IMPERFECTION by Ray Clark (e novels to read online TXT) 📗

“Judging by the circumstances in which he died, he must have made an enemy for himself. You said it didn’t surprise you. Can you elaborate?”

“I’m not sure I can, cock. I’ve no idea who he saw and what he was up to in the ten years he was at Hammer. I’m basing my comments on his attitude.”

“Did your husband ever conduct any private business deals, either in or out of the film world?”

Val White was obviously thinking about the question as she inhaled deeply on her cigarette and blew out smoke rings.

“None that I’m aware of.”

“There’s nothing in his past that you can think would generate such a callous act of revenge?” pressed Gardener.

“We’ve all got skeletons, Mr Gardener. Just because I can’t think of anything doesn’t mean they’re not there.”

There really was very little to go on. Gardener had a conflicting picture. According to his father, Leonard White was an icon, a straight man whom you could trust with your life. He felt the same way about his father. Whatever the old man had told him, Gardener had no reason to distrust. But then, had he really known Leonard White?

As for his wife, she couldn’t abide to be in the same room. Why was that? What was she hiding? What had Leonard White done that had so turned her against him? He needed to find the root of the problem. “So, what happened after Hammer?”

“He sort of retired. We had enough money for him not to work again.”

“But he did work again, correct?”

“Oh, aye. He couldn’t help himself. He formed part of a local watch committee here in Leeds.”

“My father was on the same watch committee.”

“Really? What’s his name?”

“Malcolm Gardener.”

“My God! Are you Stewart? You always were a good looker.”

Gardener blushed, but the name drop apparently proved effective. Maybe now she was going to open up, say what was really on her mind.

“What a small world. Well, I’m pleased to see you’ve made something of yourself.”

Eager to continue, Gardener repeated his point. “The watch committee, what can you tell me about it?”

“Not a lot.” Her attitude had softened. “I was never that involved.”

“Did you meet the other members?”

“I did. There was your dad, and a bloke called Fletcher. I think he was a writer. No idea where he is now. And then there were Jack Harper; don’t know what he did. A historian, something like that. I don’t know where Fletcher is, but Jack Harper was killed in a car crash a few years back.”

“Yes, my dad mentioned that, he just couldn’t remember their names.”

“Oh well, there you are, then. Something’s come out of this morning.”

“There was nothing involving the other members of the committee that may have caused ill feelings towards your husband? No scandals? No major disagreements?”

“None I can think of, but I’m sure if there were, your dad would remember.”

Gardener was beginning to feel frustrated. Despite the fact that Val White hadn’t liked her husband, she had still not provided any real evidence, or a reason to kill him. “What about the years after the watch committee?”

“We sold the house in about 1979 and moved to the Lake District, where I live now. Leonard continued working in theatre until he officially retired.”

“Who did you sell the house to? Can you remember?”

“I certainly can. It was one of his friends in the film business. A director. Corndell, his name was.”

“Do you know if he still lives there?”

“No, he doesn’t. We had a letter from his wife, apparently he died four months after buying the house.”

“So she might still live there?”

“It’s possible, she’d be getting on a bit now, though.”

Gardener glanced at Reilly. “It’s worth a visit.” Then to Val he said, “I take it then that your husband came out of retirement again.”

“A couple of years back, playing small parts in small theatres. Earlier this year he was persuaded to go on a national tour to talk about his life in films.”

“Who persuaded him?”

“His agents, a company in Manchester called PMA.”

“How did he feel about that?” asked Gardener.

“He loved it.”

“So, it wasn’t something he was forced into doing because he needed the money?”

“You must be kidding, cock. Leonard was worth a fortune. Money were the last thing on his mind. He did it because he loved it.”

“Where was he staying for the Leeds gig?”

“Same place he always stayed while he was here, The Manor House in Skipton. Big luxurious place on the road going out to Keighley.”

“Same place? Was he a man of routine?”

“I wouldn’t say so. He liked to do certain things in certain ways.”

“Such as?”

“Well, it was more when he went on stage, really. He was very superstitious. Most thespians are. He would never have live flowers on a stage, something to do with flowers having a short life, and it would reflect on the performance. He didn’t like whistling on stage. That was to do with the early days of theatre, when dock workers were often scenery change men and whistle calls went wrong. But other than that, no.”

“So, he never had a cup of tea at the same time every day, or did anything else at a certain time in a certain way because that’s the way it should be done?”

Val White thought about the question. “Not that I can recall.”

“When my father came to see him last week, he said that Leonard wasn’t himself. He seemed worried about something, and that you wouldn’t understand. Any ideas what that might be?”

“Like I said, we didn’t get on very well, we didn’t talk much. If he did have a problem, he never told me about it.”

“You obviously knew him pretty well, you’d been married