“Thanks for coming,” Holden said with a pitiful sigh of relief.
“How can I help?”
“Like I said on the phone, I didn’t do nothing, but I don’t want to talk to the detectives. They’ll hammer me for hours until I can’t think straight. On the other hand, if I insist on a lawyer, it might make me look guilty. And it’s a lottery with public defenders, innit, with no more chance of a win than with a million-pound scratch-off. So, what d’you advise?”
Rex could be sure the two detectives were listening in on the other side of the blind window. “I cannot advise you. For one thing, I only practise Scottish law.”
“Fat lot of use that is.”
“Rest assured, if the guilty party is found, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Well, hurry it up, yeh? I’m innocent! How much longer do I have to sit in here? I’m freezing my nuts off.”
Rex perceived it wasn’t only the frigid temperature that made the room cold. Everything, from the minimalist furnishings to the dingy walls displaying crime prevention posters, was designed to optimize discomfort and demoralize suspects into submission. He removed his jacket and told Holden to put it around his shoulders, which he did with a touching expression of gratitude.
“Tell me about the snuff films you watched with Ells. That seems to be the main reason you’re here.”
“It was just a bit of escapism.”
Rex wondered what Holden’s life was like that he felt the need to resort to snuff films to escape. He tried to imagine him working at the sandwich shop and living alone, probably with no girlfriend in the picture. He was not an attractive proposition for women with his protruding jaw and only the bottom row of teeth visible, ragged and grey. More than likely, Penny’s play had been a high point in his monotonous existence.
“There’s no real harm in it,” Holden went on, defending his viewing choice. “There’s worse on the Internet with ISIS beheading people and burning them alive in cages.”
“Ells said you wanted to kill someone onstage.”
“That’s a lie! Or if I said anything like that, it was under the influence of one too many. It was just beer talk.”
“So, Cassie Chase’s death in front of a live audience was purely coincidental?”
“It wasn’t me! Anyway, her death was offstage. No one saw nothing. Except the killer, of course, who might’ve videoed it.”
“Unlikely they had time.”
“They could’ve worn a camera and rolled the video while in motion.” Holden planted his elbows on the table, closed his eyes, and shook his head wearily. “Even if I wanted to kill someone, it would never be Cassie.”
Rex feared Holden might clam up if he persisted with the current line of questioning. “I, personally, am more interested in why Penny said she had seen you at the community centre on Friday, almost an hour prior to your stated time of arrival of five forty.”
Holden looked up in surprise. “Why would she say that?”
“You tell me.”
“Same reason as Chris,” the detainee replied glumly. “To put the blame somewhere else, or maybe she’s covering for someone. Penny Spencer has a wild imagination. She wrote the play, after all. And she doesn’t like me. She never wanted me in the play even though I looked enough the part and the Father Brown costume fit. Rodney told me. He said Mr. Reddit had asked him to coach me on my lines so I could, in his words, deliver an acceptable Essex accent. I had less than two weeks to prepare because the first Father Brown was leaving before the play opened. I’d have asked Mr. Reddit to represent me, but Ells got to him first.”
“Did you meet the person who had the part before you? Penny mentioned he left the play to pursue an acting career in the States.”
Holden shook his head. “I heard, though, he’d done some TV ads and managed to score a few small parts in films and in a kid’s serial playing a track star.” He opened his palms on the table in a helpless gesture of entreaty, revealing stubby fingers on his wide hands. “Can you help me, Mr. Graves? It’s like everyone’s out to get me.”
“Sit tight, Mr. Holden, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“I don’t have much choice other than to sit tight, do I?”
Rex got up and recovered his jacket with a word of apology, giving Holden a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Inspector Fiske met him on the other side of the door.
“Playing the victim card, I see,” the inspector said with a wry smirk.
“If you’re going to release him, I could offer to take him home.”
“I’d like to take another crack at him. Maybe he’ll change his mind about talking to us now that you’ve softened him up. Ells is the reason he’s here. Perhaps now he’ll return the favour and snitch on his friend.”
