Simon Brett - Situation Tragedy

‘I don’t know exactly that that was the — ’

‘Now, come on, man. All those Sixties hippies around in the kaftans, they were meant to be funny, right?’

‘Well. I suppose so.’

‘Right. And the places they live got to be funny too. Okay, let’s find somewhere really run down, somewhere really bad, that’ll get a good laugh.’

‘That wasn’t the intention in — ’

‘Listen, man, I found a script lying about in the road. I read it, man.’ In that case, there was not much point in Charles continuing his enfeebled defence. It was probably the first time one of Rod Tisdale’s masterpieces had been subjected to serious political scrutiny, and he didn’t think it would have come through the test well.

‘It said in the Stage Directions, ‘Film of grotty, condemned street. Establish till audience laughs, then zoom in to shot of Colonel.’ Now, okay, that’s very funny if you don’t happen to live here. If you do, it gets kind of insulting.’

‘I can see that. I didn’t actually come here to — ’

‘No, no, that’s clear. So why did you come here? Now let me see. Have you come here as a politically-committed actor to say how much you support my actions over stopping the filming and how we’re all brothers working for the same glorious revolutionary cause. .?’

Here, if ever, was the cue. ‘Well, I — ’

But John Odange answered his own question. ‘No, you don’t look the sort for that. Under the sloppiness, man, you’re really bourgeois.’

It wasn’t said offensively, but with a note of pity. And Charles had an uncomfortable feeling that it was probably an accurate assessment of him. He didn’t feel encouraged to proceed with his cover story and start extolling the virtues of solidarity and the coming revolution.

‘So what is it?’ mused John Odange. But he still preferred to supply his own answers to his questions. ‘Perhaps your watch disappeared on the night of the filming and you think I stole it. .’

‘Good Lord, no. Nothing like that.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised, man. That’s what a lot of people would think. And if you went to the local police station, they’d believe you. In fact, they’d welcome you with open arms. They’re just longing to pin something on me, man, and a nice stolen watch could fit the bill nicely.’

‘You’ve had a lot of trouble with them?’

‘Always hassles. They think I spend all my time here building bombs, you know. Yes, I’ve had more than a bellyfull of the pigs recently.’

‘Since that Floor Manager died, you mean?’

‘Yes. That was a gift for them. If they could pin that on me — wow! they’d all go home happy. They dragged me in and talked to me for a long time about that. They were very sorry to have to let me go. Unfortunately, every witness they could rustle up said the same thing — I didn’t go near that light at any time during the evening. I didn’t arrive till late and then I made such an exhibition of myself, my every movement was watched. Were they disappointed? Be a long time before they get another chance like that.’

‘Actually, it was about — ’

‘Oh, I think I get it now.’ The large brown eyes opened wide and a huge grin irradiated the face. ‘You the little amateur detective investigating the crime? You think you’ve got new evidence that can really pin it on me?’

‘No. Well, yes and no.’

‘Which answer to which question? Kind of important to me, you know.’

‘It’s okay. Yes; I am investigating the murder. No, I have no suspicions of you.’

‘Nice to hear that, man. And interesting to hear you call it a murder.’

‘I meant “death”.’

‘Not what you said, man. Classic example of Freudian slip.’

‘Maybe.’ Charles grinned. The atmosphere between them had relaxed and he felt he could ask his question. He also felt a bit sheepish about the elaborate charade he had prepared for this interview. Direct questions so often succeed in getting direct answers.

But John Odange was still conducting the conversation. ‘Okay. I’ll tell you anything I can, man. Though I don’t think there’s much. I didn’t see anything odd. I was too busy pouring cream over the fat cats from television.’

‘It’s not something you saw, it’s something you said.’

John Odange shrugged and smiled disarmingly. ‘I said a lot that night. Man, did I say a lot that night.’

‘Yes, what interests me is that at one point you complained about all the film vehicles and cars that were blocking the roads.’

‘Perfectly justified complaint, man. It was like there was a Cup Final on.’

‘Yes, I agree. But what I want you to remember is exactly what you said. You gave a great list of all the cars there were blocking streets. .’

‘All company cars too, I bet.’

‘Probably. What I want to know is, was that just a random list you made up, or had you actually seen all the cars you mentioned?’

‘What you mean exactly?’

‘You said, as I recall, that the streets were full of BMWs, Rovers and Mercs.’

‘Sure.’

‘Did you actually see all those?’

‘Certainly did.’

‘You also mentioned Daimlers.

John Odange smiled wryly. ‘Ah, I think I might have been guilty of a little poetic licence there. I didn’t see a Daimler; it just fitted in the rhythm of my rhetoric.’

Oh dear. That didn’t augur well for the next question, the important question. ‘You also mentioned Bentleys.

‘Yes.’

‘Does that mean you saw a Bentley?’

‘Sure did.’ Charles breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Yes, there was a dirty great brute of a Bentley hidden behind an old garage in a side street. I saw it as I walked along here.’

‘What colour was it?’

‘Green. Great big green bugger. Vintage, I’d say.’

There was only one person connected with The Strutters who possessed such a car. And that was a person who was supposed to be at home in bed on the night of the filming, while his wife went to the location in a minicab.

Charles had got the information he required. He might have felt a little more satisfaction with his detective skills, though, if he had actually interviewed his informant, rather than being interviewed by him.

Barton Rivers had had the opportunity on every occasion. When Sadie Wainwright died, he had been in W.E.T. House and would have had plenty of time to arrange the broken railing and help her on her way. The Bentley had been the last car down before Bernard’s Rolls on the day Scott Newton met his end. There was no reason why Barton shouldn’t have parked for a few moments out of sight by the gates and slipped back after Bernard Walton had passed to topple the flower-urn. A Bentley made a very effective weapon to run over Rod Tisdale, and its presence near the filming location made it quite possible that Barton had slipped out in the confusion to sabotage the light that killed Robin Laughton.

Four deaths, and he could have done them all. In fact, it made much more sense to suspect Barton than his wife. Charles now felt rather sheepish about his suspicions of Aurelia. Even if her supposed motivation, the protection of her little dog, were not now irrelevant, there was still a strong incongruity of her in the role of murderer. She seemed a remarkably sane woman and, particularly in the case of Rod Tisdale, very unlikely to have been able to commit the crimes, even if she had wished to. So far as Charles knew, she couldn’t drive, and the idea of that wispy beauty deliberately running someone over was ridiculous.

And yet it had been definitely to her that Sadie had addressed the words which had stimulated thoughts of murder in the first place. That still fitted rather uncomfortably into the new scenario. Charles’s only possible solution was that Aurelia had threatened the PA in a fit of anger, never meaning to carry out her threat, but that Barton, in his unhinged gallantry, had leapt to his wife’s defence and done the deed.