He was fully prepared to get his face slapped for that, but her reply was surprisingly mild. ‘He was away a lot. I suppose in the nature of things he must have met other girls, had the occasional fling. I never asked. At least he had the decency to keep that sort of thing away from his own doorstep.’
‘He never talked about any girl-friends?’
‘No. We had a good marriage.’ Her persistence on this point was again unsettling. If the marriage was that good, if she had been so desolated by her husband’s death, how could she be so cool and collected and even sexy (yes, definitely sexy) so soon afterwards?
‘And you never met any of his girl-friends?’
‘Never. He wouldn’t humiliate me. It was a good marriage,’ she insisted.
‘Yes. Of course. So the name Janine Bentley doesn’t mean anything to you?’
She shook her head. Charles elaborated. ‘Janine Bentley is a dancer. She was in the Hunstanton company. Backstage gossip said she was having an affair with your husband just before he died. Backstage gossip also said they had a serious row on the afternoon of his death.’
‘What? And you think she might have murdered him out of spite?’ Carla asked with wonderment.
Charles shrugged. ‘It’s a theory. I’d certainly like to talk to her. Unfortunately she’s disappeared.’
‘But she’s your main suspect?’
‘I wouldn’t say that, but she seems to have had more motive than anyone else. Also opportunity. If I found out something more which pointed to her guilt, I’d be prepared to be very suspicious.’
‘I see.’ Carla Pratt seemed to be thinking something out. When she spoke again, it was with much greater fluency. Maybe now for the first time she felt that she was not under suspicion and could speak freely. ‘I think I have heard of her.’
‘From Bill?’
‘In a way.’
‘I heard a rumour that she was very serious about him. Talking about marriage, expecting him to divorce you, that sort of thing.’
‘Bill would never have divorced me.’
‘You sound almost as if you wish he had.’
The wistfulness of its tone had given her remark that flavour, but she bridled strongly at the suggestion. ‘Certainly not. You got me all wrong if you think that. All I ever wanted was to go on being with Bill. It was a very good marriage.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry. I was being facetious. Going back to Janine. The rumours I heard suggested that the row she had with your husband on the afternoon of his death was caused by her threat to tell you about their relationship.’
Carla Pratt was silent for a long time after this. When she did speak, for the first time in their conversation her voice was a little unsteady with emotion. ‘You seem to know so much, I might as well tell you.’
Charles made a sympathetic grunt, unwilling to break her new confidential mood with words.
‘She did tell me. She rang up here. About a week before Bill died. She said they were having this affair and they wanted to get married and I ought to know.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I didn’t believe her. I mean, I believed Bill was having a bit of fun with her — he liked girls — but nothing serious, no. So after she’d spoken, I rang him and asked. He admitted the affair, but he said she had got it all out of proportion. Apparently she was very mixed-up. Strange kid, a bit unbalanced, so Bill said. Certainly she sounded it when she talked to me.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She talked about men. Other men she had known. How they’d all been bastards until she met Bill. Apparently she’d had some long affair with a guy in a rock group, trailing round the country, following his tours. That had turned sour. She sounded sort of manic, if that’s the word.’ As Carla Pratt talked, her posh accent was eroded and the Cockney showed through.
‘Did she make any threats against Bill — or indeed against you?’
‘No. If she had, I daresay I’d have thought about it when he died and put two and two together.’ The last word came out as ‘togevver.’
‘You didn’t have any further contact with her?’
‘None at all. She was really weird on the phone, sort of spooky, like people in those exorcism films.’
‘And you’ve no idea where she is now? As I say, she’s disappeared.’
‘Haven’t a clue. Never even met her. Only spoke to her the once. And you know, now I come to think of it, after I come off the phone from talking to her, I felt really frightened.’
As the Underground slowly took him back into central London, Charles went through the interview in his mind. It was full of strange inconsistencies. Carla’s image of her husband seemed so at variance with everyone else’s. Still, marriage must involve a degree of blindness to the partner’s faults. Perhaps it was natural enough. So, come to think of it, was her initial fear that Charles was suspicious of her as her husband’s killer. However illogical, everyone’s first instinct is to feel guilty. And no doubt her poised sexy exterior was just a carefully built up bastion against uncontrollable emotion.
More important than the contradiction in Carla Pratt’s character was the illumination she had given into the character of Janine Bentley. He had had difficulty visualizing the girl as a calculating killer. Other descriptions had suggested a rather anonymous, quiet little thing.
But a girl who sounded unbalanced, indeed a girl who would make the kind of phone-call described, was a much more disturbing proposition. And there was another important detail — a girl who had spent a lot of time trailing round after a rock group would pick up some sort of knowledge of how their equipment worked and might well know how to stage a fatal ‘accident’.
It was even more imperative that he should find Janine Bentley.
CHAPTER SEVEN
COMIC: Did you hear about the Irish tap dancer?
FEED: No.
COMIC: He fell in the sink.
Charles thought it would be tempting providence to approach Mr. Mike Green (he who conducted business under an assumed nose) in another disguise. The ‘raincoat debacle’ had dealt a blow to his faith in his protean abilities.
Vocally, though, he retained his confidence and it was the perky voice he had used in Fings Ain’t What They Used To Be (‘The boldness of choosing this piece was not justified by the company’s abilities’ — Leamington Spa Courier) that was transferred through by the suspicious secretary to Mr. Green.
‘Hello. You say you are from The Sun?’
‘That’s right. Bob Cherry of Photographic Features department.’ Oops. Silly choice of name.
But fortunately Mr. Green did not seem to be a reader of the Billy Bunter stories. ‘I see. What can I do for you?’
‘Idea came up at an editorial meeting for doing a series of features on dance groups — gather you represent These Foolish Things — wonder if I could contact the group, have a bit of a chat, background stuff, then if the idea seems to be working send along a photographer, take a few pics. Any objections in principle?’
‘No, not in principle, no. When would you want to do this?’
‘’Fraid it’s a bit of a rush job — want to get something rough mapped out today, so that the editor can run his peepers over it, give us the go-ahead on the series.’
‘Hmm. It might be difficult today. The boys and girls are in rehearsal at the moment.’
Charles took a risk. ‘Oh well, if it’s not convenient, never mind. I’ve got a long list of other dance groups drawn up. Thank you for your time.’
‘No, no, just a minute.’ As Charles had hoped, the lure of publicity in the national press was too strong. ‘Look, I’m sure they could take a break for a quick chat. Wouldn’t be long, would it?’
‘Quarter of an hour top-weight.’
‘Fine. Then I’ll tell you where they are rehearsing. It’s — just a minute, there is one thing.’