“I wish you luck,” Rex said with a small smile of his own. He paused as he turned away. “Could you at least fetch the poor man a blanket or turn up the thermostat?”
“How about a hot water bottle and a mug of Ovaltine while we’re at it,” jibed Antonescu, shutting the door of the next room and joining them.
“Watch it, son,” Fiske told his sergeant. “I hear Mr. Graves is a formidable prosecutor.”
“It may be a matter of catching more flies with honey than vinegar,” Rex responded mildly to Antonescu’s comments.
With a brief nod to the inspector, he made his way back along the interminable corridor, down the stairs to the main entrance, and into the car park, glad when he had left the police complex and the slow late-night lorries far behind him on the parkway.
By the time he returned to Barley Close, Helen was already in bed, wearing a lacy nightdress and sitting up against the pillows in the soft light cast by the reading lamp. She slipped the pattern-framed glasses off her nose and bookmarked the page of her novel.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
“I didn’t even try. Not sure I could, alone in the house. How did you get on? You have that cat-and-canary look about you. Don’t deny it!”
Rex removed his jacket and sat down on her side of the bed. “I do have a theory, but it is only a theory at this point. I really need to talk to Penny again.”
Helen furrowed her brow. “It’s too late to ring her.”
“I’ll try her first thing in the morning. If I’m on the right track, it may mean delaying our return to Edinburgh by a day or two.”
“Well, I’m temporarily unemployed, and you have the rest of the week off, so it’s not really a problem, except that your mother is expecting us for dinner.”
“I’ll call her as soon as I have a better idea of where I am in the case. She’s used to my erratic schedule.”
“But what about Julie? She’s supposed to be moving in tomorrow afternoon. I don’t think she could stand another night at her mum’s.”
Rex took his wife’s hand and kissed her palm. “She can still move in tomorrow. It’ll be company for you while I’m off hopefully solving the case.”
He gave her fingers a quick squeeze and rose from the bed to undress.
“But you don’t think it’s the butler or Father Brown?”
Rex turned towards Helen as he continued to unbutton his shirt, and merely smiled. She retaliated by throwing a pillow at him.
“You are insufferable,” she said, snuggling down into the bed. “But I correctly guessed the fictitious murderer, don’t forget.”
“You did. Robin Busket, the interloper at Pinegrove Hall. But I don’t think Cassie’s killer is going to so conveniently trip up and spill the beans, more’s the pity.”
At that moment, a sudden spring rain began pattering against the panes. Rex looked out behind the curtains at the windows in the houses on the opposite side of the street, for the most part clothed in darkness, only a few blurry yellow squares attesting to wakeful residents or nightmare-prone children.
He would not h
ave to put on the lawn sprinklers, after all, he reflected as he watched droplets of water wiggle down the glass. He reclosed the red crêpe curtains and finished getting ready for bed. Nothing at that moment was more appealing than holding Helen in his arms and being lulled to sleep by the rain.
twenty-one
Rex phoned Penny at half past eight the next morning, asking if she might be free for a brief chat that day. He could come to the school if necessary.
“My first class isn’t until one,” she said. “I’m off to a doctor’s appointment now, but we could meet back at my house, say at eleven?”
He told her that would be perfect and rang off, feeling energized with a new sense of purpose. From across the kitchen table, Helen glanced up from her coffee cup. “Doesn’t look like we’ll be setting off for Edinburgh today, am I right?”
“We might still make it if my hunch falls through, but I’d better tell Mother not to expect us for dinner, rather than have to cancel this afternoon. What remains to be done here?”
“Not much. I’ll run to the shops if we’re staying, and I can lend Julie a hand moving in. It shouldn’t take long. She only has a few bits and bats of furniture.” Julie had lived with a succession of boyfriends and had never had a place to call her own.
