DVD Extras Include: Murder (The Mervyn Stone Mysteries, #2)

by Nev Fountain

  Robert looked at him in surprise. ‘Wait a minute. Where do you think you’re going?’

  Mervyn tensed. Is he going to hand me into security after all?

  Robert nodded to the CD. ‘Aren’t you going to listen to the rest of the CD?’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ Mervyn sat back down, grinning. ‘I forgot about the commentary.’

  ‘Some detective you are. So which bit had you got to?’

  ‘Near the end. Marcus had started to get aggressive, saying stupid and nasty things.’

  ‘Oh yeah, he was doing a “gooseberry fool”, wasn’t he?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘That’s what I call it. It sometimes happens during DVD commentary recordings. It’s when one person becomes very aware that they aren’t saying anything and overcompensates for it. They end up blurting out all sorts of nonsense that isn’t even remotely related to the story.’

  ‘Oh right. Yes, I’m very aware that I do that.’

  ‘You’re very good, Mervyn. You’ve never done it on a DVD commentary to my knowledge.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of DVD commentaries. I was thinking of what I do at parties when I talk to women half my age.’

  ‘So… Do you want to finish listening to it?’

  ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘Sure. This suite isn’t booked this afternoon. I was just here to edit up the commentary. I know it’s very unlikely we’ll do anything with it, but, you know, what he was saying was pretty unacceptable.’

  ‘Yes, Marcus did like to be controversial…’ Mervyn said wearily.

  ‘I can’t believe he compared that statuette to a suppository and a sex toy. There’s no way we’d get that past the censors.’

  Mervyn looked thoughtfully at the CD player. ‘How much longer have we got to go?’

  ‘A couple more seconds, then you all break for ten minutes, then you come back, then Marcus… Do you want to carry on?’

  Mervyn nodded.

  Robert turned the CD back on.

  There was another ominous silence, broken by the sound of the studio door opening. ‘That was great, majorly good. There was lots of majorly good stuff in there.’

  ‘I think we were starting to flag in the last five minutes.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Robert, frowning. ‘Trevor must have left the tape running. That was naughty. I’ll have to have a word with him. After Lionel we have to be super-careful…’

  The CD continued. ‘It’s amazing how well it holds up. I mean, it’s obviously “of its time”, but you could easily see it on BBC1 now, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could I have some water please?’

  ‘There’s water over on the table…’

  ‘No, could I get some different water? I did say before. Um, I don’t like the brand. I’m sure you understand…’

  ‘Oh sorry. Of course. I’ll have a look in the canteen for you.’

  ‘Thank you. I sound a bit loopy don’t I? It’s just water, after all.’

  ‘No problem. Still or sparkling?’

  ‘Still please. Sparkling feeds my cellulite.’

  * * *

  Mervyn switched the CD off. ‘Now that’s very weird.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I remember thinking that was odd at the time, but I just forgot about it, what with one thing and another.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Samantha asked for some water, even though there were already a dozen bottles on the table.’

  ‘Yeah, she did, didn’t she? She said she didn’t like the brand of water we’d got. Trevor got her a different brand from the canteen.’

  ‘A bit feeble isn’t it? “I don’t like the brand”? Who on Earth demands someone go two floors down and halfway round the BBC to get a different type of bottled water?’

  ‘Um… Vanity Mycroft?’

  ‘Apart from Vanity Mycroft.’

  ‘Well, not Samantha. She doesn’t have a reputation of being a prima donna…’

  ‘So why would she do that? Unless…’

  Robert looked puzzled. ‘Unless?’

  ‘Unless she knew one of the bottles on the table was poisoned…’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  ‘I can’t believe it. Not Samantha.’ Mervyn found himself back in the BBC club, sharing a coffee with Robert. Mervyn hoped Gus didn’t decide to pop back in, or he’d have some explaining to do.

  The CD of the commentary was on the table. They were both staring at it, like chess players studying a miniature board.

  Robert was still swilling the idea around his head. ‘No way. Not Samantha.’

