by Roger Keevil
“What about the rest of you? The other suspects, people from the artificial world of the movies, where illusion reigns and appearance is everything? It seems Myra had a talent for finding out the truth behind the façades – truth which, in many cases, could bring careers crashing to the ground. So on the subject of careers, let's begin with the young lady whose career in films is just beginning.”
“Me?” said Lois Turner, regarding the inspector like a startled fawn. “But why would you think that I …?”
Constable overrode her protests. “Bear with me, Miss Turner. Let's not be too hasty with the performance as the innocent young girl in danger. True, we know that you're just starting out in films – but the question has been raised as to where you came from. What sort of work got you started? And did Noah Vail let slip an awkward fact when he made that remark about you posing for a picture on a book cover? Are there, perhaps, other pictures? I also have to bear in mind your own relationship with Mr. Vail. We've seen a certain personal closeness, and one wonders how and when that began. I don't mean to throw up any concerns about your personal morality, but I would merely remark that the casting couch is an old tradition, and great fodder for newspaper stories.”
Noah jumped to his feet. “That is an intolerable suggestion, inspector,” he said hotly. “I am a professional director, and I would never ...”
“Quietly, Mr. Vail, if you please.” Once again, Constable quelled the interruption. “I shall be coming to you soon enough. But just to wrap up – I think that's the correct film terminology, is it not? - to wrap up the matter of Miss Turner, when Myra Marks was overheard to mention 'the sack', did she mean that Lois had been in it with Noah, or that she was about to be given it by him? Good copy either way. And perhaps she had some concrete evidence. There was a dressing room key in her handbag, which I think she had discovered in Noah's possession, in the side pouch of that very director's chair he's occupying. The label said 'G.M.' - did that refer to the most obvious likely owner, Gloria Mundy, or to Lois's character, Georgia Mayle? Perhaps that key allowed, if I may use the expression, easy access to Miss Turner.”
“This is all speculation, inspector.” Noah seemed to have recovered his equilibrium. “I'm sure you can't prove any of this.”
Constable declined to comment on the assertion. “Then, since we're talking about speculation, Mr. Vail, let's turn to you. Aside from any questions over your dealings with members of your cast, you're a famous director, or so you told us, and nobody has contradicted you, at least, not publicly. But Myra was overheard to make a very interesting remark about you not getting on with Omar Gould, which leads me to wonder if you might have been about to jump to ParaMetro Films before you were pushed. We know you were due to meet the president of ParaMetro tomorrow for lunch – but who might have got there before you? My colleague Sergeant Copper found one of the business cards belonging to Meyer Goldman, the ParaMetro boss, and that, combined with another remark of Mr. Gould's, gives us the answer to that. Which brings me to Mr. Gould himself.”
“Now look, inspector,” said Omar, “whatever shenanigans there may have been going on, those are nothing to do with me. I told you, Meyer Goldman and I are just old friends, and as for what happens on the studio floor, that's not my province.
“Yes, I remember you told us that, Mr. Gould,” replied Constable. “You're just the money man, in control of the finances. Or maybe not. Because you were heard to have a conversation with Myra Marks in which the subject of books was raised, and she made some comment about 'looking forward to her piece'. That was assumed to have something to do with the possible adaptation of a novel for a film, and Myra writing a story on the subject. But I have doubts on that score, largely because a copy of the Spanner Films accounts for the last year was found in Myra Marks' car. Perhaps those were the 'books' she meant. Had she found out that you, Mr. Gould, had not been taking plots from other sources, but something altogether more financially rewarding from the studio's revenues? And was Myra's 'piece' not an article, but her 'piece of the action', as I believe they say in gangster films – her share of the ill-gotten gains, a gentle little venture into blackmail? Oh, I know, I know,” said Constable, forestalling Omar's evident intention of protesting. “All pure speculation once again, but perhaps that speculation will become a little less speculative once those accounts are more closely examined.
“That just leaves us with you two ladies.” The inspector turned to Gloria Mundy and Tamara Knight, seated alongside one another on one of the sofas. “We have to consider what hold Myra Marks might have had over you. Miss Mundy, your very long and glittering career speaks for itself. You have legions of fans.”
“People have been so kind,” murmured Gloria.
