An Amateur Corpse

by Simon Brett

  ‘That was the last time? You didn’t talk to her again or anything?’

  ‘Well, actually I did. I rang her on the Monday afternoon.’

  ‘The day she died.’

  ‘Yes.’ Clive seemed poised to launch into another self-dramatizing lament, but fortunately didn’t. ‘I was trying to fix to meet her that evening. The fact is, we hadn’t parted on the best of terms after the cast party . . .’

  Ah, now the truth, thought Charles.

  ‘Silly thing, really,’ Clive continued. ‘She was talking about leaving Hugo for me and I was saying no, it was too soon, we should let things ride for a bit . . . you know, the sort of disagreement you get between two people in love.’

  Charles couldn’t believe it. Clive’s self-esteem was so great that he actually seemed to have convinced himself that he was talking the truth. Charles was glad that he had heard the real encounter between the two; otherwise he might have found himself taking Clive seriously.

  The young man rambled on mournfully. ‘So I wanted to meet for a drink, you know, to chat, sort it all out. But she said she couldn’t, so I got a bit pissed off and went to the flicks with an old girlfriend.’

  ‘Did Charlotte say why she couldn’t meet you?’

  ‘She said someone was coming round.’

  ‘She didn’t say who?’

  ‘Some friend from drama school.’

  Charles took a taxi from Waterloo to Spectrum Studios in Wardour Street. He told the uninterested commissionaire that he wanted to see Diccon Hudson and was directed to the dubbing theatre.

  The red light outside was off to indicate that they weren’t recording at that moment, so he went on through the double door. It was a large room, walls covered with newish upholstered sound-proofing. At one end was a screen above a television which displayed a film footage count. On a dais at the other end was the dubbing mixer’s control panel. On a low chair in front of this Ian Compton lolled.

  He looked quizzically as Charles entered. Some explanation of his presence was called for.

  Charles hadn’t really thought of one and busked. ‘I was in the area and I thought I’d just drop in to find out about tomorrow’s session. Save the phone call.’

  Ian Compton looked sceptical and Charles realized it did sound pretty daft. But no comment was made. ‘No, in fact tomorrow’s off, Charles. Farrow’s not happy with the radio copy and I’m afraid it’s all got to be rewritten. Take a few days. I should think we’d be in touch by the end of the week.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘And don’t worry, you were booked for the session, so you’ll get paid.’

  ‘Oh thanks.’ Charles’s instinct was to say, ‘Don’t bother about that,’ but he bit it back. He must develop more commercial sense.

  Ian Compton looked at him with an expression that signified the conversation was over.

  ‘Actually, I wanted to have a word with Diccon too.’

  A raised eyebrow. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, we’re just about to start doing a few more loops. Then we’ll break in about half an hour when we’ve got to set up a new machine.’

  ‘May I wait?’

  Ian Compton shrugged permission.

  The film that was being dubbed appeared to be about a young bronzed man fishing for octopus on a Greek island. Charles need not have worried about Bland work being done behind his back.

  Diccon Hudson was working at a table in a box of screens. He wore headphones. The film was cut down into loops of about thirty or forty-five second durations. On each loop a chinagraph pencil line had been scored diagonally, so that it moved across the screen when the film was run. When it reached the right hand side, it was Diccon’s cue to speak, adding his voice to the Music and Effects track.

  He worked smoothly and quickly. He needed only one run of each loop and timed the words perfectly each time. A master of all forms of voice work.’

  When they had to break, Ian Compton went out to the control room, where the new machine was being set up. Charles went into the box of screens. Diccon Hudson looked up nervously. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure? Coming to get some tips on voice technique?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘On dubbing? The great con-trick. Wonderful the things you can perpetrate in dubbing. That bloke on the screen, the diver who does all the talking, is Greek. Talks English like a broken-winded turkey. But by the wonders of dubbing, he can speak with my golden cadences. It’s magic. He does his talking at one time, I add my voice at another and in the cinema, so far as the audience is concerned, it all happened at the same time.’ He had taken this flight of fancy as far as it would go and paused anxiously. ‘But you didn’t come here to talk to me about dubbing.’

