Merely Players (18 page)

They were a good combination, these two, she decided. They had both given every sign of respecting her grief, but she was sure that Peach had been probing to detect whether she had other men in her life and then whether Adam had been putting it about. Now this man was broadening the field of suspects. They were determined to take as much as they could from a meeting which had been put to her as merely a segment of police routine. ‘You'll need to question others about that. As I say, I haven't seen a lot of Adam in the last few months. I know he was planning to change his agent. I know that passions occasionally run high in the theatre and television, when people don't get the parts they want. It's a highly precarious business. Disappointments are accentuated by that. Adam wanted to switch off and enjoy his family life when he was away from the studio or location filming, which I understood. But it also means that I know nothing of any quarrels that might have occurred in the recent past. The people he's been working with might be able to tell you something about that. But I'm sure you'll find nothing which would be serious enough to warrant killing him.'

It was a long speech and she looked at the end of her resources. Peach flicked a look at Northcott, then said, ‘Thank you for being so helpful, Mrs Cassidy. We'll keep you in touch with developments. And we shall probably need to speak to you again in a few days, when we know more about this.'

She rose and accompanied them to the front door, where she stood watching until they had swung the car round and disappeared between the high brick gateposts.

Northcott had driven a slow mile through the lanes before Peach said, ‘You did well in there, Clyde. The best thing to aim at is to be a complementary team. It's not always just good-cop, bad-cop; you have to play it by ear. I'll need you to be a hard bastard at times – I know you can do that. At other times, like this morning, you need to seem sympathetic. Perhaps even to be genuinely sympathetic, if it helps us to get the information we need.'

Clyde knew that the DCI was thinking of that very different presence which had been beside him over the last three years, Lucy Blake. Good to know that the much-feared and much-admired Percy Peach could be a sentimental old sod, at times. But Clyde had far too much sense to voice that thought.

They had gone another half-mile before Peach said, ‘The first interview with the spouse of the victim is always difficult. You want to learn everything you can, but you can only push a grieving wife so far. She seemed a nice woman, Jane Cassidy. I wonder how deep her grief really goes.'

They had gone another half-mile before Peach said, ‘The first interview with the spouse of the victim is always difficult. You want to learn everything you can, but you can only push a grieving wife so far. She seemed a nice woman, Jane Cassidy. I wonder how deep her grief really goes.'

TWELVE

J
oe Hartley, the director of the Alec Dawson series, had been in the business for a long time. He had cut his teeth on documentaries, served three years as an assistant director on
Coronation Street
, directed a couple of moderately successful sitcoms, then confirmed his status and greatly increased his salary over the four series of
Call Alec Dawson
. Despite his proven talent, Joe was an unprepossessing figure. He was a little below average height, thin-limbed and scrawny rather than slim. His hair was straight, grey and thinning rapidly and his nose was a little crooked; it had been badly set after an accident in his last year at school forty years ago. His small grey eyes missed very little; they were set deep, behind silver-rimmed spectacles, in a face which was now deeply lined.

Few things in television could surprise Joe Hartley any more. But this was reality, not television. He had never before been interviewed by the police in a murder case. He was nervous and it showed.

Peach did nothing to ease the strain. A man on edge was likely to reveal much more than one who was relaxed and unthreatened – particularly when it came to those things he would rather conceal. The DCI nodded towards an unsmiling Clyde Northcott. ‘We're here in connection with the death of your big star. Mr Hartley, I'm told you're the man who can tell us most about his life in the last few months.'

‘I know nothing about this awful thing. I'm just a professional associate of Adam's. I stand to lose by this, not gain by it. I don't suppose we'll make another series, without our star.'

Peach's very black eyebrows rose towards the baldness of his pate, more eloquent than any words. ‘No one is suggesting you killed him, Mr Hartley. Not yet, anyway. I've merely been directed to you as a source of information. I'm told you are the man with what my chief superintendent calls “an overview” of the situation. You can tell me about who liked Cassidy and who disliked him; about his relationships with you and the rest of your cast. About his sexual preferences and how they manifested themselves.'

