Dead on Cue (26 page)

W
hen Paddy Colligan looked through his office window and saw Woodend and the blonde woman that the office grapevine had now identified as his sergeant, the Irishman prayed that they were not about to pay a visit to him, even though, from the way they were slowing down, it was obvious they were going to do just that.

So this was it, the Irishman thought. This was the moment he had been dreading ever since he had first seen the big man in the hairy sports jacket and noted how deep and penetrating his eyes were.

The knock on the door was firm and authoritative – as he'd expected it to be – and made him jump – as he'd been hoping it wouldn't.

‘Come in,' he said, hoping that, even at this point, they might still look at him in surprise and say they'd made a mistake and come to the wrong office.

The door opened. Woodend and Paniatowski entered the room.

‘If you don't mind, Mr Colligan, we'd like to ask you a few questions,' the chief inspector said.

No mistake, then. No bloody mistake at all.

‘I don't think I can tell you any more than I've already put in my statement,' Paddy Colligan said, trying to sound matter-of-fact, rather than defiant.

‘Oh, I don't know about that. You'd be amazed what you can drag up from the recesses of your mind when you make the effort,' Woodend said easily. ‘Do you mind if we sit down?'

‘No, no, of course not,' Colligan replied, wishing that his mouth didn't feel quite so dry.

The two detectives sat down in the chairs in front of his desk. Almost in touching distance, Colligan thought. Almost in grabbing-you-and-beating-the-crap-out-of-you-until-you-tell-them-what-they-want-to-know distance.

‘Paddy Colligan,' Woodend said reflectively. ‘That would be
Patrick
, would it?'

‘That's right,' Colligan agreed.

‘I read a play by a Patrick Colligan once. I think it was called
Troubled Times in the Old Country.
'

‘That was mine,' Colligan said, surprised.

‘Hmm,' Woodend said. ‘Read a lot of Dickens, do you?'

‘How in God's name did you know that?!' Paddy Colligan exclaimed.

‘Just a guess. There's the same broad sweep of characters in your play as there is in Dickens, the same willingness to face gritty reality.' Woodend smiled. ‘An' under all the harshness and honesty, there's a bit of the same romantic soul hidin', as well.'

I never expected this, Colligan thought. I expected trickiness and belligerence, but I never expected
this
. He scares me even more than I thought he would.

‘What did you think of the play?' he said. Cursing himself for asking. Cursing himself for really
wanting to know
the answer.

‘I think it showed a great deal of promise, but that it wasn't quite there yet,' Woodend said. ‘I think you should write some more – refine your craft a little.'

‘You're quite right, of course,' Paddy Colligan admitted.

‘So tell me, what you did you do after the fire alarm went off?' Woodend said, abruptly changing the subject.

‘Ben, Jeremy Wilcox and I were in Bill Houseman's office for the regular Thursday morning meeting. When we heard the alarm, we went outside.'

‘Together?'

‘No. Jeremy and Ben left first. I asked Bill Houseman if he was coming, and he told me he wasn't. So then I left.'

‘An' did you look him in the eye when you asked him if he was comin'?' Woodend said. ‘Did you
ever
look him in the eye when you were talkin' to him?'

‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘Oh, I think you do – though my sergeant disagrees with me,' Woodend said. ‘But we'll leave that for the moment. After you left Houseman's office, did you go straight to the car park?'

‘Yes.'

‘An' what did you do once you were there? Did you go an' find your writing partner?'

‘No.'

‘Don't you think that's a bit odd? You were under a great deal of pressure, because there had to be a lot of script changes after Valerie Farnsworth's death. I would have thought you'd have grabbed every opportunity to spend as much time with Ben Drabble as you possibly could.'

‘I had a lot on my mind. I needed time to be alone to think things through.'

‘A lot on your mind,' Woodend repeated. ‘Were you worried about work? Or was it more in the nature of a personal matter you were concerned about?'

‘It was work,' Colligan said, unconvincingly.

