‘Sorry about the mess,’ Barker said. ‘We’re normally tidier.’ Clare doubted the man.
‘You’re here about Gordon Mason,’ Cheryl said. ‘Do you fancy a beer?’
Tremayne certainly did; it had been a long day. ‘No, thanks,’ he said. Beer and policing did not mix. He’d buy one later at the pub. For now, they had to find out from Cheryl Milledge what she knew.
‘You played Brutus’s wife?’ Clare said.
‘Portia.’
‘A good part?’
‘I’d have preferred Calpurnia, but I’m not married to one of Salisbury’s leading estate agents.’
‘Is that important?’
‘It is with the Salisbury Amateur Dramatic Society.’
‘What does Fiona Dowling have that you don’t?’
‘It’s not acting ability. She couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag, although she’s managed to convince her husband that she’s faithful.’
‘You shouldn’t say that,’ Barker said.
‘They’re the police. They’ll find out later, and we’ll be suspect if we hold back. That’s how it works, isn’t it, Detective Inspector?’
‘The truth is always best. We will corroborate any information received, careful not to reveal our source.’
‘It may be best if you tell us the full story,’ Clare said.
‘Hang on while I get another beer. Are you sure you don’t want one?’ Cheryl said.
One minute later she returned, handing her boyfriend a can as well. ‘You’ve met Geoff Pearson?’
‘Today, in Southampton.’
‘He’s a friend of ours, or at least we drink together.’
‘What about him?’
‘He’s screwing Fiona Dowling.’
‘He’s younger than her,’ Clare said.
‘Has Pearson told you this?’
‘Not him, he’s smart. We’ve teased him a few times after a few beers, but he’ll not talk.’
‘Then where’s your proof?’
‘I caught them at it hammer and tongs once.’
‘Where?’
‘We sometimes meet at the Dowlings’ house to rehearse. One time, Len’s not there. No idea where he is, but we carried on anyway. Fiona, she put on a spread of food, drinks. I drank more than I should, but I do that all too often. I’m trying to cut back, but you know?’
Clare didn’t know, but she did not intend to comment.
‘Mason’s there casting accusing looks at me, but he’s got no right to complain.’
‘What does that mean?’ Tremayne asked.
‘I’ll come back to it.’
‘Cheryl, it’s not right to tell them,’ Barker said.
‘Wise up, Gary. They’re police officers, they’ll find this out eventually. I’m just helping them.’
‘Carry on, please,’ Clare said.
‘We’ve all left, or I thought we all had. I’m outside the house, desperate to go to the toilet. I would have gone on the flowers, but Mason’s still hanging around, as is Bill Ford.’
‘Peter Freestone, Jimmy Francombe, Phillip Dennison?’
‘I don’t know about them. If they had been there, I’d have still gone on the flowers. Mason freaked me out. Anyway, I’m there bursting, the front door’s still open. I go in and dash for the toilet. There’s one downstairs. I forget to pull the flush. As I’m coming out, still pulling up my jeans, I can hear a sound in the other room. I’m feeling better by this time. There are two people, their voices are low.’
‘Who was it?’
‘I’m coming to that. I’m careful, and I take off my shoes and creep along the hallway. The door to the dining room is open. There on the floor, Fiona, flat on her back, Geoff Pearson on top of her going for his life.’
‘Sexual intercourse?’ Clare asked.
‘What do you think they were doing, playing monopoly? It was full on, let me tell you.’
‘Did they see you?’
‘Geoff did.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He pushed the door shut with one of his feet.’
‘Did Fiona Dowling see you?’
‘Not a chance. She was in second heaven by then.’
‘Afterwards, did he confirm it?’
‘He’d only smile if I asked.’
‘Are they still involved?’
‘We’ve both seen her looking over at him at rehearsals. They’re still into it. Apparently, Len Dowling, the full of himself, hotshot estate agent, is a lousy lover.’
‘How do you know that?’ Clare asked.
