Joanna needed to think. ‘But there is so much more, isn’t there? Someone’s been pulling your strings, haven’t they? What I don’t understand is why you’ve gone along with it.’
Diana’s gaze was evasive.
A firm knock rapped on the door.
TWENTY-ONE
Their main suspect had arrived. Joanna switched off the recording equipment and stood up, excusing herself.
‘He’s here,’ she said to Diana, whose response was a nibbling of her lower lip and an almost ashamed glance up into Joanna’s face. She was wondering how much the detective knew. Then she stretched her arms out, put her head flat on the table and wept. It was an attitude of complete submission.
Joanna almost felt sorry for her. ‘You’ll be brought some tea,’ she said.
She had not met him but she had seen him on a snowy, freezing morning, driving past her while she had crouched, hiding behind a rock. As she entered the room he struck her as an angry man. Angry and arrogant. She sat down opposite him, introduced herself ‘for the record’, asked him if he would like a solicitor present and when he said no, launched straight in without further preamble. She’d wasted enough time, doubted Timony’s story for months and knew, in her heart, that she could and should have prevented her murder if she had picked up on the signs, had probed more into Timony’s fantasy world. She could have stayed the finger that had pulled the trigger, held back the hand that had pointed the gun, screwed the cap of the tranquillizers back on before they were mixed, in excessive quantities, with Timony’s goodnight glass of wine. She knew this so strongly that she almost felt she shared this man’s guilt.
‘Why did you hate her so much?’ she asked. ‘Why did you want her to suffer? What had she ever done to you?’
Something was niggling at the back of her mind even as she asked the questions. The administering of barbiturates didn’t fit in with hatred and a desire to hurt someone.
He said nothing.
‘How could you hate her so much?’ she asked again. ‘She was simply a faded woman, a past actress, someone who spent more than half of her life facing backwards, trying to recapture a fantasy land of Disney and childhood. How could you?’ she asked again.
Stuart Renshaw practically sniggered. ‘You ask that? You surely know who I am.’ There was no humility and a large dollop of pomposity in his manner.
‘She was just fourteen years old when you were born.’
She searched his face for two things: remorse – at least some – and a resemblance to his mother. She found neither.
Renshaw grinned. ‘You still don’t get it, do you?’ he jeered.
Under the table Joanna felt Korpanski bunch his hands up into fists. The muscles in his neck bulged and she could see a pulse throb. He was dying to punch this guy. She could read his mind. But that wouldn’t do. She met his eyes and he gave her a slight smile of reassurance. These days Korpanski was more able to keep his emotions in check.
Renshaw spoke. ‘I know what you think,’ he said. ‘But you’re wrong. Timony Weeks or Dorothy Hook wasn’t my mother. It’s Diana. Diana’s my mother. Not Timony. Kathleen, Timony’s sister, and her husband, Keith, adopted me and brought me up as their own. I’ve known that from the start,’ he said disdainfully. ‘It wasn’t that I hated Timony. That wasn’t it. It was Diana who owed me one.’ He leaned back, pleased with himself to have got one over on the police.
Renshaw continued. Most killers like to boast and he was no exception. ‘Timony was my adopted aunt. And I knew I would inherit, despite her being married to Van Eelen. My mother was going to make sure Timony divorced Van Eelen. I came to see them every now and then just to keep in touch. To remind them of my existence. Auntie Timony …’ he used the epithet, auntie, with such disdain it made Joanna nauseous, ‘was writing her memoirs. Lovely. More money for me. They were going to be worth a bob or two. But the trouble was she kept putting stuff in that she shouldn’t have done, which could have proved embarrassing and led to a couple of court cases, which are expensive. On the other hand, you can’t sue the dead.’ His eyes crinkled. ‘Always a bonus. With her out of the way the money would have been safe – even if her stories were libellous. Diana told me about the fracas between her producer and, let’s say, a close family relative, which ended in tragedy. Timony’s memory of it was returning, and originally I couldn’t risk it being included, so I told Diana to play a few tricks. Move stuff. Play around a bit. If Timony was considered not quite the full shilling I could have had power of attorney.’
