by Ray Clark
As Gardener had figured, a message had been left:
I imagine you’re used to this now
And you’re probably wondering, just how?
Perhaps you should focus in order to be true
And more to the point, ask who?
I’ve invited you in, but beware, my world is big
Not long now, before the next gig.
You should study your city and seek out a shop,
The next of my chosen will be a big shock.
I’m enjoying myself, playing this game,
And it would be all too easy to give you a name.
It’s time to detect, and study the clues,
Be sure to keep up, otherwise you’ll lose.
“He’s a crafty bugger, is this one,” said Fettle. “You’ll have a job and a half if you don’t know what he looks like.”
Gardener sighed, frustrated. “Give forensics a call, Sean. Let’s have them check this out. Do you recognise the rope, Mr Fettle?”
The old man was about to reach inside, but Gardener stopped him. “Looks like one of ours.”
Gardener picked it up. One end had been cut. It didn’t take a genius to realise that the other section had to be the one used to hang Leonard White.
He had evidence bags in the car. He dropped the rope, left the lid open, and turned to walk back out of the room. Before doing so he glanced at Fettle.
“One more question, Mr Fettle. Have you ever heard of an Inspector Burke?”
Fettle appeared deep in thought. “Inspector Burke,” he repeated. “Can’t say as I have. What makes you ask?”
“Just curious,” said Gardener.
Chapter Sixteen
Early evening back at the incident room, Gardener was still shocked by the apparent ease with which the killer had carried out his actions against Leonard White. The man had oozed confidence, as if being caught was completely unheard of. Or equally as bad, the prospect of capture didn’t bother him. Perhaps it was a mission. Maybe when it was over he would do one of two things: disappear forever, or hand himself in.
The little to no evidence was frustrating, and it was beginning to feel like a conspiracy that no one ever noticed anything: vans, registration plates, logos. Gardener’s only consolation was the few items he and Reilly had managed to collect. The DVD of Inspector Burke, the new puzzle, and the rest of the rope. He was well aware of the mounting pressure to find answers, not to mention the person responsible.
Gardener addressed his team. “Sean and I have uncovered some disturbing evidence relating to the case. If and when the press get hold of it, we’re going to come under intense scrutiny from the public, particularly if he kills again. We know that whoever the killer is, he either bears a strong resemblance to White or he’s a master of disguise. The receptionist at The Manor House near Skipton said Leonard White was picked up on Friday by a chauffeur from Executive Cars, who had used the excuse that his wife had been taken ill and the car had been laid on for him. We’ve checked and there is no such company. So, where did the car come from? And where is it now?”
“What make of car was it?” one of the assembled officers inquired.
“The receptionist doesn’t know,” replied Gardener. “The hotel doesn’t have CCTV, they don’t feel the need. We have a guest list, so I’d like a couple of you to follow it up, see if anyone can help.”
Gardener continued with the briefing. “The following morning, yesterday, the staff at The Manor House had a visit from the police.” He let the remark sink in while glancing around the room, studying the expressions of his team.
“I know what you’re thinking, you’re trying to work out if anyone else has been there apart from us. Well, it wasn’t any of you. It was, in fact, an Inspector Burke.”
“Inspector Burke?” repeated Briggs.
“Sean.” Gardener glanced at his colleague and passed over the disc. “Will you do the honours?” As the DVD played, Gardener was amazed that he hadn’t realised the small segment of film had actually been recorded in black and white.
“Is that him?” said Briggs.
“Looks like it,” replied Reilly.
“He looks familiar.”
“The actor, you mean?” asked Gardener, wondering what Briggs was thinking.
“Yes.” But his superior didn’t elaborate. “He must be bloody confident to play tricks like this. And he’s thought it out as well. Any idea where that is?”
“No,” said Gardener. “If you look closely, the background is out of focus. Maybe our lads can clean it up a little bit. Even if they do, I don’t think it will show us much.”
“What did Fettle have to say?” asked Briggs.
Gardener told them, and then held up the two clear plastic bags. One had the rope, the other contained the latest puzzle, which he’d now copied and pasted to the ANACAPA chart.
“I want that trunk back here,” said Briggs. “He’s taking the piss! All right, you lot, let’s have some answers. This bloke’s far too confident, and he’s gonna make mugs out of us if we’re not careful. And what’s that supposed to mean? ‘Perhaps you should focus in order to be true’?”
Gardener made his suggestion. “He’s very well organised. Everything’s been planned down to the finest detail. He’s suggesting we do the same.” He turned, directing a question to junior officer Patrick Edwards. “Have you looked at ritual killings and murders involving draining the blood?”
“I have, sir, but I haven’t learned much. I’ve studied books in the library, and the internet. I’ve done a small report for you.” Edwards placed it on the table in front of Gardener. “I don’t really think it will help us.”
“Keep digging. Don’t rule anything out,” said Gardener, suddenly turning his attention to another member of the team. “Colin, what do you have on Leonard White?”
“I’m waiting for copies of his legal documents, but nothing seems untoward. His solicitor confirmed that in the event of his death, everything he owned would be left to his wife. As for her, she seems pretty straightforward on the face of it, but I haven’t been looking long enough, yet.”