‘That’s what I’ve been told,’ Cheryl Milledge said. Clare knew where that information had come from, from Cheryl Milledge herself. Clare could see why she had such a dreadful reputation.
‘You mentioned Gordon Mason before,’ Tremayne reminded the woman.
‘We put on a play at a church hall. I forget the production, but there’s a kissing scene with Mason and me.’
‘You agreed?’
‘We’re acting. I didn’t need to like the man.’
‘How about him? Was he comfortable with it?’
‘He seemed to be. In rehearsals, we just pretended, held each other, made the motions, no contact.’
‘I assume that was not the case when you presented it to the public,’ Clare said.
‘There’s an audience, about eighty people, some children. It’s time for our scene. We’re there professing our love for each other, sealing it with a kiss. It’s a darkened room on the stage. I come over to him, act the part, put my arms around his shoulders, he puts his arms around my waist. That’s when it went astray.’
‘Overly amorous?’ Clare said.
‘The man pulls me in close. I can feel the erection, and then he rams his tongue down my throat.’
‘‘What did you do?’
‘What could I do? I acted out the scene, quicker than I should have, and pulled away. The audience never realised what was going on.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘I put my fist into his face once we were backstage. Nothing more was said after that.’
‘You could have reported him.’
‘What’s the point? No one will listen to me, and it wasn’t the first time a man has thrust his unwanted affections on to me. And besides, I wanted to continue to act.’
Chapter 7
Phillip Dennison adopted a haughty tone when Tremayne and Clare arrived at his house. It was clear the man was loaded. In the driveway, an Aston Martin.
‘Beautiful car,’ Tremayne said, in an attempt to break the ice.
‘Paid cash for it,’ Dennison said. Tremayne sighed, realising that the man liked to flaunt his wealth.
Tremayne had no interest in the Aston Martin, although Clare liked it. Once inside the house, more a mansion, they were ushered into the main room. The walls were lined with oil paintings, a grand piano stood in one corner, its lid raised.
‘I like to play it every day,’ Dennison said. For a man in his fifties, he had a healthy tan, not the result of an English climate. He was dressed in a pair of beige-coloured trousers and a polo shirt, the type that Harry had liked.
‘Gordon Mason?’ Tremayne said.
‘Tragic, tragic,’ Dennison said. Clare could hear the insincerity in his voice.
‘You were playing Mark Antony?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘If you don’t mind me being blunt,’ Tremayne said out of courtesy, not out of concern for the man.
‘Not at all.’
‘Why were you involved with the local dramatic society? You’re obviously wealthy, well connected. Surely you must have better opportunities elsewhere.’
‘If you mean, could I afford to sign on for acting classes in London, use my contacts to attend workshops with some of the best actors, then, yes, I could.’
‘Why don’t you?’
‘The Salisbury Amateur Dramatic Society is a diversion from the normal stresses. I go there, enjoy myself, mingle with them, rich and poor.
I enjoy it greatly.’
‘What do you do for a living?’
‘I play the financial markets, very successful actually. Each day, I’ll trade on the price of one commodity going up or down against another. Some days, I’ll make a small fortune, other days I’ll lose it. It’s high stress, high reward, high risk. I could ease the stress with alcohol, with a mistress, or with golf. Acting is my outlet, and if it’s a local production where I get to stand up on stage and say a few lines, then that’s fine by me.’
‘I understand,’ Clare said.
‘I’m sorry about your loss. I truly am.’
‘You knew Harry?’
‘We went to school together. We stayed in touch on an occasional basis.’
‘I’ll be fine. Thank you for your concern.’
A woman came breezing into the room; Clare was taken aback by the look of her.
‘I’m Samantha,’ she said, as she made a beeline for Tremayne, warmly shaking his hand.
You’re wasting your time there, the man’s got no money, Clare thought.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Tremayne replied, sucking in his stomach at the same time.
