Dead Giveaway (13 page)

‘I think we’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.’

‘Very gracious. Of the four contestants, the only one who hasn’t got an alibi for the relevant time – or perhaps I should say the only one whose alibi we haven’t heard about – is the lady from Billericay, Trish Osborne. Of the panellists, you’re all in the clear . . . except for Bob Garston.’

‘Ah.’ Joanie Bruton did not sound surprised, rather as if the mention of the name confirmed a suspicion.

‘Now, at the moment we are concentrating our investigations on Bob Garston. As I say, he had the opportunity, and he had at least some motive.’

‘Oh?’ Charles got the impression that Joanie knew something, but was biding her time, waiting to see how much of it they knew already.

‘He was considered for the job of hosting
If The Cap Fits,’
Sydnee explained. ‘In fact, he’s going to do it on the second pilot.’

‘So you reckon that was the reason he would want Barrett out of the way?’

Again Charles felt Joanie was holding back, unwilling to volunteer more than she had to.

‘That’s one reason. We’ve a feeling there may also have been something more personal.’

She raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. ‘Like what?’

‘That’s why we’ve come to see you. We thought you might know something about his private life.’

She chuckled. ‘I know a great deal about a great many people’s private lives, love. But one of the reasons why people tell me things, and the reason why I keep my job, is because I respect the confidentiality of such secrets.’

‘Of course.’

While Charles tried to think of the next move, Sydnee came in, typically direct. ‘You were overheard, Roger, talking to Bob. There was a suggestion that Bob Garston’s wife had been having an affair with someone.’

This shook Roger Bruton. ‘Who overheard me? Who was spying on me? Where were they? What did they see?’

Again his wife’s calming hand went on to his knee. ‘It’s all right, love, all right.’ She turned her eyes on Charles. ‘Since you seem to know already, I can’t do any harm by confirming it. Yes. Bob’s wife did have an affair.’

‘With Barrett Doran?’

She nodded. ‘I knew about it, because I was there when they met. On some Thames Television chat-show. I saw them go off together. It was obvious to me what was happening. I do know a bit about the mechanics of sexual attraction.’

‘Was Bob around at the time?’

‘No. He heard about it, though. His wife must have told him herself, because nobody else knew. I gather he took it pretty badly. I talked to him about it when we next met, told him that these things happen, that often a little fling like that needn’t affect the basic stability of the marriage.’ She had dropped into the no-nonsense counselling manner she used to telephone callers on her weekly radio programme.

‘And it wasn’t in the gossip columns or anything? I had understood Barrett liked to make his conquests public.’

‘Not this one. I think she must’ve insisted on keeping it quiet. I never heard it even hinted at by anyone.’

‘Was the affair still going on when Barrett died?’

‘No. Only lasted about a month, I think. Bob and she didn’t split up or anything. I gather they’d more or less got over it, but Bob must have found it difficult suddenly having to be in the same studio as the man who’d cuckolded him.’

‘How difficult, I wonder?’

‘What you mean is, did it make Bob angry enough to decide to kill his rival? Who can say? People react differently to things. With some the trigger to violence is very delicately balanced; others will put up with almost anything.’

‘And what would your professional judgement be of Bob Garston in that respect?’

‘Do I see him as a potential murderer?’

‘Yes.’

‘On balance, no. I can see him getting very angry, and I can see him contemplating violence against someone who he reckoned had wronged him. But I think that violence would be expressed much more openly. I can see him going up to Barrett and punching him on the nose, but this devious business with the cyanide . . . no, doesn’t sound his style.’

‘I think you’re probably barking up the wrong tree,’ said Roger Bruton abruptly. ‘The police aren’t fools. They don’t arrest people without good reason. I’m sure the girl they’ve got is the right one.’

‘Yes, Roger,’ his wife agreed soothingly, ‘but you can see why Charles and Sydnee want to try and prove otherwise. It would be terrible if the wrong person did get sentenced for the crime.’

Roger Bruton did not look as if he agreed, but he didn’t pursue the argument further.

‘I know we’re just feeling our way at the moment,’ Charles admitted, ‘but we do definitely think that we’re on to something.’

‘Of course.’ Joanie’s voice was very nearly patronizing as she said the line that had become her catch-phrase. ‘I fully understand, love.’

