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

“Why would it?” replied Corndell.

“Just curious, Mr Corndell. It was you who made the comment about the living body and not the corpse, was it not? I thought maybe you had a kind of superstition about blood being pure and all that.”

“I really haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

At that precise moment, Gardener’s mobile chimed. He reached into his jacket pocket and then excused himself into the kitchen, where he took the call.

Reilly asked Corndell if he could use the bathroom.

After the phone call and the toilet break, the two detectives returned to the conservatory.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to leave you, Mr Corndell.” Gardener turned to Reilly. “That was the station. Apparently, Albert Fettle wants to see us, urgently.”

“It’s no problem, Mr Gardener, I’ll show you both out.”

As Gardener reached the door, he turned to face Corndell. “Just one more question.”

“Which is?” asked Corndell.

“What’s your favourite film?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your favourite film. You must have one, a film buff of your calibre.”

“I certainly do. A Blind Bargain,” replied Corndell, still wondering why the question had been asked in the first place.

“Can’t say as I know that one,” replied the detective.

“You won’t, Mr Gardener. Before your time.”

“I’ll have to look out for it. What about The Scarlet Car?”

“I’m afraid you have me there, Mr Gardener. But if you have the time, I’d be more than happy to look it up for you,” replied Corndell.

“Another time, maybe. Anyway, thank you, you’ve been most helpful. I’ll leave you a card, and perhaps we could call back if we need you again.” Gardener tipped his hat.

“Don’t hesitate,” said Corndell.

Chapter Thirty-one

The atmosphere at the theatre was still grave when Paul Price met them at the stage door. “Do you have any idea when I can reopen?” he asked, testily.

“Shouldn’t be too long, Mr Price,” replied Gardener. “We do have a few more people to interview.”

Price’s expression showed his irritation. “So, you’re not here to tell me it’s business as usual?”

“No, we’re here to see Mr Fettle.”

“You do realise how much this is costing me, don’t you?”

“Not as much as Leonard White,” replied Gardener.

“Have you made any headway catching the lunatic responsible?”

“It is a murder investigation.” Gardener turned to glance down the street. “And I would rather not discuss it on the doorstep, if you don’t mind.”

Paul Price stepped to one side, allowing them down the stairs to where Fettle kept himself hidden. “Two policemen to see you, Fettle. Though I can’t think why.”

“I asked ’em,” replied Fettle, once again invisible to the naked eye. When it became obvious that no one was going to speak until Price left, he grunted and did so, adding that he could be found in his office if needed.

“He’s like a bear with a sore head. You’ve really upset him,” said Fettle, when he finally appeared.

“He’s the least of our worries,” replied Reilly.

“You’ve not found him yet, then? Anyway, best come in and have a pot of tea.”

“Tea is the last thing we need, Mr Fettle,” replied Gardener.

“I’m sure it is, but it’ll do for starters.” Fettle drew them in and poured the tea from a recently boiled kettle. He then threw a book on the table, opened to a page which contained the photograph of a man Gardener had asked him about on a previous visit.

“Inspector Burke of Scotland Yard,” Fettle proudly announced. “You asked me if I knew him last time you were here.”

When Gardener realised he had been holding his breath, he still didn’t speak, but turned to the front cover of the book. It was an old issue of Film Review. “Where did you get this?”

“I’ve had ’em years. Been in that cupboard yonder.” Fettle pointed, but neither man bothered to see where.

“So, which film does the photograph come from?” asked Gardener.

“London After Midnight,” replied Fettle.

“And what do you know about the film other than Inspector Burke?”

Fettle sat down and sipped his tea. “It’s a bit of a classic, maybe the most famous of all the lost films.”

Gardener suddenly thought back to what Corndell had told him about collecting lost films, wondering if he had it. More to the point, what hadn’t Corndell told them? Had it been a cryptic clue, like those found with the bodies? He realised he was ahead of himself. Perhaps a lack of evidence on the case had forced him into thinking irrationally. “Go on.”

“It’s commonly known as the Holy Grail of archivists and film collectors throughout the world.” Fettle picked up a scrap of paper. “The last known record of the film existing was in the 1950s. According to what I’ve found out, an MGM vault inventory from 1955 shows the print being stored in Vault 7. In the 1960s there was a fire in Vault 7, destroying the last surviving print.”

Reilly whistled through his teeth.

“What makes it so rare and collectible?” asked Gardener, intrigued.

“Quite a lot of things, I should imagine. It was at the top of MGM’s hit parade for 1927-28.”

“Twenty-seven?” interrupted Gardener.

“Oh aye, it’s going back a bit.”

“It was a silent film, then?” asked Reilly.

“Aye,” replied Fettle. “I mean, it was one of them films that broke records. Eerie sets, and Chaney’s vampire make-up was incredible.”

“Who’s?” asked Gardener.

“Lon Chaney.”

“Vampire make-up?”

“Aye.” Fettle flicked over a couple of pages and Gardener grew intensely cold. He pulled out the picture he had of the vampire suspect in Leeds on the night Janine was killed. They were alike to the last detail.

“Who is Lon Chaney?” asked Gardener.

“You’re kidding me,” replied Fettle. “Only the greatest actor that ever lived.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of him.”

“You won’t have, will you? He was well before your time.”

“Can you recall