Hartley looked very doubtful. ‘So long as it's understood that I had nothing to do with this – that I'm just giving you information.'

Peach leaned even closer to him, making Joe wish that the office they had been allocated for this meeting was not so small and cramped. ‘Nothing is understood at present, Mr Hartley. Not until we know much more about what happened to your star.' He leaned back again and smiled, making Joe very conscious of a full set of healthy white teeth. ‘But if you've nothing to hide, then you've nothing to fear from us. Can't say fairer than that, can I?'

‘I suppose not. But are you sure that Adam was murdered?'

‘We are, yes. Even though it's not been officially announced yet. There you are, you see! I'm volunteering information to you already, when I should be gathering it in. Sometimes I think I'm too soft-hearted altogether for this job. DS Northcott here often tells me that I am.'

As Joe looked automatically at the big man, the long black face nodded solemnly. The dark eyes studied Hartley for a moment as if he were a specimen beneath a microscope. Then Northcott said, ‘When did you last see the victim, Mr Hartley?'

‘Last Friday. About three o'clock. But you surely can't think that I had—'

‘Did he seem his normal self then, or in any way upset?' Clyde did not even look up from his notebook to reassure his man. DCI Peach congratulated himself on a wise choice in his newly promoted sergeant.

‘His normal self, I think. He was looking forward to his weekend. Looking forward to the next few weeks, I think, when he'd have had time to himself before we began filming the new series.'

‘Looking forward to his weekend.' Clyde echoed the words slowly as he wrote them down. Then he looked hard into Hartley's eyes. ‘Did he tell you what he proposed to do in this weekend he was so looking forward to?'

‘No. Not that I can remember.'

‘And you surely would remember, as it's so recent and you're a man used to having to remember things.' This was Peach again, just as Joe was priming himself to address the tall man beside him. ‘A drama director has a lot of things to remember, I should think. He must get to know the men and women he directs quite intimately, as the weeks become months and the pressure on everyone increases. I think you're the best person to give us the names of the people Cassidy worked with most closely.'

Joe reeled them off, glad to be able to offer something to this formidable pair as evidence of his good faith. DS Northcott wrote seven names down in his notebook, with the odd detail about the importance of their roles which Hartley volunteered to him. Then Peach said sharply, ‘Which of these people had cause to dislike Adam Cassidy, Joe?'

Joe tried not to conjecture what this first use of his forename might imply. He licked his lips and said, ‘There are always things flying about among a cast working intensively together. We try to foster an ensemble attitude in our actors, because we think team playing is important when they've been brought together for a series. Emotions run high and the degree of friendship varies. But I'm sure no one hated Adam enough to kill him.'

‘Did I mention hate, Joe? I think I used the word “dislike”. Important that. Briefs don't like you twisting their words, when you're in court. Be best if you just tell us everything you know, and let us worry about the degree of dislike.'

Joe didn't at all like the mention of briefs and courts. ‘Yes, I can see what you mean. And I must emphasize that I only saw what went on when we were rehearsing and filming. I make it a policy to know as little as possible about what goes on in people's private lives.'

‘Do you, indeed? Pity, that, from our point of view. We'd like you to be able to come straight out and tell us who blew Adam Cassidy almost in two. But I suppose if you can't, you can't.' He made it sound as though it was a highly suspicious omission on the director's part.

Joe was anxious now to offer them everything he could. ‘Two of the people I've mentioned had good reason to be . . .well, to be, shall we say, disappointed with Adam.'

‘Shall we say “disappointed” or not, Joe? I'm in your hands, here. You're the only one in possession of the facts.'