‘Why shoot her?’ Joanna asked simply.
‘Oh, Inspector,’ Renshaw said. ‘You’re forgetting. You need to prove that I did.’
Joanna needed to think on her feet. ‘Then let’s say, just for argument’s sake, that I can.’
For the first time Stuart Renshaw lost some of his cockiness. ‘You want me to imagine that I shot her, and to think up a reason why?’
Joanna nodded and Korpanski looked across – interested.
‘I might have found the money useful, let’s say,’ he said coolly.
‘But you won’t inherit. She was still married.’
‘Exactly. So why would I shoot her?’ He grinned at Joanna.
She returned to Diana Tong, who was sitting with a wooden expression on her face. As before Joanna launched straight in. ‘So Stuart is your son?’
Diana nodded. ‘A twisted being.’
‘Who was his father?’
Diana drew in a deep breath and folded her arms tightly around her. She was reluctant to tell so Joanna replaced the question.
‘And Timony’s child?’
‘The baby had something wrong with her. She died. I did wonder whether Dariel’s attack had something to do with it – damaged it in some way. I don’t know.’
‘Whose baby was it?’
Diana gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘He was just a nobody,’ she said disdainfully. ‘One of the technicians. A lad. Blond and pretty. He and Timony had the odd fumble but we never thought it had gone so far. He was sacked and Timony fell pregnant, losing the baby – a little girl – while my own child flourished like a twisted tree inside me.’
‘And your child’s father was?’ Perhaps this time Diana would tell.
‘Bloody Gerald,’ she said bitterly. ‘And then he goes and marries Timony. Bloody pervert. Naturally I never told Timony who the father of my child was. She never knew. In fact, she never referred to it.’
‘You had Stuart adopted.’
‘I couldn’t have returned to the set, unmarried and with a child. Kathleen was desperate for a baby and she had a husband who would support her. It was the obvious solution.’
She leaned back in her chair, at ease with herself now. ‘As Timony and I were pregnant at around the same time we were sent away, the pair of us, like naughty schoolgirls. I’d thought Gerald would visit, and that he would eventually marry me. He was such a gentleman. But he kept away and on the telephone, only to marry Timony years later.’ Joanna was beginning to understand where Diana’s hate must have come from in their love/hate relationship. ‘When I mentioned the fact that Timony’s sister was desperate for a child of her own, it was he who suggested I had the child adopted.’ She gave a half smile. ‘Notice the word “I”. Not “we”. I had the child adopted. Gerald wanted nothing to do with it. With him,’ she corrected. ‘Timony and I were sent away together, the shame of Butterfield, to be hidden in a farmhouse in South Wales, under false names and registered with the local midwife. Neither of us was married. No one knew who we were. We hardly left the property. James organized everything. Absolutely everything for us. No,’ she said, not without a sense of warped pride, ‘Stuart was not Timony’s. He is my son.’
And when Joanna said nothing she continued, fiercely defensive, ‘Under the circumstances it was the best solution.’
‘But you did get married. You could have—’
Diana nodded and smiled. ‘Much later. Too late to have reclaimed the child I had signed away. I was mar
ried to Colin, one of the scriptwriters. It didn’t last. To be honest it never was going to last.’ She went quiet. ‘I’m not built that way.’
‘Who shot Timony, Diana?’
The grey eyes met hers with a hint of mockery. ‘Not I, said the fly,’ she said, before the veneer of humour lifted from her face. She sobered up and looked upset. ‘I couldn’t have hurt her. I was far too fond of her.’
‘But the little psychological tricks?’