  Mervyn sipped his coffee. ‘Well, let’s talk about Samantha. In fact, I want to talk about all of the other people who were in that DVD commentary. Samantha and Brian.’

  ‘Okay…’ said Robert cautiously. ‘But I can’t let you have confidential information about them. I can’t tell you their fees for example.’

  ‘That’s not important. What I’d like to know is why they were there.’

  Robert frowned. ‘I don’t understand. They were there to record a DVD commentary. Just like you.’

  ‘All right, I’ll phrase it in another way. It sounded from the way Samantha was talking that day that it was her first DVD commentary.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘But you’d asked her to do them before.’

  ‘Of course we had. Elysia is a major character, and she’s in loads of episodes. She’d always turned us down… Oh, I see what you mean.’

  ‘So she’d turned you down on many occasions…’

  ‘At least a dozen times.’

  ‘But not this time. Why this time?’

  Robert shrugged helplessly.

  ‘And Brian. Is this his first commentary?’

  ‘No,’ said Robert firmly. ‘He’s done at least three for us.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mervyn, disappointed. ‘Recently?’

  ‘No. About three years ago.’

  ‘So he stopped doing them.’

  ‘Yes. He picked a bit of fight with us regarding his fees. He wanted a lot more money, and we pointed out we couldn’t pay him substantially more than other main characters; not only would it break our budget, it would create a dangerous precedent. Can you imagine what would happen if Vanity Mycroft found out Brian was getting paid more than her?’

  They both shuddered, instinctively.

  ‘So he asked for more money, you refused to give it to him, and he stopped doing them for a while.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it.’

  ‘So he was there in that studio. That means you sorted it out. He’s getting paid more.’

  ‘Well no, actually. It’s out of the question. We can’t pay more.’

  ‘So even though he’d fallen out with the BBC contracts department, and refused to do another commentary for years, he agreed to do it? Doesn’t that strike you as sort of…odd?’

  ‘Well… Not really. That kind of thing does happen all the time. We just assume the guest has run out of cash, and needs the money.’

  Mervyn looked uncomfortable. He was sure he was blushing. ‘Well of course with Brian, that’s a distinct possibility. But let’s assume that’s not the reason. What’s the common denominator here? What’s the unique thing about this DVD commentary?’

  Robert smiled. ‘Of course. That’s easy. Marcus Spicer. This is the only one he’s ever done.’

  Mervyn reached out cautiously, like a teenage boy edging forward to take a girl’s hand. His hand clamped round the CD containing Marcus’s last hour of life. ‘Can I have a copy of this?’

  Robert looked pained.

  ‘Is that a problem?’ Mervyn asked.

  ‘Well, me making and distributing copies of a recording of a man’s death. It doesn’t make me much better than Lionel does it?’

  ‘This is important, Robert.’

  ‘Well… Would it help?’

  ‘I think it might.’

  Ro
bert sighed. ‘Give me a few days and I’ll make you a copy.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Mervyn made the journey back to Earthly Delights where he was greeted by Cheryl. She looked tired and drained. As soon as they made it to the sitting room she flopped on the sofa, exhausted, her eyes fluttering as she skated around consciousness. Mervyn watched her, his fingers twiddling the levers on her empty wheelchair, which squatted in the room like a clumsy metaphor.

  He decided to make tea. By the time he clattered in with cups and saucers she had fallen fast asleep. The knot of worry that had bunched between her eyebrows had disappeared, and there was almost a faint smile on her lips. Her face had been wiped clean of worries.

  Mervyn looked around for a blanket, found one, and delicately pulled it over her form. She stirred softly, moving her head. Her wig stayed behind, and Mervyn could see a fine fuzz of downy hair on her scalp. He felt a bit seedy, like he was spying on her naked, so he gently eased it back on to her head. This time she didn’t move.

