“Did you use the tickets for the performance?”
“No, my wife, girlfriend at the time, took ill, and we couldn’t make it. But I later heard he had an accident.”
“It was a little more than that,” said Gardener. “I found out that he’s brilliant in rehearsals but no good in front of a crowd. During the matinee he fluffed his lines, wrecked the scenery, and eventually broke his own leg, blaming everyone but himself.”
“I never heard that.”
“Take it from me, it’s true.”
“That puts the night at the university theatre into perspective a little bit. If he is frightened of crowds, that’s probably why he fell off the podium.”
“Exactly. And he used the fact that we were there putting pressure on him as an excuse for his own incompetence.”
“That’s where the apology comes in, I think.”
“Don’t worry about that. What else have you got to tell me?”
Martin Brown appeared hesitant, as if he didn’t want to speak.
“Martin, you’re not under arrest, anything you tell me will be in the strictest confidence.”
“Malcolm told me about Leonard White’s death, and the quote on the dressing room wall. ‘For long weary months I have awaited this hour.’”
Gardener’s stomach tensed. “And?”
“I know which film that comes from; or should I say which two films. It’s a quote from The Phantom of the Opera, the Lon Chaney version released in 1925.”
“We know…” Gardener stopped talking when he realized what Martin Brown had said. “Two films?”
“Before we go any further, Mr Gardener, I need you to tell me if there were other quotes at the scenes of the other murders, and what they were.”
“You do know I’m not obliged to tell you anything,” replied Gardener.
“I’m only trying to help. Maybe it’s my turn to inform you that anything you tell me will be in the strictest confidence. Do you want to catch your killer?”
Gardener struggled with his conscience.
“Your first murder was Leonard White,” continued Martin Brown. “He was found hanging in a theatre.” Martin Brown stopped talking, but Gardener realised he knew more. His glare forced the man to continue. “At the autopsy you found a puzzle carved into the man’s chest.”
Gardener left the table without saying anything and collected the file from a cupboard in the living room. Although the central heating was on, he felt a chill. Martin Brown had told him something that only the police knew. He sat back down and studied the file, then asked Martin Brown for the second quote.
“‘The night passed, a night of vague horrors, tortured dreams.’ The second murder,” said Martin Brown. “You found the second body hanging upside down in a kind of reverse crucifixion. Furthermore, at that autopsy you found another puzzle about the case, in a test tube inserted into the victim’s anus.”
The blood in Gardener’s veins had turned to ice. Either Martin Brown knew more than was good for him because of inside information... or he was their killer. And in all honesty, Gardener wouldn’t know: he wasn’t sure anyone else would either. He couldn’t believe the tension in the room. It felt like time had stood still. No one was drinking. In fact, it didn’t sound like they were even breathing.
“The third quote?” asked Martin. “Would it be, ‘so far so good, for a house with a curse on it’?”
Gardener nodded.
“Your third victim was found in a locked room, suspended in the crucifixion position once again. However, this time the body was the right way up, naked, and his real head was missing, but he had someone else’s in its place. Along with a puzzle in his right hand.”
Gardener was mortified. His stomach ached, his legs felt weak. “How do you know all these things?”
“Each of the people killed was a member of the local watch committee and had been killed by an independent film producer because they had banned his film for being too horrific. The man was totally incensed because he was unbalanced. But the police couldn’t catch him in the film because he was a master of disguise.”
“What film are we talking about?” asked Gardener, as if he didn’t know.
“A film called Imperfection, written by William Henry Corndell, and produced by his father, Wallace.”
“Have you seen the film?”
“Yes.”
“Where?” Gardener asked.
“An underground copy. The film never made it to the big screen. The one the censors issued an ‘X’ certificate for was not the film distributed around Leeds. Therefore, the local watch committee that your father sat on banned the film immediately, told him in no uncertain terms he had to make cuts. It was too violent, too graphic; he had to cut it and then re-present it.”
Gardener glanced at his father. “But you weren’t there that night. You didn’t see the film.”
“Corndell obviously doesn’t know that,” replied Martin Brown.
“So Corndell made a film back in the Seventies and has basically lived it out since then?”
“Sounds like it. He’s killed everyone the same way as he did in the film and used quotes from Chaney’s films because he’s obsessed with the man. Three down, one to go, and we all know who that is.” Martin Brown stared at Malcolm.
“Do you mean to say I’ve been going out, unaware that my life was at stake?” asked Malcolm.
“Actually, no,” replied Gardener.
“What do you mean?” asked Malcolm.
“You’ve been under twenty-four-hour surveillance for some time. Every move you’ve made has been watched and monitored.”
Malcolm’s bottom jaw fell open and nearly hit the table. After he’d regained his composure, he asked,