Diana smiled, again caught between two emotions. ‘Those, yes. I admit that. Stuart’s an accountant. He could have had charge of her money – particularly if her memoirs fetched real money. One publisher had said he might pay a good price if they were interesting enough. The trouble was that to Timony the word ‘interesting’ meant that she was going to put lots of sensational stuff in, some real and some pure fantasy. The body in the well was one such example. Timony blocked out a lot of her past – it was obviously very traumatic for her.’ A look of sadness suddenly crept into Diana’s eyes. ‘Being on the show quickly turned her into a star, and she had everything she wanted – adoration, money, status, marriage. She suppressed all the bad things, and over time it was as though they hadn’t happened at all. It got to a point where she genuinely seemed unable to recall a lot of her past, she’d hidden it so well. But, as I told you, she lost a lot of her money, and the memoirs seemed a good idea. I thought she’d just make up some events, but unfortunately, writing them seemed to reawaken the past – more than I could have anticipated. I tried to discourage her but it didn’t work. The body in the well was real, and exposing that would have had repercussions. And as for the pregnancy, it reflected badly on all of us who should have taken care of her. I don’t know if she wrote about them – as I say, I haven’t read all of it – but Stuart wanted the book to come out. Or at least, he wanted the money. He wasn’t too happy at the prospect of Timony being taken to court. I was just managing to convince her that to go ahead, to publish and be damned,’ she quoted, ‘was not a good idea. She was coming around to seeing things my way. It was the writing that was cathartic to her, not the money.’ At that she broke down.
When she raised her head it was to say, ‘I couldn’t have murdered her, not after everything we’ve been through.’
They cut through the brambles and scraped away the nettles to find their target.
Time and predation degrade a body in an interesting but predictable way. While soft tissue and flesh are consumed, bones, hair, clothes and objects remain. All is not obliterated.
Whatever he had been in life Hugo Hook was dreadful in death, a collection of bones, rags and a canvas bag which contained a little money – a ten-shilling note and half a crown, a rotted leather wallet and precious little else.
‘Meet Hugo Hook,’ Joanna said slowly to the assembled officers and police surgeon. ‘Father to the most famous child actress of her time: Little Lily Butterfield.’ She continued, ‘He was released from prison in nineteen sixty-five. Visited his daughter on set, hoping for some help from his own little girl now she was such a famous actress. But Timony, Freeman, everyone, wanted him out of the way. He was killed and his body pushed into the well.’
‘Who by?’ It was Jason (bright) Spark who’d asked the question. Joanna drew in a deep breath. She needed to explain a few things to this young man. Plea bargaining, lesser charges, statements. She smiled at him. He may as well learn right now.
‘We don’t know,’ she said simply.
TWENTY-TWO
One week later
Three interview rooms. Two major crimes. Three suspects. A thousand questions.
As she had suspected, the remains of Hugo Hook had not revealed many secrets, even under Matthew Levin’s competent hands. The bones showed signs of injury, sure, but it was perfectly possible that they had been sustained purely by falling down the well. If no one had found him he would have died from a broken neck. It was unlikely – the film set would have been buzzing with people on the days they were filming but maybe, just maybe, the person who’d pushed him got lucky and they’d all gone home. Matthew had held up a cracked vertebra almost as a trophy. ‘Broken neck,’ he’d said, holding it aloft. ‘But not necessarily murder, Joanna. Nothing conclusive here.’ He’d given a mischievous grin and added, ‘Sorry, darling.’
She couldn’t quite conceal her smirk. He really did practically pull off the penitent look. But not quite. ‘Hmm,’ she’d responded, not pleased but not really surprised either. She’d left the mortuary planning their next move. She could bluff it through, sure. She’d like to see James Freeman squirm – just a bit – for an hour or so. But she knew the CPS was not going to swallow this big fish. She might have Freeman in custody but she’d never get a confession out of him. And likewise, Diana Tong would be unlikely to testify against him because she couldn’t incriminate him without involving herself. Getting in right up to the neck. But as Joanna approached the door to Interview Room 3, where Freeman was being held, she suddenly surprised Mike Korpanski by banging her forehead with the heel of her hand. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Stupid. I’m stupid.’ She grinned at Mike. ‘How can you bear to work with me?’
He made a face. ‘Don’t really know, Jo,’ he tried. ‘With difficulty?’
‘Mike,’ she said, turning away from the door.
He looked to her for an explanation. And she tried one. ‘It’s all too easy to put money into the equation and make that your motive, but I wonder …’
Korpanski simply stared.
‘Her memoirs.’
And there it was.
