The Final Curtain (16 page)

Finally she broke through the traffic, parked up and entered the station. Joanna eyed the desk sergeant, who simply grinned at her, wished her a
very
good morning and added nothing more. She hovered, waiting, but he simply looked at her, still smiling, and added nothing to his greeting. She almost,
almost
asked him if there was any word from Butterfield Farm but said nothing except to return his greeting.

Mike breezed in at 8.10 a.m., raised his eyebrows at her in question and when he got no response except a shrug, sat down and swivelled his chair around to face her. ‘No summons up to Butterfield?'

‘Not so far,' she said. ‘What have you got for me, Mike?'

He grinned. ‘Plenty.'

‘You went over there yesterday afternoon?'

He nodded. ‘Got Mrs Tong all to myself. Madam Timony was busy with her memoirs.'

‘That'll be an interesting read.' Joanna stored the information away. It could prove useful. ‘Go on,' she prompted. ‘Stop teasing.'

‘Diana Tong,' he began, ‘is a very interesting and intriguing character.'

‘I'm sure.'

‘She's been with Timony since nineteen sixty-four. She was her secretary, teacher, wardrobe mistress, chauffeur, bodyguard and friend. She's seen her through marriages and divorces, tragedies and periods of happiness. Good times and bad times. You name it, she's been part of it. The production company employed her as a companion just before the fan attacked Timony. Timony had had a few odd letters and there was a suspicion that she was being stalked. Of course, it turned out that Dariel, the fan who assaulted her, had been following her for a while, so Diana was part bodyguard as well as everything else. When she called herself a dogsbody she was speaking the truth. She's done everything. Even acted as agent. Got her bookings and parts after Butterfield folded, sorted out travel arrangements. The list goes on and on.'

‘Did you get the impression that she was fond of her?'

‘It really is a sort of love/hate relationship. I think part of her admires her. She's done so much.' He made a face. ‘And Timony needs her. In fact, they both need each other.'

‘Symbiosis,' Joanna murmured.

Korpanski nodded. ‘And she's paid very well. She did say that.'

Joanna nodded. ‘Did she say whether she was aware of any violent behaviour on set?'

‘No. Nothing happened, as far as she knows.'

‘Anything else? Did you get the impression she had any idea who was behind all these little tricks?'

‘That's the strange thing – she thought it was Timony herself, until the cigarette smoke. Turns out she thought Timony was playing around because she wanted to get back into the public eye, gain some sympathy so she'd make a lot of money from her memoirs. At the moment she's writing them but having trouble getting a publisher interested. They all say she's old news, that she should have written them fifty years ago.' He grinned. ‘Bit unkind, I thought.'

‘But probably true.'

‘Mmm.'

‘Diana said that when the cat was killed she knew it wasn't Timony. She said that Timony adored Tuptim and she couldn't have killed her.'

‘Right, but the fact remains that until then she really thought Timony was doing all this to herself? And ringing the police? Just to get attention?' Even though Joanna had thought the same she found it hard to stomach that someone so close to the soap star could entertain such a thought. Despite their unusual relationship, Diana was supposed to be Timony's friend. Was this why she hadn't said anything until now, when she was sure Timony was innocent?

Korpanski nodded, sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. ‘I know it's hard to believe, Jo,' he said.

‘But why would she do it? Just to rekindle public interest in her and ensure a book deal?' She folded her arms sceptically. ‘It's a bit weak. It's not like she's in desperate need of the money.'

‘It isn't just that, Jo. A part's coming up in a new drama. She believes it was made for her. It's set in and around Buxton so isn't even that far from her home. More importantly, James Freeman is producing it.'

‘He didn't mention it.' Then she remembered Freeman's comments about Timony's appearance and she doubted whether he was about to throw a part her way.

‘So if Timony couldn't have hurt the cat, who is Diana's second big suspect?'

‘She doesn't have one.'

‘No one else in the picture?'

‘No.'

‘You mean to tell me that
no one
from Timony's past would try getting their own back for some malicious slight years ago?'

‘I tried that tack, Jo,' Korpanski said indignantly, ‘but she wasn't biting. Just said the past was the past and to leave it there.'