The woman dressed expensively, her hair was blonde and out of a bottle, her jewellery designed to order from what Clare could tell. She was the sort of woman that men lusted after, and she knew it. ‘What’s Phillip been up to? Cheating the old ladies out of their savings?’ she asked.
‘We’re investigating the death of Gordon Mason.’
‘Oh, him.’
‘Did you know him?’
‘Phillip dragged me along one night to one of their productions. For the life of me, I can’t see why he bothers.’
‘It’s an outlet for me, you know that.’
Clare could see, she assumed that Tremayne did as well, that the trophy wife and her older husband did not get on. The arrangement was financial, in that he had the money and she wanted it. Apart from that, there was the appearance of love, the reality of disdain.
‘Gordon Mason was murdered.’
‘Phillip mentioned it.’
‘Did it concern you?’
‘Why? Should it?’
‘The man was a fellow actor of your husband.’
‘Acting, is that what you call it? A bunch of locals pretending that they have talent, and as for Mason, the man was a pig.’
Clare could understand her contempt for Mason, in that if he had not liked Winston with his effeminate manner or Cheryl Milledge with her promiscuous past, he was probably not going to like the woman standing in front of them, even if she was exquisite. Clare had to admit she was an attractive woman until she opened her mouth. From there on, it was constant abuse against her husband. She didn’t understand why he put up with it, or she with him, but then Clare knew that her family had money, as did Harry, and what she had wanted was love, nothing more. Her parents were cold, Harry was not.
‘My wife’s not a fan of my nights out. I’ve asked her to accompany me, but she’ll not come.’
‘You’re right there. I’ve got better things to do.’
‘If you’d excuse us, Mrs Dennison,’ Tremayne said, ‘we need to talk to your husband alone.’
‘I’m off anyway. I’m going to hit the shops again.’
The woman left, jumped into the driver’s seat of the Aston Martin and accelerated out of the driveway.
‘She’s not normally like that,’ Dennison said.
‘That’s fine,’ Tremayne said, knowing full well that she was. His wife had been a person who had loved him, showed encouragement, even tolerated his funny ways. He still missed her after all these years of being on his own. He could see that Dennison, for all his wealth, his younger wife, no doubt very physical in keeping the man young in her bed, was not a contented person.
‘Did you like Gordon Mason?’ Clare asked.
‘Honestly, not very much. It doesn’t qualify as a motive.’
‘We’re not accusing you or anyone else at this time. We’re just interviewing everyone who was up at Old Sarum. Can we come back to the previous question? Did you like Gordon Mason?’
‘I despised him.’
‘Yet you acted with him.’
‘It was my outlet.’
‘From the stresses here?’ Clare said.
‘It’s not only work-related.’
‘Your wife? My apologies if it seems as if I’m prying, but we need to know all the facts, no matter how irrelevant they may seem.’
‘I’m not sure if my wife is relevant, but yes, there are difficulties.’
‘Are you able to elaborate?’ Tremayne said.
‘I’ve told you. Some days I’m flush with money, others I’m not. My wife does not moderate her behaviour.’
‘She continues to spend,’ Clare said.
‘Don’t judge her for what she is. I knew that when we married, and she knew that I saw her as a reward.’
‘Was she?’ Tremayne asked.
‘At first. Holidays overseas, expensive nights out, but now it doesn’t have the same interest. If it weren't for my wife, I’d cash in, take a small place in Salisbury and enjoy myself. It’s the ageing process unfortunately. I want a quieter life, she does not.’
‘And the dramatic society is part of that quieter life?’
‘I know it’s only a group of locals having fun, but we enjoy ourselves, and believe me, we put on a good play.’
‘We were told that you have a superior bearing, as if you see yourself as better than them.’
‘It’s not that. I arrive in an Aston Martin, I speak with a refined accent, but I don’t aim to put anyone down.’
‘Cheryl Milledge for example.’
