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

“There’s a lot of information about Chaney, but I don’t suppose any of it’s new,” said Thornton. “I’ve copied some stuff and put it in the folder. Basically, it’s a rags to riches story about a bloke who was born to deaf and dumb parents. His ability to act came from miming for his parents. He went to Hollywood, but it was quite a few years before he made it big.”

Thornton seemed embarrassed by the fact that he’d found very little.

“He did make a film called The Scarlet Car, but I think the killer has used it purely as a red herring. It was filmed in 1917, and information is a bit bloody thin on the ground. I think the film rhymed with what he wanted to say, and the only reason was to point us in Chaney’s direction.”

“Despite being an icon, very little was known about Chaney,” said Anderson. “Apparently, it’s believed he once gave an interview and the only thing he said was, ‘My whole career has been devoted to keeping people from knowing me’, and with that he got up and left.”

“You’re joking,” said Gardener.

“Apparently not. He was very secretive. As I said, there was no bigger film star, but very little was known about him.”

“A bit like our friend Willy,” said Reilly.

“At least Chaney had a traceable career,” replied Gardener. “Anything on Harry Fletcher?”

“I spoke to a bloke who used to work with him at the Playhouse. Apparently, he left there and went to work in one of the Broadway theatres in New York. Anyway, he didn’t stay too long, and the last time the man saw him was a couple of years ago. He was back living in Leeds but didn’t say where, and he was quite excited about a new project, but didn’t say what.”

“What is it with these thespian types?” said Gardener. “They’re always shrouded in bloody mystery. Keep trying. He must be somewhere. If you’ve found one person who knows and remembers him, there may be others. We need to find them.”

“Before it’s too late,” added Reilly.

“Assuming he isn’t the killer,” replied Gardener. “Trace the flights, there must be records.”

“But it’s two years ago,” said Thornton.

“I know that, but we need a break before someone else gets murdered. Trace the flights, talk to the taxi drivers, someone must have picked him up. Maybe recognized and remembered where he took him. If it was a hotel, they’ll have records. There will be a trail. It’s a matter of finding it. We can’t leave any stones unturned.”

Colin Sharp interrupted the conversation as he knocked and walked in. He also had a coffee in his hand, and managed to spot the biscuits straight away. “Hey, my favourites.”

“And everybody else’s, by the look of it,” moaned Reilly.

Gardener glanced at Sharp. “Okay, what do you have?”

“Not a lot.”

“If one more person says that today…” said Gardener.

Sharp sat down in the only available chair and opened his folder. “I checked out with BT first. You might find this interesting. In the last ten years, Corndell’s only had one phone call to his landline, and hasn’t made any.”

“What?”

“He’s made no calls, and received only one.”

“Who was that from?”

“Martin Brown,” said Sharp.

Gardener glanced at his partner. “Isn’t that Laura’s friend at the university?”

Reilly nodded. “What about his mobile?”

“He doesn’t have one,” said Sharp.

“He does,” said Gardener. “He was using it when we visited.”

“Sorry, sir, according to my records, he doesn’t have one.”

Gardener was confused, but didn’t see the sense in arguing. Sharp was a very dedicated member of staff who chased up leads with a determination he’d never seen before. “Okay, patronize me. Check a little deeper, will you? How does he pay for his BT line?”

“All his transactions are done electronically. He never goes into the bank or pays a bill in person.”

“Which bank is he with?” asked Gardener.

“An independent in London.”

“Why London?” asked Gardener, astonished.

“I assume it’s because he came from London originally.”

“But surely you would change banks if you moved so far away,” pressed Gardener.

“Unless you wanted to hide something,” said Reilly. “What about an income?”

“He doesn’t have one,” replied Sharp. “But then again, he doesn’t need one. His parents left him over three million pounds, and the house.”

“How did his parents die?” asked Gardener.

Colin Sharp sorted through his notes. “His father had a heart attack.”

“Brought on by what, I wonder,” said Gardener.

“Who, more like,” said Reilly.

“I don’t think it was anything to do with Corndell. He was still down in London when it all happened.”

“Doesn’t mean much,” said Reilly. “He could still have had a hand in it.”

“Well... he could, but it doesn’t seem feasible at the moment.”

“What about his mother?” Gardener asked.

“Died in 1985. Cancer.”

“Okay,” said Gardener. That tied in with what Corndell had told them. “Anything else?”

“The only thing left for me to do is follow up the London lead, find out everything I can about his life down there. If anything’s going to give, that’s where it will come from.”

“In that case, go down tomorrow. That privately owned bank must have a previous address. His father was famous enough, try the film studios, the West End. That reminds me, Sean, check with Fettle and see whether or not his mate has any information.”

“Do you two really think Corndell is our man?” Thornton asked Gardener.

“He’s at the top of the list for now.”

“Then why don’t we bring him in?” asked Anderson.

“No evidence,” said Reilly. An air of defeat circulated the room.

“Another murder should do that,” said Anderson.

“Only if we can tie him in,” said Gardener.

“Does he have alibis for the previous two?” asked Steve Fenton.

“No, but you can’t prove or disprove what