The English Boys

by Julia Thomas

  “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” she interrupted.

  “Yes, well, that then. I saw him and liked his looks immensely. He’s quite tall and has that long, hangdog look about him that is so appealing to women. A few weeks later, I saw a photo of him and Richardson in some rag—”

  “Hello magazine,” Antonia supplied.

  “Whatever,” Sir John said, waving his hand. “The important thing is that when I saw that picture of the two of them at an equestrian event, looking ever so dashing, I knew right then their friendship needed to be transposed to the big screen. They have a chemistry that most producers would die for.”

  “It’s Richardson,” Antonia said. “He positively smolders.”

  “Let’s get back on track, shall we?” Murray asked. “Now, you met them how long before you began working together?”

  “Was it July?” Hodges asked, turning to his wife. “I called and invited Hugh and Daniel to the house in France. They were quite good company, I can tell you. The house simply sings when it’s full of young people, doesn’t it, dear?”

  She nodded.

  “Is the film finished?” Murray asked.

  “Everything but post-production.”

  “When did the filming end?”

  “Well, we began in late summer, and it went on for eight weeks.”

  “To your knowledge, did anyone show any sign of disliking Miss Burke throughout the production of the film?”

  “Little tiffs flare up in almost every production,” Hodges answered. “Remember last year, Toni, when Finn Brody got drunk and took a swipe at Dominic Cooper? That turned into a major fracas.”

  “Were there any during this production, particularly involving Richardson, Ashley-Hunt, or Tamsyn Burke?” Murray asked.

  “None that I’m aware of. They were friendly with the crew, and it seemed a pretty amiable lot this time.”

  “Did you ever notice anything unusual about Miss Burke?”

  Hodges threw his head back and chortled. “She was an odd one, no mistake. Strange fashion sense. I wondered if she was color blind. But she kept the hours, didn’t complain a single time, and didn’t cost a bomb. I consider that a roaring success.”

  “Cost a bomb?” Murray repeated. “Unlike Richardson and Ashley-Hunt, I assume?”

  The conversation ceased and the Hodges exchanged a look.

  “Of course, if you get actors of the caliber of Richardson and Ashley-Hunt,” Hodges said, “it will definitely cost you. But the film wouldn’t be as big without them, especially with an unknown heroine. That’s always a gamble. Sometimes it pays off. We needed them both.”

  Murray drummed his fingers on the table. “But you’ve had difficulty financing this film.”

  “Where did you hear something like that?”

  “Please answer the question.”

  “What has that to do with anything?”

  “That entirely depends. This film of yours could be a success. You’ve cast two well-known actors in the lead roles. It could be an even greater success after the murder of Miss Burke.”

  Hodges’s round face began to turn red. If anything, his wife went paler. “That’s preposterous,” he protested. “You aren’t suggesting I killed this girl for the publicity?”

  “I have twenty-seven people present at the time of the murder,” Murray replied. “One of them had a motive strong enough to stab her in the heart. People have killed for far less than earning millions from the morbid curiosity of the film-going public.”

  “You’re wrong,” Antonia Hodges snapped. “Oh, not that there weren’t financing problems, but that we could have had anything to do with her murder.”

  Murray frowned, remembering the girl’s body crumpled in a grotesque heap of wedding dress stained in blood. “Through which entrance to the Abbey did you arrive?”

  “The north door,” Sir John replied. “Just like everyone else.”

  “Were the two of you alone when you entered the building?”

  “No,” Antonia said. “There was a young woman in the doorway, and some of Tamsyn’s family arrived at the same time.”

  “Were you acquainted with any of the other guests at the wedding?”

  “No,” Sir John answered firmly. “None apart from Richardson and Ashley-Hunt.”

  Murray tapped a pen on his desk. “What was the relationship between Tamsyn Burke and Daniel Richardson?”

  “They were thick as thieves, all three of them. It was hard to tell who was dating whom. They’d probably known each other all their lives.”

  “Not quite,” Murray said, studying them both. “In fact, Ashley-Hunt and Richardson met Tamsyn Burke after they met you.”

  “Really?” Hodges asked, looking surprised. “I had no idea.”

  Murray stood and walked over to look out of the window. “When did you arrive at the Abbey?”

  “Almost a half hour early. Toni wanted to get a good seat. As you can see, a man of my size needs considerable room.”

  “So, you were there before most of the other guests?”

  “Yes. We spent the time looking at some of the tombs while we waited.”

  “Which was your favorite?” Murray asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Hodges paused. “I don’t suppose I have one. Let’s say John Milton, for argument’s sake.”

  Murray let it pass. “Did you see anything unusual at all while you were there? Anyone acting out of character?”

  “No, but we were occupied. A friend of Hugh’s, Marc Hayley, introduced himself and a terrible American girl who kept pushing us to put her in a film. She assumed because we gave Tamsyn a part we must be giving roles away.”

  “And of course, that’s not the case.”

  “I resent your tone.” Sir John heaved himself out of the chair. “We’ve cooperated, sir. I can’t think of anything more to say at this time.”

