‘I crave it, Inspector,’ she confessed, using sensual fingers to caress her silver necklace. ‘I love the sight, the feel, the gleam of it. I’ve been an avid collector for years. Fortunately, most of the pieces have come from admirers in whom I took the trouble to confide my life-long yearning for silver.’ Getting up, she crossed the room to open a portmanteau, taking out a velvet-covered jewellery box. ‘These are some of the gifts that Desdemona garnered for me.’
Opening the lid of the box, she showed him an array of rings, brooches and earrings, all superbly fashioned in silver. The most striking object was a small statue with arms outstretched. Colbeck was quick to identify it.
‘That’s you as Desdemona,’ he said. ‘I remember that gesture vividly as you pleaded with Othello.’
‘Nigel presented it to me at the end of that season,’ she said, taking the statue out to admire it. ‘You can imagine how much the contents of this box cost, Inspector, and I travel with larger objects as well. It’s the other reason I went to ground in here yesterday,’ she told him, replacing the statue and closing the lid. ‘If someone was prepared to kill for a silver coffee pot, I felt that my own collection might be in danger – not to mention my life.’
‘The hotel has a safe, Miss Linnane.’
‘That’s where everything will go when I leave for the theatre.’
‘A wise decision,’ he said.
Admiring her as an actress, Colbeck found her less appealing as a woman, her self-absorption masking any finer qualities she might have. Her towering vanity matched that of Nigel Buckmaster. He waited until she had put the jewellery box away in the portmanteau and resumed her seat. She beamed at him with the confidence of a woman who could rely on her beauty to enchant any man.
‘How would you describe Mr Kellow?’ asked Colbeck.
‘He was very reserved, Inspector,’ she replied, ‘and ill at ease in our company. As a rule, when I find myself travelling in public, men have a tendency to steal at least a glance at me. Some just stare blatantly. Mr Kellow barely raised his eyes. I felt that he was rather immature for his age – or perhaps naïve would be a better word. He was certainly not a man of the world.’
‘That may have been his downfall, Miss Linnane.’
‘As a silversmith, however, he obviously had a promising future ahead of him. When he talked about that coffee pot, he came alive for the first time. I felt that he was a kindred spirit – bewitched by the magic of silver. He spoke with such intense pride about his work.’
‘He also mentioned a sister, I hear.’
‘Yes, Inspector. The poor creature only has one week’s holiday a year. Mr Kellow was saving up to take her to Margate. He was a very caring brother.’
‘So it seems,’ said Colbeck. ‘What else can you tell me about him? Did you see, for instance, if anyone was at the station to meet him when the train pulled in?’
‘I saw nobody waiting for him.’
‘But there might have been someone.’
‘The platform was very crowded and I had to make sure that my luggage was unloaded properly. By the time we left the railway station,’ she said, ‘Mr Kellow had long disappeared. Yet instead of delivering that coffee pot, he was in this very hotel – being killed only yards from my door!’ She put the back of her hand to her forehead as if about to swoon, an attitude, Colbeck recalled, that she had struck as Desdemona. ‘Nigel actually identified the body. He told me that it was a frightening spectacle. I could never have gone into that room.’
‘That’s why the superintendent didn’t call upon you.’
‘I prefer to remember Mr Kellow as he was on the train.’
‘That’s a sensible policy, Miss Linnane.’
‘It’s the only way I can get over the shock of it all,’ she said, then she seemed to dismiss Kellow entirely from her mind. Her manner was conversational. ‘Will you be staying long in Cardiff, Inspector?’
‘I’ll be here until the case is solved.’
‘Then you’ll have the time to visit the Theatre Royal.’
‘I’ll make a point of doing so,’ said Colbeck. ‘On my way there yesterday, I was given a playbill by one of the company – a charming young lady named Miss Tremaine.’
Kate frowned. ‘She has some decorative appeal on stage, I grant you,’ she conceded, ‘but she’s far too wooden to be an actress. Handing our playbills is more suitable employment for her.’
Colbeck heard the note of contempt in her voice. For the second time, he had a surge of sympathy for Laura Tremaine. While the actor-manager and leading lady enjoyed the luxury of the Railway Hotel, Laura would be staying in some squalid boarding house in the suburbs, dreaming, probably in vain, of the time when she would take leading parts in the classical repertoire. One thing was clear. The young actress would get neither help nor encouragement from Kate Linnane. The only person in whom she was interested was herself.
‘Thank you, Miss Linnane,’ he said, getting up. ‘You’ve been very helpful. I’ll intrude on you no longer.’
‘Having you here has reassured me greatly.’
‘I’m glad to hear that.’
‘If this case is left in the hands of bumbling local policemen, it would never be solved.’
Colbeck sprang to his friend’s defence. ‘You do Superintendent Stockdale a disservice,’ he said with polite firmness. ‘He’s extremely competent and polices this town well.’
‘I found him a trifle vulgar,’ said Kate.
‘We must agree to differ on that score.’
She produced her most bewitching smile. ‘I suspect that we’d agree on most other things, Inspector.’
She offered her hand and he placed a token kiss on it before letting himself out. Colbeck felt as if he had been watching a performance rather than having a normal conversation. To a woman like Kate Linnane, even one person constituted an audience. As he walked along the passageway, he had the uncomfortable sensation of being watched and he threw a glance over his shoulder. Nobody was there yet he still sensed a presence. It was unsettling. When he turned the corner, therefore, he came to a sudden halt after a few steps then flattened his back against the wall. He inched his way towards the corner so that he could peer around the angle. He was just in time to see the shadowy figure of a man going into Kate Linnane’s room before closing the door behind him.
* * *
‘Where the devil have you been, man?’ roared Edward Tallis from behind his desk. ‘I expected you ages ago.’
‘I had some calls to make, Superintendent,’ said Leeming.
‘Your first call should have been here so that you could tell me what happened yesterday evening. Instead of that, you stay away for hours. You’d better have a very good reason for doing so.’
‘I visited the house where Mr Kellow lodged.’
‘Did you learn anything pertinent to the investigation?’
‘I believe so, sir.’
‘Well, spit it out,’ ordered Tallis. ‘And don’t stand there dithering like that – sit down.’
Victor Leeming obeyed, sinking on to the chair in front of the desk. It did not get any easier. No matter how many times he went into his superior’s office, he still felt like an errant schoolboy hauled up before a tyrannical headmaster. Tallis had the authority of a man who had spent most of his career in the army, commanding soldiers in war-torn parts of the Empire. Now in his fifties, he was beak-nosed, broad-shouldered and portly, a shock of grey hair contrasting sharply with the rubicund hue of his cheeks. A well-trimmed moustache decorated his upper lip like a third eyebrow. His rasping voice made his question sound like an accusation.
‘What have you done since you left here yesterday?’
‘I did as you instructed, sir,’ replied Leeming, ‘and called on Mr Voke. Some interesting facts emerged.’