“Okay. Thornton, Anderson, what about the rope?”
“There’s nothing special about it.”
Gardener held the evidence bag aloft. “I think we’ll find it’s the other half of the one in this bag. We’ll get forensics to check it out for prints.”
“But the knot threw up something interesting,” replied Anderson. “It’s known as a sailor’s eye splice. Not too complicated to form, but pretty effective at holding something in place.”
“Which takes us in another direction,” said Gardener. “Has our killer spent some time in the navy?”
“Or is it a red herring?” said Briggs. “If you’ll pardon the pun. Has he just studied ropes and knots in order to have us running all over the place?”
A silence descended, and Gardener realised they were going nowhere fast.
“What about witness statements?” Briggs asked.
A young PC brought in as support put his hand up. “I’m following up on a woman who thought she saw Leonard White getting out of a taxi outside the theatre on the Saturday afternoon. I’ve telephoned twice to make an appointment, but I’ve had no answer.”
“Go round tonight, then” said Briggs. “We want the registration of the taxi, the name of the firm, the driver, where he picked him up, everything. I want someone back at the theatre to see Paul Price. We need a list of everyone who’s worked there in the last thirty years. Add the hotel guest list to your witnesses and see if anyone’s on both lists, or if any of them noticed the vehicle from Executive Cars. Somebody must have seen something. This bloke’s luck has to give out sometime.”
“You also have a white van to add to your list,” added Gardener. “Seen in the city centre on Saturday afternoon. I know there must be hundreds of white vans a week in the centre of Leeds. Get as many registration plates as possible and then check them out. Go back to The Grand and once again check
out the CCTV.”
Gardener glanced at the ANACAPA chart before turning to face them all. “Harry Fletcher was a name that came up last time. Has anyone found him?”
Dave Rawson stepped forward – a man with the build of a rugby centre forward. He had short black hair, a small beard and moustache, neatly trimmed, and strong square teeth.
“I’m taking care of that one, sir. Back in the 1960s he was a writer, mainly detective fiction. Turned them out pretty fast, by all accounts. Then he disappeared for a while. Next thing, he was working for the watch committee in the Seventies. After that, he seems to have gone to ground again. Popped up again in the Nineties as a commissioning editor for the Playhouse, before disappearing again.”
“Has he now?” said Briggs. “What do you think, Stewart?”
“He could be our man,” replied Gardener. “We need to speak to him if only to eliminate him, but more importantly, if he’s not our man he may know something that will lead us in the right direction.”
Briggs glanced at the board again. “It’s a bit coincidental that we have a writer of crime fiction from the Sixties popping in and out of the world when he feels like it, and a poet who likes killing people and leaving puzzles. What do you think the second verse means?”
“I think it’s obvious we’re looking for an actor,” replied Gardener. “Certainly, someone connected with the theatre.”
“Maybe he’s a failed actor with a score to settle,” said Reilly.
“Possible,” Gardener continued but then paused, before addressing Colin Sharp. “An actor: Colin, found out anything about the quote on the wall and The Phantom?”
“Not a lot,” said Sharp. “Phantom is basically a love story, a bit like Beauty and the Beast. The Phantom is a man called Erik and he’s in love with a singer called Christine. He observes her from a distance, but they finally meet in a secret chamber close to the singer’s dressing room.
“Erik tells her that he’s brought her five cellars underground because he loves her. Because it’s a silent film, it’s all done with quotes on the screen, which is where we see the one from the dressing room wall. But that was only one line from the whole thing.”
“What’s the rest?” Reilly asked.
“‘So that which is good in me, aroused by your purity, might plead for your love’. All of this leads to the famous unmasking scene.”
“Why is he wearing a mask?”
“Because he was burned by acid at the beginning of the film and left for dead.”
Gardener thought about what Sharp had said. “Doesn’t really tell us anything, does it?”
“Other than the quote on the dressing room wall was random, in the sense that the line fitted what he wanted to say,” replied Sharp.
“Yes,” said Gardener, “that he’s holding a grudge and he’s waited some time for retribution.”
“Question is, what and when?” asked Anderson.
“That’s what we need to find out. Look at the last part of his bit of poetry found in the trunk. He’s directing us as well. ‘A shop,’ where ‘the next of my chosen will be a big shock.’ Any luck with that one?”
“There is one in the city, specialises in theatre supplies, called... wait for it... Let’s Make-up.”
“You’re joking?” said Reilly.
“No, I’m serious,” said Dave Rawson.
“Where is it?” asked Gardener.
“One of the arcades running off New Briggate. Run by an old guy and his assistant. They call him Cuthbertson. He’s been there about thirty years, knows all there is to know about theatre and stage, and just about everybody who goes in there.”
“Anyone bought any aluminium powder recently?”
“Quite a lot of people. I’ve made a list so we can start following them up.”
Gardener nodded. “You said he knows everyone who goes in there. He hasn’t had any strangers in recently, asking for oddball stuff?”
“Not that he knows of. I asked his assistant, Janine Harper, but she didn’t seem as if she was on the same planet.”
