The Cinderella Killer

by Simon Brett

  At the end of the afternoon’s rehearsal, Charles suggested that he should treat Danny and Arthur to a drink at the Sea Dog, but both demurred. Danny said he wasn’t really a pub person, and Arthur said he was too tired. And indeed, out of the panto routines, he did look every one of his ninety-four years. Charles wondered how that frail frame would stand up to the challenge of two shows a day, matinee and evening, from Monday to Saturday for the six-week run. He hoped Doctor Theatre would be able to keep up the good work.

  So Charles was sitting alone in the Sea Dog with a post-rehearsal large Bell’s. The wonders of the afternoon had driven thoughts of Kenny Polizzi and Jasmine del Rio out of his head, but now they came crashing back in.

  He was particularly intrigued by Kitty’s news that Detective Inspector Malik and her team seemed to be pointing at Jasmine as Kenny’s murderer, and tried to work out why that might be the case. Of course he didn’t know how much the police knew. It was quite possible – indeed almost certain – that they had evidence of which he knew nothing.

  But the scenario that was taking shape in his head, that Jasmine had wanted to blackmail Kenny, didn’t give her any motive to kill him. In fact, she’d very definitely have wanted to keep him alive, a ready and continuing supply of hush money. Her secret had become more valuable with the passage of years. A minor actor in Hollywood going to bed with a fourteen-year-old girl wasn’t big news. But the star of The Dwight House having gone to bed with a fourteen-year-old girl … that was very different, particularly in these days when there was a voguish obsession with ‘historical’ sex crimes.

  The other possibility, that Jasmine had been so traumatized by her under-age sexual experience with Kenny that she had nursed a hatred of him for years until she finally got the chance to expiate it by killing him, just didn’t work for Charles. From what he’d seen of Jasmine – and from what Kitty had said about her friend – she was a pretty tough cookie. And with a precocious sexuality. It was even possible, given her character, that she might have been the instigator of the sexual encounter.

  In Charles’s mind, the one thing that might suggest some guilt attached to Jasmine del Rio was her disappearance. The timing, the fact that she hadn’t been seen since Kenny’s murder, did perhaps justify some suspicion.

  But Charles definitely agreed with Detective Inspector Malik that the next step to solving the crime must involve finding Jasmine del Rio.

  Charles wasn’t very good at checking his mobile phone for messages. It didn’t really ring that often. And he was even worse at checking it for text messages. He had switched off the alert tones so as not to disturb rehearsals, which was a good thing. Mobile phones going off were very unpopular with directors. But he kept forgetting to switch the alerts back on again.

  Now in the Sea Dog, having just been up to the bar for his second large Bell’s (and having left his Times crossword in his digs), he decided to check his text messages.

  There was only one. It read: ‘Don’t try stepping into Kenny Polizzi’s shoes. Or you’ll end up the same way he did.’

  Again Charles tried calling the number from which the text had been sent. Again there was no response.

  Foolishly he’d deleted the former threatening text, so he couldn’t check whether they were sent from the same phone. The number didn’t look familiar, though.

  This new threat shook him up a bit, certainly more than the first one had done. It was effectively saying that if he continued to play Baron Hardup, he would be killed. And after what had happened to Kenny he knew there was someone out there ready to put that threat into action.

  He wondered what he should do, what action he should take. He supposed the obvious course would be to tell Detective Inspector Malik. The texts might be significant to her enquiries. But something in him was reluctant to take that step. Was it possibly because of his agreement to share information with Lefty Rubenstein, as though the two of them were conducting their own investigation?

  Even as he had the thought, his mobile rang. The call was from Lefty – more synchronicity perhaps?

  ‘So what’s new?’ asked the lawyer.

  ‘Well, I’ve discovered that last week Jasmine del Rio had a minor fling with another cast member.’

  ‘Minor? What does that mean?’

