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

“Business was good then?”

“Not to start with. But I’ve always been interested in theatre and stage, and I had a lucky break thirty years ago. I won twenty-five thousand pounds on the football pools. It was a lot of money back then. So, I decided to pack in work and open the shop.”

“I see,” said Gardener. “So, because you’d won all that money, it didn’t really matter whether or not the business got off to a slow start, you had enough capital to see you through.”

“That’s about the size of it. Look, can I get a drink or something?”

Gardener left the table. Outside the interview room door, he asked for two coffees – fresh ones, not the crap from the machine, and a bottle of water. He came back to the table and sat down. “Okay, so you had the shop at Burley. When did you decide to move to Leeds?”

“Ten years ago. Business was expanding and I was beginning to attract lucrative custom from London. A lot of my business is mail order.”

“I’m pleased you mentioned that. We would like to see records, everything you’ve sold, both over the counter and mail order for at least the last five years.”

“That isn’t a problem. Anyway, I moved into Leeds, on Briggate. Five years ago, I decided to take one of the arcade shops because it was considered a more prime position. And I took Janine on.”

A uniformed officer returned with the drinks. He left them on the table and walked out. “What about your customers? How well do you know them?”

“I know a few, repeat business from people who are touring.”

“What about new customers? Have you had any in the shop recently that you haven’t seen before?”

“Quite a few.”

“Any strange ones?” asked Reilly. “An eccentric? Someone who stands out a little more than usual?”

“Can’t say that I’ve noticed. Most of the people who come in are pleasant. You get the odd few that think they’re above everyone else, people who think that just because they’re in a local production, they’re film stars.”

“Anyone come to mind?”

“Not off the top of my head, no.” He sipped his coffee.

“I’d like a list of all your clients, Mr Cuthbertson. Names and addresses.”

“I don’t know if I have the addresses of all of them.”

“We’ll settle for everyone that you do have,” replied Gardener. “Now, let’s come back to something you said earlier. You’d always been interested in theatre and stage. Films as well?”

“Yes, films as well.”

“What’s your favourite?” asked Gardener.

“Pardon?”

“Your favourite film, what is it?”

“I... er... I’m not sure. Something black and white I imagine, an Ealing comedy.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Simple enough question, Mr Cuthbertson. Why do you like films from that era, Ealing comedies in particular?”

“Because they knew how to make films then. Good, wholesome films with people who could act. Not just the comedies, but the kitchen-sink drama as well. Films that dealt with real people in real situations. Not the garbage you get now, science fiction, horror, sex. There’s enough horror in the real world without having TV and cinema ram it down your throat. You only have to look at my shop to see that. And here you are accusing me when I haven’t done anything.”

“No one is accusing you. If anything, we’re trying to eliminate you from our enquiries, and the only way we can do that is to be very thorough. Wouldn’t you agree?” asked Gardener.

“Absolutely.”

“Wouldn’t want to go to prison for something you haven’t done, would you, now?” said Reilly. “Especially for a crime like this. You know what they do to people in prison who have killed women?”

“Look, if you’re trying to frighten me...”

“We’re not,” replied Gardener. “We’re trying to find out why a young girl has been butchered on your premises, and there are times when our job is not very nice, but we still have to do it. If you’re innocent, you have nothing to worry about. Now, can we please get back to the matter in hand?”

Cuthbertson took another sip of coffee.

“Ealing comedies,” said Reilly.

A silence descended upon the room. When it was obvious that Reilly wasn’t going to elaborate, Cuthbertson spoke up. “What about them?”

“Does the name Wallace Henry Corndell mean anything to you?”

Cuthbertson took his time before answering. “No, should it?”

“William, maybe?”

“No. I’ve never heard of him, either.”

“What about Inspector Burke?” Gardener asked.

“Who the bloody hell’s he?” asked Cuthbertson. “Another one of your lot?”

“For a man who likes his films, you don’t know much about them,” said Reilly.

“I never said I was into films, not in the way you mean. Theatre and stage is more my thing.”

“I see,” said Reilly. “Well that figures, given the type of shop you run. Like dressing up, do you? Putting on the make-up, that kind of thing?”

Cuthbertson narrowed his eyes. “I’ve done a bit, why do you ask?”

“What other interests do you have?” asked Gardener.

Cuthbertson stalled before answering, as if he was trying to work out where they were heading. “I like to read.”

“What sort of books?”

“Biographical. Mostly non-fiction.”

Reilly leaned forward and folded his arms across the top of the table. “For long weary months I have awaited this hour.”

“Pardon?” asked Cuthbertson. Turning to Gardener, he asked, “Is he all right?”

“Do you not recognise it? And you being a thespian, shame on you.”

“I never said I was a thespian. Look, is it me, or is it hot in here?” Cuthbertson loosened his shirt collar and ran his hands around his neck.

Gardener wondered why he’d done that. He’d seemed okay until Reilly had mentioned the quote. Why had that unbalanced him? He leaned forward. “The night passed – a night