by J M Gregson
Rushton’s notes told them that Deeney was forty-four and successful in his profession. He had rarely been out of work in the last twenty years. He was by no means a star, but where others spent much time ‘resting’, Deeney was in steady demand. Lambert said without preamble, ‘Did you visit Samuel Jackson’s caravan on Tuesday morning in the three hours before his corpse was discovered, Mr Deeney?’
‘I did, yes. It was a brief visit. As far as I can pinpoint the time, it was at about eleven forty.’
He delivered the information calmly but with absolutely clear diction, like a line in a play. It seemed that he had calculated before he came here how he could make the maximum impact with it. In fact, David had originally intended to deny any visit to that fatal caravan – hence his disposal of the shoes he had worn – but had decided after exchanging notes with his fellow cast-members and his director that this would be ill-advised.
Lambert now determined to be equally calm about his receipt of this information. ‘What was the purpose of that visit?’
‘Sam had asked to see me.’ It wasn’t true, but he didn’t see how they could possibly dispute it.
‘About what?’
David hesitated for a moment. ‘I should normally say that this was a private matter, but I suppose murder suspends all the rules. Sam wished to offer me more work in subsequent episodes of the Inspector Loxton series.’
‘What was your reaction to that?’
A slightly patronising smile, as though to convey how little these men with their safe jobs and their fat pensions knew of the realities of a precarious profession. ‘I was both interested and flattered. About one in five of the possibilities of work we are offered comes to fruition, for all sorts of reasons. Theatres are unavailable. Actors envisaged to play major roles prove to be committed elsewhere. The “angels” who provide the finance for theatre ventures decide projects are not worth backing. Of those offers which do develop into work, about one in a hundred is a sustained television success and goes round the world making money. The Loxton series is one of those very rare birds. Of course I was interested.’
‘Thank you for the insight,’ said Lambert dryly. ‘Was anything more specific discussed?’
‘No. I said I would need to check other work with my agent, but I didn’t see any problems. Frankly, I’d have been prepared to defer or abandon other things, for something as lucrative as this will continue to be.’ He raised his hands a little and then dropped them back on to his knees, as if to emphasize the frankness he was offering them.
‘Did you like Mr Jackson?’
The query was abrupt, when it came. But he was prepared for it; it was inevitable, once the man had been murdered. ‘I had reason to be grateful to him. Almost everyone you have questioned or will question had reason to be grateful to Sam Jackson.’
‘That’s an evasion, Mr Deeney. I asked if you liked the man.’
The slightest of smiles and a tiny nod. ‘I suppose I didn’t wish to seem an ungrateful sod when he was providing me with lucrative employment. No, I didn’t like Sam. I wasn’t alone in that. I expect you’ve been hard-pressed to find anyone who claimed to like him.’
‘Could you summarize the reasons why, please? Remember that apart from a brief meeting DS Hook here had with Jackson, we have no previous knowledge of the man. We are still assembling a picture of our victim.’
‘And you are no doubt interested in the degree of dislike or even hatred which we interviewees exhibit to you.’ Deeney smiled, emphasising how much in control of himself he was, what a balanced and detached view he held of this business. ‘It’s very odd, you know, to be part of a fictional crime series about murder and then to be suddenly plunged into the real thing.’
‘I imagine it must be, yes. Why did you so dislike our murder victim? Would you say it went as far as hatred?’
David Deeney looked calm and dispassionate, no more emotional than if he had been asked to pronounce on the merits or otherwise of a particular cheese. ‘I tried to keep my distance, to maintain as far as possible a professional relationship. I find it best to keep passion out of these things, as far as possible; it only complicates matters and prevents one operating efficiently.’
Lambert wondered if this man was really as calm as he was presenting himself to them now. He was an actor and probably delighted to deceive them. For his part, he wasn’t going to show the irritation he felt mounting within him. ‘This is all a little vague, Mr Deeney. Can you pinpoint for us exactly why you disliked Mr Jackson and his attitudes? Everyone is telling us that he was boorish and deliberately insulting. It would help us if you could be more specific.’
