Simon Brett - Dead Giveaway

‘They’ve got your address and phone number. I just don’t think they needed to spread the net any wider. They reckon they’ve got enough to convict Chippy already.’

‘Hmm. Like what?’

‘Well, let’s say we’ve sorted out Motive. As I recall from my teenage reading of detective stories, the next point to be checked was always Opportunity.’

‘That’s right.’

‘So far as Opportunity was concerned, Chippy was uniquely placed. She was working on Method In Their Murders , she knew Melvyn Gasc had insisted on the realism of having all the correct props for the series, so she knew that the bottle of cyanide was around.’

‘And she went off to look after Studio B soon after six. I remember.’

‘Exactly. So she had a unique opportunity to doctor Barrett’s glass.’

‘Which contained gin originally, am I right?’

‘Yes. How did you know?’

Again Charles fudged the truth a little. ‘I worked it out from things Barrett said to you.’

‘He always insisted on his glass of gin. Don’t blame him, actually. You need something to keep up that relentless good humour in front of the camera.’

‘Hmm. One strange thing that struck me,’ Charles mused, going off at a tangent, ‘was why he didn’t die earlier.’

‘Sorry? I’m not with you.’

‘Well, if he was that dependent on the gin, why didn’t he take a big swig earlier on in the recording? Why did he wait till the end?’

‘Yes, I wondered about that. The only reason I could think was that, under all that brashness, Barrett Doran was very nervous. He was concentrating so hard on getting the new show right that he forgot about the booze.’

‘I suppose that’s possible.’

‘He did nip off to his dressing room for a big one at the end of Part One.’

‘Ah.’

‘Also, he played it well. I mean, in terms of drama. He only used the drink when the wheel was spinning, claiming that he couldn’t stand the tension. He was a good showman, Barrett.

‘Hmm.’ Charles took a long, pensive swallow of whisky. ‘Did you get a chance to talk to Chippy after the recording?’

‘Yes, I did. We went out for a few drinks after the first round of police questioning.’

‘What sort of state was she in?’

‘Pretty terrible. Kind of numb and totally fatalistic. Like part of her was dead. With Barrett gone, she didn’t reckon she had anything to live for. That’s what worries me. If she’s in that sort of state, she’s not going to fight. I know her. She’ll just accept being accused of the murder. She’ll see it as a kind of punishment, yet another proof that it’s a rotten world and she never had a chance.’

‘But she can’t just have been charged on circumstantial evidence. The police must have got a bit more on her.’

‘Yes, I suppose they have. You see, she did fiddle around with Barrett’s glass.’

‘Did she?’

‘Oh yes. She made no bones about it. She told me that evening. And presumably she told the police too.’

‘What did she say she did?’

‘While she was meant to be looking after Studio B in the meal-break, she was feeling really vindictive towards Barrett — you know, particularly after he’d cut her dead in the bar — and she decided she’d have a small revenge on him. She knew about the gin, knew he always had a glass on the set, so she just thought she’d deprive him of that comfort.

She said all she was going to do was to change his glass round with one of the others on the celebs’ desk.’

‘Did she say whose?’

‘No. Anyway, she says she didn’t do it. When she got into the studio, she picked up the glass, then realised how petty she was being and didn’t bother.’

‘She just left things as they were?’

‘So she said. Well, the police ran fingerprint checks. Needless to say, hers were all over the cyanide bottle — she’d been handling the Studio B props all day. They were also all over Barrett’s glass and decanter — along with a lot of other prints.’

‘Oh really?’ said Charles innocently.

‘So, given that evidence, and her motive, and the fact that she and Barrett had a shouting match just before the recording. .’

‘Did they?’

‘Yes. She went to his dressing room, silly girl. Shouted all kinds of things that a lot of people heard. Said how he wouldn’t get away with the way he’d treated her, how she had planned how to get even with him. .’

‘Direct threats?’

‘That’s it, I’m afraid.’

Charles looked down at the melting ice of his drink. His conclusion was inescapable, but he wanted to phrase it as gently as possible.

‘Listen, Sydnee, I know Chippy’s a friend of yours and I can see exactly why you’re doing what you’re doing, why you’re involving me, but I’m afraid it does sound pretty hopeless. I mean, Chippy had every reason to want Barrett dead, and she had the opportunity to kill him. From what you say of her mental state, she sounds to have been quite hysterical enough to have done it. I’m sorry, Sydnee, but I think the police are right. They’ve got their murderer.’

The pale blue eyes were full of pain. To his surprise, he saw tears gathering at their corners.

‘As I say, I’m sorry, but that’s how it must have happened. She went to Barrett’s dressing room, hoping for the final reconciliation. He was as unpleasant to her as ever. She thought, all right, sod the bastard, I’ll get him. She went back to Studio B, got the bottle of cyanide. . into Studio A and filled his glass. Wouldn’t have taken her more than a minute. And that was it.’

Sydnee was silent for a moment. Then, softly, she said, ‘Except it wasn’t.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I heard about the argument going on in Barrett’s dressing room, and I went down to get Chippy out of it. I then took her back to the bar and bought her a large drink. So she’s got an alibi from the time she went into Barrett’s dressing room.’

‘Okay, so she must have doctored the drink before she went to see him. It doesn’t make a lot of difference to the main outline of the crime. She told him she was going to get him.’

‘Yes.’

Sydnee’s reply was so listless, and she looked so dejected, that Charles felt he must summon up a little more interest.

‘Let’s look at the time-scale. When did she say she went into Studio A to switch the glasses?’

‘First thing she did when she went down from the bar. And that’s when the police say she put the cyanide in the glass. It was the only chance she had. She was seen going into Barrett’s dressing room at twenty-five-past six, and I got her out of there about twenty to seven.’

Charles did the sums in his head. Then, slowly he said, ‘Ah. You know, Sydnee, I think you may have a point, after all.’

Because, as he knew well (and with a degree of gratitude), at six-thirty the contents of the glass on Barrett Doran’s lectern had been not cyanide, but gin.

It was the first time Charles had had the privilege of his own research team in investigating a murder. Sydnee had mustered all of the researchers who had worked on If The Cap Fits to go through the events of the day Barrett Doran died. In an unguarded moment, when they had been trying to think of somewhere private to meet, Charles had suggested his bedsitter. He had not taken into account the fact that he had only two chairs. Nor had he thought through the reaction of these television sophisticates to his somewhat approximate view of tidiness.

None of them was impolite enough to say anything, but he sensed a sniff of disapproval in the air. Their standards were probably different from his. In domestic arrangements, Charles always made a distinction between hygiene and tidiness. And, though he knew he offended against the strict canons of the second, he felt confident that he did not transgress with regard to the first.