To Charles it all seemed wrong. In his experience the really big agents worked from dusty garrets or anonymous boxes. Dickie Peck, one of the most important of the lot, had an office as musty and in need of decoration as the bar of a provincial rep.
Miffy rose expansively and gestured to the Chesterfield. As close as this, Charles was very aware of his adversary’s powerful build. A little chill spread over him at the thought of what he was about to do.
‘Glad you could come so soon, Charles. Like a cup of tea, eh?’
‘Thank you.’
Miffy pressed the switch of his intercom and gave the order. The self-conscious way he used the machine confirmed the impression given by its glossy exterior. He had kitted himself out with the complete set of props when he moved into the office.
‘Nice place.’ Charles said it to gain a little time and because he thought he might as well at least start on a friendly basis.
Miffy glowed. ‘Yes, I’m pleased with it. I’ve always had this theory that if you’re going to move into the big league, you got to look as if you’re there already.’
‘Not a bad principle. And you are moving into the big league?’
‘Sure I am. Whole scene needs a shake-up. All the top names in the agency business are old men now. Need a bit of young blood. It’s wide open.’
‘Good.’
‘Good for my clients, yes. Now, like I said on the phone, I only deal with Variety stuff. Fine while you’re with Lennie doing that sort of work, but if the calls start coming through from the Royal Bloody Shakespeare Company, I wouldn’t know where to begin.’
‘The Royal Bloody Shakespeare Company has managed to do without my services for the past eleven years and I doubt if they’re planning a major policy switch.’
‘No, I was speaking, like, generally. I mean, that’s what you are basically, an actor, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose so.’ Charles hesitated. He was feeling uncomfortable. He could go on with this banter indefinitely, but if he didn’t make some sort of move soon, he was going to walk out in ten minutes under contract to the man he had come to accuse. He blurted out, ‘I’ve come about Bill Peaky’.
‘Bill Peaky.’ Miffy looked bewildered.
‘Yes. I know he was murdered.’
‘Murdered.’ Again the repetition sound genuinely flummoxed. But Charles did not have a chance to assess the reaction. He heard the soft click of a door behind him and saw Miffy Turtle’s eyes rise, puzzled, to the person who had just come in.
Charles turned to find himself looking up the barrel of a small black pistol at the end of which was a tight-lipped Carla.
Miffy spoke first. ‘What the hell are you doing, love?’
Her voice had entirely lost its elocuted veneer. ‘It’s all right, Miff. I should have told you before. He came sniffing round the house with this murder story, but I thought I’d thrown him off your scent. Now it looks like we’re going to have to keep him quiet.’
She waved the gun vaguely, but not vaguely enough to be reassuring. ‘Now, please, Mrs. Pratt,’ Charles remonstrated.
‘Keep still. I don’t know how he worked it out, Miff, but you must’ve made some mistake, not cleared your tracks properly. What are we going to do with him?’
‘I don’t bloody know.’ The agent sounded extremely confused. He had not started the afternoon with any plans for silencing and disposing of the bodies of men who knew too much and his mind was taking a little while to accommodate the idea.
‘How did you find it out, Mr. Paris?’ asked Carla, the gun still describing unsettling pirouettes in her hand.
‘Various things. I found out that Miffy hadn’t been in your husband’s dressing room during the interval on the day he died. That Dickie Peck was set to steal your husband as a client. And then I. . discovered that you two were lovers. So I put two and two together.’
‘And got bloody seventeen.’ Miffy Turtle was through his confused stage and a definable mood had now emerged. That mood was extreme anger. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Murder? What is this? Are you rehearsing for a play or something? Or is it some bloody stupid practical joke? ’Cause the humour’s wearing a bit thin and I — ’
Carla silenced him. ‘Miffy, don’t bother. You’re not going to persuade him off it now he’s got the idea into his head. We got to decide what to do with him. If he goes to the police — ’
‘If he goes to the police, they’ll laugh their bloody heads off and tell him not to waste their time. Good God, Carla, d’you really believe I killed Bill?’
‘Well. .’
‘Go on, do you?’
She faced her lover defiantly. ‘All right. Yes, I do. And what’s more, I don’t care. I don’t love you less for it. In fact, I love you more. To think you would do that for me, to think you were prepared to get that little creep out of my life so that we could be together. . I’ll do whatever you say. What are we going to do about him?’ She pointed the gun at Charles.
Miffy was silent. When he spoke, his voice was cold. ‘Listen, Carla. One, I don’t believe Bill was murdered. Two, if he was, I didn’t do it.’
She broke the ensuing silence, but didn’t get far before he snapped back at her savagely. ‘And let me tell you that to hear you thought me capable of murdering him is the worst news I’ve had for some long time. Good God, I thought we knew each other, trusted each other.’
‘But you kept saying you wished he was out of the way. You said you wanted us to get married and — ’
‘Yes, I said that. Whether I still mean it after this afternoon I’m not so sure. But I meant I wanted him to divorce you. I am not a killer, Carla.’
Suddenly she broke. Her lover’s anger destroyed her and she sank weeping to the floor. The gun dropped noisily beside her.
Miffy didn’t go to help. He looked coldly at Charles, who had been ignored through the preceding exchange, and said, with some dignity, ‘I think you’d better leave my office’.
‘No, I’m sorry. I came here certain that you killed Bill Peaky and you still haven’t given me any reason to change my opinion. You certainly had the motive and you had the opportunity. Unless you can provide yourself with an alibi for the whole of the interval, I’m still not going to be satisfied.’
‘All right.’ Miffy Turtle sounded dangerously grim. ‘I took Dickie bloody Peck round to Bill’s dressing room. I then went to find one of the dancers who was ill. She hadn’t appeared in the first-half closer and I wanted to know why. I had money in that show; I was concerned about the production.’
‘The girl was Janine Bentley?’ Charles knew the answer, but still asked the question.
‘Yes. I found her with the theatre St. John’s Ambulance man and stayed with her until a taxi came to take her home.’
So there it was — back to Harry, the St. John’s Ambulance man. Checkable, certainly. But fairly convincing. Unless Janine and Miffy were in league. Unless the St. John’s Ambulance man had killed Peaky. Charles suddenly felt very tired and very much like a man on the eve of his fifty-first birthday. ‘I’ll check your alibi,’ he said defiantly, but without conviction.
‘You bloody check it. And think yourself lucky I haven’t knocked your bloody block off.’
Charles rose with what dignity he could muster. He was almost at the door when Miffy spoke again. His voice had softened now and was musing, curious. ‘Do you really think Bill was murdered?’
Charles nodded.
‘Good God.’ Miffy shook his head sadly. ‘I knew he was unpopular, but I didn’t think anyone. .’ He stopped. ‘Unless. .’
‘Yes?’ Charles was alert for any clues to help him out of the confusion which was building up inside his head.
‘Only one person I know might have done it.’
‘Hmm?’ He tried not to sound too eager.
‘I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t say it, but I did hear him having an argument with Bill. Also he’s a junkie, so I shouldn’t think he knows what he’s doing when he’s had a fix. Hmm. I don’t know.’
‘Who are you talking about?’
‘Boy called Chox Morton. Roadie with Mixed Bathing.’