David gave them a sour smile and took his time. There was no hurry now; it was important that he gave the correct impression. ‘Sam deliberately cultivated the image of the ogre. It suited him. It made other people fearful of him and he liked that. Take the people involved in Herefordshire Horrors. You’d think Martin Buttivant as Ben Loxton would be in the position to call the shots – no one wants to get rid of the lead in a popular series if it can be avoided. But Sam had some sort of hold over Martin; I don’t know exactly what, but Martin still had to watch his step. Sam treated Sandra Rokeby as if she was little better than a high-class prostitute. She’s a spirited woman, but she still let Sam get away with things she wouldn’t have taken from others. Peg Reynolds is an excellent young actress with a great future, in my opinion. She has both looks and talent and that’s a combination which normally pulls a young actress along. She was … well, cautious, with Sam Jackson. Probably he knew something about her which the rest of us didn’t. He loved to feel he held that sort of advantage.’
‘Would you say that he only employed people when he had some sort of hold over them?’
‘That might well be so, I suppose. I’ve never considered that theory before, but it makes sense if you knew Sam Jackson. Even our knight of the realm, Sir Bradley Morton, treated Sam with caution. And Brad doesn’t need to defer to many people at this stage of his career. Lechery and flatulence are Brad’s hobbies, but he was polite, even deferential, to Sam.’
‘Why was that?’
Deeney shrugged elaborately. ‘Your guess would be as good as mine, chief superintendent. Perhaps it was simply that Brad wanted more work. He’s become rather a caricature of himself as he’s got older, so that the parts have dried up. Sam would know all about that; he was a shrewd operator and he knew everything that happened on stage and television – in fact, he loved it when anyone underestimated his knowledge. Even Ernie Clark, his assistant producer, and John Watts, who is an experienced and able director, were careful to take nothing for granted where Sam Jackson was concerned.’
Lambert smiled grimly, watching Bert Hook make notes on this. Then he said, ‘Which leaves you, Mr Deeney. What sort of hold did Jackson have on you?’
David had been prepared for this, but the shameless directness of it still shook him a little. ‘No particular one. Sam was homophobic, but I’m used to that.’ He strove to be absolutely calm, to project the view that Jackson’s hostility had been routine and unworrying. ‘He was years out of date in his attitude to the gay community. I pitied him rather than resented him.’
‘But you won’t miss him.’
A raw smile, revealing for a second his real hatred of Jackson. ‘The world will be a better place without him. Herefordshire Horrors will be concluded much more happily without Sam Jackson around to oversee it. I look forward to further work in the series.’
‘It is almost two full days now since you heard of Jackson’s death. No doubt you have discussed it with your fellow professionals; it is human nature to do so. Who do you think killed Samuel Jackson?’
David Deeney gave them a smile which was almost patronising. ‘I have given the matter much thought, as you suggest. I have really no idea.’
NINE
When David Deeney joined his fellow cast members after speaking to the CID men, he found a strangely febrile atmosphere prevailing. It was ano
ther fine day and ideal for location shooting, with high white clouds moving slowly across an intensely blue sky. But David sensed a collective unease amongst both those in front of the cameras and those behind them as they prepared for a good day’s filming.
Ernie Clark was here as producer, tactfully easing himself from assistant to main man as the week progressed. He was a much more welcome presence that Sam Jackson had ever been. The cessation of Jackson’s random insults and scattergun slurs on cast and director should have much improved the ambience on Herefordshire Horrors. Yet Deeney sensed a tension amongst everyone on set which was not going to make for fruitful work.
John Watts had been setting up the first scene for filming, giving his final instructions to those involved as to how they should play off each other in a thoroughly professional ensemble manner. But there was not the fruitful exchange with his cast that he would normally have engendered. Above all, there were not the feeble and apprehensive jokes among his cast and technical supporters which he would have expected to characterize this nervous interval before the important business of the day began.