  Charles told Lefty exactly why the skirmish with Tad Gentry qualified as ‘minor’. He concluded, ‘If it turns out that something’s happened to Jasmine, then that could bring Tad into the frame as a suspect. She’d really put his nose out of joint.’

  ‘Sounds like it wasn’t just his nose. You got anything else, Charles?’

  ‘Nothing major. What about you?’

  ‘Well, I’ve just come back from another interview with Detective Inspector Malik. One very persistent lady she is.’

  ‘Yes. Did you get anything new from her?’

  ‘Not really. But she did ask me not to go back to the States for a few days.’

  ‘What, she’s forbidden you to travel?’

  ‘It wasn’t put quite like that. She behaved with characteristic British decorum. It would be “more convenient for her enquiries” if I were to remain here in England. Just for a little while until the direction of her investigation became clearer.’

  ‘And did she imply it was becoming clearer?’

  ‘She sounded very confident, but I don’t know what that confidence was based on.’

  ‘And she’s still no nearer tracking down Jasmine?’

  ‘It seems not, no.’

  There was a silence, then Charles asked: ‘You haven’t been getting any anonymous text messages, have you?’

  ‘No. Why? Have you?’

  ‘I’ve had a couple.’

  ‘What have they been saying?’

  Charles told Lefty about the two texts he’d received. ‘But I haven’t a clue where they might have come from.’

  ‘Hm. Well, given what they say, I just might have an idea on that.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Does the name Gloria van der Groot mean anything to you?’

  ‘Yes, I met her with Kenny after rehearsal one night. His Number One Fan?’

  ‘Exactly. Well, I figure she’d be the Number One Suspect for having sent those texts to you. In her mind no one can replace Kenny in any capacity. I guess she feels your taking over his part is showing disrespect to his memory.’

  ‘Oh, great. But is she dangerous? I mean, is she likely to carry out her threats?’

  ‘I’d be very surprised if she did. I’ve never actually met her – the Lord be praised – but from what Kenny said, she’s just a weirdo. I think most of what happens in her life happens inside her head.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s the most reassuring answer I’ve ever heard, Lefty.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Charles. You’ll be safe. For one thing, I think Gloria has already gone back to the States.’

  ‘Oh well, that is a relief, thanks. You say you haven’t had any anonymous texts. Have you had any from Gloria in the last few days, I mean, since Friday?’

  ‘Yeah. Kenny would never let her know his cellphone number, but, typically, he made sure she’d got mine. It got to the point years ago where if I saw a text was from her I’d delete it. But Kenny made me stop that. He said he needed to know what she was up to.’

  ‘And did she stalk him?’

  ‘Kind of. But she never did anything actionable. She just somehow always managed to find out where he was going to be, and she’d be there too. She’d never try to gain entrance to any of his houses or the hotel rooms where he was staying. She was just like a fixture in his life.’

  ‘And you say you’ve recently had a text from her?’

  ‘I’ve had a couple.’

  ‘Saying what?’

  ‘Following on really from what she’s sent to you. She thinks that for the management to continue with the production of Cinderella after what happened to Kenny is sacrilege. She somehow thinks I have the power – or the inclination – to get them to pull
the plug on the show.’

  ‘Hm.’ There was a silence between them. Charles heard raucous laughter from a corner of the Sea Dog bar. ‘Incidentally, Lefty, do you know if the police have spoken to Gloria van der Groot?’

  ‘Why should they have? I doubt they know she exists. I certainly haven’t mentioned her to them. Have you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Well, I was just thinking … The woman’s pretty close to being a stalker. She always used to hang around wherever Kenny was. Did she ever follow him in the street, that kind of thing?’

  ‘Yes. I kept discouraging her, texting her to say how much Kenny valued his privacy, but it didn’t stop her.’

  ‘Well, if that was the case …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘There’s a possibility she might have stalked him on Friday night, that she might actually have seen what did happen to him.’

