Crooked Herring

by L. C. Tyler

  MDJ: Wow! This is just like a genuine murder mystery! But why can’t the police do it?

  ET: The police might not go along with what I’m going to suggest. It’s not quite as legal as they usually like it to be.

  MDJ: But there is evidence to clear Ethelred’s name?

  ET: There was a video recording of Crispin with Henry Holiday but it got … lost.

  MDJ: So, there’s other evidence?

  ET: I can prove that Henry impersonated Crispin in writing really evil Amazon reviews for Ethelred’s books. That meant that Ethelred seemed to have a motive for killing Crispin. I also know Henry wrote death threats and sent them to Ethelred.

  MDJ: So, Henry’s right in the middle of it.

  ET: Yeah, but Henry is going to say that he did the reviews as a joke – he never dreamt Ethelred would see them and go off and kill Crispin. If he had his time again etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

  MDJ: But you’re certain about the death threats.

  ET: I’m certain because I know Henry’s a nasty little toerag. Sadly the police haven’t yet reached the same conclusion. Mainly because Ethelred gave one death threat away and I lost the other one at Sainsbury’s.

  MDJ: So what are you planning to do?

  ET: What were you doing on New Year’s Eve?

  MDJ: Me? Nothing. I stayed in, opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio and watched some programme on television. Meerkats, I think.

  ET: Did anyone visit you, phone you or anything?

  MDJ: My mum phoned me on my mobile around midnight, just to wish me happy new year.

  ET: So, if you’d had a man in your flat all night, making passionate love to you, nobody would know? Or indeed, a man in somebody else’s flat.

  MDJ: I wouldn’t necessarily have told my mum, if that’s what you mean.

  ET: And you say you’ve always been very fond of Ethelred?

  MDJ: He wasn’t with me, I promise. I went to bed alone.

  ET: Let’s not be too hasty in reaching that conclusion Mary, have you ever committed perjury? For the best possible reasons, of course. To ensure that good triumphs over evil. And to screw over a slimy scumbag.

  MDJ: Excuse me, Elsie, but is that a tape recorder in your bag?

  ET: Sorry, force of habit. I’ll switch it off now. Don’t worry. I’ll be careful to wipe the tape. I’ll do it the moment I get home. Nobody will ever …

  RECORDING ENDS

  CHAPTER FORTY

  From the journal of Elsie Thirkettle

  There was one other call that I needed to make. Janet Francis’s PA was reluctant to let me anywhere near her but I persisted and was told that I could have five minutes – and no more – with the great agent in person. But I’d need to come round straight away.

  ‘I hope this is as important as you claim,’ said Janet. She was putting papers in a bag, preliminary to departing for some Important Meeting. ‘I’m already late.’

  ‘You’ll want to hear this,’ I said.

  I produced a piece of paper and placed it on the table. She picked it up.

  ‘What is this exactly?

  I, Janet Francis, declare that I was told in December by Mary Devlin Jones that she was in a relationship with Ethelred Tressider, also known as the author Peter Fielding, and that she was looking forward to spending New Year’s Eve with him. She later told me that she and Mr Tressider had been at Mr Tressider’s residence for the entire night of 31 December/1 January.

  Then for some reason there’s a space for my signature. I’m not signing that! It’s not true for one thing – it cannot possibly be true – and even if it were, why on earth would I sign? I’m well aware that Ethelred is under arrest for murder and I’m well aware that New Year’s Eve is supposedly when the murder took place. Why would I sign something I know to be a lie?’

  ‘Because I’m asking you to perjure yourself. You may later have to swear to this in court, but I hope not. I think all charges will be dropped the moment the police interview Mary.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I really have to go. I don’t have time for some elaborate joke at my expense.’

  She stood up.

  ‘I know about Karen Rockingham’s detective novel,’ I said.

  She sat down.

  ‘You can’t! I mean, there’s no such thing.’

  ‘Yes, there is. I know and others know too.’

  ‘Who? What are they planning to do about it?’

  I pointed to the note on the table.

  ‘You can’t expect me to sign that in order to find out … You do expect me to sign that to find out, don’t you? Oh my God – this is blackmail, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it’s proper blackmail. The leak comes from this office. If it reaches the press it will ruin your agency.’

  ‘Then you have to tell me.’

  I tapped the note on the table.

  ‘Do you know what the penalties for perjury are?’ she demanded.

  ‘Less than what will happen if news of the Rockingham novel hits the press. Anyway, read the note in front of you: all you’re saying is that’s what you believe you were told. It would be difficult to prove that Mary didn’t say that to you. It would be even more difficult to prove that you didn’t think that’s what Mary told you. I doubt you’d even get a custodial sentence.’

  ‘I’d make sure you went down with me.’

  ‘It’s a deal. We’ll share a cell. I bag the top bunk.’

  Janet’s eyes shot daggers at me across the table, but I was dagger-proof. She took out a very expensive fountain pen and scratched her signature furiously on the page.

  ‘Now, who leaked what to whom?’

  I told her.