Watts said to Ernie Clark, ‘It’s quiet today. Quieter than I would have anticipated.’
‘Yes. Why’s that, do you think?’ Clark had his own thoughts, but he wanted to hear what his director thought: Watts was after all the ringmaster in this strange activity. A successful day might stand or fall by his efforts.
‘The buzz of excitement which followed Sam’s death seems to have died down. People are watching each other cautiously, wondering who killed Sam.’ Watts was watching Ernie Clark, speculating on what he might know, what he might have done, and what might happen next. It was a unique situation for John, directing a cast in these circumstances. There were normally all sorts of insecurities and petty jealousies amongst actors, but wondering who might have killed their larger-than-life producer was a new conundrum for all of them to cope with. They were a temperamental lot, actors, to start with, and who could predict how this extra problem would affect their conduct during today’s filming?
Clark said, ‘There are a lot of things to sort out. I’m trying to make the transfer of production from Sam to me as smooth as I can, so that the location shooting can proceed with as little interruption as possible.’
He spoke cautiously and formally. John Watts realized that they were fencing with each other, showing a caution in their exchanges which did not normally prevail. It was the situation which was dictating this, not their personalities. He realized with a shock that they were probably both wondering what degree of involvement the other might have in this death which was now hanging over them all. ‘Do you think the police know who killed Sam?’
‘I don’t know. They haven’t said much to me. I imagine if they had anything definite, we’d see signs of action from them.’ Clark knew the police wanted to speak to him, but the distrust he felt between them prevented him from telling John Watts that.
‘Motive, means and opportunity.’ Watts smiled grimly. ‘Those are things Inspector Ben Loxton is fond of quoting in our fictional series.’
‘Lots of us had those. Sam had a capacity for making enemies.’
‘You had the greatest motive, I suppose, Ernie. You are the one who gains most in the new situation.’ It was out before Watts could prevent it, shocking himself in the bald accusation it carried. He must be more on edge than he’d thought, he supposed.
Clark glanced hard at him, interweaving his powerful fingers and holding his hands firm in his lap, as if he saw that as the only method of keeping them static. ‘Thanks for that.’ He tried to force a smile and failed. ‘I certainly intend to be the biggest gainer. I’ve put up with Sam Jackson and his villainies for years, at closer quarters than anyone else. Perhaps I’ve earned myself some reward.’
John Watts tried to retrieve the gaffe he felt he’d just made. ‘That will benefit the company at large. I’ve already pointed that out to them.’ He hadn’t, but he told himself now that he would do so as soon as the opportunity arose. ‘I presume the series will go ahead, with further episodes to follow Herefordshire Horrors.’
‘I don’t see why not. We’re generating enough profits from around the world to finance future series for as long as the public wants them.’
‘Regular members of the cast will be glad to hear that,’ said John.
‘And its regular director, I hope,’ said Clark evenly.
Watts grinned wryly. ‘It’s a money-spinner for all of us. It won’t make us into cultural icons, but not many of us are in a position to be scornful about Inspector Loxton and his adventures. He’s our bread and butter.’
It was at that point that Detective Inspector Christopher Rushton appeared, exactly on cue, it seemed to Watts. ‘Mr Clark? Chief Superintendent Lambert and Detective Sergeant Hook would like a few minutes with you, as soon as possible, sir.’
‘You haven’t been on site much since you spoke briefly with us on Wednesday.’ Lambert made it sound like an accusation.
Ernie Clark wasn’t a man to back off. You didn’t work as Sam Jackson’s deputy for seven years without learning to look out for yourself. ‘There’s been a lot to do, after Sam’s unforeseen death. What’s going on here and in the studios demands a budget of millions of pounds. I’m now the one who’s responsible for seeing the funds are available to keep all this going.’
‘It’s quite a responsibility.’