Rex set out his notes on the table. Nothing concrete existed so far to support his hunch, and he was anxious to meet with Penny and see if he was on the right track. An hour later, he took off in the car, arriving early at Penny’s address, where a white Volvo was parked in the driveway.
The French teacher opened the front door before he could ring. “I just got back. Come on in,” she said, removing her pantsuit jacket and hanging it on a peg along with her handbag. “I’ll make some coffee.”
“How did it go at the doctor’s?” he asked.
“Okay, I think; fingers crossed. It was my annual checkup. I won’t get the results till next week.”
She invited him into a compact, ultramodern kitchen with a breakfast bar and stools, and he sat down on one while she proceeded to tip two helpings of ground coffee into a percolator on the counter. A plush grey cat stalked into the kitchen, raised its nose at Rex, and continued towards Penny, weaving around her ankles as she reached for two mugs in an overhead cabinet.
“It’s not time for your lunch, Doucie,” she cooed, lifting the cat up in her arms and stroking its head. A droning purr erupted, competing with the burble of the coffee machine. “You’re not allergic to cats, are you?” she asked Rex.
“Not at all.”
“She usually runs away when men come to the house. She must like you.”
“Cats are such discerning creatures,” he said with a smile.
She deposited the pet on the floor and returned to preparing the coffee. “Sugar?”
“Aye, but I shouldn’t. What blend of coffee do you use?” he asked. “It smells delicious.”
“A premium French roast. I got spoilt in Paris. I hope you like yours strong.”
“I do.”
The mug she placed in front of him featured Théophile Steinlen’s 1896 black cat poster advertising Le Chat Noir cabaret.
“I feel transported to France,” he said, helping himself to the matching jug of milk Penny had set on the breakfast bar beside the sugar bowl.
“I admit to feeling a bit nostalgic, but I’m going back this summer, possibly with Tony. He studied art for a year in Paris when he was a student.” She parked herself on the stool next to Rex. “Were you able to talk to Paul Reddit? Is that why you wanted to speak with me?”
“I spoke to him last night by phone, and later went to see Timothy Holden at the police station. He was taken in for questioning as well as Christopher Ells.” Rex filled Penny in on as much information as he felt able to tell her. “It was during my talk with Holden that I became all but certain there must be another major player in the case.”
“Who?” Penny asked in surprise.
Rex held up his hand, forestalling her question. “Bear with me just a minute. At the beginning, there were many potential suspects, but only a narrow window of opportunity. Agreed?”
Penny nodded.
“By cross-referencing alibis, I was able to whittle down the number of suspects to practically zero. Of course, it’s always possible someone mistakenly thought they saw someone, or is confused about the time they saw them, or else people are providing false alibis.”
Penny stared at her coffee with a puzzled frown. “You really think more than one person could be involved?” She swivelled round on her bar stool and met his gaze full on. “An accomplice?”
“First I need to know more about the actor who was originally in Peril at Pinegrove Hall.”
“You mean Darrell, who had Father Brown’s part before Tim. Yes, but he’s in LA. He emailed me a photo of himself, standing in front of the Hollywood Hills.”
“When was this?”
“Friday morning. He was wishing me luck for opening night.”
“What was he like to work with?”
“Amenable, talented. He got into his role very quickly. I was disappointed when he had to abandon it. It wasn’t a big part, but he made it his own.” Penny cupped the mug in her lap. “Timothy did his best but he was a poor substitute.”
“Why, if Darrell was a talented actor, did he not get a bigger role in your play?”
“Actually, we did consider him for Henry Chalmers. He had the looks and was suave enough, but Trey was taller and had more natural polish, and he sounded more like I imagine Henry Chalmers would speak.”
“You mean posh?”
“But without sounding stilted or affected. We had Darrell read Henry Chalmers’ lines, and he did a good job, but for Trey it was more his natural speaking voice. Thank goodness Darrell wasn’t the leading man. Leaving us in the lurch with that role to fill would have been a catastrophe.”