  ‘And there’s no point in sacking Tuesday,’ I added. ‘I already have her under contract to me, as is Elisabeth Söderling, interestingly.’

  ‘Elisabeth Söderling?’

  ‘Maybe I’ll need to explain that one some other time. I’m sorry you’ve lost Crispin too as a client – though I guess that the estate of Crispin Vynall is almost as valuable.’

  ‘Value? That isn’t a consideration,’ she said.

  Then I remembered something Mary had said about Janet fancying Crispin – or perhaps I had said it to Mary. Either way, it could well be true. Maybe it wasn’t just the commission that she would miss.

  ‘I suppose,’ I said, ‘that you get closer to some of your authors than others.’

  ‘Meaning what exactly?’ Janet was haughty but very much on her guard. I could tell there was something she was holding back about Crispin – or maybe one of her other male authors. Well, I could get Tuesday to relate all of the gossip to me at leisure. I didn’t need to know at this precise moment.

  ‘I’ve had my five minutes,’ I said. ‘I’d better be going.’

  ‘But what do I do now? I’ve signed your damned note, but as far as I can see there’s no way of stopping Henry Holiday going to the press.’

  ‘These things always depend on how they are done,’ I said. ‘Henry would leak it to the journalist who would put the least favourable interpretation on it all – a trashy novel that had been largely ignored and sold few copies. You, on the other hand, can select your own journalist to leak an exclusive story to – you might let their paper write a very favourable review a week or so prior to the leak so that they can boast they spotted the exceptional quality of the novel even before they knew who had written it. Most papers like an exclusive. They’ll be eating out of your hand. You’ll know how to handle it from here without advice from me – now I’ve told you what’s going on and you have time to ensure things happen your way rather than Henry’s.’

  Janet was nodding thoughtfully and looking at me almost with respect. Her nimble mind was planning each step. She knew I was right. As long as she could control it all, she could turn this to her advantage. The publicity would be enormous. At the very least she could massively increase the sales of Karen’s book.

  ‘I’d better let you go to your meeting,’ I said.

  ‘Meet
ing? That wasn’t important. I have calls to make.’

  I left her dialling furiously. She hadn’t thanked me in so many words, but deep down I knew she was grateful.

  Of course, I hadn’t told her my whole plan. She’d learn that later. I folded the signed perjury note carefully and put it in my bag. Then, thanking her secretary profusely, I went on my way.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  From the journal of Elsie Thirkettle

  ‘I have,’ I said to Ethelred’s lawyer, ‘some good news and some bad news.’

  ‘Do you have the CCTV footage?’

  ‘That is the bad news.’

  ‘There is a delay …?’

  ‘It’s gone to the rubbish dump.’

  ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t there. By dustcart, probably.’

  ‘So, our last piece of evidence has gone?’

  ‘Yes, but I have an even better plan.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘I have established that Ethelred spent the night with another writer. She is willing to give evidence that she did so.’

  ‘But Ethelred says he didn’t. He was alone.’

  ‘Well, that’s Ethelred all over, isn’t it? He’d go to the gallows before he besmirched a lady’s name.’

  ‘Elsie, we are living in the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth.’

  ‘But Ethelred is still living in the nineteenth century, isn’t he?’

  ‘You might say that.’

  ‘There you are, then.’

  ‘And this is true?’

  ‘It’s as true as it needs to be,’ I said. ‘You lawyers spend all day saying, “I put this to you” or “I put that to you”, and you know damned well that you’re just on a fishing trip. I bet fifty per cent of the things you say in court are less than half-true.’

  ‘I don’t say things in court that I know to be lies,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t know this is a lie either,’ I said. ‘Anyway, you won’t be saying it. Mary Devlin Jones will.’

  ‘How do you spell that?’ he asked.

  I told him. ‘Don’t worry if Ethelred acts a bit surprised when you tell him,’ I added. ‘That’s just his way.’

  ‘Is there any danger he will deny it?’

  ‘Yes, because he is noble and chivalrous and, frankly, a bit of a plonker. The police suspect that there may have been somebody because Henry told them there might be, but that subtle little double bluff is about to rebound on him. We’re pushing at an open door.’

  ‘And will there be any proof that Ms Jones was with Ethelred? Just in case the police think that’s it’s slightly too convenient that this evidence has shown up when it did?’

  ‘Yes, I have a signed note from a very well-respected agent, saying that Mary told her some time ago that that was what she had done.’

  ‘Any other evidence like that?’

  ‘How much would you like?’

  ‘I’m not asking you to fake witness statements.’

  ‘OK. We’ll have to do it your way, then. That’s all I have. Is it enough?’

  ‘Do you assure me that what you have told me this morning is the truth?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever.’

  ‘Based on that assurance, I’ll let Mr Tressider know, then.’

  ‘Just make sure he doesn’t screw it up.’

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, Elsie, coming from you that’s pretty rich.’

  He had a point. Still, what on earth could go wrong with a plan like mine?

  Later I phoned Ethelred’s editor.

  ‘Hi, Will, you’d better start reprinting Ethelred’s books. He’s about to be released from custody and there’s going to be massive interest. I’m going to arrange for him to sell his story to one of the big Sunday papers. His books will just be flying off the shelves.’

