‘Jimmy, do me a favour.’
‘What is it?’
‘Stop eyeing me up and down. I’m here as a police sergeant investigating a murder.’
‘You should have sent the old man.’
‘The old man, as you refer to him, is a detective inspector, a very experienced police officer.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Francombe said,’ I’ll be on my best behaviour from now on.’
Clare’s impression of the youth changed. He seemed to be a pleasant person, even if a little immature. She understood the reluctance of the dramatic society to rely on him for more significant roles.
‘According to Peter Freestone, you’re a good actor.’
‘I know, I know. When I grow up.’
‘Something like that. Jimmy, swap seats.’
‘Sorry.’
‘You’ve said that already.’
‘You’re a good sort. Has anyone told you that before?’
‘No, you’re the first,’ Clare said with a smile.
The two of them changed seats. Clare was now in shadow.
‘As I was saying, do you know the plot?’
‘Yes.’
‘After Casca, the other conspirators come forward and start stabbing Caesar. And finally, the ‘Et tu, Brute’ where Brutus plunges the final dagger in.’
‘When you used your dagger, did it feel unusual?’
‘Do you mean if it felt as if I was using a real dagger?’
‘Yes.’
‘It felt the same as we had practised.’
‘How many times did you stab?’
‘Three, maybe four.’
‘You can’t be sure?’
‘I’m fairly certain it was three, but there’s not a lot of room up on the stage with six of us attempting to stab Caesar, and I wasn’t counting.’
‘Are you certain your knife was retracting?’
‘I thought it was. I’m not certain if I’d know.’
‘Thank you. I’ve no further questions for now.’
Francombe stood up. ‘My mates are going to ask questions. They saw me come in here with you.’
‘Tell them you’ve set up a hot date for the weekend.’
‘Have I?’
‘Not a chance.’
‘I thought not. I’m sorry about what happened.’
‘At Old Sarum?’
‘No. Before.’
‘Avon Hill?’
‘I was friends with Adam Saunders.’
‘He didn’t deserve to die.’
‘Nor did the other man, the one you were keen on.’
‘No, I suppose he didn’t, but that’s life. It’s not all a bed of roses.’
‘Are you sure the hot date is off?’
‘Certain. Thanks for your assistance.’
‘I’m going to brag about this, you know that?’
‘Brag on, that’s all you’ve got.’
‘Holchester was a lucky man.’
‘It’s in the past.’
‘Sorry, I’ve brought up unpleasant memories.’
‘Please leave. You’ve plenty of bragging to do.’
Jimmy Francombe left. Clare took out a handkerchief and cried. After five minutes, she left, remembering to wave at Jimmy as he bragged to his mates.
***
Clare returned to Bemerton Road. She found Tremayne in his office, in deep thought. ‘What’s up, guv?’ she asked.
‘I’m just thinking through what we saw on the stage. Apart from the melee of the actors stabbing Mason, was there anything else?’
‘Such as?’
‘Is it possible to make any assumptions as to which of the assassins was stabbing harder. I’m assuming that someone with a fake knife is going for effect, not intending to hurt the man.’
‘You’re right. Even a fake knife would hurt if pushed hard against a body, whereas the murderer would not be concerned.’
‘There’d be bruising. Fancy a trip to Pathology. They’re conducting the autopsy today. Have you ever seen one?’
‘Not me.’
‘Come on. It’s good experience,’ Tremayne said.
Clare was well aware of the procedure, the slicing open of the body, the removal of all the vital organs, the extraction of the brain, the attempt afterwards to make it palatable for the family to see their loved one.
Tremayne and Yarwood found the pathologist in his office, the examination of Gordon Mason completed. Tremayne appeared to be disappointed, Clare was not.
‘What do you want to know, Tremayne?’ Dr Stuart Collins, the forensic pathologist, asked. Clare had met him before.
‘Gordon Mason. Do you have a report?’
‘I’m typing it up.’
Clare knew the pathologist to be a precise man, not willing to give much away until the report was complete. Tremayne, she knew, was the opposite: wanting to get on with the investigation, not appreciative of delays.
‘We’ve a few questions,’ Tremayne said.
‘You’ll not go away until I’ve given you something, will you?’
‘You know how it is.’
‘With you, Tremayne, I do. What is it?’
Clare could see that the two men had a good relationship.
‘The man was stabbed thirty-three times,’ Tremayne said.
‘Thirty-four,’ Collins replied.
‘One extra,’ Clare said.
‘Shakespeare may be rolling over in his grave that someone deviated from the script, but it was thirty-four.’
‘How many penetrated the skin?’
‘Five. One in the liver, another in a kidney, one a minor wound, and two to the heart.’
‘The heart wound’s fatal?’
‘I’ll detail it in my report, but yes, both of the wounds in the heart would have been fatal. The other wounds in the body would have caused severe bleeding, but the man would have been conscious long enough for an ambulance to arrive and administer emergency treatment.’
‘After the wounds to the heart, how long would he have lived?’
‘He’d have been in shock within a minute, possibly less. He would have died soon after. There’s still some final analysis on the heart as to whether it was the left or right ventricle. I’ll be more precise in the final report.’