  Mervyn decided to let her sleep. She must have been in sore need of a rest after the stress of the last few days. After staring at her sleeping form for about five minutes, he felt intrusive, so he turned his attention to the rest of the room. He wandered around, idly looking at the books: all first editions of Marcus’s own novels, of course. Hefty hardbacks with flyleaves, the type Mervyn could only afford at the local charity shop.

  He flipped one over, and was immediately faced by a sombre black-and-white photo of Marcus in a studious pose, chin resting on a knuckle, head tilted down and eyes staring into the camera. Behind him was a lawn you could land a plane on, and a house you could store the plane in after it had landed.

  A part of him whispered instinctively, That could have been me.

  As he turned the book he heard a tiny clunk. He opened the book. Inside, a hole had been cut into the pages. Nestling in it, like an engorged silver-plated bookworm, was a hip flask. Inscribed on it in a fruity copperplate were the initials ‘M.S.’. He looked at the publication date. It was a recent one, only last year.

  He shook the flask. It was half-full. Marcus had been up to his old tricks—hiding his secret supply.

  Far more creative as an alcoholic than he ever was as a writer, Marcus used to hide bottles all over the house in the oddest of places. Mervyn was surprised at how Marcus delighted in his secret drinking, even when he was supposedly ‘on the wagon’; proudly and loudly ordering an orange juice in the BBC club to prove his virtue, only to spike it with vodka secreted in a flask under the table.

  So Marcus had still been drinking. He’d been lying to Cheryl.

  Mervyn had always known that Marcus was a habitual liar, to others and to himself, but now the secrets were only starting to come out; and Mervyn felt he’d only just begun to uncover the truth.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Cheryl was awake. Wide awake. She was sitting upright and looking directly at him. ‘What are you doing?’ she said sharply

  Mervyn had a choice. His back was to her, so she couldn’t see what he was holding. He could turn round now and show her what he’d found; show Cheryl her dead husband had lied to her.

  No. That was too cruel.

  He could quietly slip it back in the book, and leave it for her to find in her own time. Maybe in a day, a week, a month, she would open the book and find out Marcus’s lies.

  No. That was cowardly and cruel.

  There was only one thing for it. He slipped it in his back pocket. He’d get rid of it later.

  ‘I’m fine, I’m just looking at Marcus’s books.’

  ‘Oh, which ones?’

  ‘This one.’ He opened the book, the flask-shaped hole away from her, hoping she wouldn’t ask to read it with him. ‘It’s very good.’

  ‘That was his last book—The Last Sucker. It’s due out in paperback next week. It’s already shifted 100,000 copies in this country alone.’

  ‘Really? 100,000 copies? Amazing.’ He slammed the book shut and examined the back cover with exaggerated interest.

  ‘Yes, it’s the story of Jesus using Doubting Thomas as a fall guy to get crucified instead of him. Did you know that his name meant “twin” in Aramaic? The Gnostic texts suggest that Thomas and Jesus were twins. My… Marcus thought that they swapped places, and Thomas’s famous “doubting” was a literary joke played on the reader…’

  Mervyn turned the book in his hands, careful not to let it fall open again. ‘How fascinating. Perhaps I can borrow it.’

  ‘Certainly you can.’

  Mervyn stowed it away in his satchel.

  ‘So Mervyn, my ace detective. Have you found out anything since yesterday?’

  ‘Not really. But I have had a few thoughts.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘After I re-listened to the commentary.’

  ‘The commentary?’

  ‘The DVD commentary.’

  ‘Okay. That commentary.’ Cheryl’s voice grew strained. ‘How did you hear it?’

  ‘Robert Mulberry. He’s producing the extras for this DVD.’

  ‘Yes, I know Robert. He’s been badgering Marcus for years. It was a major coup for him when Marcus finally agreed to do it. Marcus was not a big fan of the BBC.’

  Mervyn made a tiny ‘Hff’ noise. He had enough of hearing about how special Marcus was.

  ‘So what were your thoughts?’

  ‘Nothing specific. But the thing is, Marcus… Well…he didn’t seem himself.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He was rude, aggressive. He swore a lot.’