‘So what next?'

‘I guess we wait for the next call,' Korpanski suggested.

Joanna sighed but she had no better ideas.

All morning Joanna struggled to concentrate on other matters. Each time the telephone rang she jumped, convinced it would be Timony. And each time it was somebody else. About something else. Joanna found it hard to concentrate and she could tell that Korpanski was plain fidgety. She wanted to go out in the fresh air and stop phone watching but was too apprehensive and expectant, not wanting to miss anything. Joanna rubbed her hand across her forehead. This was too much. She was being drawn more and more into the situation. She didn't know whether she wanted Timony to phone or not to phone. And each time she closed her eyes the image of Butterfield Farm seemed pasted to the inside of her eyelids.

At four p.m., Korpanski spoke. ‘This is the first day she hasn't rung for three weeks,' he said. ‘It's spooky.'

By five p.m. Joanna was anxious. The silence now seemed ominous. What was happening out there? She dialled Butterfield, got Diana Tong's cool voice on the other end and was assured that all was peaceful. She replaced the receiver with a sense of anticlimax.

Was that to be it?

Friday came and there were no more calls.

By Friday afternoon Joanna couldn't bear it any more. It felt like unfinished business. Just because the events appeared to have ceased it didn't answer any of her questions. She drove out to Butterfield, banged on the door and waited for Diana Tong to open it. It seemed to take an age. It was apparently beneath Timony's dignity to open the door herself. ‘Sorry,' Diana said without a note of remorse. ‘I was upstairs, packing. We've decided to bring our holiday forward.' She gave a disarming smile. ‘I suppose it's Timony you want to see? Your sergeant gave me a pretty thorough grilling the other day.'

Joanna smothered a grin. She could well imagine. ‘Thank you, yes, if I could speak to Mrs Weeks that would be good. I'm sure Sergeant Korpanski has asked you all the relevant questions.'

‘Then I'll lead on.' There was a note of mockery in Diana Tong's voice, as though she was nursing a secret and it would take more than Korpanski's blunt instrument to wheedle it out of her.

Timony was sitting in the study where Joanna had first seen her. She looked comfortable at her desk, tapping on a laptop, absorbed in her work. By her side was a pad of notes and on the floor a lever-arch box full of newspaper cuttings. She looked up as Joanna entered and Joanna was struck by how wan and haunted she looked. Frail, fragile and very vulnerable. Timony might blag that she didn't believe in ghosts but she had to believe in haunting, surely? One only had to look at the dark shadows underneath the eyes to be convinced that something here was terribly wrong. When Joanna had first met the actress she had been struck by how thin she was. Now she looked skeletal. And unwell. Her face was chalk pale. No amount of make-up and plastic surgery could hide this. She gave Joanna a quizzical glance. ‘We haven't rung you,' she said simply, then, speaking over her shoulder, she checked, ‘have we, Diana?'

‘No. There's nothing to report.' The companion gave a watery smile. ‘All quiet on the Western Front.'

Timony gave Joanna a straight, challenging stare. ‘So why are you here? You and your colleagues have spent enough time telling me off for calling you out. And now you've come without me asking.'

‘After the cat business I was a little worried.' Then Joanna lied. ‘This is on my way home so I thought I'd pop in.'

‘Where do you live?' Diana Tong rapped out the question like gunfire.

‘Waterfall,' Joanna responded coolly. ‘Right in the village.'

This elicited a retort from Diana Tong. ‘That's not a village,' she chortled. ‘Just a pub, a church, stocks for the villains, a couple of cottages and no bloody waterfall.'

‘I live in one of the cottages,' Joanna responded tightly.

Diana Tong's eyes bored into hers. ‘It's a bit of a detour, isn't it?'

‘I prefer the scenic route.'

Diana Tong stared pointedly out of the window at the grey, uninspiring sky. ‘What you really mean is that Butterfield isn't on your way home at all.' Diana Tong gave Joanna a hard stare and leaned towards her, her words hostile. ‘What you mean to say is that the cat business has, at last, worried you.'

Slowly Joanna nodded.

‘Well, let's hope this little incident's over then,' Diana said tartly.

