Simon Brett - Dead Giveaway

Assuming, of course, that one didn’t regard dust as unhygienic.

There was a generous cover of dust over every surface. And, since none of these surfaces were flat, but tended to be piles of books, clothes, stationery and scripts, the general effect could be, to the uncharitable eye, seen as a mess.

This view seemed to be reflected in his visitors’ expressions. Sydnee sat on a chair. The other girl, Chita, who had been responsible for the contestants on the studio day, had the other one. Charles shared the edge of the bed with the rather exquisite young man called Quentin, who had been in charge of the celebrities. Charles had offered whisky and wine; they had all chosen white wine. He had some chilling (a little belatedly — he’d only thought about it ten minutes before they arrived) in his small fridge, and had soon assembled a whisky tumbler, a half-pint tankard and a chipped glass that had been given away with soap powder for his guests. He was left with a pink plastic tooth-mug for his whisky.

The atmosphere was not unfriendly, though the three researchers seemed to be suffering mild disbelief at the idea of people actually living in such surroundings. Charles thought it might be only a matter of time before they started making a documentary about him.

Sydnee opened the meeting. ‘Chita and Quentin are fully up-to-date with everything. They’re as concerned as I am to get charges against Chippy dropped.’

‘Have you mentioned to them the idea of going to the police?’ Charles asked formally.

‘Yes. We’re all agreed that we shouldn’t do that until we can point the finger at the person who really killed Barrett.’

‘But surely. . if all you want is to get Chippy free, all I have to do is go and tell the police that Barrett’s glass still contained gin at half-past six and — ’

‘No.’ Sydnee was implacable. ‘Apart from anything else, that’s then going to start the police being suspicious of you. We need your help; we don’t want you shut up in a cell “helping the police with their enquiries”.’

Charles agreed. It was an aspect of the situation he hadn’t considered. So. . he was committed to the case now. He’d better accept it with good grace.

‘Right, so let’s see where we are. We know that Barrett Doran’s glass contained gin at six-thirty. What time would everyone start coming back from their meal-break? Sharp at seven?’

‘Most people would, yes,’ said Sydnee. ‘Cameras have to line up for half an hour between seven and seven-thirty, so the cameramen would drift back at around five to.’

‘But the P.A. would probably have been in the Gallery before that,’ Quentin contributed. And there might be other people drifting back a bit earlier. . stage managers, people checking props.

Chita agreed. ‘Yes. It’d be quite a risk to try to do anything criminal after about ten to. Likely to be someone around then.’

‘So we’ve narrowed down the time when the cyanide was put in the glass to the twenty minutes between six-thirty and ten to seven,’ Charles summed up. ‘Now, assuming that the murderer was someone connected with the show, which of your charges were out of your sight during that period?’

‘I’ll start,’ said Sydnee, ‘because my bit’s probably the simplest. After I sent you down to Make-up, Charles, I was intending to send the other “professions” down at five-minute intervals, but then I had a call in the bar from one of the Make-up girls saying they were getting behind and could I hold it. So your three fellow-performers didn’t leave the bar till after seven.’

‘Are you sure? Because you went down to Barrett’s dressing room at twenty to.’

‘I’m sure. I left them in the charge of a friend up in the bar. He confirmed none of them left. He was a bit pissed off, actually. . found he had to buy them all a round of drinks.’

So that ruled out the hamburger chef, the surgeon and the stockbroker.

‘What about the contestants?’ Charles asked Chita.

‘Most of them stayed up in the Conference Room right through the meal-break. There were sandwiches and drink up there.’

‘When did they go to Make-up?’

‘Not till about ten to seven. They didn’t need much. Just a quick slap of foundation and powder.’

‘You said “most of them”. .’

‘Yes, a couple went out about quarter past six, but they were both back by twenty to seven.’

‘Which ones?’

The two who got through to the second half. The one who won. .’

‘Tim Dyer,’ said Sydnee.

‘And the housewife, Trish Osborne. .’

‘Madame Nipple,’ murmured Quentin.

Charles ignored this. ‘Where did they go to, Chita?’

‘Well, they said they both fancied a steak and went down to the canteen. .’

‘But we’ve talked to Rose on the Grill Counter,’ Sydnee picked up the story, ‘who’s got about the beadiest eyes in the business, and she’s certain they didn’t go in there.’

‘Ah. Well, there’s two who might be worth investigating. But you’re sure the others stayed put?’

‘I was with them all the time,’ Chita confirmed.

‘Right,’ said Charles. ‘On to the celebrities.’

Quentin let out a languorous sigh. ‘Well, now, what can I tell you? We too were all cosy in our little Conference Room with lavish supplies of W.E.T. booze and W.E.T. sandwiches. There was a bit of toing and froing to dressing rooms. .’

‘Can you be more specific about this toing and froing?’

‘Well. . Fiona Wakeford “toed” into her dressing room at about six-fifteen, and Nick Jeffries “toed” into it at about six-sixteen. And she “froed” him out at about six-seventeen.’ Quentin giggled at his little joke. ‘Then she stayed in her dressing room until seven putting her hair in the Carmen rollers.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Pozz. One of my friends is a dresser, and she called him in to help her just after Nick left. For protection, too, I think.’

‘Nick?’

Quentin nodded. ‘He’d been chatting her up quite shamelessly all afternoon. I think when he went into her dressing room and actually put his hand on something, even dear Fiona realised he was after a bit. So she. . “froed” him out.’ He repeated the joke, maybe hoping for more reaction the second time. He didn’t get it.

‘So, although Fiona’s out of the running, Nick was on the loose from six-twenty-two until. . when?’

‘Only about six-thirty, I’m afraid. He was back up in the Conference Room by then, downing a large Scotch to soothe his wounded ego. He certainly wasn’t in the studio area for the vital twenty minutes.’

‘Sure?’

‘Pozz.’

‘What about the other two panellists?’

‘Well now. .’ Another dramatic sigh was emitted. ‘Joanie went down to Make-up at about ten-past six.’

‘With her husband?’

‘Oh yes, the faithful Roger was in tow.’

‘Did he go into Make-up with her?’

‘Apparently not. Perhaps even he thought that would have been taking devotion too far.’

‘So he was on the loose down near the studios. Perhaps he should go on the list. .’

‘Uh-uh.’ Quentin shook his head. ‘Sorry, like Nick, they were back up in the Conference Room by half-past.’

‘Ah. So that rules both out.’

‘’Fraid so. I had my beady little eyes on the pair of them for every second of the vital twenty minutes. Not a sight I relished, I must confess,’ Quentin admitted with slight petulance. ‘I can only take so much connubial bliss, you know.’

‘What about Bob Garston?’

‘Now he is much more interesting. Or, at least, his movements are much less well-documented. He was out of the Conference Room from about five-past six until twenty to seven. And no sightings, I’m afraid. Except that he was seen going down in the lift towards the basement, where the studios are. So he should certainly go on your little list.’