The play had turned out to be a catastrophe nonetheless, Rex noted privately. “Do you have a photo of him?”
“Yes.” Penny got up and left the kitchen, returning shortly with her phone and a bright green folder. “This is the photo from Hollywood.” She handed Rex her smartphone.
A young man with brownish-blond hair and wearing a black tee-shirt that showed off gym-honed arms and chest muscles smiled with confidence into the camera, the undulating letters of the Hollywood Sign gleaming white behind him in the frame.
“It’s a bit dark, so I brought you this headshot of him from my file,” Penny said, opening her folder.
Rex returned her phone and took the black-and-white print of Darrell Brewster: Age 26, 5'8'', as stated at the bottom of the sheet. “He looks a bit like a young Viggo Mortensen.”
“Or a young Liam Neeson.”
“My wife likes him.”
“All women like him,” Penny said, resuming her seat and taking up her coffee mug.
“I would have thought Darrell too good-looking and athletic for Father Brown. The clergyman in the story I read was more nondescript—and older, as I recall, but it was a long time ago.”
“Darrell added some padding and wore glasses and what have you. I admit Timothy, apart from his jaw, was closer to the character in appearance, but appearances can be disguised. Anyway, it didn’t matter in the end, did it? It all came to nothing. Well, worse than nothing. I wish I had never written the silly play.”
“Don’t say that. If it were someone’s intent to murder Cassie Chase, they would have done so regardless.”
“Perhaps.” With a deep sigh, Penny got up from the breakfast bar. “I had to fast for my appointment this morning, so I’m going to make myself a sandwich. Can I tempt you?”
“Thanks, but I promised Helen I’d be back for lunch. Can I keep this?” Rex asked, holding up the headshot.
“By all means, but I don’t see why you’re interested in Darrell. He wasn’t around at the t
ime of the shooting. And there’s no motive that I can see.” Penny opened the refrigerator and pulled out various items.
“How did he get on with Trey? No animosity there because he lost the role of Henry Chalmers to him?”
“As far as I could see it was all fine. Everyone was sorry to see him go.”
“Including Cassie?”
“I think so, although I didn’t see them together much, outside of interacting in the play. He was on friendlier terms with Susan, and would josh around with Bill, Ben, and Bobbi.” Penny glanced over her shoulder at Rex from the sink, where she was rinsing lettuce in a mesh colander. “You think Inspector Fiske has got it all wrong?” She smiled. “Or are you just hoping?”
“I suppose a bit of both,” Rex replied truthfully. “But ultimately, I just want the right person arrested. One final thing, Penny. Do you have an address for Cassie’s aunt?”
“No, but I have Joanna’s, Cassie’s mother. They both live on Rosslyn Grove. One sec.” She dried her hands on a tea towel and picked up her phone on the breakfast bar, thumbing away for a minute. “I’ve texted you the address.”
Rex thanked her and got up from his stool, taking the headshot of Darrell with him. “I’ll keep you informed.”
“Please. When are you returning to Edinburgh?”
“Tomorrow, possibly. It all depends.”
Penny saw him to the front door, midway scooping up the grey cat trotting after her. Rex waved from the driveway and clambered into the Renault, processing the new information as he drove back to Barley Close. The photos of Darrell Brewster comported more with a TV-track star, such as Holden had mentioned, than with Father Brown. Before his visit to the police station, Rex had assumed Holden’s predecessor to be more in the mould of a Timothy Holden; which just went to show it was never safe to assume, he chided himself.
However, Penny had said Darrell and Cassie had not been close, and the young actor seemed more interested in Susan Richardson, whom Dennis Caldwell had confided had had a crush on Trey in a previous production. Perhaps Darrell’s attentions were a soothing balm to Susan after Trey’s rejection of her. Rex thought about this a bit more and decided it was probably just a bit of harmless flirtation, Susan being a married woman with three teenage children and simply enjoying a boost to her confidence.
Upstaged by Murder Page 14