  ‘Unlikely, but I suppose it’s just possible.’

  ‘You must have her cellphone number.’

  ‘Yeah, but like I say she’s gone back to the States.’

  ‘I’d still be interested to talk to her.’

  ‘OK’ Lefty didn’t sound keen on the idea, but he did give Charles the number. As soon he and Lefty had finished their call, he tried ringing it. No response. No invitation to leave a message.

  Charles Paris felt frustrated. He also felt hungry. He ordered the Sea Dog’s sausage and mash, reflecting that the last time he’d eaten that particular dish he’d been in the exotic company of Lilith Greenstone. Oh well … Particularly nice Gloucester Old Spot sausages. And he ordered a large Merlot to wash it down.

  While he ate, he had his mobile on the table next to his plate. Otherwise he might not have noticed the arrival of a text message.

  All it said was: ‘Jasmine del Rio? Ranleigh Road.’

  It seemed reasonable – or at least a good starting point – to assume that the road was in Eastbourne. The girl behind the bar at the Sea Dog helpfully produced a local map for Charles to find out how to get there. It was some way from the sea, more in the direction of the Greyhound pub than the town’s main tourist attractions.

  As he walked through the moonlit night, Charles wondered what he would do when he reached his destination. He had only a street name, after all. Would he bang on every front door and asked if anyone had seen Jasmine del Rio? He somehow doubted that that would be a very fruitful approach.

  But when he reached the road specified, he realized his problem was going to be a rather different one. There were no houses. He found himself in a kind of service road, lined on one side by the back yards and loading bays of a row of shops. The walls, fences and gates were graffiti-scored and in most cases razor-wire-topped. On the other side of the road was a row of run-down garages or lock-ups.

  Well, at least the situation restricted Charles’s options. Since there were no front doors to bang on, he would begin by focusing his attention on the row of lock-ups. There was fortunately sufficient light for him to see what he was doing, but he didn’t approach the task with much optimism. Most of the garage doors seemed to have been locked for millennia. Some had built up an accretion of rusty rings and hooks and hasps and padlocks. Some hung a little drunkenly from their hinges, suggesting that, even if they could be unlocked, tugging them open would still present a major difficulty.

  Charles went along the row, seeing if there were any signs that one had been recently opened. But it had rained heavily the last two nights and any clues there might have been had been washed away into the metal-covered gutter which ran along parallel to the locked doors.

  As he passed lock-up after lock-up, Charles tried the handles of the doors to see if any might give a little. He’d nearly finished the row when he came to one which had a metal up-and-over door with a T-shaped handle in the middle.

  Thinking that he would soon be back in his digs with that comforting bottle of Bell’s, he turned the handle and made a lifting movement.

  To his amazement the door responded. Making a rattling, scraping sound, very loud in the night-time, the door swung up above his head and slid back into the ceiling of the garage.

  Parked in the space revealed was a car that looked almost like a full-size toy. Charles Paris had never seen one before, but it was a Mint Green Nissan Figaro.

  He wished he’d brought a torch. Though the moon was nearly full its light didn’t penetrate into the shadows of the lock-up. He moved gently forward on the driver’s side of the Figaro and felt his way along till he found the door handle. Not daring to hope it might be unlocked, he gave it a sharp tug.

  He was aware of an unpleasant smell, as the overhead light inside the car came on. It revealed Jasmine del Rio slumped back in the driver’s seat. Just like Kenny Polizzi, she had a neat bullet hole in the centre of her forehead.

  NINETEEN

  FIRST BROKER’S MAN: The police are looking for a man with one eye, it’s true.

  SECOND BROKER’S MAN: Oh, they’re so lazy. You’d think they’d look with two.

  Now he knew he was at a crime scene, Charles regretted having left his fingerprints on the door handle. A cautious part of him said that he should touch nothing else and immediately ring the police. A more curious, less law-abiding part of him said he should quickly check a couple of details and then ring the police.

