“A bit of a character, that one,” Inspector Fiske said, joining Rex and gazing after Snyder. “But then, these people take their craft very seriously, and you never know if they’re acting or not.”
“Mr. Forsythe is a case in point,” Rex agreed. “I think he believes he is indeed Peter Wimsey.”
“Did Lord Peter ever actually shoot anyone?”
“I’m not the person to ask. But Rodney Snyder suggested we look for a woman.”
“Did he now … Based on what?”
“He didn’t say. He just seems to think jealousy was a motive. Incidentally, did you find blood on the purple corduroys?”
“We did, but we don’t know whose yet.”
“I noticed a pair of glasses in the dressing room cubicle Susan Richardson used, and which she said didn’t belong to her. I got the impression from what she told me that they weren’t there when she changed into her costume.”
“No one claimed them. We took them in for analysis. They’re non-prescription, so probably come from the theatre props.” Fiske turned to the back wall, where Trey sat hunched over his memory card, one hand shielding his face, an untouched cup of tea on the chair beside him. “Could that young man inspire the sort of passion to kill oneself over? Seems to me to be a bit lacking in the backbone department.”
“Possibly,” Rex said, thinking it would be better to have had murder confirmed outright. Then the police could focus on finding the killer.
“I was hoping we’d hear a few more words from him, but apparently, he was too overwhelmed by grief. Even Ells managed a short speech, and he’s been the most reticent of the witnesses. Right, well, us cops don’t want to outstay our welcome. Perhaps you’ll hear something useful, if you haven’t already?”
“Not sure how useful yet, but I’ll let you know if something comes of it.”
Fiske nodded his appreciation and signalled to his sergeant that it was time to leave by pointing to the exit. Rex, still holding his two cups of tea, went in search of Helen and found her with Penny.
“It’s probably tepid by now,” he apologized, handing Helen her tea and offering Penny his, which she accepted.
“I saw you got waylaid by Mike,” Helen said.
“He took off. Did you speak to him?”
“Just briefly. He thanked me for lunch yesterday.”
Penny told Rex she had not had the opportunity to tell the inspector about Timothy arriving so early on Friday, but would call him when she got home. Rex asked if she knew why Bobbi Shaw hadn’t attended the service.
“Paul said she had a sore throat and had to stay at home in case it was contagious.”
“That’s a shame. How did your killer in the play interact with Cassie?”
“She acted like a big galumphing puppy around her. Bobbi liked to horse about. It provided some light relief at rehearsals, especially when Lady Naomi’s ghost places the footstool in front of her to force her character to reveal the jewels. For the actual performance, it was a challenge not to have the tripping-up scene look too comedic and slapstick.” Penny gave him a pointed look. “Why do you ask?”
“I wondered if anybody might have been jealous enough to—”
“Mind if I butt in?”
“Mr. Caldwell, isn’t it?” Rex addressed the short newcomer.
The actor was almost unrecognizable as Poirot, and certainly didn’t sound like the Belgian detective, being from Derbyshire. “Lovely service, Penny,” he praised her.
“Thank you, but I had a lot of help.”
“Do you know what the Tennyson reference was about?” Rex asked them. “I’m afraid it was a bit lost on me.”
“Cassie first acted with Trey in a rendering of The Lady of Shalott, where they played the leads,” Dennis Caldwell explained. “The girl who read the opening verses was Cassie’s understudy. I played one of the guards. We were all dressed in medieval costume.”
“It was very movingly read by that young woman,” Helen remarked, looking in the direction of a brunette holding a chubby baby and talking to two men of her age.
Caldwell nodded. “It certainly put a lump in my throat.”
“You are very active in community theatre, Mr. Caldwell?” Rex enquired.
“It’s a good way to make contacts. I’m in the insurance business.” He produced a card from his suit jacket. “I insured Cassie, as a matter of fact. Stroke of luck, really, for her mum.”
“I’m not sure I would put it quite that way,” Rex objected mildly.
“Well, obviously. But one has to be pragmatic in my line of work. I had put it to Mrs. Chase that, as her daughter was her primary caregiver, it might be prudent to take out a policy, just in case. So now, at least, Mum gets a substantial enough sum to retain the services of a nurse’s aide. And double the amount if Cassie’s death is ruled accidental or foul play,” Caldwell added in a self-congratulatory tone, while Helen and Penny quietly excused themselves and slipped away towards the refreshments. “It’s too much work for Cassie’s aunt to take on, on her own.”
“I imagine it is,” Rex agreed, his heart going out to Mrs. Chase, forced to deal with such practicalities before her daughter was even buried. “And in the event of suicide?”
“No payout. But I doubt it was suicide. Do you have any children, Mr. Graves?”
“A son, grown.”
“Any kids on your new wife’s side?”
“No,” Rex said with a sad shake of his head, knowing how much Helen regretted not having children of her own, and how much she would miss her favourites at her old school.
“Life is unpredictable,” the insurance salesman opined with a sigh. “Always best to prepare for the worst, I tell my clients. I have a dentist who contracted MS. Can’t practise since his hands started trembling, but he had the foresight to insure against misfortune, and now he can still enjoy good quality of life.”