Chapter 7.
1965. Not a good year for Timony.
A nightmare. It was a nightmare. This horrid man came pushing and shoving his way on to the set. I can smell him now. Alcohol, dirty clothes.
Joanna closed her eyes. She could almost hear Timony’s voice, speaking in that high-pitched, girly voice.
He said he was my father. He can’t be. That dreadful, horrible, vile thing cannot be my father. James took him away. And that was the end of that. He never bothered me again. Another display of a fan trying to claim they were related to me.
Except that he was.
‘Hmm,’ Joanna thought. Freeman took him away … that was the end of that … never bothered me again. It was, at best, equivocal. No jury would convict on that. Particularly as Timony had come across as someone who fantasized, who was unreliable and had a history of repeatedly calling out the police. That stopped Joanna in her tracks. It was. It had been, she corrected, a set-up to discredit her character. The woman she had met had been excitable, yes, but lucid. The worm of this thought slid nauseatingly through her brain.
She summoned Jason Sparks and Danny Hesketh-Brown to her to her and gave them a task. Mobile phone records can be so informative. As was the information her team had found on their trip to Stuart’s office. Now she was ready.
She and Korpanski would move from room to room, from question to question. From suspect to suspect, trying to play them one against another.
Hesketh-King was standing at the doorway, practically hopping from foot to foot. He had news. She listened. And took Renshaw next. He was the sort of person who deflates quickly when their lead is challenged. She and Korpanski settled themselves into their chairs. Joanna met his eyes and smiled. ‘I know James Freeman was one of your clients, and that there’s been an increased amount of contact between you over the last few weeks, especially around the time of the incidents at Butterfield Farm. There’s only one thing I don’t know,’ she said casually. ‘How much did he offer you?’
As she’d expected the question completely threw him. He had prepared himself for an onslaught. Not this. This had startled him. ‘What?’
‘We know that you were offered money to kill Timony, weren’t you?’
‘Why would I do that, and risk my inheritance?’
‘Oh, come on, Stuart. A doting nephew set against a husband estranged for ten years? I’d say that gives you a fair old sporting chance of inheriti
ng, plus the money you received to kill your adopted aunt. And once you had the memoirs, you could blackmail Freeman by threatening to send them to the publisher unless he paid you even more money. You’d end up being quite a rich man.’
He fell right into the trap. ‘How do you know?’
His solicitor practically swallowed his teeth.
Ye-es. And Joanna felt like giving a high five. As it was she simply turned and gave Mike a broad, triumphant smile.
Diana Tong was calm now, composed to the point of regal dignity. She eyed Joanna with absolute composure.
‘Two murders,’ Joanna said, sitting down opposite her. ‘One killer.’
It surprised Diana. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Two murders?’
‘Timony and her father.’
Diana Tong licked her lips. ‘One killer,’ she queried. ‘That’s not possible.’
‘No? You, Mrs Tong, were nearest to the truth. You were the one,’ Joanna said, holding up her index finger, ‘who knew the reason Timony had to die. But you couldn’t quite bring yourself to destroy her autobiography, could you?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Diana responded stiffly.
‘We know about Stuart, Diana. We know he murdered Timony, and you helped him. We spoke to him just now – we’ve as good as got a confession. It’s over, Diana.’
Suddenly Diana Tong burst into tears, her stiff facade shattered. ‘I thought by persuading Timony not to go ahead and publish, Stuart would back off. But by then he was too keen to get his hands on the money. He was impatient waiting for Timony to change her will; he seemed to need money. He knew she was still married to Van Eelen, but thought he had a good chance of inheriting anyway.’ She looked up in despair. ‘He’s my son and I’d callously given him away because he didn’t fit in with my lifestyle. How do you think I feel about that? I didn’t have much of my own, so he searched elsewhere.’ Then she appeared to feel the need to justify her actions. ‘Unearthing the past was too traumatic for Timony. She couldn’t cope with it. She was never a strong woman and she didn’t suffer, you know. I made sure of that. I slipped something into her drink. She slept right through. She would have known nothing about it.’
The Final Curtain Page 28