  There was surprisingly little blood, though Charles noticed that what there was had spattered onto the headrests of both seats. In Jasmine del Rio’s right hand, which lay on her lap, was a pistol. Charles didn’t know a lot about guns, but he reckoned it looked very similar to the one that he had seen Lefty give Kenny outside the Sea Dog.

  The dead girl’s left hand had dropped palm up onto the passenger seat. Looking as if it had slipped from her grasp lay an iPhone. Charles moved round to the other side of the Figaro. Now remembering to cover his hand with a handkerchief, he opened the passenger-side door and picked up the mobile. He leant into the car to take advantage of the overhead light.

  Charles wasn’t familiar with the wonders of the iPhone. All he required of his own mobile was that it allowed him to make and receive calls and texts, but he did remember Kitty saying something about her friend always ‘scribbling down stuff on the little Notes app’. Needless to say, he had no idea what a ‘little Notes app’ was, but once he’d managed to switch the phone on, he was presented with a screen of unfamiliar coloured icons. One of these had a yellow strip at the top of a row of lines, and underneath was the word ‘Notes’.

  With a handkerchief-covered finger he pressed it, and was immediately rewarded with what was presumably the last note Jasmine del Rio had ever written.

  It read: ‘I thought killing Kenny would also kill the pain I have suffered all these years. In fact it’s made it worse. I can’t go on. Sorry.’

  ‘It seems to be becoming something of a habit for you, Mr Paris,’ said Detective Inspector Malik. ‘Finding murder victims.’

  Charles found himself unexpectedly nervous and gabbled a response. ‘And I suppose if a person who finds one body automatically makes themselves suspicious, someone who discovers two makes themselves even more suspicious.’ He thought it was a sentence that Oscar Wilde would have phrased better.

  ‘Yes,’ said Malik. And there was no irony in her black eyes.

  Charles Paris was asked if he would mind going down to the station for some questioning, and it wasn’t put in a way that made ‘No’ a viable response.

  Once there he was asked if he minded his mobile being taken away for experts to see if they could trace the source of the anonymous texts. Then he found himself sitting at a table opposite Detective Inspector Malik. There was also a male uniformed policeman sitting in the corner. Charles was once again asked if he minded having their conversation recorded. He said he didn’t mind.

  ‘Obviously,’ Malik began, ‘what interests us is how you came to find Jasmine del Rio’s body.’

  Her manner was a little different from the last t
ime she had interviewed him. She seemed more relaxed, less urgent, as though perhaps she had reached, or was on the verge of, some breakthrough on the case.

  ‘I told you, Inspector. I had a text message.’

  ‘And you say you have no idea who it was from.’

  ‘Well, it’s the third anonymous text I’ve had since Kenny Polizzi’s death and they all came from different numbers.’

  ‘That’s no surprise. In the criminal world there are quite a lot of mobiles that are only used once and then thrown away.’

  ‘I thought they could be traced.’

  ‘It depends how effectively they’ve been thrown away. If you’re operating in Eastbourne there’s a whole lot of sea out there.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And you say the first two texts were warning you off taking over Kenny Polizzi’s role in the pantomime?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So surely you must have some idea who might not want you playing Baron Hardup?’

  ‘Well, I was talking recently to Lefty Rubenstein, who’s Kenny Polizzi’s—’

  ‘I know who Mr Rubenstein is, Mr Paris. I have spoken to him extensively.’

  ‘Of course you would have done. Well, did he at any point mention to you a woman called Gloria van der Groot?’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  So Charles quickly brought the Inspector up to speed with what he knew of Kenny Polizzi’s Number One Fan.

  ‘A stalker?’

  ‘Yes. So far as I can tell, a fairly harmless one. I mean, I did once meet her with Kenny. He was polite to her. I think she represented a nuisance rather than a threat.’

  Detective Inspector Malik made a note on her iPad. ‘We’d better talk to her.’