  Charles shook his head slowly. ‘No, I’ve come to talk about Charlotte Mecken.’

  Diccon coloured at the name. ‘Oh yes, what about her?’

  ‘When we last met, you said you used to see her from time to time. The odd lunch.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I’ve come along to ask if you saw her a week ago today. Last Monday.’

  It was a shock. Diccon gaped for a moment before replying. ‘No, of course I didn’t. Why should I? What are you insinuating?’

  ‘I’m not insinuating anything. I’m just asking you what you were doing last Monday.’

  ‘I was out.’

  ‘Out where?’

  Diccon hesitated. ‘Out with friends.’

  ‘Friends who I could check with?’

  ‘No, I . . .’ He tailed off in confusion.

  ‘Did you speak to Charlotte that day?’

  ‘On the phone, yes. When I got back to my flat after an afternoon session, there was a message on the Ansafone for me to ring her.’

  ‘Someone else she spoke to that afternoon was told that she had a friend from drama school coming down in the evening.’

  ‘She wanted me to go down and see her, but I couldn’t.’

  ‘You went out with friends instead.’

  ‘Yes. What are you suggesting – that I strangled her?’

  Charles shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t think Hugo did.’

  ‘I didn’t. I swear I didn’t go down there. I went out.’

  ‘But you won’t tell me where.’

  Diccon hesitated and seemed on the verge of saying something. But then, ‘No.’

  ‘But you did speak to her?’

  ‘I’ve told you, yes. She wanted my advice.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘She wanted to know if I knew the name of an abortionist.’ This time it was Charles who was put off his stroke for a moment. ‘But she wasn’t pregnant. The police post-mortem showed that.’

  ‘Well, she thought she was. And she said she’d decided she couldn’t keep the baby.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t know. Presumably because Hugo didn’t want children.’

  ‘You think it was Hugo’s?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Not yours?’

  ‘What?’ His surprise seemed genuine. ‘Good God, no, I never scored with Charlotte, I’m afraid. Though I tried a few times.’

  ‘Then why did she ask you about the abortionist?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose I was the only person she knew who might have that sort of information. I have been around with quite a few women, you know,’ he added with a touch of self-assertive bravado.

  It had the ring of truth. If Charlotte had wanted to get rid of a baby, in her naïveté, she wouldn’t have known where to begin. She could only ask a friend. Why not Sally Radford? Perhaps Charlotte knew of the girl’s emotional reaction to her own abortion and didn’t want to upset her by asking.

  As to the pregnancy, that must have been a phantom, some freak of Charlotte’s cycle, probably a side-effect of going on the Pill.

  But if what Diccon had said was true, why was he being so evasive about the night of the murder? ‘I’d like to believe you, Diccon, but I’d feel happier with an alibi I co
uld check. Where were you at the time Charlotte was strangled?’

  ‘I . . . I won’t tell you.’

  ‘You tell him.’ A new voice came into the room, harsh and electronic. It was Ian Compton on the talkback from the control room. He must have had Diccon’s microphone up and been listening to their conversation for some time.

  Diccon turned towards his friend behind the glass screen and shouted, ‘No!’

  ‘All right then, I’ll tell him.’

  ‘NO!’ Diccon Hudson rose and ran out of the screens towards the glass as if he could somehow smother Ian’s speech.

  But the talkback talked on inexorably. ‘Diccon was with me. We went together to a club called The Cottage, which you may know is a resort of homosexuals or gays as we prefer to call them. We went there because we are both gay.’

  ‘No,’ muttered Diccon, tears pouring down his face.

  ‘For some reason, Charles, as you see, Diccon does not like to admit this fact in public. God knows why. He’s only discovered his real nature recently and still tries to put up a straight front. That’s why he lunches all these pretty little actresses, like Charlotte Mecken – to maintain the image of the great stud. Which is in fact far from the truth.’