This man was unlike any policeman in the limited range Joe Hartley had met before. When James Walton had said that these people wanted to speak to him, he had expected it to be quiet and sympathetic. He had half-expected them to be deferential, in view of his status as a major director. Now he was terrified of missing out anything which might prove significant, which might lead this man with the sharp black eyes which never left Joe's face to come back and accuse him of concealment. He said hastily, hearing the tremor in his voice, ‘I'd better tell you everything I know, and let you decide what to make of it.'

Now Peach almost purred behind his sudden smile. ‘Much the best policy, Joe, as I think I indicated to you at the outset. Let
us
follow up these little disagreements. Let
us
see whether they grew into hate when people were away from the set. We shan't even reveal the source of our information when we speak to the parties involved.'

Hartley took a deep breath. He was now pathetically anxious to convince them that he was being absolutely honest. ‘Dean Morley was an old friend of Adam's. He'd appeared in the last episode of the
Call Alec Dawson
series we've just completed. The producer and I had him in mind for a major role in the next series. He was going to be the master-villain who controls all the people operating against Alec. That way he would have been in every episode.'

‘Would have been, Joe?'

‘Yes. The plans were changed. Dean wasn't going to get that part, after all.'

‘I see. And who changed the plans?'

‘Adam Cassidy did. Stars don't cast people, but they have the right of veto over casting. Adam asserted that right.'

‘I see. Did Morley know about this?'

‘Yes. James Walton, our producer, has overall responsibility for casting. He said it was only fair to let people know as quickly as possible that they weren't going to be involved, so as to give them the chance to look for other work.'

‘You said “people”. Were there others involved in losing parts they thought they'd secured?'

Hartley gave a little sigh, as if lamenting the foolishness of human behaviour. ‘There was one. The woman we'd thought ideal for the female lead in the next series, Michelle Davies. Adam suddenly said he didn't want her.'

DS Northcott made a note of this second name, then said, ‘From what you say, Cassidy seems to have gone along with these changes initially.'

Joe paused, wanting to get this exactly right; he needed to be rid of this formidable pair, once and for all. ‘I don't think he'd given his formal approval. Things don't work that way; actors normally leave the producer to get everything in place for the next series. But a kind of tradition has grown up that the star can intervene if he really objects to someone. No one thinks it's a good system, but it's a fact of life. Everyone knows that once the lead actor in a series becomes a well-known face to the millions who watch it, the whole thing falls apart if he decides to withdraw. So he accumulates powers over casting which he never had at the outset. In the great days of Hollywood, the studio bosses controlled the stars. In British television, it's the star players who have the power – sometimes to make and break careers. For the last two series, Adam Cassidy has had the right to veto casting built into his contract.'

Peach frowned. ‘So Mr Walton had to tell both Dean Morley and Michelle Davies that they weren't going to get the leading roles they had expected. Did he tell them that it was Mr Cassidy who had made this decision?'

‘I'm sure he did. James was furious with Adam for forcing his hand when we both thought everything was decided. We spoke afterwards and he said that both Dean and Michelle had virtually been told they were in and were delighted about it. James was furious because he felt he'd been undermined. He'd every intention of letting both Dean and Michelle know just who it was who had dumped them.'

‘Do you know when he told them?'

‘Yes. He said he had to tell them in person and as quickly as possible. He had them both in to his office on Thursday morning of last week.'

Clyde Northcott made a careful note of that, then said thoughtfully, ‘About thirty-six hours before Adam Cassidy was last seen alive.'

It was twelve thirty before Jane Cassidy finally managed to make contact. ‘I've been trying to get you all morning. Ever since the CID men left.'

Her voice was nervous, resentful, almost accusing. He said, ‘Calm down, Jane. I've been out and about on the farm. I told you I would be.'

‘You could have taken your mobile with you. You knew they were coming here at ten.'

‘I did, yes. But I never take my mobile when I'm working in the fields or in the shippon. My workers know that; they know that I don't like being interrupted on the farm. We have to follow the routines we normally do, until the police arrest someone for this. That's what we agreed. We don't want to attract suspicion. I knew you'd get me on the landline if I came home for lunch. There's only me here.'