nineteen

Later that evening, a phone call interrupted Rex and Helen’s quiet dinner at home.

“It’s Penny,” he said after removing the mobile from his pocket and viewing the screen.

“You had better answer it. It must be important for her to be ringing you.”

He did so. “Hello, Penny. Before I forget: no joy at the corner shop. I popped in there after the service, but neither the owner nor his son, who helps out, remember a man in a long, black, buttoned coat coming in on Friday. Any news at your end?” he asked hopefully. Presumably, it wasn’t a social call.

“Well, yes, actually.”

“Wait a second while I put you on speaker. Helen’s with me. Go on, Penny.”

“Inspector Fiske has taken Christopher Ells in for further questioning.” Penny’s sophisticated voice reverberated from the phone. “Paul Reddit rang me about it. The inspector and his sergeant paid Christopher a house call this evening. He was cooperative and let them look around his flat, and it appears they found some incriminating items. Of course, Paul didn’t use the word incriminating, because he’s undertaken Christopher’s defence, but what they discovered was enough for the detectives to arrest him.”

“Paul told me he doesn’t practise criminal law.”

“He’ll be doing it as a favour. If Christopher is charged with murder, Paul will no doubt find an experienced barrister to defend him.”

“What did the detectives find?”

“He wouldn’t say. I thought you could find out more. I can’t pretend I’m altogether surprised. I mean, of everyone involved in the play, Christopher Ells was somewhere at the top of my list.”

“Because?”

“Well, mostly because he’s a bit strange. Dark. I don’t know; it’s just a feeling. But at the same time, it’s a relief. I was going out of my mind with uncertainty. And then today at the memorial service, I kept thinking, Is it her? Is it him?”

“I know what you mean.” Rex had been viewing everyone with suspicion as well. “That certainly is an interesting development. Thanks for filling us in, Penny.” He ended the call and pensively took up his knife and fork.

He had not expected such a speedy arrest. And to be honest with himself, he felt slightly miffed. When had Fiske decided Christopher Ells was a prime suspect? He had spoken with the inspector only that afternoon, and Fiske had never let on, although he had said something about Ells being the most reticent of the witnesses. However, that in and of itself did not warrant a home visit. He would call Paul Reddit after dinner and find out what he could.

“Does that mean you’re off the case?” Helen asked with a sympathetic expression.

“It rather looks that way.” Rex cut into a roast potato. “I’m a little surprised. I mean, Ells’ alibi is perhaps not as airtight as some of the others’, but …” he trailed off with a mystified shrug.

The butler had been spotted on the backstage steps taking a snifter of gin, but had anyone really been paying close attention at that point? Rodney Snyder had noticed him, but had been busy on his phone, as had Dennis Caldwell and Andrew Forsythe, and Tony had been working on lessons for his primary schoolers. Could Ells have run up onstage, shot Cassie, and returned to the stairs before anyone realized he had been gone? Just possibly. And what were the items found at his flat?

Rex sighed and said to Helen, “Ah, well, let’s see what Mr. Reddit has to say.”

At first, the solicitor did not have much to say at all, wishing to respect his client’s privacy, but professional courtesy or curiosity as to what the Scottish barrister might make of the potential evidence ultimately prompted him to agree to divulge the information, subject to Rex promising confidentiality on his part.

“You have my absolute discretion,” Rex assured him.

“All right then. Hur-rum. A packet of thin latex gloves, allegedly stolen from the hospital where Ells works, and identical to one found in the playing fields by Hill Grange Community Centre, was discovered at his flat. But more significant, perhaps,” said the solicitor, “is what Inspector Fiske described as a shrine dedicated to Cassie in his bedroom.”

“A shrine?” Rex repeated with interest.

“Photos and newspaper clippings of her, pre-dating her death, pasted on the wall, and news stories pertaining to her demise stored in a folder in a desk drawer. Those relating to her roles in local productions go back a year. Some of the photos are amateur close-ups of her taken in a pub.”

“Possibly after the dress rehearsal on Wednesday, when they all went to celebrate. Any cartridges matching the murder weapon?” Clearly, the detectives were now treating the shooting as a murder.

“No, nothing like that. However …” The solicitor hesitated at the other end of the line.

“There’s something else?” Rex probed.

“Hur-rum, yes. It seems our Mr. Ells has a criminal record.”

This was what must have led Fiske to make further inquiries. “What sort of criminal record?”

“Assault and battery of an ex-wife,” Reddit revealed with a resigned sigh. “Five years ago. He received a suspended sentence.”

“A history of violence against women. But no smoking gun,” Rex summarized.