“Ehm, I hear you,” Rex said vaguely, casting about for an exit strategy. He felt sure Dennis Caldwell would try to sell him a policy. At that moment, Paul Reddit came unwittingly or intentionally to his aid.
“Sorry to hear your niece got taken ill,” Rex said, sorry, too, not to be able to speak with her.
“Bobbi is rather susceptible to sore throats. Not a good thing for an actress. She looks as strong as an ox, but there we are. It’s due to stress, I think. Hur-rum. It was a very nice service, don’t you agree, Dennis?” The solicitor addressed Caldwell. “A fitting tribute to Cassie.”
“Mr. Caldwell was telling me that she and Trey first met on the set of The Lady of Shalott,” Rex offered.
“Not sure they hadn’t met before.” Dennis Caldwell was quick to correct Rex. “But first time acting together. Susan Richardson was his leading lady in a previous production.”
“That’s right,” Reddit stated. “Susan played opposite him in a musical production of Goodbye, Mrs. Robinson. Early last year, wasn’t it?”
“She was very convincing as a cougar. She’s forty-five,” Caldwell murmured conspiratorially, “but looks amazingly good for her age. Trey is twenty-six or twenty-seven. I heard she came on to him at rehearsals. The poor lad was too polite to rebuff her advances too brusquely. Then, at the cast party everyone got a bit tipsy, and Susan made a fool of herself, bursting into tears because the show was over.”
Reddit glanced at Rex. “Theatre gossip,” he muttered disapprovingly.
Rex rather relished gossip when a murder might be involved. “But Trey and Cassie were not going out at that point?”
“So you know about that, do you?” Caldwell asked, raising one of his almost non-existent eyebrows, which had been shaved off and pencilled in for his role as Poirot. “No, Cassie was seeing someone else in theatre. Peril at Pinegrove Hall is what brought her and Trey closer together, by all accounts.”
“By whose accounts?” Reddit contested. “More go
ssip and rumour,” he told Rex, who turned back to Caldwell.
“Any tension when Trey and Susan found themselves in another production together?” he asked.
“None that I noticed, but I didn’t hear about Susan’s crush on Trey until this weekend.”
“When everyone has been speculating as to motive in the case,” Rex said, nodding his head thoughtfully and wondering if Susan Richardson was “the woman” whom Snyder had been alluding to a short while ago.
The only other women in the play were Ada Card and Paul Reddit’s niece, neither of whom were serious contenders for Trey’s romantic affection, one too old, the other apparently not interested in men. However, could Bobbi have been interested in Cassie, as indicated by the immature behaviour Penny had described? Only, she wasn’t available for comment.
Her uncle had moved away to shake someone’s hand and exchange sober words about the service, and Rex left Dennis Caldwell to get himself some tea. Just then he spotted Susan, her tall frame clothed in a bottle-green chiffon dress, her dark hair, minus grey streaks, coiled down her bare back. A striking woman, he had reflected upon watching her on the podium. He could not remember much of what she had said; by the time her turn had come, all the words spoken about Cassie had begun to blur. She was now in the company of a balding, strapping man of middle years, whom Rex took to be her husband, and a girl in her late teens, presumably the daughter who attended Oakleaf Comprehensive.
Rex noted that Susan Richardson and Penny Spencer were not dissimilar in terms of age and looks, both dressed with understated elegance. The French teacher stood in a small group by the opulent wreath of white flowers, Tony by her side.
“A Penny for them,” Helen said with emphasis on the name, approaching him and following his gaze.
“I was thinking how alike she and Susan are.”
“In appearance, maybe, but Penny is a single working woman and Susan is a mother of three.”
“What does her husband do?”
“He owns a glass manufacturing business. Custom windows, I think. He travels a lot, she told me. What do you have percolating in that head of yours, Rex?”
He smiled at her amused expression. “Excuse my execrable accent, but cherchez la femme does mean ‘look for the woman,’ correct?”
“Literally, yes. Why?”
“It was something Rodney Snyder said.”
“That man is a bit of a snake,” Helen remarked under her breath, glancing in his direction. “I was complimenting him on his beautiful wreath and he started plying me for information about your investigative methods.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I said your methods were inscrutable.”
“Ah, excuse me one moment,” Rex said, having spied Timothy Holden across the hall.
“Where are you going now?”
“Chercher la bicyclette,” he answered enigmatically as he sought his next suspect.
eighteen
“Any luck finding your bicycle?” Rex asked Timothy Holden, who was standing at the back of the hall finishing off a piece of layered sponge cake.
“Nah, gone for a burton,” he replied, wiping cream from his mouth with one of Penny’s paper napkins. The pronounced underbite and thick lenses magnifying his eyes gave him the look of an insect, further enhanced by the greying brown hair, spare and bristly, cut close to his head. A moth, Rex decided.
“Did you report it stolen?”
Holden’s frown deepened. “Not worth it. It’s a piece of junk. I just asked Jensen to keep an eye out in case it turned up, but it’s prob’ly been cannibalized for parts by now.”
“The caretaker said it went missing sometime on Friday evening.”