  ‘We’re already reprinting. Sales have rocketed in the last few days. Being arrested was the best career move Ethelred’s made for some time. Just so long as he is found not guilty.’

  ‘Strictly speaking he hasn’t been charged yet. Nor will he be. Fact.’

  ‘You sound very confident.’

  ‘Oh, I am, Will. I so am.’

  But the next day came, and the one after and Ethelred had not been released. The story had, to tell the truth, faded a little from the front pages. Other stories had taken its place. Book sales were still good, but Ethelred’s face no longer featured on the news programmes.

  I tried phoning his lawyer a couple of times, but on each occasion I was told that he wasn’t available but that my message would be passed on to him.

  Doubtless it took time for the police to conduct their interviews with Mary and Janet. Soon – tomorrow if not today – I would receive a call from Ethelred, thanking me profusely for springing him from his dungeon and expressing admiration for my strategy in delaying his release to ensure maximum publicity and book sales. Well, something like that, anyway.

  And I had plenty to do. Tuesday had started work at my office, which involved finding her desk space and a computer and a phone and paper and pens and paper clips and showing her how a very old photocopier worked and discussing why we didn’t have a nice coffee machine like Janet’s.

  I put her straight onto the recently acquired Söderling account. But I was expecting to land a much bigger fish very shortly. I put through a call to Karen Rockingham, and explained one or two things to her.

  I also sorted out things with one of my contacts at the Sunday Times – Ethelred would write them an exclusive account of his unjust incarceration for a fee to be agreed, once it was clear he was actually being released.

  I was in fact so busy that three days passed before I actually started to worry. I mean, had I underestimated not merely his chivalrous nature but also his honesty? He would obviously have worked out what was going on. Would he have decided he would rather go to prison than lie? It was unlikely but then … and, holy shit! If he said it was untrue and the police believed him, that did not look good for Mary or Janet or me. I wasn’t sure whether my offer to share a cell with Janet was in any way legally binding, but I didn’t want to go to gaol anyway.

  I was, of course, still hopeful my plan would work, even after the call from Mary.

  ‘The police interviewed me yesterday,’ she said.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I told them what we agreed. That I had arranged to spend New Year’s Eve with Ethelred.’

  ‘And what did you say you did?’

  ‘We watched the programme on meerkats.’

  ‘Nice touch. And absolutely true. You did both watch it – at precisely the same time, only not in precisely the same place.’

  ‘They seemed very suspicious.’

  ‘That’s their job.’

  ‘They seemed to know I wasn’t telling the truth.’

  ‘It’s just a way they have.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Trust me. I’m your agent. Would I allow you to get into some stupid mess?’

  All week, I’ve had BBC News 24 running constantly in my office, volume muted, just in case there was the merest hint that Ethelred was about to be freed or, conversely, that investigations had taken a more serious turn, with other arrests expected. Possibly that the police were hunting for two literary agents and one author of books about a cat detective. But there has been nothing at all.

  So, I have decided to drive down to Sussex, with this notebook and my tape recorder. I shall visit Henry Holiday and see what more I can get him to tell me. Because it is just possible that there is more evidence that I have missed and it is just possible that he is so conceited and arrogant that he will tell me. But before I do that, I shall drop in on Ethelred’s house, because I know his neighbour has a spare set of keys, and I shall check that all is well there and nothing is malfunctioning. Ethelred and I go back a long way. If he does go down for thirty years, less time off for good behaviour, I’ll at least need to know how his boiler works.

  CHAPT
ER FORTY-TWO

  It had been a long day. When the police finally said that I was released and could go, I felt an immediate flood of relief, tinged almost with disbelief.

  My lawyer had kept me well informed, of course. I’d heard with despair of Elsie losing the death threat letter and then, disaster piling on disaster, how she had also failed to obtain the CCTV footage when it was available. Then, when her Great Plan was revealed to me, I almost gave up on the spot. Fortunately it had all worked out in the end. I had been driven back to West Wittering and had just made myself some tea when I heard the key in my front door. It was only a mild surprise when Elsie marched in to the sitting room.

  ‘Bloody hell, Ethelred! What are you doing here?’

  ‘It’s my house,’ I said.

  ‘That doesn’t mean you can just barge in whenever you like, frightening the shit out of me.’

  ‘Yes, it does.’

  ‘But you are supposed to be in gaol. I still haven’t got the Sunday Times deal in place yet. They’ll want pictures of you leaving Paddington Green police station. We need to get you back there and—’

  ‘There’s a police station at Selsey, if you’d like to get a snap of me outside one. I’ve no plans to go inside a police station for some time.’

  ‘So, Plan C worked, then? I mean you’re free?’

  ‘Elsie, shall we run through your contribution to my freedom? First, you encouraged me to start this stupid investigation on Henry’s behalf.’

  ‘A bit,’ she said.

  ‘Then you allowed yourself to be fooled into believing that Crispin was Thrillseeker …’

  ‘You’d never have worked it out.’