‘Waiting-room!’ It was farcical. Charles started to laugh in a tight, hysterical way. ‘No, I’m not going to sit in any waiting-room. I haven’t come along with a list of names of people I want killed. I — ’
The noise he was making must have been audible from the next room, because the door opened and Charles found himself face to face with the assassin. ‘What’s going on, Miss Pelham?’
‘I’m not sure. This gentleman — ’
‘I’ve come to tell you I know all about what you’ve been doing, Mr Martin. There’s a policeman outside and I have proof of what’s been going on, so I think you’d better come clean.’ Somehow the denunciation lacked the punch it should have had. The bald-headed man looked at him gravely. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh really. Well, I’m talking about Christopher Milton and the instructions he gave you.’
The name had an instantaneous effect. Mr Martin’s face clouded and he said coldly, ‘You’d better come in. Ask the twelve o’clock appointment to wait if necessary, Miss Pelham.’
When they were inside, he closed the door, but Charles had now gone too far to feel fear. He was going to expose the whole shabby business, whatever it cost him.
‘Now what is all this?’
‘I know all about what you and Christopher Milton have been doing.’
‘I see.’ The bald man looked very displeased. ‘And I suppose you intend to make it all public?’
‘I certainly do.’
‘And I suppose you have come here to name a price for keeping your mouth shut?’
‘Huh?’ That was typical, the feeling that money can solve anything. ‘No, I intend to let everyone know what’s been going on. You won’t buy me off.’
‘I see. You realise what this could do to Christopher Milton?’
‘Nothing that he doesn’t fully deserve. He may think he’s a god, but he’s not above the law. He is a public danger and should be put away.’
‘It’s that sort of small-minded thinking that delays progress. If you -
‘Small-minded thinking! I don’t regard disapproving of murder as small-minded. What, do you subscribe to the theory that the artist is above the law, the artist must be cosseted, the artist — ?’
‘What the hell are you talking about? Who are you?’
‘Charles Paris.’ This was no time for pretence.
The name certainly registered with Mr Martin.
‘Yes, I’m Charles Paris. I’m in the company with Christopher Milton. You know all about me.’
‘Oh yes. I know about you. So it was you all the time. And now, blackmail.’
It was Charles’ turn to be flabbergasted. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Christopher Milton mentioned that a lot of sabotage had been going on in the show, that someone was trying to get at him. It was you. And now you want to expose what he does with me.’
The voice was sad, almost pitying. It checked the impetus of Charles’ attack. “What do you mean? It’s Christopher Milton who’s been responsible for the sabotage and you’re the one who’s done the dirty work for him. And this morning he gave you orders to kill me. Don’t try to pretend otherwise, Mr Martin.’
The bald man gazed at him in blank amazement. ‘What?’
‘I know. I saw you in Leeds, and in Bristol, and in Brighton. I know you did it. All those early morning meetings when he gave you instructions. You are Christopher Milton’s hit-man.’
‘Mr Paris,’ the words came out tonelessly, as if through heavy sedation, ‘I am not Christopher Milton’s hit- man. I am his psychotherapist.’
Charles felt the ground slowly crumbling away beneath his feet. ‘What?’
‘As you may or may not know, Christopher Milton has been prone in the past to a form of mental illness. He has had three or four major breakdowns, and has been undergoing treatment by me for about seven years. His is a particularly stressful career and at the moment the only way he can support the pressures it places on him is by having an hour of psychotherapy every day of his life.’
‘And that’s why he always has his call at ten-thirty?’
‘Exactly. The hour between nine and ten is our session.’
‘I see. And so you travel round wherever he goes?’
‘He doesn’t leave London much. Under normal circumstances he comes to me. This tour is exceptional.’
‘And what happens to your other patients or subjects or whatever they’re called?’
‘It was only the week in Leeds when I had to he away. I commuted to Bristol and Brighton. Mr Milton is a wealthy man.’
‘I see.’ Money could buy anything. Even a portable psychiatrist. ‘Needless to say, the fact that Mr Milton is undergoing treatment is a closely-guarded secret. He believes that if it got out it would ruin his career. I’ve argued with him on this point, because I feel this need for secrecy doubles the pressure on him. But at the moment he doesn’t see it that way and is desperately afraid of anyone knowing. I only tell you because of the outrageousness of your accusations, which suggest that you have completely — and I may say — dangerously misinterpreted the situation.’
‘I see.’ Charles let the information sink in. It made sense. It explained many things. Not only the late morning calls, but also the obsessive privacy which surrounded the star. Even little things like Christopher Milton’s non- drinking and unwillingness to eat cheese would be explained if he were on some form of tranquillisers as part of his treatment.
‘I take it, Mr Paris, from what you said, that you overheard part of our session this morning and leapt to a grotesquely wrong conclusion?’
‘Yes. I may as well put my cards on the table. I was brought into the show by the management to investigate this sabotage business.’
‘If that’s the case then I apologise for suggesting that you were responsible for the trouble. It seems that both of us have been victims of delusions. But, Mr Paris, why did your investigations lead you to eavesdrop on our session this morning?’
‘The fact is, Mr Martin, that my investigations so far have led me to the unfortunate conclusion that Christopher Milton is himself responsible, either directly or indirectly, for all of these incidents.’
The psychotherapist did not reject the suggestion out of hand. ‘I can understand what you mean — that all of the… accidents have in fact benefited him, that they disposed of people he wanted out of the way.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Yes. The same thought had crossed my mind.’ He spoke the words sadly.
‘You know his mental condition better than anyone. What do you think?’
‘I don’t know.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Having heard the violence of what he said about me this morning.’
‘Yes, but that is a feature of the analysis situation. You mustn’t take it literally. The idea of analysis is — in part — that he should purge his emotions. He says the most extreme things, but I don’t think they should be taken as expressions of actual intent.’
‘You don’t sound sure.’
‘No.’
‘I mean, at the time of his first breakdown he attacked people with a knife.’
‘I see you’ve done your homework, Mr Paris. Yes, there is violence in him. He’s obsessed by his career and he is slightly paranoid about it. He does turn against anyone who seems to threaten him in even the tiniest way. I mean, I gather that the crime which provoked this morning’s outburst was your falling over and getting a laugh during one of his songs.’
‘An accident.’
‘Oh yes, I’m sure, but he’s not very logical about that sort of thing.’
‘But he has expressed antagonism to most of the other people who’ve been hurt.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. And a strange bewildered relief after they’ve disappeared from the scene. I suppose it is just possible that he could have done the crimes. You say you have evidence?’
‘Some. Nothing absolutely conclusive, but it seems to point towards him.’
‘Hmm. I hope you’re wrong. It would be tragic if it were true.’
‘Tragic because it would ruin his career?’