“Why you asking?” Holden, maintaining his perpetually puzzled expression, proceeded to lick his fingers. “Have you tried Ada’s cake?” Red jam filling had dribbled onto his wide, brown suede tie, worn over a pastel blue rayon shirt.
“Not yet. You have jam on your tie. Allow me.” Rex took the napkin and dabbed the raspberry off as best he could. “As you may have heard, I’m working on the case, but privately. There, that’s better.” He handed back the napkin, which Holden stuffed into the black, beltless trousers nipping into his expansive waist.
“You’re not required to speak to me if you choose not to,” Rex said. “I simply wanted to know what time you got here on Friday afternoon. I’m trying to create a timeline.”
“Five forty, it was, or thereabouts.”
This roughly coincided with what Holden had told the caretaker, and yet Penny had been sure she had seen him approaching the building on foot almost an hour earlier. “And you came on your bike?”
“Right. I don’t have a car. I went in early to rehearse before the others arrived. I hadn’t had the part very long and was nervous I’d forget my lines. I can’t always hear Ron when he’s prompting.”
“I watched the entire play on DVD. Father Brown doesn’t have many lines.”
“True, but my memory’s not that fantastic. I really can’t fathom how actors manage to remember reams of script. I had trouble at school reciting from memory just one verse of poetry. Added to which, I had to do an Essex accent. Rodney helped with that as he’s from Essex, same as Father Brown.”
“Those setbacks didn’t prevent you from taking on the role,” Rex pointed out with an encouraging smile.
“Oh, I’ve always loved the theatre, and Mr. Reddit asked me as a favour, like.”
“How did you get into the building?”
“Ron dropped the key off at my work. His office is close by, same as Mr. Reddit’s. Said he might be running late from a meeting, but he’d get there by six thirty, so I was to unlock the front door for the rest of the cast.”
“Did you change here?”
Holden gave a snorting laugh. “Well, yeah. I could hardly bike in my bleeding costume, now could I? It’s like a dress. Imagine the stares I’d get!”
“It would certainly draw some attention,” Rex agreed, sharing in Holden’s amusement. “So, you arrived at twenty to six, and then what did you do?”
“I parked the bike around the side, same as I always do. Did,” Holden corrected himself. “I let myself in the front entrance and went to change. Then I went through my lines onstage. Tony had taped out my marks for me.”
“Were the theatre curtains closed?”
Holden nodded and glanced towards them. “And it was quite dark. I could just make out the crosses.”
“And you never left the building?”
“Not until I went home that night.”
“Who was the next person to arrive, and when?”
“Tony, at around six. The actors began coming in ten minutes later.”
“Did anything unusual happen that you can remember?”
“Not until the shooting. I was in the lav when I heard the shot go off.”
“You heard it, even though your hearing is impaired?”
“It’s not that bad. I have trouble hearing whispers, like when Ron prompts. But I heard the bang through the wall. I wondered what it was, but I wasn’t alarmed, exactly. Ada and Susan caught up with me in the corridor. They’d heard it too. When we got backstage we found out Cassie’d been shot. Mr. Reddit, his niece, and the stagehands, they came in a few minutes after us. We none of us could believe it. I still can’t.”
“Any ideas how it might have happened?”
Holden blinked behind the lenses of his glasses. “How should I know? I wasn’t there, was I? You should ask them as were.”
“I have. At least most of them. How well do you know Christopher Ells?”
“Better than the others. He’s single, same as me, so we hang out in our free time. He gave me a lift here this afternoon, since I’m without transportation.”
“What exactly is it that Ells does at the hospital?”
“And how do you get on with the others?”
Holden gave a small shrug. “Ben and Bill are okay. They mostly stick together. Mr. Reddit is a nice man, but he’s a solicitor. Not stuck up, though, not like Rodney or Andrew, who’s a bit of a poser. I don’t know Dennis Caldwell that well, but I’d never buy a policy off him, and I don’t really know the women well, neither. Women tend to ignore me. Not Cassie, though.”
“And Trey Atkins?”
“He’s all right. A quiet, serious sort of lad. I heard today they’d got engaged. Makes her death that much worse, if you know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“Look, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get some more food. Talking always gives me the munchies.”
“By all means.” Rex watched as Holden went over to a table and piled a paper plate with salmon paste sandwiches.
Rex looked about the hall and through the open double doors to the lobby, where a few of the mourners had migrated. Others stood outside the building’s entrance, taking advantage of the fine evening. He would have liked to talk to Ells, but he was nowhere in sight. Had he left without Holden? Apparently, Holden was wondering the same thing as he meandered about with his laden plate.
Through the forest of people still occupying the space between the double doors and the tables of refreshments, which Ada Card was beginning to clear with a handful of volunteers, Rex spotted Trey standing alone. He made a beeline for him while Ada was occupied, and was greeted by a wan smile of recognition.
“How are you bearing up, lad?”
“So-so.” Trey paused and looked at him through tired hazel eyes. “Inspector Fiske asked if I had rung you yesterday. I wondered what that was about.”
“I got a call from someone I thought might be you. He didn’t give a name, simply implied he was responsible for Cassie’s suicide.”
Upstaged by Murder Page 12