“And those fans,” continued Constable, “would eagerly read any article about their favourite star. But had Myra Marks stumbled on an uncomfortable truth? Is that star fading? And could that be the reason why the president of ParaMetro would have avoided meeting her? One or two snippets have been let fall which might support that suggestion. But why should Meyer Goldman also not be interested in Miss Knight's scriptwriting skills? Why shouldn't Tamara also be welcome at the proposed meeting?”
Tamara Knight raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Do you know, inspector, I have the strangest feeling that you are about to tell us.”
“Then I shall try not to disappoint you, Miss Knight,” replied Constable in similar tones. “I remember when we first spoke, that you told us how glad you were that Myra Marks had nothing on you. 'I've seen her wreck so many careers', I think you said. And I've got an inkling that you weren't quite as truthful with us as you might have been. Don't they use the term 'creative copy-writing' in the advertising business when they want to avoid a downright lie? And writing is what we're talking about, because in Myra Marks' handbag was a letter from some three years ago which mentioned another kind of writing. Books from Rees-Kay Publishers. Perhaps not the sort I'd find on the station bookstall next time I'm looking for something to read on the train? And could Myra have been about to spill the beans on your personal literary history, thus putting your future at risk?”
Tamara looked the inspector straight in the eye. “Inspector, I admire you. You seem to have discovered a great deal in a very short time. Not that I'm admitting anything, of course,” she added quickly. “But if there is one thing I have learnt during my career as a writer, it's that a work of fiction which comes to no satisfactory conclusion will never be popular. And you seem to be singularly lacking a conclusion.”
“Setting the scene, Miss Knight,” returned Constable. “Isn't that what it's called in literature? And what I've said so far is merely to point out that everyone had a motive to stop Myra Marks' activities. Eustace Potter faced being thrown out of his offices by his ruthless ex-wife - except that in my opinion, this was just an empty threat to keep him under Myra's thumb. He was far too useful to her – all the documents we've seen here must have been obtained by him for her by fair means or foul. Then there's Lois Turner. I'm sure there's nothing unique about her. Like it or not, plenty of girls must have done things in their past to get a few steps up the ladder. Some scandal in the newspapers might have shocked a few people, but would it honestly put directors off casting her in future? For some of the less scrupulous, surely not – especially when they knew how friendly she could be in order to get a part. So I do not see that Myra's knowledge presented a danger to Lois's career.
“Likewise Tamara Knight. I say this purely as an individual rather than a police officer, so please do not quote me – if she wrote a few dirty books, so what? The state will not totter. My colleagues on the vice squad have no doubt raided enough dubious shops in the back streets to know that there will always be – how did the publisher's letter put it? - a 'clientèle of discerning gentlemen' wanting more. As Mae West pointed out, she made a fortune out of censorship. As long as you keep at arm's length, Miss Knight, I for one am content to turn a blind eye.
“Fraud and blackmail,
on the other hand, deserve a rather closer look. In the case of Noah Vail and Omar Gould, I wonder if what Myra quaintly called her 'percentage', otherwise referred to as 'the cost of silence', would have kept her quiet at her meeting with Meyer Goldman tomorrow. A meeting which was scheduled to take place before Noah's lunch and Omar's dinner – a meeting which had been arranged, according to the jottings on Mr. Goldman's business card, at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning, the fifteenth of February, or as an American would write it, 11.00a, 2.15. But I ask myself if it would have been in Myra's interests to throw away a potentially good source of income, both from Noah and Omar, by letting the cat out of the bag, when there were plenty more stories out there for her to exploit. And my answer is, surely not.”
Constable drew a deep breath. “Which brings me to the one remaining person. That, Miss Mundy, is you. And I assure you that it gives me no pleasure to say these things, but I'm afraid they must be said.” He looked away from the actress, unwilling to address her directly. “Gloria Mundy is a different matter. She has spent years building a fabulous career as a star of the silver screen. She is universally recognised – a legend. Which leads one to wonder what she was doing appearing in this, no offence intended, rather second-rate horror film. Have her abilities begun to wane? Should we draw unfortunate conclusions from the various remarks about forgetfulness that have been made by a number of people – even a momentary confusion over my own identity. And we have the evidence of a cutting from Myra Marks' column from her last issue, promising shocking revelations about the decline and fall of a prominent figure from the film world. True, the person was not identified, but to someone who might have been the subject, the comments could have hit home.