  Diccon Hudson found his voice again. ‘Shut up,’ he said feebly.

  Charles decided it was time for him to go. He didn’t want to get into a marital squabble and he didn’t think much more useful information was likely to be forthcoming. ‘I’m sorry to have caused a scene. Thank you for telling me all you have. It’s going to help me clear Hugo.’

  ‘Clear Hugo?’ Diccon repeated in amazement. ‘You can’t still think that I –’

  ‘No, not you.’

  But something that Diccon had said had released a block in Charles’s mind and he was now certain who had killed Charlotte and how.

  The next day he was going to confront that person.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHARLES FELT CERTAIN that the person he wanted to see would be at Breckton Magistrates’ Court the next morning.

  It was nearly twelve o’clock when the little group came out of the main entrance. Geoffrey was in the middle with Vee, and they were flanked by Denis and Mary Hobbs. A man in a pin-striped suit, presumably the Hobbses’ solicitor, followed slightly behind. The atmosphere was more celebration of the return of a conquering hero than the release on bail of a man accused of petty theft from a friend.

  Charles went forward to meet them. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Geoff. Vee inadvertently told me what had happened.’

  ‘That’s all right. Thanks for coming.’ Geoffrey wore a mask of relaxed affability. ‘I suppose everyone will know soon.’

  ‘Yes, but it’ll blow over pretty quickly,’ asserted Denis Hobbs. ‘Don’t you reckon, Willy?’

  ‘We live in hope,’ the solicitor replied smugly. Charles wondered whether smugness was something that all solicitors have to take on when they’re articled in a sort of primitive ceremony like a circumcision rite.

  ‘Anyway, don’t let’s talk about it,’ said Denis. ‘Charles, we’re all going out to lunch – how’d you like to join us? We’re going to put all this behind us and think of the future. I hadn’t realized how badly things were going with poor Geoff. But I think over lunch we might have a bit of a discussion about one or two openings there might be for architects in my business.’

  He looked to Mary for approval. She smiled and he glowed visibly. So that was it. Not only was Geoffrey going to be forgiven for his crime; he was also going to get a new job to sort out his financial problems. Mary Hobbs loved being in the Lady Bountiful position, using her husband’s money and influence to share a little of the reflection of Geoffrey’s talent. And to gain power over him.

  Charles declined the lunch invitation with thanks, but said he’d walk along with them a little way.

  He fell into step beside his quarry. ‘I wonder if we could have a chat at some point. Something I’d like to discuss.’

  ‘Certainly. How about this afternoon? I’ll be at home when we get back from this lunch.’

  ‘Okay, fine.’

  ‘About three.’

  Charles nodded. It had all been very casual, but they both knew it was a confrontation.

  The house was empty but for the two of them.

  ‘Well, Charles, what can I do for you?’

  No point in beating around the bush with social pleasantries. It had to be direct. ‘I know how you did it.’

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘Killed Charlotte.’

  ‘Ah.’ Charles had to admire the other’s control. Even total innocence should have given more reaction. ‘So that’s what it is, is it? All right, intrigue me, tell me how I did it.’

  ‘It was a very carefully worked out plan. A work of genius, one might say.’

  ‘I’m touched by the compliment, but I think it may be misapplied. Incidentally, before you tell me how I committed this crime, would you be so good as to tell me why I did it?’

  ‘You did it, Geoffrey, because Charlotte told you she was pregnant and as a good Catholic she said she wouldn’t have an abortion. So you had to get rid of her out of loyalty to Vee. She was coming to see Vee the day after she died. She’d fixed it by phone. You couldn’t risk Vee finding out about the pregnancy. It would have destroyed your marriage.’

  Geoffrey left a pause before he responded. Maybe it was in reaction to what he had heard, but when he came back, his voice was as firm as ever. ‘I see. So that’s why I did it. Now perhaps you will continue with telling me how I did it.’