  Murray stood and the two men glared at one another for a moment. “Make certain the sergeant outside the door has the information about where you are staying,” Murray said.

  Sir John gave a curt nod and then squeezed his wife on the shoulder. They walked out, leaving the door open behind them.

  Murray followed them to the door, watching them leave. Money was a powerful motive, but whoever had stabbed that poor girl in the heart had been driven by something far more compelling. He was certain of it. His job was to find what that could possibly be.

  Seventeen

  Carey jumped when her mobile rang in her jeans pocket. She was sitting on the lumpy mattress in her flat, jotting notes on a piece of paper she had torn from a notebook. Across from her, Nick looked up from her laptop, where he had been typing.

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Daniel Richardson,” she answered. She put the mobile up to her ear. “Yes?”

  “I’m three streets away from your flat,” Daniel said. “May I come up?”

  “Hold on.” She put it up against her chest and looked at Nick, who was engrossed in what he was writing. “He wants to come up. Do you mind?”

  “No,” Nick answered, although the look on his face told her he did. She ignored it.

  “All right,” she said to Daniel. “It’s in St. Matthew Street.”

  “I know where it is.”

  “I’m on the first floor.” She ended the call and put the mobile back in her pocket.

  Nick had stopped typing on the computer. “He’s that actor, isn’t he? What does he want?”

  “I didn’t tell you before, because I thought you might not approve,” she said. “I asked for his help.”

  “Doing what?”

  “We’re looking at the suspects in the case.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Carey!” he protested. “That’s a job for the police.”

  “Well, they haven’t come up with anything, have th
ey?”

  “How do you know? They’re not going to tell you. And this sort of thing takes time and resources.”

  “I can’t sit around waiting for something to happen.”

  “What can an actor do anyway?” Nick asked. “He’s not an investigator. Oh, wait. I suppose he played one in a film.”

  She ignored the remark. “We’re just talking to people, that’s all. Sometimes you can get a feeling about someone.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Carey looked about the small, two-room flat. The kitchen had a small refrigerator, a stove, and barely enough cupboard space for a few pots and pans and tins of soup. In the main room, her bed was shoved against one wall, next to a small table and a sofa that had seen better days, if not decades. It wasn’t a place to entertain friends. It was one thing having Nick there, who had practically grown up in her house, but Daniel Richardson was another matter. She didn’t even study there with her friends. They usually met at the library or a café, and on the rare occasion at Gillian’s posh Chelsea digs, where no one dared sit back on the furniture.

  Within minutes, Daniel knocked at the door. Carey got up to answer it, ignoring the withering look Nick gave her.

  “Come in,” she said, stepping back so he could enter. “Daniel, this is Nick Oliver. He’s a friend. He lives next door to my parents.”

  Nick nodded. Carey knew he was hoping he wouldn’t have to shake hands and betray his tic to a complete stranger, a famous one at that.

  “I assume you’re here to talk about what to do next.” She saw Daniel raise a brow at Nick and she tried to smile. “Don’t worry. He’s reliable.”

  “There’s someone I’m concerned about,” Daniel said, still eyeing Nick.

  “Who?”

  “That tough-looking bloke who was at the wedding. You remember. Spiked hair and a leather jacket, sitting by himself. Is he a friend of the family?”

  “Ciaran Monaghan,” Carey answered. “We knew him in school. He went out with Tamsyn when they were young.”

  “What do you know about him?” Daniel asked, picking up a book that was lying in a stack on the floor and examining the cover: Immunological and Autoimmune Disorders in Developing Nations. He put it back quickly.

  “He works in London now, somewhere not far from here, I think. I run into him sometimes.”

  “Can we get his address?” Daniel asked.

  “I can probably get it,” Nick replied, shrugging. “My mother teaches with his aunt. Not that I think we should get involved.”

  “I’m surprised Tamsyn didn’t tell me he was coming to the wedding,” Carey said. “And I do think you should find it, Nick, if you don’t mind.”

  “I have to talk to my mum anyway, I suppose,” he replied. He stood and went into the corridor to make the call.

  “What ended the relationship between Tamsyn and Monaghan?” Daniel asked when Nick was gone.

  “I don’t know. She never told me.”

  “And who is that, anyway?” Daniel asked, cocking his head in Nick’s direction.

  “A family friend from Wales. I told you.”

  “He wasn’t at the wedding.”

  Carey hesitated. She didn’t want to tell him about Nick’s problems. It was too complicated to explain with Nick standing ten feet away. “He couldn’t come, that’s all.”

  “Was he close to Tamsyn?”

  “They didn’t like each other,” Carey admitted. “They never have.”

  “How do you know he wasn’t already in London?” Daniel persisted. “He could have slipped into the Abbey without anyone noticing and killed her.”

  “I doubt that, because I picked him up at Paddington Station on Monday.”

  “He’s got a guilty look about him.”

  “You’re acting like he’s a suspect.”

  “Right now, everyone’s a suspect.”

  A minute later, Nick came back and sat down on the sofa. “My mum will try to get the address and email it to me. If she can figure out how to do that.”