“Once again, I am moving into the realms of speculation, but it's surely not a coincidence that the cutting was present at the scene. I have no way of knowing whether Myra herself showed Gloria the cutting – unlikely, in my opinion - or whether Gloria herself had seen it in the press, or indeed whether some very helpful third party made the contents known to Gloria. But I believe that Gloria had an inkling that the curtain was about to fall, and when Myra's bag fell open, scattering her belongings, this presented Gloria with the perfect opportunity. While assisting Myra to retrieve the items which had fallen to the floor, Gloria managed to pick up Myra's notebook and conceal it among the flowing draperies of her robe as she made her way to the privacy of her dressing room. A brief glance at the contents of the notebook was enough to confirm her worst fears. Her reputation, so carefully nurtured over the years, was doomed. But how could Myra be stopped?
“Gloria returned to the studio floor, where she saw Myra standing in front of the Iron Maiden. In a flash, she knew what she had to do. She moved behind the scenery to the power switch and turned everything off, and then, drawing on her long and intimate experience of film studios, swiftly found her way to where Myra was standing in the darkness. With one hard shove, Gloria pushed her into the waiting Iron Maiden, slammed the door shut, threw the offending notebook into the brazier to be consumed by fire, and battled her way through the confusion, to be found standing next to Omar Gould when the lights came back on.”
A long and stunned silence followed the inspector's words. Expressions ranging from horror to sympathy to downright incredulity were etched upon the faces of those present. At last, Omar Gould broke the mood.
“Mr. Constable, are you seriously suggesting that Gloria is a murderess? But that is absurd. Do you realise you're talking about one of the greatest movie stars of all time? How could you think such a thing?”
A smile of surprising sweetness spread across Gloria's face. “Omar dear, please don't make this any harder than it already is. The inspector is quite right, you know. I killed Myra, and for the reasons he gave you. My career is over.” She held up a hand to stifle the murmurs of protest around her. “Please, everyone, don't try to be kind. I know all too well that there is a time for everything to come to an end, and however much I may have tried to conceal it from you all, I couldn't carry on concealing it from myself. When one's abilities are no longer there, it is time to leave the stage. And yet I couldn't bring myself to let go. Films have been my life. I have no other existence. And if I could have chosen my own time and my own way, then this would all have been easier. But Myra Marks had other ideas. Her predatory nature couldn't see – forgive the immodesty – a towering colossus without wishing to pull it down. And so, before she could destroy me, I chose to destroy her.” Gloria sighed. “And all in vain, of course. The newspapers will soon be full of the story of the star who fell. But better that a star should burn up in a blaze of glory than flicker out feebly like a spent candle. As they say, 'sic transit …'.”
Gloria stood and faced Constable with the dignity of Marie Antoinette on her way to the scaffold. “I'm quite ready to go with you now, inspector. I'm sure that when we arrive at the police station, your photographer will be wanting to take some extremely unflattering stills of me.” A last faint spark of mischief, mingled with sorrow, gleamed in her eye. “You may tell him that I shall be quite ready for my close-up.” She turned to Noah Vail. “I hope you won't object, Noah dear, if I usurp your right to have the final word in this film. But as you would say, 'Cut and Print!'.”
*
The warbling of a ringtone on the cabinet alongside his bed dragged Detective Inspector Andy Constable from a heavy slumber. He opened his eyes. Light was filtering through his bedroom curtains. He rolled over and picked up his mobile.
“Hello. Yes?”
“Morning, guv,” came the voice of Detective Sergeant Dave Copper. “I hope you don't mind me calling you at this hour, but you did say you wanted to make an early start on ...”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Constable. “Give me ten minutes for a quick shower and a cup of tea to wake myself up, and I'll be with you.”
“Oh, sorry, guv.” Copper's apology did not sound remotely genuine. “Were you still asleep?”
“As a matter of fact, sergeant, I was,” replied Constable, “and you won't believe it, but I've been having the weirdest dream. I'll tell you all about it in the car.” Without waiting for a reply, he pressed the off-button and headed for the bathroom.
***
THE INSPECTOR CONSTABLE MURDER MYSTERIES
MURDERER’S FETE
(First published in paperback as Feted To Die)
Constable and Copper investigate the death of a celebrity clairvoyant at the annual garden fete at Dammett Hall
MURDER UNEARTHED
(First published in paperback as Juan Foot In The Grave)
A lucky win takes Constable and Copper on holiday to Spain, but murder soon rears its head among the British community on the Costa
DEATH SAILS IN THE SUNSET
Our detectives find themselves aboard a brand new cruise liner, but swiftly discover that some guilty secrets refuse to be buried at sea
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