‘One other question,’ Tremayne said.
‘I’m a busy man.’
‘We all are.’
‘What is it?’
‘Can you tell how many times the area around the man’s heart was impacted by a dagger, retractable or not.’
‘There’s slight bruising from the retractable daggers. The man should have been wearing a specially-designed padded vest, but apparently he was wearing a camping jacket under his robe.’
‘How many daggers to the heart?’
‘Four. Two pierced the skin, two did not. Any more questions?’
‘Of the daggers that pierced the heart and the body, can you tell how many there were?’
‘We found irregularities in the wounds which would indicate two different blades.’
‘Thanks. That agrees with Jim Hughes’s analysis.’
***
‘You look as though you could do with your roots being dealt with,’ Tremayne said outside the pathologist’s office.
‘Is that a criticism or your way of saying that we should visit Trevor Winston?’
‘Just my attempt at humour.’
‘A feeble attempt.’
Trevor Winston was not difficult to spot in his hairdressing salon on New Canal Street. At Old Sarum, he had been dressed in a Roman tunic, the same as all the other assassins, but in his shop the man wore bright yellow trousers, a white shirt open almost to the waist. He was welcoming to the two police officers as they came in.
‘They’re going to arrest me for your hairstyles,’ Winston joked with his customers.
In the backroom, Winston apologised. ‘Sorry about that. They expect me to be over the top, a younger version of Kenneth Williams. You remember him, I’m sure.’
‘I do,’ Tremayne said.
‘Vaguely,’ Clare said.
‘Are you? Tremayne asked. ‘Gay, that is?’
‘If you mean homosexual, then yes, I am. We’re not all over the top though. Outside of the salon, you’d not pick me from any other man in the street.’
‘Gordon Mason did.’
‘The man was a bore. He didn’t like anyone who wasn’t like him.’
‘Baptist, teetotal?’
‘Repressed,’ Winston said.
‘Was he?’
‘I’d say so. Gordon was friendly with Peter Freestone and Bill Ford. Both of them had boring professions.’
‘An accountant and a funeral director,’ Clare said.
‘I like Bill Ford,’ Winston said. ‘He takes himself seriously, the profession I suppose, but he’s easy enough to get on with.’
‘Peter Freestone?’ Tremayne asked.
‘He likes to take control, he was the director of this production, but he’s okay. At least he’ll have a pint with you at the end of the day.’
‘What about the other cast members?’
‘Jimmy Francombe, he’s only young, but he’s a good actor. Len Dowling and his wife, Fiona. I don’t mind them, although Len is up himself.’
‘Up himself?’ Tremayne asked.
‘Thinks he’s better than he is,’ Clare said.
‘We’d agree with you on that,’ Tremayne said.
‘Who else?’ Winston thought out loud. ‘Gary Barker, he’s keen. Not much of a conversationalist. And then there’s his girlfriend, Cheryl Milledge.’
‘What about her?’ Clare asked.
‘I’ve known her a few years, the town bike back then.’
‘You don’t want that explaining, do you, guv?’ Clare asked.
‘I know what he means.’
‘They’ve both settled down now, but she can drink like a fish. Gary tries to stop her, but he’s wasting his time.’
‘Tough woman?’
‘With Gary. They’re both keen on acting.’
‘You didn’t like Gordon Mason?’ Tremayne asked.
‘He didn’t like me, but I had no real problem with him. We both enjoyed acting, and we could work together. Outside of acting, he’d ignore me in the street.’
‘Peter Freestone said that you had regarded acting as a vocation.’
‘I would have loved to do it, but I’m not up to the leading man status, and the money’s dreadful if you’re not on top. I make a lot more here, and I’m content with that.’
‘Anyone you would suspect of wanting Gordon Mason dead?’
‘He was a gruff man, but dead? I don’t think so, but then I didn’t know him very well.’
‘Anyone who would have?’
‘As I said, Peter Freestone and Bill Ford.’
Chapter 5
After the flamboyant Trevor Winston, Bill Ford came as something of a revelation. One had looked like an advert for high-definition television with his vivid colours, the other like a flashback to the days of black and white.
Clare half-expected the man to put on a top hat, as she had seen in English horror movies from the sixties. However, apart from his sombre appearance, he was polite, even if rather direct.
‘What can you tell us about the events of last night?’ Tremayne asked. The three of them were standing in a back room of the funeral director’s premises, where several coffins were lined up ready for use.
‘Excuse the surroundings. It’s a busy day.’
‘Gordon Mason?’
‘I’ve been contracted to deal with him.’
‘His body’s not been released yet.’
‘That’s understood,’ Ford said. Clare thought he smelt of formaldehyde.
‘You took the part of Metellus?’ Tremayne asked.
‘I was the one pleading with Caesar:
Is there no voice more worthy than my own?
To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear
For the repealing of my banish'd brother?’
Tremayne did not need another recital. Clare thought it attractive to see a funeral director dressed in black reciting his lines.
‘You were there when Gordon Mason was stabbed?’
