AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“He loved it.”
“So, it wasn’t something he was forced into doing because he needed the money?”
“You must be kidding, cock. