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

“It’s a good idea, but I think you’d achieve more if you went alone,” said Reilly. “I don’t think he’ll talk anyway, but if he sees both of us, we’ll have no chance. What do you think he’ll say now that he didn’t before?”

“Nothing, but I’d just like him to know we’re here. And while I’m at it, I’d like a word with Martin Brown. I want to know what time Corndell arrived, and how.”

“I’ll talk to Martin,” said Reilly.

“Okay.” He watched as Sean leaned towards Laura and had a quick word in her ear. She glanced around, and then pointed to a man on the far side of the stage talking to one of the students, which he took to be Martin Brown.

Gardener and Reilly left their seats, shuffled to the end of the row, and down to the stage where Martin Brown’s conversation was coming to an end. He smiled and politely nodded as the student walked off.

Down as close to the stage as he was going to be, Gardener felt it was much warmer, and wondered whether or not it was an effect of the lights.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” asked Martin.

“Maybe,” said Gardener, flashing his warrant card. “We’d just like to ask you a few questions.”

“Has something happened?”

“We’re interested in Corndell.”

Martin Brown wasn’t at all what Gardener had expected. Standing a little over six feet, he had mousy coloured hair in a style more erratic than most of his students. Perhaps he hadn’t combed it today. He wore a beige shirt left hanging out of his denim jeans, and a pair of loosely fastened brown loafers. Despite being born and bred in London, there was only a trace of an accent. He was slim, and had one of those postures that could easily be mistaken for a man who preferred other men.

“You could have picked a better time, he’s on stage,” he replied, glancing at his watch. “He is due on in ten minutes, and I have to announce him.”

“It won’t take long. How and when did he arrive here today?”

“I really haven’t the faintest idea.”

“I thought you ran the entertainment around here,” said Reilly.

“I do.”

“So, how come you don’t know what’s going on?”

“Because I have a lot more to do than keep my eye on who comes and goes and at what time.”

“You must have some idea,” said Gardener, eager to return to the point.

“I believe it was around four o’clock. I wasn’t here myself. Naturally, I would assume he arrived by taxi.”

“I wouldn’t assume anything with this man,” said Reilly.

“What are you trying to imply?” asked Brown.

“Nothing,” said Gardener. “We’re just making sure you answer the questions correctly and to the best of your knowledge, not with what you think you know.”

Martin Brown glanced at his watch again, seemingly more agitated.

“So, did he arrive by taxi, or didn’t he?” pressed Gardener.

“Just a minute.” He walked over and consulted another colleague. On his return, he had better news. “Yes, he did arrive by taxi; just after four o’clock.”

“From where? And do you know which taxi firm?” asked Gardener.

“Look, is this really necessary? I do have a show to present.”

“We wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t,” said Reilly.

“Aren’t you Laura’s husband?”

“Now that is an unnecessary question,” replied Reilly. “But for the record, yes. So, can you tell us where he was brought from?”

“No, I can’t. I assume, rightly or wrongly and quite frankly I don’t care, his home in Horsforth.”

“I’d like to go backstage and have a word with him,” said Gardener. That statement took Martin Brown one step closer to madness, or so his expression conveyed. “Are you kidding me? The man is about to go on stage and present a show. Have you any idea of the kind of pressure he will be under?”

“Not as much as me,” replied Gardener.

“I don’t think it would be wise.”

“I’m not really interested in your opinion, Mr Brown. And whether or not you like it, I am going behind that curtain and I am going to have a word with your client.”

“Are you here on official business?”

“In what capacity?” Gardener asked.

“Police capacity. Has Mr Corndell done anything wrong?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Then, I don’t see any reason why it can’t wait until after his show. And before you ask, I have to tell you his contract specifically states that no one will be granted interviews either before or after the show.”

“I don’t want an interview, I simply want to wish him all the best,” Gardener answered.

“Haven’t quite gone the correct way about it, then, have we? As I mentioned, his contract stated no interviews, no guests. He was very particular about the contract being followed to the letter.”

Gardener noticed the crowd growing restless. The background music changed again, to another heavily orchestrated piece he didn’t recognise. “Do you have that contract to hand?” he asked.

“It’s in my office.”

“I want a copy before I leave. And now, I’m going backstage for a quick word, after which, you can introduce him.” Gardener turned to his partner. “Sean, you stay here and see that Mr Brown is kept amused.”

Gardener tipped his hat and walked off. He entered the stage through the side curtain, suddenly caught off balance by the atmosphere.

The set was incredible, a mock cathedral with red velvet drapes and huge backdrops and images from horror films. In between the photos, the crumbling brickwork had arched windows and turrets, bearing the hallmark of a million spiders spinning their webs. And he could smell garlic.

But none of what he saw had prepared him for the centrepiece. In the middle of the stage stood a huge podium surrounded by strobe lights, which were currently being switched on