‘So you didn't talk to anybody?'

‘Not that I remember.'

‘Why wouldn't you give me the script when I asked for it yesterday?' Paniatowski asked, speaking for the first time.

‘Bill Houseman told me not to.'

‘An' why would he do that?' Woodend asked.

‘He didn't say.'

‘But what do you
think
?'

‘I think he was trying to keep Jeremy Wilcox off-balance – to make him feel isolated.'

‘For what reason?'

‘To knock the fight out of him. So that when Houseman gave him the push, he'd go without too much trouble.'

‘An' you went along with that?'

‘I didn't have much choice, did I? Bill Houseman was the boss.'

‘What's your relationship with Mrs Houseman?' Woodend asked.

‘Mrs Houseman? What do you mean?'

‘Somebody in this office has been havin' an affair with her. Paniatowski here thinks it's Ben Drabble, but I think she's wrong. He's certainly obsessed by somethin' – but I don't believe it's a woman.'

‘Ben's a compulsive gambler,' Paddy Colligan admitted. ‘And as far as I'm concerned, Mrs Houseman is just the boss's wife.'

Woodend sighed. ‘A man who was honest enough to write
Troubled Times
shouldn't have denied his true feelings like that. Or aren't you that man any more? Has working on
Maddox Row
drained all the honesty an' integrity out of you, Mr Colligan?'

Paddy Colligan looked down at his desk. ‘I always felt that when I fell in love, it would be with someone who was really worthwhile as a person,' he said. ‘I never expected her to be beautiful – I rather thought she wouldn't be – but I knew she'd have a deep core of decency and honesty – that virtue would run through her as naturally as blood.'

‘Like Biddy, in
Great Expectations
?' Woodend suggested.

‘
Exactly
like Biddy,' Colligan agreed enthusiastically. ‘And then I met Diana,' he continued, his voice dropping. ‘She's an out-and-out materialist. She likes money and all the things it can buy – she even married for it. She's vain. She can be spiteful. Yet there's a kernel of something else buried deep inside her – the seed of a Biddy which only needs watering and taking care of to blossom to its full glory.'

‘In other words, you're in love with her.'

‘With all my heart.'

‘Did Bill Houseman know about the pair of you?'

‘He may have guessed that she was having an affair with
someone
at the studio, but I don't imagine for a second that he thought it was me. Why would it have been me? I'm a nothing. I could never have kept her in the same style as he could. No, if he suspected anyone specifically, it would be someone like George Adams. A man with a bit of glamour about him. A man who could soon be earning even more than Bill was himself.'

‘We've talked about you, now what about her? How does she feel about you?'

‘I think that she loves me as much as I love her.'

‘Do you, indeed?' Woodend asked sceptically. ‘I would have thought you'd be just a little bit unsure about that – given her track record.'

‘She's had other affairs – I won't deny that.'

‘Quite a lot of them, from what I've heard.'

‘That's all in the past – before the real Diana had begun to break through the hard shell that life has made her coat herself in. With me, she's becoming a different person.'

‘If you say so.'

‘I believe she truly loves me for much the same reason as I believe that Bill Houseman would never have suspected me – because I don't really count for anything. Because if she were really the person that everyone else thinks she is, she'd have nothing to do with me.'

‘So sex doesn't come into it at all?' Paniatowski asked disbelievingly.

‘We sleep together, if that's what you're asking. But I don't fool myself that I'm any great lover,' Colligan said. ‘If it were merely sexual satisfaction she was after, she could do far better than me.'

‘She was here this morning, when the fire alarm went off, wasn't she?' Woodend asked.

‘Yes, she was here.'

‘Why?'

‘She's often here. She used to be an actress – this is her world.'

‘An' did you see her in car park?

‘For a moment or two.'

‘Did you speak?'

‘No. Whenever we meet in public, we're always afraid that we'll give ourselves away by a look or a gesture. So we've decided it's safer to virtually ignore each other – just in case Houseman is watching.'

‘But Houseman wasn't watchin' on this particular occasion, was he?' Woodend asked.

‘No, he wasn't.'

‘An' the reason for that was that he was lyin' across his desk with a kitchen knife stickin' in him. So there was no real need for caution at all, was there?'

‘What are you suggesting?' Colligan demanded.

‘What were your long-term plans?' Woodend asked, ignoring the question. ‘Did you intend to carry on with your little affair behind Houseman's back for ever?'

‘Of course not. That would have been intolerable.'

‘So what
were
you goin' to do?'

‘I wanted Diana to leave him, and move in with me.'

‘An' did you expect to keep your job on
Maddox Row
once that had happened?'

‘No. Bill Houseman would have fired me – and who could have blamed him?'

‘So as soon as you ran off together, there'd be no more pay cheques from NWTV. Does Diana Houseman have any money of her own?'

‘Not that I know of.'

‘What would you have lived on?'

‘We'd have got by.'

‘But Diana Houseman isn't used to just
gettin' by
, is she? She married Bill so she wouldn't
have to
just get by.'

‘People change,' Paddy Colligan said defensively.

‘But it's rarer than you think,' Woodend countered. ‘You asked me earlier what I was suggestin' when I said there was no need for you an' Diana to be careful in the car park this mornin'. Well, I'm not sure that I've got grounds enough to suggest anythin'. But I have got an idea for a film script.'

A slight and weary smile came to Paddy Colligan's face. ‘Everybody thinks they've got a film script or a novel somewhere inside them,' he said. ‘And they think that all they have to do is open the floodgates, and it will automatically gush out. Writing isn't like that. Lots of people could get their hands on good wood, but only a few of them – like Hepplewhite – could fashion beautiful cabinets out of it. And just having an idea isn't nearly enough to be able to fashion a worthwhile story.'

‘Let me tell you my idea anyway,' Woodend said. ‘A young man writes a play, an' knows he should write another. But he doesn't. Instead he gets a job which pays well, but doesn't really satisfy him. An' the tragedy of it is that the longer he does the job, the less confident he becomes that he'll ever be able to write another play. So what does he do? He looks around for another purpose in his life, an' he finds a beautiful, but mercenary, woman who he thinks he can transform into somethin' better. In other words, the woman herself becomes his work in progress. But the catch is that she's addicted to money, an' until the transformation's completed, she still needs her fix. Now the young writer doesn't have any money. An' neither does she. But if she were a widow instead of a wife, she'd be rollin' in it – so all they have to do is make sure that she
becomes
a widow. Is that plausible?'

‘It's very plausible,' Colligan admitted. ‘But it's not how it happened.'

‘You mean you had nothin' to do with Bill Houseman's death?'

‘I mean
neither
of us had anything to do with his death.'

‘In your place, most people would be pointin' the finger of suspicion at somebody else, in order to divert attention from themselves,' Woodend said.

‘I'm not most people,' Colligan answered.

‘No, you're not, are you?' Woodend agreed. ‘Well, like I said, I might have enough to make up a story, but I certainly don't have enough to make an arrest, so we'll be off now.'

‘Just like that?' Paddy Colligan asked, astonished.

‘Just like that,' Woodend agreed. ‘An' as they say in the entertainment world, “Don't ring us” – because if we come up with anythin' more, we'll most certainly be ringin' you.'

T
here were only the two of them in the small conference room, but the ashtray was spilling over with cigarette butts and the atmosphere was almost as thick with smoke as it was with tension.

‘Where is the bloody woman?' Woodend asked irritably. ‘Has she gone into hidin', or what?'

‘It's a big studio,' Paniatowski pointed out. ‘Even if she's not trying to make herself scarce, it could be a while yet before Inspector Rutter's team find her.'

Woodend took a deep drag on his Capstan Full Strength, and felt the acrid smoke rake against the walls of his lungs. ‘The problem is, everybody in this case is either an actor or has been so close to actors that some of the bullshit has rubbed off,' he said.