‘I was integral to the scene. I must have stabbed him at least twice.’
‘Nobody seems firm on the numbers,’ Tremayne said.
‘It’s always frenetic. There’s six of us crowded around Caesar, lunging forward, pulling back, aiming to get out of the way of the others.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Not really. We’re all trying to make it look realistic, attempting not to let the audience see the daggers retracting.’
‘Did yours?’
‘No question on that.’
‘According to our reports, it’s not so easy to tell if the dagger is entering the body or not.’ Tremayne knew that he had made up the statement to judge the man’s response.
‘I’m a funeral director. I know what it feels like to insert a knife into sinew and gut. My dagger retracted, I’m sure of it.’
‘Is there anyone who may have had a grudge against Gordon Mason?’
‘Not me, that’s for certain. I knew the man, I acted with him, and I’m going to bury him, but apart from that, there’s not a lot I can tell you about him.’
‘Did you socialise with him?’
‘Mason was not much of a socialiser, neither am I.’
‘What do you like to do, Mr Ford?’ Tremayne asked.
‘I like acting. It gets me away from here. You’d understand if I told you that this job sometimes gets you down.’
‘I’d understand,’ Tremayne said.
‘So would I,’ Clare said.
‘Apart from acting, what else do you do?’
‘I go up to London most weeks. There’s always a play on somewhere up there. If I stay here, I only work.’
‘Are you married?’ Tremayne asked.
‘My wife died a few years back.’
‘Sorry about that. I was indelicate.’
‘Don’t worry about it. In our professions, we become only too familiar with the deceased. It’s best to maintain a detachment.’
‘You never answered my previous question. Is there anyone who may have had a grudge against Mason?’
‘I don’t think so. We were all united by a love for acting. Apart from that, some socialised with each other, others didn’t.’
‘Which group did you belong to?’
‘A drink of a night after rehearsals, the occasional night out with Freestone and his wife, but apart from that, you’d find me at home.’
‘It’s not much of a life,’ Tremayne said.
‘I’m not a gregarious man. The simple pleasures suffice.’
‘We’re told that Mason did not like Trevor Winston.’
‘I can’t say that I approve of his behaviour.’
‘A religious view?’
‘Not at all. It just seems wrong to me. I’d never say that to Winston, though. I get on well enough with him, and I would have thought Winston would have brushed off Mason’s occasional jibes.’
‘Were there many?’
‘Once or twice, but only when Winston messed up his lines.’
‘Did he do that often?’
‘Not often, but Mason would get annoyed.’
‘Would he get annoyed with anyone else if they messed up?’
‘No, only with Winston.’
***
Clare, glad to be busy, had found that since the murder at Old Sarum she had slept better. The nights were still restless, but with exhaustion came sleep, and Tremayne, if nothing else, was a determined man.
So far the case had revealed nothing that could indicate a reason for Gordon Mason’s murder, no obvious suspect either. The fact that Trevor Winston was gay and Mason did not approve seemed inconsequential.
‘What do we know about the murder weapons?’ Tremayne asked. It was early in the office, the usual procedure when there was a murder t
o be solved.
‘It would have needed someone with a degree of skill to modify them,’ Clare said, not that she had a great deal of knowledge on the subject.
‘We’ve not interviewed all the possible suspects yet.’
‘It could still be someone who didn’t know that their dagger was more than a toy.’
‘According to Hughes, that was unlikely. The pressure of the fake compared to a blade entering a body would have been obvious.’
‘To him, it may have been, but Jimmy Francombe said he wouldn’t have known.’
‘It’s a possibility. Does that mean that it could have been someone other than the seven conspirators?’
‘It’s always possible.’
‘If a small metal rod was inserted then that dagger could have become lethal, but how did the person ensure who was going to pick up the correct daggers?’ Tremayne asked.
‘Does it matter?’
‘I think it does.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘According to Shakespeare, Casca stabs Caesar first, a non-fatal stab in the back, and then Brutus is the final of the assassins.’
‘And Brutus only has one stab to the heart.’
‘Which means,’ Tremayne said, ‘that Julius Caesar was not dead when Brutus stabbed him.’
‘Does it, guv?’
‘Isn’t Brutus meant to be separated from Caesar, and Caesar staggers over to his friend after the others have finished and utters the immortal lines? YouTube last night. Marlon Brando as Mark Antony, John Gielgud as Cassius, before you comment.’
‘Did Mason stagger over to Peter Freestone at Old Sarum?’
‘I’m not sure. I was bored by then,’ Tremayne said.
‘It may suit your image, guv, but you were enjoying it up there.’
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, Yarwood.’
‘Anyway, I’ve no idea,’ Clare said. ‘I didn’t look either.’
‘Which means, if he didn’t, he could have been dead, held up by the others.’
‘You’re not accusing all of them of being involved.’
‘That’s highly unlikely. If Mason’s death was the intended result, it’s a bit hit and miss.’
‘With all that was going on, it was unlikely that the two murderers would have been able to accurately insert their blades in the right places, which means that Mason could have lived.’
The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set Page 31