  ‘Right. Last Monday night, after we parted at the main road, you went home. Vee wanted to watch I, Claudius, as you knew she would. As soon as it had started, you put on a previously prepared cassette of yourself doing the lines for The Winter’s Tale, then left this room by the balcony. You walked briskly along the path at the back, over the main road and –’

  ‘Look, I hate to break in on this magnificent piece of deduction, but I would just like to congratulate you and say you’re absolutely right. Except in one detail. I did all this, but the crime which I committed in the time thus gained was not Charlotte’s murder, but the theft from Denis and Mary for which I appeared in court this morning.’

  ‘If you will wait a moment, Geoffrey, I was coming to that. This is where your plan was so clever, because it involved a double alibi. If anyone worked out the cassette dodge, then you had a second line of defence that during the relevant time you were doing the robbery. On Friday you thought I was on to the cassette – in fact, you flattered me, I hadn’t quite got there by then – but that was sufficient to frighten you into implementing your second plan, getting rid of the stolen jewellery in such an amateur manner that you knew it was only a matter of time before the police arrested you.’

  ‘I see.’ Geoffrey’s voice was heavy with irony. ‘So, according to the Charles Paris theory, in the time I had at my disposal, I stole the jewellery and strangled Charlotte in two different houses half a mile apart. Hmm. You obviously have a very high opinion of the speed at which I work.’

  ‘No, I haven’t finished the Charles Paris theory. What I am saying is that you didn’t do the robbery.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Magic, was it? The jewellery suddenly appeared in my pocket. Or maybe I had a leprechaun as a henchman and he spirited the stuff away. Was that it?’

  ‘No. You did the robbery, but you didn’t do it on the Monday evening.’

  ‘But that’s when it was done. That’s when Bob Chubb saw the light in the Hobbses’ house, that’s when the police came and found it had been done.’

  Charles shook his head slowly. ‘All you did on the Monday night was to break the window, open the catch and leave the switched-on torch on the window sill, so that Bob Chubb or whoever else happened to pass couldn’t fail to see it. You’d actually taken the valuables on the previous Wednesday evening when you’d been round at the house. You’d put a lot of planning into the thing. You’d suggested the game of charades at the Ho
bbses’ and while you were upstairs dressing up as Margaret Thatcher in Mary Hobbses’ clothes, you helped yourself to the jewellery.

  ‘So, on the Monday, you only had to stop at their house for thirty seconds rather than five minutes. That was why everyone was so surprised at the tidiness of the burglary. Everything left as if it hadn’t been touched. It hadn’t been. No one went inside the house that evening.

  ‘The crime was done like a dubbed film – one part of the action at one time and the other later on. The theft was committed before the break-in. And everyone thought they had been done at the same time.’

  Geoffrey’s face remained impassive. Impossible to judge what was going on behind that mask.

  Charles pressed on. ‘Then you went to Meckens’s house. It was easy. Hugo played into your hands. Apart from the convenience of his constant outspoken attacks on Charlotte, you knew he wasn’t going to leave the Back Room until it closed. And that then he’d be in a state where his reactions and memory could play him false.

  ‘Charlotte was all set up. You’d seen her at lunch time. In the excess of your passion you’d marked her neck with a lovebite, so you knew she’d have a scarf round her neck. Maybe you’d even said you’d drop in, so that she’d open the door quickly and you wouldn’t be seen.

  ‘Strangling her must have been quick. She was totally unsuspicious, off her guard. Then you put her body in the coal shed to delay its discovery and you were off home. Back before the end of I, Claudius. Just in time to pick up from the cassette and start bellowing your lines with such vigour that your next-door neighbour was bound to complain, thus even getting the police to corroborate your first alibi.’

  There was a long pause. Geoffrey kept the usual tight rein on his emotions. ‘Well, Charles, you give me credit for a lot of ingenuity.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘And I can see that, if all your assumptions are correct, it would have been possible for me to kill Charlotte. But you need a ripe imagination to follow the twists of what you’ve just told me. I think you might have difficulty persuading the police of it all – particularly as at the moment they have two crimes and for each one they have a self-confessed criminal.’