‘Tell me, as someone who was in the studio all through the show, did you notice anything strange at any point?’

‘Strange?’

‘Did anyone appear to be behaving oddly, anyone on the panel, any of the contestants . . .?’

‘Well, no one was behaving very naturally, but then it’s hardly a very natural situation. Everyone was tense, of course, concentrating on their performance. Is that what you mean?’

‘No, I meant more than that. Did you notice anyone doing anything that you thought at the time was out of character?’

‘I don’t think so, love, no.’

‘And, when Barrett drank the poison, did you notice anyone reacting in an unusual way?’

‘Good heavens.’ She chuckled. ‘You ask a lot. It was a moment of terrible shock when he started gasping. We were none of us in any state to start checking each other’s reactions. We just all leapt up to see if we could do anything to help him.’

A new thought came into Charles’s mind. ‘The desk got knocked over when you all stood up.’

‘Yes. That big oaf, Nick Jeffries. There’s a lot of him, you know. The original bull in the china shop.’

‘Hmm. Yes.’ Charles looked across at Sydnee. ‘I think that really covers everything we were going to ask, doesn’t it?’

The researcher nodded.

‘We’re very grateful to you both for giving up your time. As I say, we are still just feeling around. And I know we’ve voiced suspicions which are almost certainly scandalous . . .’

‘My mind,’ said Joanie, ‘is the repository of so much scandal that the odd bit more’s not going to hurt. It’s as safe as a numbered Swiss bank account. Lots and lots of secrets locked away in there, aren’t there, love?’

She grinned at her husband, who gave a nervous grin back.

‘So where do you go from here?’ he asked Charles.

‘With our investigations?’

‘Yes. If you persist in thinking there’s anything to investigate,’ he added sceptically.

‘Well, I suppose we try and find out more about Bob Garston’s movements during the meal-break. You saw him. Were you with him for long?’

‘No. I’d just left Joanie in Make-up and I met him outside. We walked along the corridor and parted at the lifts.’

‘Did he get into a lift?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘Didn’t say where he was going?’

‘No.’

‘And you stayed down waiting for Joanie?’

‘Yes. There’s a sort of Reception area there with chairs. I sat and waited.’

‘I don’t suppose you saw anything odd going on round the studios?’

‘I wondered when you were going to ask me that,’ Roger Bruton announced primly. ‘Yes, I did see something rather odd going on.’

‘What?’ asked Charles.

Joanie Bruton said nothing, but she looked hard at her husband. Her expression was one of surprise mixed with something that could have been alarm.

Roger Bruton relished his moment centre stage. ‘I saw the Trish Osborne person. Looking most unhappy. Crying, in fact.’

‘What was she doing?’

He smiled smugly. ‘Coming out of Barrett Doran’s dressing room.’

‘FRANCES. IT’S ME, Charles.’

‘Keeping rather earlier hours than usual.’ Her voice was unruffled, warm without being positively welcoming. If she was surprised to hear from him after three months, she didn’t show it.

‘I wanted to catch you before you went to school.’

‘Well, you have. Just. I have to be in the car in three minutes.’

He visualised her yellow Renault 5 parked outside the house, then remembered he was projecting the wrong image. She had moved out of the Muswell Hill home they had shared and now lived in a flat in Highgate. He had not been there often enough to visualise the Renault outside it.

‘Listen, I wondered if we could meet up . . .’

‘Another reconciliation?’ Her voice was wary.

‘Just to see you. I just want to see you.’

‘Well . . .’

‘Couldn’t we meet for dinner tonight? Not at the flat. That Italian place in Hampstead. What do you say?’

‘Well . . .’

‘Come on. I’ll behave myself. No romantic red roses. No unwelcome attentions . . . that is, if they really are unwelcome . . .’

‘Watch it. You’re on the verge of the “women always mean yes when they say no” heresy.’

‘No, I didn’t mean that. I’d just like to see you, talk about things . . .’ Then with inspiration he added, ‘. . . talk about Juliet, talk about our grandchildren . . .’

‘Charles, I had just reconciled myself to the idea that I wasn’t going to hear from you again for a long time.’

‘Well, unreconcile yourself.’

‘I’m not sure. You’ve no idea, once the initial hurt and emptiness had worn off, just how restful the thought of not seeing you for a while has become.’