“It could be him,” said Reilly. “He runs a shop, so he’d have no trouble getting the stuff. Knows all there is to know about make-up, chances are he could apply it professionally.”
“Did he have an alibi for the night of Leonard White’s death?” asked Gardener.
“He claims he was at home, by himself. No wife, no kids.”
“And no alibi,” said Reilly.
“So, he could be our man,” said Gardener. “Then again, he could be next. The riddle says, ‘the next of my chosen will be a big shock’. Maybe it’s nothing to do with the local watch committee. We need to check him out further, Dave.”
Gardener addressed Briggs. “Do you think it’s worth tailing him for a couple of days?”
“I suppose we could spare someone to watch his movements,” replied Briggs. “Let me see what I can do.”
“What if it’s her?” asked Reilly.
“Who?”
“Janine Harper. Maybe it’ll be a big shock because he’s after her, not Cuthbertson.”
“Why would he be?” asked Briggs.
“I’m just thinking of the Phantom storyline,” replied Reilly, “a love story. Has he been rebuffed by this Janine piece and he’s going after her?”
“It’s worth a thought, Sean,” said Gardener, “but it doesn’t really fit. She’s in her twenties, chances are that the man we’re after is probably more than double her age.”
Reilly shrugged, “just a thought, boss.”
“And not a bad one,” said Gardener, nodding to his superior, DCI Briggs. “Maybe someone on her as well?”
“Christ, Stewart, we’re not made of money.”
Gardener smiled and addressed the team again. “The end of the riddle. ‘It’s time to detect, and study the clues.’ Despite being cocky, he’s right. And so is DCI Briggs. He’s taking us for mugs, especially if he gets away with another murder. We have to try to prevent it. Sean and I are going to pay a visit to Leonard White’s former home. Apparently, it was a colleague of White’s who bought it. Although he’s dead, it’s possible his wife is still there.”
“Okay, let’s be more focused,” shouted Briggs. “It doesn’t sound like we have much time, but you’re going to have to do your best. Otherwise, the press will do their worst. The way I see it, there are three suspects.” Briggs held up one hand and counted with his fingers on the other.
“Val White. She had the motive and the ability, but she has an alibi. Dig deep, someone. Harry Fletcher. We don’t know enough about him either way. We can’t put him in the frame and we can’t rule him out, so we need to find him. Cuthbertson, who runs the stage make-up shop. He’s a possible suspect, but he may also be the next victim. Someone tail him for a couple of days. We have to be seen to be doing something, despite the fact that we’re getting nowhere.”
Gardener glanced at the chart again, ticking off the subjects he’d covered, stopping when he reached the word ESLA.
He addressed Steve Fenton. “Anything?”
“Yes. We’ve got the results in. We need everyone back at the theatre with their shoes so we can check them off.”
“Good. Go and ring Paul Price now and tell him I’d like everyone there tomorrow, with the shoes they were wearing on Saturday night. I’d also like to see the results at the next incident room meeting.”
He glanced at them all as a group. “That just leaves the sound problem. The word that Paul Price heard spoken before Leonard White was hung.”
“I know about that one, sir,” said Paul Benson, another young member of the team, who produced a notebook. “It was on a cassette tape. Once we’d identified which one, I popped over to the theatre to speak to the sound technician.”
Gardener glanced over the evidence bags, spotting a tape. “What did he have to say?”
“The sound tech identified it as the tape he’d been given by Leonard White about ten minutes before he went on, with the instructions that h
e should play it after the safety curtain had been raised.”
“Where did White go then?” asked Gardener.
“To the other side of the stage to wait in the wings, only our sound technician couldn’t see him. Once the curtain was up, he played the tape. At first, he thought it was blank, the wrong one maybe. Then he heard something scream out, which was a bloody sight louder than he’d anticipated. When he searched the desk for the volume level, it was too late. There was nothing else on the tape, and the body was in front of the audience.”
“Did he see White at all after that?”
“No, but to be honest, I think he was in shock. He said he just stood staring at the body until Price came barging through the stage door.”
“Did he recognise the word on the tape?”
“No.”
“Do you?”
“The sound lads have been playing with this for ages. The recording is pretty loud, which means it’s distorted,” said Benson. “But they have managed to clean it up and they think it’s two words, even though it’s said quite fast. Someone shouts ‘look out’, and that’s it.”
Gardener glanced at the ceiling, defeated. It would be nigh on impossible to identify that, but he had to try.
“Any ideas?”
Benson spoke up again. “The sound lads think it comes from an old film. There’s lots of crackling and a definite hiss, so it hasn’t been recorded live. Whoever did it might have used the latest technology, but the soundtrack is very old.”
“Okay,” said Gardener. “Everyone take a copy of that tape. I’ll have one for my dad. Any of you talking to the film historians, play it to them, see if they recognise it. I’m not expecting miracles, but you never know.”
Gardener updated the board and added the word ‘DVD’, intending to follow up on the Inspector Burke clip.
Briggs stood up. “Before you all go, the Chief Super’s been talking to a retired profiler who’s offering his services for free.”
“Do we need one?” asked Reilly.