twelve

When Rex reached Hill Grange Community Centre, he saw no other cars in the lot. He parked in one of the marked-up spaces and wandered in the May sunshine towards the two-storey brick building, where he found blue-and-white caution tape girding the entrance.

Following the concrete path to the far corner, he ran into a wiry man in a flat cap and shirtsleeves, and shapeless brown corduroys and work boots.

“And who might you be?” the man asked in a gravelly voice, regarding him suspiciously.

“I’m a private detective. Penny Spencer, whose play was performed on Friday night, asked me to lend assistance in the shooting incident. And whom might I be speaking with?”

“Nob Jensen, the caretaker. A bicycle belonging to one of the actors went missing that evening and I said I’d take a gander while on my rounds.”

“Mightn’t the police have taken it if they found it on the premises?” Rex asked.

“That’s what I told Mr. Holden, him what plays the clergyman. Happens I haven’t found so much as a bit of litter, just a new badger’s burrow. Right pests they are, tearing up the grass.”

“At what time did Mr. Holden last see his bike?”

“He said he arrived sometime before six and noticed it were gone at ten thirty, when he left to go home.”

“Were you here on Friday evening?”

“I were round my sister-in-law’s. But I were in the hall that afternoon until four setting out the chairs.”

“Did you go backstage?”

“No reason to. But I did go back here to check the emergency exit. Mr. Holden lent his bike against that tree and has been known to use this door when leaving after rehearsals, instead of the front entrance. I’ve told him often enough not to. But it were locked on Friday afternoon when I left.”

“There’s no fire alarm fitted?”

“Not since the building was a school.”

“Why’d he keep his bicycle back here? There’s a bike rack out front.”

“He didn’t have a lock for it and I expect he didn’t want it stolen, even though somebody’d have to be desperate to take it, it were such a rusty old heap.”

“Is it just yourself who takes care of the community centre?”

“I have two ladies come in midweek to clean the communal areas and offices. I do the stage and back rooms, as there’s a lot of stuff lying about what could trip a body up.”

“Do the cleaning ladies have keys to the building?”

“No, I always let them in and stay to supervise.”

“Who else has keys?”

“I lent one to Mr. Wade, the play’s producer, so he could let the cast and crew in for rehearsals. I live on the grounds and come by every morning and again at nine at night to check everything is locked up and in order. They was usually gone by then.”

In spite of what Ben Higgins had said about Jensen being “a lazy old git,” he seemed to Rex to be efficient enough, and the grass, hedges, and flowering bushes in the grounds looked neatly tended.

“But on opening night, you were at your sister-in-law’s house?” Rex clarified.

“I was going to go in later, after the reception, to clean up, but we saw the police cars on our way home. ‘What’s going on here?’ I asked the missus. I thought at first there’d been a bomb scare, and then a bobby told us someone in the play had been shot. I asked who, and he said it were a lass. I knew right then it had to be Cassie. Such a kind and thoughtful girl, she was. Once, when I were locking up, she said, ‘Sorry we ran overtime, Mr. Jensen, but I think we left everything nice and tidy for you.’ She and the tall young man made a nice couple. I sometimes saw them lingering in the car park by his shiny BMW coupe. I thought, ‘He’s doing all right for himself. That girl could do a lot worse.’ And he was gone on her. You could tell that a mile off. And now this tragedy.”

Jensen removed the flat cap from his cropped grey hair and clamped it to his chest. “What a shame! And now I have to get the hall ready for the memorial service,” he said with a sad shake of his head.

“It’s being held here?” Rex asked in surprise. “When?”

“Four o’clock tomorrow. Ms. Spencer said the police inspector had agreed as long as no one goes near the stage. She asked me to put a platform in front of it for the speeches. No doubt, coppers will be there to make sure no one trespasses. Ms. Spencer and the actors feel the hall is the most appropriate place.” Jensen glanced at the redbrick building. “It’s where Cassie Chase drew her last breath.”

“It’s bound to be packed,” Rex remarked, fully intending to be there. “By all accounts she was very popular.”

“I just hope no one thinks to bring candles. We can’t be having those. Too much of a fire hazard, I told Ms. Spencer.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jensen. I won’t take up more of your time.”

The caretaker nodded and pulled his cap back on, continuing along the path to the front entrance, while Rex headed towards the next corner of the building looking for other points of access and egress. Despite what the morning caller had said about being responsible for Cassie’s suicide, Rex remained sceptical that she had died by her own hand, and the murderer may well not have used the main entrance.

He found another emergency door exiting from the hall close to the stage. The path ended beyond the two tall windows, and rather than walk on the grass, he returned the way he had come, passing the birch tree that Timothy Holden had used to prop his bicycle against during rehearsals. If the police had not taken the bike into evidence, who had stolen it? Had it simply been a random theft by someone prowling around the community centre on opening night?