“He hasn’t been charged yet. They’ve put him in a cell overnight. Mr. Ells appointed me to represent him, but I’m feeling rather out of my depth. I’ll see him through the preliminaries, but if he’s remanded in custody, I’ll have to find him someone with experience in murder trials.”

“Is it your opinion Ells murdered Cassie Chase?”

“Of course not,” Reddit answered dutifully. “But Inspector Fiske appears to think otherwise.”

After the call, Rex settled back in the living room armchair and mulled over how strong a case the police had against Ells. He was perhaps the only member of the cast and production team whose movements were not fully accounted for. His obsession with Cassie had been going on for a year, long before rehearsals had begun for Peril at Pinegrove Hall, as indicated by the newspaper articles in his possession. And yet, when the inspector and sergeant had visited his home, their suspect had let them take a look around, on the surface suggesting he felt he had nothing to hide. That he had latex gloves of the same type found near the community centre was circumstantial at best, as a defence lawyer would argue in court.

Rex returned with his empty tea mug to the kitchen, where Helen was loading towels into the washing machine.

“Does it look bad for the butler?” she asked, glancing up from her task.

“Mr. Reddit swore me to secrecy, so I can’t get into specifics, but Ells is a viable suspect. I have little choice but to leave the case to the police. Considering we’re heading back to Edinburgh tomorrow, it’s probably just as well.”

“You won’t be happy,” Helen predicted as she closed the porthole door of the machine. “Incidentally, Julie rang just now wondering if, in the course of your conversations with Mike Fiske, he may have mentioned her.”

Rex shook his head, taking no pleasure in breaking the news. “I think he was quite taken with you, though.”

“Well, I’m already taken,” his wife said airily. “So, no hope for Julie then?”

“Perhaps she could try the bass guitarist in the band she mentioned. He may have more appealing arms than the drummer.”

“Rex, you are too wicked. I know how you feel about Julie, but I’ve known her since university, and we’ve been through a lot together. She’s like a sister.”

“I know, and I like Julie well enough, I do. I just wish sometimes she would act her age.”

Helen expelled a sigh. “Well, I can’t disagree with you there.”

Rex crossed the kitchen and took her in his arms. “Let’s forget about Julie’s love life and the case for the time being and watch our wedding.”

They had seen the DVD only once, with Rex’s mother, the night before they had driven to Derby for the long weekend.

“Lovely idea,” Helen said, hugging him close and calling him a big softie. She picked the laundry basket off the floor.

“A sherry?” he asked.

“Please.”

Rex poured the drinks and took them into the living room, where he set them down on the coffee table and opened his lap top. From his briefcase, he retrieved the two CD-ROMs capturing for posterity their traditional Scottish wedding in the Highlands, replete with swords and bagpipes. The first disc contained the marriage ceremony at Gleneagle Kirk; the second, the lavish reception at his nearby country retreat, an erstwhile hunting lodge located on a secluded loch.

A wedding planner had orchestrated the banquet down to the flower arrangements and tartan napkins, the menu a sumptuous spread of delicacies, including smoked salmon and roast beef, and a giant champagne sorbet in the shape of two swans, garnished with fruit.

His wife joined him on the sofa and they settled down to watch the opening panoramic view of the sun-dappled moors, purple with heather, surrounding the ancient stone church. The guests in elegant hats gathered outside, waiting for the groom and bride to arrive, Rex pulling up with his son Campbell and his colleague Alistair Frazer in one chauffeur-driven limousine, and Helen, ten minutes later, in another, accompanied by her sister Corinne and Julie, matron and maid-of-honour.

Finally, the big moment. Helen, serene in a cream silk gown and a sheer stiff veil crowned with yellow roses. Rex removing the long white glove from her left hand in preparation for slipping on the wedding band. And then catastrophe. A hungover Alistair had misplaced the ring, causing panic at the altar while he searched through the pockets of his gold silk waistcoat and pinstripe trousers. After a few anxious moments, he produced it with a flourish, and Rex realized that his friend had done it in jest and shot him a look promising to get him back later. Helen laughed into her chest and guests in the front pews chuckled. The minister pronounced them man and wife.

The solemn kiss, soft and lingering, had been sublime, Rex filled with such a sense of contentment and completeness that he had taken his hands from Helen’s radiant face and pumped his fists in the air, and the church had echoed with cheers.

Just then, his phone went off for the second time that night, yanking him back to the present. The mantelpiece clock softly chimed nine o’clock.

“Who can that be now?” Helen asked, reaching for her sherry on the coffee table.

Rex studied the number on his phone. “I don’t know, but at least we didn’t miss the best part of the wedding. Rex Graves,” he answered.

“It’s Tim Holden,” burst an urgent voice at the other end. “I’m phoning from the police station on Prime Park Way, Chester Green. Can you come? Ells ratted me out.”