‘Yes it is. I’ve no doubt Herefordshire Horrors will be successful, as previous episodes have been. To make sure that the future is equally prosperous demands a lot of work behind the scenes.’
‘Which is what has occupied you since Jackson died. However, we do need to speak to you.’
‘You haven’t yet established who killed Sam?’ Ernie tried not to sound too truculent. He should after all be willing them on to arrest the murderer of his former colleague, whatever Sam’s faults. You couldn’t condone murder.
Ernie Clark was squat and powerful physically and he looked very sure of himself. Remarkably self-satisfied, thought the detective duo who now confronted him. He couldn’t help his appearance, perhaps, but it would be more seemly if he looked upset. Lambert said acidly, ‘I have no doubt you have been busy, Mr Clark. You are also one of the biggest gainers from this death.’
An answering smile, telling them that he felt in control of this situation. ‘My colleague John Watts has just pointed out to me that I had motive, means and opportunity for Sam’s killing. I hope you are not about to arrest me because of that.’
Lambert scarcely bothered to smile in response. He said wearily, ‘Other people have those things too, though you may be the most obvious possessor. The law dictates that we must have more solid evidence before we consider an arrest. Did you visit Mr Jackson in his caravan on the morning of his death?’
‘I spent a little time with Sam, yes. He wanted to know how the location shooting was going and whether we would need an extension to the time we’d already agreed. Location work is the most expensive part of this whole enterprise. Sam was always keen on keeping it as short and efficient as possible.’ He spoke slowly, rather as if he was explaining himself to intelligent but ill-informed children.
‘But you argued with him?’
He wondered if others had heard the sound of their raised voices and reported it. You could never be certain how much the police knew, what had been reported to them by others in the last day or so. There were probably mischievous tongues at work here. Actors were good at gossip and often malevolent with it, in his experience. ‘It was an argument Sam and I had with each episode. You can’t shoot everything in a studio without losing authenticity. Sam knew that, but he had to go through his ritual of protest each time, as though only he understood the realities of finance and what it cost to shoot in places like this.’
‘That must have been tiresome for you.’
‘It was one of the recurrent labours of the assistant producer. That and the day-to-day dogsbody work of making sure everything nece
ssary was here on site and ready to go, so that no time was wasted. That’s where my real work is done. That’s where serious money is wasted if I am less than efficient and everything isn’t ready for John Watts and his cast to move and for the cameras to roll.’
‘What time did you last see Jackson?’
‘I can’t be precise. Some time just before noon, I think.’
‘Did you notice anything unusual in his demeanour then? Any sort of apprehension, for instance?’
‘No. He was his normal ebullient self.’ Ernie had chosen that word carefully before he came here. He had decided it was better than ‘truculent’ or ‘quarrelsome’ when you were speaking of a dead man. ‘Pugnacious’ might have been acceptable, he supposed – Sam had always been that.
‘And you left him in good health and cheerful?’
‘As cheerful as he ever was. Sam didn’t think it was good tactics to show cheerfulness: he thought other people might think he was relaxing.’
‘So who do you think went in there and killed him, Mr Clark?’
He smiled at them, showing them he wasn’t shocked by the question, showing that they weren’t going to throw him off balance with their aggressive approach. ‘I’ve given that plenty of thought in the last couple of days. I’ve come up with lots of candidates, but no certainty. As I haven’t got what you referred to just now as evidence, I can’t offer you any realistic suggestions.’
‘Even speculation might be useful to us at this stage.’
Clark smiled, folding his arms across his broad chest. ‘It wouldn’t be informed speculation, so it wouldn’t be fair or useful to offer it.’
Lambert didn’t press him, sensing that this man would give them no less and no more than he had determined to do. ‘As we said, you appear to be the man who has gained most by this, whether or not you had any connection with it or knowledge of it. If you are innocent, it is very much in your interest that we make an early arrest. It is also your civic duty to offer us any help you can in this matter. I look forward to hearing more from you in due course.’