  “Tell me about Monaghan,” Daniel said, leaning against the wall near the window.

  “He’s a wanker,” Nick answered.

  Daniel folded his arms. “Would Tamsyn have asked him to the wedding, or do you suppose he crashed?”

  “I don’t know,” Carey said. “I never saw the invitation list. But why would he do that? Do you think he was still in love with her?”

  “Maybe he was blackmailing her, to get to Hugh’s money,” Daniel said. “Or he could have decided to talk her out of it. His last chance, as it were.”

  “I can’t imagine that Tamsyn invited him,” Carey said after a moment. “She wasn’t the sort to look back.”

  “I wish we could look through her emails,” Daniel said.

  Carey froze. “Nick, you’re computer savvy. You could probably hack into anything.”

  “No, I can’t,” he said. “You’re overstating my abilities. I’ve taken a couple of courses. I know about as much about it as you do.”

  “If someone was threatening her, there could well be some kind of electronic trail,” Carey continued. “There might even have been threats made against her. Why didn’t we think of this before?”

  She pulled her laptop off a shelf and turned it on, then glanced up at Nick. “Would you mind making tea? I have the feeling we’ll need it.”

  “You don’t happen to know her password, do you?” Daniel asked, sitting down beside her.

  “I might, actually,” Carey said. “She mentioned once that I would know it from a clue.”

  “What was the clue?”

  “She said it had to do with her favorite book as a teenager.”

  “What was that?”

  “The Scarlet Letter. I assumed she meant the author’s name was her password.”

  “Who wrote it? Melville? I’m afraid I’m not up to date on nineteenth century American authors.”

  “No, Melville wrote Moby Dick. Hawthorne wrote The Scarlet Letter.”

  She went to the web mail site and typed Tamsyn’s email address in the appropriate box. Then she tried a password.

  Hawthorne Invalid ID or Password. Try again.

  Nathaniel Invalid ID or Password. Try again.

  scarletletter Invalid ID or Password. Try again.

  thescarletletter Invalid ID or Password. Try again.

  “This is impossible,” she said.

  Nick grunted from the kitchen. “There are endless variables.”

  “Keep trying,” Daniel answered.

  nathanielhawthorne Invalid ID or Password. Try again.

  “What were the names of the main characters?” Carey asked.

  “No idea, but you could look it up online.”

  “Of course.” She opened a new screen and typed The Scarlet Letter in the search box. Within three seconds, there were thousands of websites offering information. She clicked on a book site and scanned the page. “Here we are.”

  hesterprynne Invalid ID or Password. Try again.

  dimmesdale Invalid ID or Password. Try again.

  “I think that’s too complicated,” she concluded. “Let me try something else.”

  ScarletA Welcome to your inbox. You have four new messages.

  “Perhaps I should look at these alone,” Carey murmured, glancing at them.

  “I cared about her too,” Daniel argued. “I want to know what happened.”

  She paused for a moment and then nodded. Of the four new messages, two were from the bridal shop where Tamsyn had purchased her dress, one was from their mother, and one from Ciaran Monaghan.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said. “I thought he was completely off the radar.”

  Ignoring the others, she clicked on Monaghan’s email.

  April 1

  Fr
om: Ciaran Monaghan

  To: Tamsyn Burke

  Re: Wedding

  Yes, I can be there. But I’m not sure I understand. Want to enlighten me?

  “What does it mean?” she asked.

  “Look in her Sent Messages box,” Daniel suggested.

  Carey pressed a few keys and found the original email from Tamsyn. It did nothing to elucidate matters.

  April 1

  From: Tamsyn Burke

  To: Ciaran Monaghan

  Subject: Wedding

  Thanks for talking to me this afternoon. Have you made a decision yet?

  “She must have answered his last email in person. Are there any other messages between them?” Daniel asked.

  Carey scrolled back through the email listings. “Nothing to or from Monaghan. Absolutely nothing.”

  “What about that email Tamsyn got from your mother?”

  “Would you mind if I read that one alone?”

  “Of course,” he answered. He stood and went to the window, giving her space.

  Carey turned away, taking her laptop to the opposite corner of the sofa for complete privacy. After a few minutes, she began tapping away.

  “What are you doing?” Daniel asked.

  “I’m deleting some of the messages.”

  “What for?”

  “Because now you know the password, and there are some things in here that are strictly private.”

  “Were there messages from anyone else on our list?”

  “Yes, and I’ll show those to you. There are two from Lucy Potter, and one each from the bridesmaids we know from Wales. I’m afraid they don’t explain much.”

  April 3

  From: Lucy Potter

  To: Tamsyn Burke

  Re: News

  I can’t believe you asked. The answer, of course, is yes. And I would like to bring Dylan, if you don’t mind.

  April 1

  From: Lucy Potter

  To: Tamsyn Burke

  Re: News

  So surprised to hear from you. I didn’t know they had computers where you come from. Oh, is that bitter? Didn’t mean to be. It’s just been a long time, hasn’t it? I’ve seen you in the magazines, of course. Who would have thought one of us would have made it to the top? So, what’s the question you wanted to ask me?