‘And that from now on you'll be left alone,' Joanna agreed.

The two women looked at each other then Diana spoke up. ‘We're both exhausted with all the tension,' she said. ‘We'll be going to Devon on Tuesday. Traffic's too heavy down the M5 on a Monday.' She paused. ‘We may even stay down a little longer than planned.'

‘That would seem a good idea,' Joanna responded. ‘We'll do what we can to keep an eye on the place and I take it the Rossingtons will …'

‘Continue to come in once a week,' Diana Tong inserted coolly.

Joanna still felt she was missing something. She took a step towards the door then stopped. ‘Has anyone ever tried to extort money out of you?'

Timony looked a little shocked at the idea. ‘No,' she protested.

‘I take it you are quite wealthy?'

A smug nod confirmed that.

‘But you say no one has tried to blackmail you?'

‘I said not.' Timony sounded quite firm and very slightly cross at having the question put to her a second time.

Joanna turned. ‘So what do you think is the real purpose of it all?'

The two women gave a swift exchange of glances, but neither even tried to answer the question. Instead they treated Joanna's question as rhetorical, simply shrugging and saying nothing.

And Joanna left, again with the feeling that none of this was right.

This time Matthew was home when she reached Waterfall Cottage. In fact, he was using their table to prepare a talk using PowerPoint, but looked up as she came in. ‘Hi, you. I have an idea. Why don't we eat at the Red Lion tonight? I could murder a sirloin steak.' He glanced at the computer screen. ‘For getting on so well with this I can treat myself to a pint or two of real ale; you can have a nice glass of wine and then we can stagger home.' He eyed her. ‘And make mad passionate love. What say you?'

‘You're on,' she said, laughing because his face looked so eager, so happy, so animated. ‘That's an offer I can't refuse but first I'd better get changed.'

‘Good. I can finish my presentation on traumatic amputation.' He looked up at her. ‘Don't worry,' he said. ‘The next slide's only a thumb.'

She rumpled his hair and rested her arm on his shoulders, breathing him in. All people have a scent. Matthew was fastidious to always shower at the mortuary before he came home and the mortuary itself had an excellent air exchange system, but in spite of his using deodorants and aftershave his own personal scent invariably held the faintest tang of formaldehyde.

She had a quick shower and came down in a short black skirt, black tights, high-heeled shoes and a scarlet jacket.

Matthew looked appreciatively at her. ‘Nice,' he said and she beamed at him. This marriage business, she thought, felt good. But she felt bound to add words of warning.

Enjoy the détente
, Piercy, she said to herself.
While it lasts.
Because nothing lasts for ever.

But for tonight she would party.

They had a great evening at the pub. The pair who ran it were lively and friendly and the food was locally sourced and home cooked. A few residents of Waterfall were present and a half-hearted game of darts resulted. No one really cared who won. As the usual banter took place Joanna noticed a couple sitting in the corner kept glancing over. Eventually the man crossed the floor and stood in front of their table. ‘Inspector Piercy, aren't you?' He had a strong moorlands accent.

‘Off duty,' Joanna responded.

‘Arrgh, I know that. You're investigatin' the strange goings on at Butterfield, I think?'

With an apologetic glance at Matthew, who hated her work to intrude on their private life, Joanna answered, ‘Yes, I am. Do you know anything about them?'

‘Not exactly.' He put his hand on the table. It was begrimed with years of working the land and quite beyond ever being clean. He would go to his grave with Staffordshire soil ingrained in his skin. ‘I'm John Reeves,' he said. ‘A neighbour of Mrs Weeks and Mrs Tong.'

‘And can you shed any light on events?'

Reeves didn't answer directly. ‘I 'eard 'er cat were killed,' he said gruffly.

Ah, so that was what had flushed out Farmer Reeves, whose wife was glancing over, a mite irritated by her husband's defection.

Joanna nodded.

‘I can't 'elp you,' Farmer Reeves said, ‘except to tell you that there 'as bin another car there on occasion. I've seen it.'

‘What sort of car?' Joanna's heart missed a beat. ‘Can you remember the number?'

Farmer Reeves shook his head. ‘Too far away,' he said. ‘But it were a silver Mercedes.'