  ‘Marcus could be aggressive.’

  ‘Yes, he gets aggressive when he talks about religion—he did during the commentary, but he’s not—he wasn’t—normally rude for no reason. It wasn’t like him.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘It was only after he mentioned that statuette. The one that used to be on your mantelpiece. He pointed it out when he saw it on-screen, mentioned it being “used” for something, and then he stopped, like he’d said too much. Then he started talking very oddly; rude aggressive nonsense, off-colour comments, swearing and the like.’

  ‘And you think…?’

  ‘What strikes me is he mentioned that statuette, then regretted it, and he was doing everything he could to make the commentary unusable for DVD release. I think he was trying to get the whole thing scrapped.’

  Cheryl’s eyes widened. ‘What makes a man so scared of mentioning a cheap statuette on a DVD commentary?’ Her hand moved over her mouth. ‘Oh my God…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you know what?’ she said angrily. ‘I think you’ve got a point. I can see it. I can see what you’re getting at. It never occurred to me before, but Marcus did say something about that statuette a few days before he died. Right after he took that phone call in the garden. Something weird. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I remember now.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said something like “This might look like a piece of crap, but it’s much more than that. This is the most valuable thing I own.”’ She looked up at Mervyn, face set with determination. ‘That statuette holds some secret that somebody, the Godbotherers or whoever, didn’t want uncovered, and they killed Marcus for it.’ She tried to get out of her chair, failed and slumped back in her seat. ‘We’ve got to find that statuette. Mervyn—you’ve got to find that statuette.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  They continued, and the hooded man listened.

  ‘So you’ve no idea why it might be important?’

  ‘None. No idea at all. Sorry. It was just a horrid, cheap little thing. I thought he kept it on the mantelpiece as a joke.’

  ‘Well, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll find it, don’t you worry.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘I have contacts. I have a friend in the police force. I’ll see if she can turn up anything.’

  ‘If you can… You must get it back. I can’t bear the thought of it falling i
nto the wrong hands. Oh God, I can’t believe that old thing could be so important.’

  The hooded man switched his recorder off.

  He was right; Mervyn was definitely the one to watch. Who knows, perhaps Mervyn would do his work for him.

  This could turn out all right after all.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  ‘There’s another thing,’ said Mervyn.

  Cheryl rubbed her eyes wearily. ‘Another thing?’ She didn’t look ready for Another Thing.

  ‘Samantha Carbury. On the commentary she asked to be given a new bottle of water. Like she knew one of the bottles was poisoned.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that Samantha…?

  ‘I find it hard to believe, but Marcus and Samantha had been…friends, once. I remember them being very pally on the shoot for “The Burning Time”.’

  ‘Yes, but that was nearly 20 years ago. They hadn’t even exchanged Christmas cards since then.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  Cheryl met his gaze defiantly. ‘Mervyn—give me some credit. I knew my husband had affairs from time to time, and I was able to work out the guilty party in every bloody one—from the runner in his last movie adaptation to Joanna Paine. Samantha Carbury, no matter what history she shared with Marcus in the dim and distant past, was not on that list.’

  ‘Fine.’ He knelt down by her chair, nose to nose. ‘But why on Earth would she ask for another bottle of water? On the commentary she distinctly says she…’

  ‘Forget the commentary. I’m sick of the bloody commentary. I’m also sick of editors ringing up, fans camping out on the front garden and shit being pushed through my letterbox. The only good thing about now is… Just for a few days I don’t have to think about them.’

  Suddenly Cheryl leaned forward and grabbed Mervyn in a bear hug. He wondered if she was having some kind of attack, until he found his face being pummelled by Cheryl’s lips, her mouth mashing into his.

  His mouth opened in shock, and Cheryl’s tongue found its way past his teeth and slithered into his mouth. Her arms curled around his neck, slipped down his body and rested on his bottom. She finished exploring his fillings, and nuzzled round his neck. Mervyn prayed that he’d done a half-decent job of shaving that morning.