested! Phones me every other day, you know? To ask about what’s happening and all the gossip?
ET: And you tell him?
TL-S: In strict confidence. I mean, the Karen Rockingham thingy, for example – wow! If that got out …
ET: Karen Rockingham? She’s Janet’s biggest client, of course …
TL-S: By miles! Sells millions! I mean, the film rights alone are worth gazillions.
ET: As much as that? So the Karen Rockingham thingy is …
TL-S: Oh, I couldn’t tell you that! I mean … wow!! It’s really, really confidential. You won’t get that out of me!!! Lips sealed!!!!
ET: But you told Henry?
TL-S: (long pause) Yes, I told Henry. But only because he got me the job and I’m certain he won’t breathe a word to a soul. I mean, he knows I’d get the boot straight away. He wouldn’t do that to me.
ET: Wouldn’t he?
TL-S: Henry? No!!!
ET: Are you sure?
TL-S: He’s really nice. A bit old-fashioned … but really nice.
ET: Always? Nice, I mean. I know he doesn’t have any clothes designed after 1957.
TL-S: Ha!
ET: Ha!
TL-S: (long pause) You know, I shouldn’t really say this …
ET: Please do.
TL-S: But I shouldn’t.
ET: Yes, you said that and I said: ‘please do’. If you were to join my agency, I’d need you to be completely open with me. And to cut to the chase occasionally.
TL-S: Is there a serious chance of that? Joining you …
ET: Simply regard this as a sort of interview with a small hummus salad thrown in.
TL-S: Well, it’s just that it was Henry who got Mary Devlin Jones dropped by Francis and Nowak. That wasn’t nice, was it? Janet told me one of the times she was really, really, really drunk? Henry told her how Mary had sort of copied somebody’s book?
ET: Crispin Vynall.
TL-S: That’s right! You knew about it! So it was true?
ET: Just because things are generally known doesn’t make them true. But that’s certainly interesting. Very interesting. Now, tell me about Karen Rockingham.
TL-S: I said, I can’t. That’s all there is to it.
ET: But you’ve already leaked the information to Henry. Janet will find out.
TL-S: She may not.
ET: She will if I tell her. So you’ll be sacked and have no references. No agency will look at you. Ever. You’ll have to go out and find honest work.
TL-S: But you wouldn’t …
ET: Of course, if you join me, you won’t need a reference from Janet Francis.
TL-S: So, you’re definitely offering me a job?
ET: Tell me about Karen Rockingham. Then let’s have a look at the pudding menu. Mmm, look … lemon sponge and custard.
TL-S: This is horrible! You invite me out for a nice lunch, then get me to tell you things I shouldn’t tell you, then you blackmail me into telling you more. Is publishing always like this?
ET: No, there are bad days too. What’s Karen Rockingham done?
TL-S: (very long pause) She’s written a detective novel.
ET: OK. Well, that’s pretty shocking, but I’m not sure it will completely destroy her reputation …
TL-S: No, no. She’s done it under an assumed name so nobody will know it’s her. She wants to see if she can make a success of it without her real name being on the cover. We’re all sworn to secrecy. She’ll be furious if it all gets out.
ET: But Henry knows?
TL-S: Yes.
ET: And if he leaked it to the press, Karen would be annoyed?
TL-S: Really, really, really mad.
ET: And she’d leave Francis and Nowak?
TL-S: If she knew we’d leaked it … She’d leave and then sue us for absolutely squillions.
ET: Is a squillion more than a gazillion?
TL-S: I think so. I’m not that good at maths. Oh my God! Is that what Henry’s planning to do?
ET: He hates Janet Francis.
TL-S: But Janet gave me the job …
ET: She doesn’t know Henry hates her. It’s his little secret.
TL-S: So, I’m going to get sacked?
ET: Yes.
TL-S: But you’d give me a job?
ET: Quite possibly.
TL-S: On what terms?
ET: Well, without wishing to commit myself … Hold on a moment. I need to get something from my handbag.
TL-S: Is that a tape recorder in there?
ET: Only a little one. OK, that’s it …
RECORDING ENDS
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
From the journal of Elsie Thirkettle
The police arrived mid-afternoon. One convention of amateur detecti
ve fiction is that the police blunder around and ask only the obvious questions. These two, however, a detective inspector and a sergeant, seemed bright and on the ball. They questioned me about Ethelred generally. Since they weren’t critics for any of the major papers, I didn’t bother with words like ‘gripping’ or ‘innovative’ or even ‘reasonably well written’. I just said he was a mid-list author who did mainly police procedurals and a bit of historical, with the occasional slice of romantic fiction thrown in when all else failed. No chick lit and sadly no best-selling blockbusters optioned for Hollywood.
I told them a bit, of course, about what a tosser Henry Holiday was and about how I was certain he had stitched Ethelred up, but they seemed less interested than they might. They wanted something they called ‘firm evidence’, not ‘baseless speculation bordering on slander’. I told them they could suit themselves.
We talked about Amazon reviews. I explained that most writers didn’t give a toss, except for sensitive little souls like Ethelred, for whom any criticism was a cut to the quick. Not that he’d kill anyone for that, of course. Did I think that Crispin had written the reviews? No, I said, I knew that Henry had written them, I just couldn’t prove it. But Amazon would tell them for sure.
Then we got on to what I had been expecting. Was it likely, they asked, that he was alone on New Year’s Eve, watching David Attenborough? Well, yes, of course it was, because that was roughly what he’d done for the past two or three years – unless he was teaching on some creative writing course in Caithness or Anglesey, designed to attract other people with nothing much to do over the holiday period. So I said: ‘Alone? Oh dear, officer, I’m not sure I should say …’
‘You do realise that if he was with anyone it would be critical to his defence? We just got the impression—’
‘Then you may not be wrong,’ I said. ‘But I couldn’t possibly comment.’