‘Oh.’

She responded to the disappointment in his monosyllable by asking cautiously, ‘You don’t just want to see me because you’re depressed, do you? Because I’m pretty ragged by this stage in the term, and I don’t think I’ve much spare capacity for the old hand-holding “I understand, I understand” routine.’

‘I’m not depressed. Not more than usual.’

‘Great,’ she said with resignation. ‘Have you just come to the end of one of your little affairs?’

‘No. Honestly. There hasn’t been anyone on the scene for months . . . nearly a year.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Oh, come on, Frances, do have dinner with me. After all, I am your husband.’

As soon as he’d said it, he knew that this might not be the best argument to put forward, and it received a well-deserved slap-down. ‘Depends very much, I would have said, on your definition of “husband”. . . whether the word is a once-and-for-all title bestowed at marriage or whether it implies a continuing active role, like, say, the word “lover”.’

‘I don’t quite see what you’re getting at,’ he said evasively.

‘Yes, you do. The word “lover” suggests something’s happening. When the affair’s over, people become “ex-lovers”. It’s not the same with “husband”. Even if the marriage is over, you don’t become an “ex-husband” without getting divorced.’

‘Oh, you’re not on about that again. I thought we agreed that there was no point in our getting divorced.’

‘
You
agreed that. I don’t recall my opinion being canvassed.’

‘Frances . . .’

‘I have to be in the car in twenty seconds.’

‘Frances, will you please meet me for dinner in the Italian place at eight o’clock this evening?’

‘All right. But, Charles Paris . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t you dare be late.’

‘I won’t be, love. You know me.’

‘Yes. I do.’

Sydnee had said she’d ring him once she’d fixed up for them to see Trish Osborne, and she came through about half-past ten.

‘She’s set up. Happy to talk. I said we’d be over early afternoon.’

‘Did you say what we wanted to talk about?’

‘No. Mind you, she didn’t ask. Presumably, like Tim Dyer, she just assumes it’s something to do with the show.’

‘Good. Well, look, can you pick me up at the bedsitter? Or will it be easier if I make my way to somewhere more central . . .?’

‘Charles, I’ve got problems here. Just after I’d spoken to Trish, John Mantle came in. I’m afraid I’ve got to start out on the contestant trail again.’

‘For the second pilot?’

‘Yes. They’ve got a studio date now. The schedule’s been rejigged so that the pilot goes into Studio A next Thursday. Which means we’ve got to get a move on getting the contestants.’

‘I thought you always had some spares lined up.’

‘Yes, but I don’t think they’d be good enough for John. The American copyright-holders have been bending his ear. They say the contestants we had on the first pilot showed about as much life as General Custer after Little Big Horn. They say we’ve got to get a new lot with more “pazazz”.’

‘Where do you start looking for “pazazz”?’

‘Same places as I looked when ‘pazazz’ wasn’t on the shopping-list. The trouble is, what these Americans don’t realise is that people over here haven’t yet lost their inhibitions about game shows. It’s going to take a few years before the British reserve cracks and you see the kind of hysterical commitment you get in the States. Still, from John Mantle’s point of view, I must be seen to be busy. Four brand-new contestants with “pazazz” must be found.’

‘Are the contestants the only changes you’ll make in casting?’

‘Well, obviously we’ll need one new celeb now Bob’s moved up to host. Lots of names have been mentioned, but I don’t think it’s been offered to anyone yet. And we’ll have to set up four more “professions”.’

‘Oh.’ Charles saw a potential booking disappearing over the horizon.

‘Come on, Charles, we couldn’t book you lot again. With three of the same celebs on the panel, they’re going to remember what your real professions were.’

‘I doubt it. They didn’t take any notice of us, didn’t see us as people at all. I bet, if I was back on, two of them’d still think I was the hamburger chef.’

‘You’re probably right. But we can’t take the risk. People get very uptight about these game shows. Any hint of rigging or cheating or someone being “in the know”, and you can get some very nasty reactions.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Anyway, Chita’s busy setting up four new “professions” – “professions”, of course, who might just conceivably wear hats, which let me tell you, is not as easy as it sounds – and I have got to shoot off to Manchester to interview some punters in the fruitless search for “pazazz”.’