IMPERFECTION by Ray Clark (good books to read for women TXT) 📕

us wages on time, doesn’t grumble if you have a day off sick. He often pops down to see how I’m doing. No, if you’re looking for a scapegoat, Gardener, he’s not your man.”

“Pleased to hear it,” said Gardener, moving on. “Let’s go back to last Saturday. What time did you start work?”

“I was here early that day, I wanted to have a chat with Leonard White. Started work about eight in the morning.” Fettle finally finished his sandwich, and scooped up another from the lunchbox.

“Anyone else around at that time?”

“Cleaners.”

“No one else?” inquired Gardener.

“I don’t think so, box office staff, maybe.”

“Anything strange happened around here recently? You’ve not received any odd phone calls, threatening letters from anyone?”

“Well, if we had, I wouldn’t know about ’em. I don’t get involved in that side of it. It’s my job to greet the people who come through that door and down the stairs.” Fettle gestured with his eyes.

“So, you were here when Leonard White arrived?” asked Gardener.

“Aye, I was that.”

“Which was what time?”

“After his mysterious trunk had been delivered.”

Gardener’s senses went on full alert. “What trunk?”

“Bloody great big thing it were. Van were outside the roller shutter door at the back of the stage. Bloke had dropped the tailgate on the stage and slid the trunk out afore asking me to sign.”

“Any slogans on the van?” Reilly asked. “Any advertising?”

“There were nowt. It were just a white one.”

“What did the driver look like?”

“He was wearing a black cap. Had a cig in his mouth, but it wasn’t lit. He were quite big, around six foot I’d say, same build as your mate here. He wore a pair of dark brown overalls and he walked with a limp, ’cause I wondered how the bloody hell he’d managed to move the trunk, but it was in front of me almost afore I’d signed.”

“Did he say where he was from?” asked Gardener.

“No, in fact he didn’t say much, apart from, ‘sign here’.”

“Did he say where the trunk had come from, or who’d given him instructions to deliver it here?”

“No. The trunk was big and black, quite old, had Leonard White’s name on the side of it.”

“What happened after you’d signed?”

“He jumped back in the van and took off.”

“Did you notice the registration?” asked Reilly.

“No. I don’t normally take deliveries.” Fettle took a bite of his sandwich and a slurp of tea.

“Who does?”

“Stagehands, mostly.”

“So, how did you find out about the delivery?”

“Van pulled up outside here first.” Fettle pointed to the grimy, frosted window that formed part of his room. “Then the door at the top of the stairs opened, and someone shouted ‘delivery for Leonard White’, and that were it. He were back in the van and driving down the bottom afore I could say owt else.”

“So, by the time you arrived on the stage, everything had more or less been done?”

“Aye, I signed and he took off.”

“Was the tailgate still down, or had he lifted it back up?”

“Back up.”

“Did you inspect the trunk, open it up to see what was inside?”

“No, but it were locked anyway, bloody great padlock.”

“Was it heavy? Did you try to move it?”

“No, just left it.”

Gardener had wondered how the killer had managed to smuggle Leonard White’s body into the theatre. It was pretty obvious now. “How soon after did Leonard White arrive?”

“A couple of hours, maybe.”

“Did he ask about the trunk, or did you tell him?”

Fettle chewed another bit of his sandwich and swallowed before answering. “I told him. Nice pot of tea, this.” He took another mouthful.

Gardener noticed Reilly was halfway down his cup. He tasted his own – wasn’t bad.

“Did White seem surprised?” Reilly asked.

“No, just pleased that it were here.”

“Did you offer to go backstage and help him with it?”

“Aye, as a matter of fact, I did. But he said it were okay, he wouldn’t need it straight away, but he’d give me a shout when he needed some help.”

“Did his voice sound like Leonard White?”

“Can’t say as I noticed. I think so.”

“What happened next?”

“Well, I carried on in here. A couple of hours had passed, and I went backstage to see if he needed that hand and it was all clear. There was no trunk and no Leonard White. I gave him a shout but no one answered. I went back to his dressing room and knocked on the door, but he never answered that either.”

“Did you check anywhere else?”

“Only to see if he was with Mr Price, and he wasn’t. But it’s not unusual for actors and actresses to take a break. Sometimes they go outside for a smoke, or a walk. They don’t always leave out the stage door.”

“Was he alone when he arrived?”

“Aye, he was.”

“Did he seem okay to you? Not out of breath, or looking worried about anything?”

“No, he were fine. Didn’t say much, which I thought were unusual, ’cause I’ve met him afore and I knew him to be a bit of a talker. And I’ll tell you what else were unusual, shall I? I thought the trunk was a bit too much for a man who’d had hip replacement, which is why I went to offer my help. Not that I’d be much use to him anyway, ’cause I’m getting on a bit now. I am still younger than him, though.”

“So, you have no idea what happened to the trunk?”

“Come to think of it, no. It were too big to just hide in a corner, but I never saw it anywhere afterwards.”

Gardener glanced at Reilly, who in turn nodded. “Where is it?”

Reilly glanced at Fettle. “Could it still be here?”

“Probably. No one came to pick it up.”