‘Henry Holiday thought it likely.’
‘But Ethelred wouldn’t have told Henry who it was,’ I said. ‘What you have to understand about Ethelred is that he’s an old-fashioned gent.’
‘So, if he had been with somebody that evening he might not tell us? Even at the risk of harming his defence?’
‘His lips would be sealed,’ I said. ‘If there were still gallows, he would probably go to those gallows without breathing the name of his beloved to a soul.’
‘No shit?’ said one of them.
‘No shit,’ I said.
They nodded thoughtfully and made notes.
‘But he fancied Emma Vynall?’
‘He fancied her rotten,’ I said. ‘Would you like another biscuit, Inspector?’
Some of the interviews I had to conduct I rather looked forward to. One I didn’t. But I needed to test the water. So I made the call.
‘Henry Holiday speaking.’
‘It’s Elsie Thirkettle here.’
‘Ah, Ethelred’s agent.’
‘Just a courtesy call to say I’m onto your game, punk.’
‘That won’t help you. In the game you refer to, I happen to hold all the cards, you see.’
‘I know you are Sussexreader and Thrillseeker.’
‘No you don’t. You are guessing I used both names but you don’t know and have no way of finding out.’
‘The police can get Amazon to identify you. I’ve already told them to check.’
‘You haven’t heard of using false identities on the web, then?’
‘I bet Amazon have a way of telling.’
‘Perhaps they do. Thank you for alerting me to that possibility. Very well, if it pleases you, let’s say I wrote reviews on Amazon under both names. It isn’t against the law.’
‘But you claimed to be Crispin Vynall in one post.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so. Thrillseeker may have said he was going to some conference or other and it may be that Crispin Vynall did attend that conference. But I don’t think he said specifically that he was Crispin Vynall.’
‘You aren’t as clever as you think you are, Henry.’
‘Aren’t I?’
‘You created this image for yourself as somebody who had no idea how the Internet worked. In the meantime you were creating false identities and laying a trail of clues to incriminate one of my writers.’
‘Perhaps. In what way does that make me less clever than I imagine?’
‘Because I know you’re Thrillseeker.’
‘Do you? I can promise you you’ll have a great deal of difficulty proving it, even with Amazon’s help, and it won’t save Ethelred even then. He thought Thrillseeker was Crispin. The fact he was mistaken doesn’t change a thing. It was still the reason why he killed him. There’s no law saying I can’t set up accounts on the Internet. I might have just posted the reviews for fun. How could I possibly know that Ethelred would resent them enough to kill Crispin – I mean, it’s not as though I ever claimed the reviews were by Crispin. That was just your vivid imagination. Proving I am Thrillseeker won’t help you at all.’
‘What if I’ve recorded this conversation?’
‘But you haven’t.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because you wouldn’t have told me that was what you were doing. You’d have kept going until I said something incriminating.’
‘I might already have all I need.’
‘No you don’t.’
‘You can’t be sure.’
‘Yes, I can.’
‘No, you can’t.’
‘Elsie, I do not have all evening to engage in witty banter with you. And don’t tell me I can’t be certain about that. Do you have anything new to say?’
‘Not really,’ I said. Then I added: ‘Yes, actually, I do. You may have won this round, Mr Holiday, but you are still a slimy little toerag. Ethelred’s sales may be a fraction of yours, but he is a gentleman, whereas you are but a pale imitation of one. You lack his compassion, his generosity, his integrity and a good six inches of his height. Even if he goes to prison he will still have all those, but you will just have the mossy stone that you have crawled from under. I despise you utterly.’
Or at least I would have said all that if he hadn’t hung up just after I said ‘not really’. Still, I could always say it some other time.
Anyway, what Henry didn’t know was that I’d done my groundwork for Plan C. Nothing could stop that one. Time to close the deal.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
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). It must have been recorded a day or two after the lunch with Tuesday Lane-Smith. The meeting clearly took place in a branch of Café Nero, possibly in Kingsway.
MDJ: … shopping in Oxford Street later.
ET: You can cut through Covent Garden or High Holborn. Not bad here, is it?
MDJ: No. Of course, my last agent always took me to the Groucho Club.
ET: Your last agent dumped you.
MDJ: Dumped? You might say that.
ET: I did say that. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with Café Nero. Just drink your skinny latte and shut up and listen. I have something to tell you. Mainly about your last agent.
MDJ: Do you treat all your authors like this?
ET: Yes. I also make sure you get published by proper publishers who pay proper advances, like they did in the olden days. Look at Ethelred. If it wasn’t for me he’d be self-publishing postmodern novellas written entirely in blank verse.
MDJ: Rather than on remand for murder?
ET: That’s not my fault. Well, not entirely. The point is that I’ve discovered what happened at Francis and Nowak before you left.
MDJ: Relations just got a bit difficult … I mean, after the Crispin Vynall business …
ET: Do you know who started the whole plagiarism rumour?
MDJ: No.
ET: Well, I do.
MDJ: You’ve found out? How?
ET: I have an informant at Francis and Nowak. It would
seem that Henry Holiday told Janet Francis that Crispin had written the thing for you. I have little doubt that he leaked it onto the Internet for general consumption too.
MDJ: Henry Holiday? Why?
ET: Because he was one of the losing authors in the CWA competition.
MDJ: When I won?
ET: Yes.
MDJ: Just that?
ET: No, there’s a bit more – about a lost masterpiece and a life utterly destroyed, blah, blah, blah – but that’s the short version of the story. You don’t want the full one. He stitched you up, Mary.
MDJ: The bastard.
ET: Then he stitched Ethelred up. Henry Holiday killed Crispin Vynall and incriminated Ethelred. We just need to produce the evidence that will prove his innocence.