As Rex was walking back to his car pondering these questions, the phone jangled in his jacket pocket. A Derby number, he saw when he pulled it out, and he hurried to answer it.

“This is Ada Card,” said a brisk voice. “You left me a message to ring you at once.”

“Aye, thank you. It was regarding Trey. I wanted to make sure he was all right.”

“Better, I think. We just got back from church, otherwise I would have rung sooner.”

“Trey was with you at the service?”

“Yes. I suggested he come with me, and it did him the world of good.”

Ada had already struck Rex as a do-gooder, but the news of Trey’s whereabouts surprised him.

“A local church?” he asked.

“St. Thomas on Pear Tree Road.”

Pear Tree, a suburb of modest terraced housing, was located south of the city centre. If Trey had called from a public phone north of Derby less than an hour earlier, he could not have been attending church.

“Ms. Card, what kind of car do you drive?”

“Excuse me?”

“Make and colour of your car?”

“Why on earth?”

“I’m following a lead. As you may have heard, I solve mysteries in my spare time.” Rex hoped this would resonate with Ada, whom Trey had mentioned was an Agatha Christie fan. “Inspector Fiske is on board,” he added for good measure.

“Well, I don’t suppose it’s classified information,” Ada said loftily. “I own a mustard yellow Mini-Minor, called Mimi.”

Rex smiled to himself. “And what does Trey drive?” Jensen had mentioned a BMW coupe.

“A rather nice BMW,” Ada replied. “Don’t ask me what model, but a newer one. Midnight blue. I really don’t understand your line of inquiry, Mr. Graves.”

“I just need to confirm where Trey was this morning.”

“He spent the whole morning with me. He’s a sensitive young man and has been deeply affected by Cassie’s death, as you can imagine. They were secretly engaged, you know. I feel it prudent to keep an eye on him in his fragile state. His parents are away in Hong Kong, but his mother is coming home to be with him. Is there anything else?” Ada asked in a manner indicating she wished to terminate the conversation.

“Ehm, yes. If I could just have a quick word with Trey? Thank you again.”

“Trey, dear. Rex Graves wants to speak to you,” he heard her call out in a neutral tone.

“This is Trey.” The voice on the phone was similar to the one Rex had heard earlier, but calmer, less high now in pitch. From their first conversation in the hall, Rex had discerned that the mannerly, well-spoken Trey likely came from a family of means. Aside from which, Hong Kong was not exactly a budget destination.

“How are you bearing up, lad?”

“All right, thank you.”

“And how was church?”

“Fine.” Trey sounded less enthused than Ada had given herself credit for.

“Do you still have my business card?” Rex enquired.

“It’s in my wallet.”

“Good. I wasn’t sure if you had tried to reach me earlier.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, ring if you feel I might be able to help in any way.”

“I shall.”

Perplexed, Rex ended the call and unlocked the door of the Renault, but before he could get in, his mobile went off again, and this time it was Inspector Fiske.

“I’m very glad to hear from you,” Rex told him. “A few potentially interesting things have come up.”

“I’m all ears. I was going to grab a pub lunch. Perhaps we could meet up for a pint?”

“That would be grand, but my wife is preparing Sunday lunch.” Rex had an idea. “Why don’t you join us? Her friend Julie will be there. Helen is making roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. There’ll be plenty to go around, especially since Julie eats like a bird.”

“Cheers, I’d like that.” Fiske sounded genuinely pleased. “If you’re sure …”

“It would be our pleasure.” Rex gave the inspector directions to Helen’s house.

“Barley Close? I worked a case in that cul-de-sac. An affluent young married couple found dead in their home, while their daughter and her half-brother were asleep … The parents were found by the boy’s mother. Yes, I remember now: you turned that case on its head. So, this one will be your third in Derbyshire. Well, we’ll have lots to talk about. I can be there in half an hour.”

Rex called Helen immediately. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited Inspector Fiske to lunch.”

“Not a problem. We’ll just add another place setting. Good idea,” she added in a knowing tone. “For both you and Julie.”

Rex chuckled. “Are you matchmaking? Julie and Fiske are like chalk and cheese.”

“Opposites and all that,” Helen said with a hopeful lift in her voice.

Rex heard Julie say something in the background and Helen respond, “We have a surprise guest coming for lunch. Better get back to the pots and pans,” she told Rex.

“I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

He felt quite pleased with himself. Unlike Helen, he held out no hope in the matchmaking department, but the opportunity to spend some relaxed time with Fiske discussing the case and sharing new information was indeed heaven sent.