‘Earthy woman, I like her. She’s not out to bleed some silly old fool out of his money. She’s there with Gary, not the smartest guy, but they seem happy. You’ve heard the saying “if I only had money”. Well, I do, and it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.’
‘Coming back to the night of Gordon Mason’s death,’ Tremayne said.
‘I wasn’t involved in the assassination. I wasn’t even there.’
‘You weren’t on the stage.’
‘I was around the back, waiting for my cue.’
‘Where was Caesar’s body when Brutus was addressing the crowd?’
‘To one side of the stage.’
‘In the play, it is Mark Antony that comes out from the Senate with Caesar’s body.’
‘That’s true. There’s a period when the conspirators are outside with Brutus, attempting to justify their actions to the crowd.’
‘And you’re alone with Caesar’s body.’
‘In the play, but up at Old Sarum, he’s off to one side, lying down with his tunic over his body and face.’
‘Did you speak to him when he was lying there?’
‘No.’
‘Any reason?’
‘I act with the man. I don’t talk to him.’
‘That much animosity?’
‘I’ve told you. I did not like the man.’
‘Did he criticise you because of your wife?’
‘He called her a tart, selling herself to an old man.’
‘How did you take that?’
‘What do you think?’
‘When was this?’
‘The only time I took her to one of our productions. Six months ago.’
‘And you still continued to act with him?’
‘It was my outlet, and besides, he wasn’t far off the mark.’
‘That’s a damning comment about your wife,’ Tremayne said.
‘Is it? You’re here investigating a murder. There’s no point in trying to pretend. My wife is here because I’m rich. I married her because she’s young and she made me feel young. There’s no pretence on either side of the marriage.’
‘Did you kill Mason?’ Tremayne asked.
‘How? I wasn’t one of the assassins.’
***
Of all the key players that night in Old Sarum, only one remained to
be interviewed, the notorious Fiona Dowling, if Chery Milledge’s statement about the woman and Geoff Pearson was correct. They found her at home.
‘I played Calpurnia,’ Fiona Dowling said. She was smartly dressed, in her mid to late thirties, and, as could be seen, a woman comfortable with herself.
‘We know that Gordon Mason was stabbed thirty-four times.’
‘Thirty-three in the play. Act 5, Scene 1: Never, until Caesar’s thirty-three wounds are well avenged, or until I too have been killed by you,’ Fiona Dowling said.
‘That’s the play. Mason was stabbed thirty-four times at Old Sarum; five of those stabs entered his body.’
‘Poor Gordon,’ Fiona Dowling said.
‘You’ve expressed concern for the man,’ Clare said.
‘It’s a figure of speech.’
‘Did you like him?’
‘He was a strange character, almost out of time.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘His prudish views, his intolerance.’
‘Were you like him?’
‘Not in my views, but I represented the values he admired.’
‘What values were those?’ Clare asked.
‘Loyal wife, faithful to my husband, good mother.’
Clare wasn’t sure what to say next. If it weren't a police investigation, she would have commented on the accusation that she was having an affair with Geoff Pearson, but that wasn’t proven yet. If it was, then Cheryl Milledge with her past, Samantha Dennison with her older husband were better people, in that they were honest about what they were.
Fiona Dowling may have looked saintly, but if she was involved with Pearson, her husband oblivious to the fact, then there was intrigue, possible motives for murder.
‘Let us go back to that night at Old Sarum,’ Tremayne said. The three of them were sitting in the dining room, the room where Fiona Dowling and Geoff Pearson had writhed in passion on the floor. Tremayne could see Clare looking for the spot, nodding his head for her to focus on the woman.
‘I was waiting backstage for my cue.’
‘Did you see anything suspicious?’
‘No. It was fairly dark back there, as you know. We have a backdrop on the stage, and our changing rooms were there and behind some ruins. Apart from that, I just sat and waited.’
‘Cheryl Milledge would have liked to play Calpurnia.’
‘Cheryl’s always pushing for the lead female role.’
The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set Page 33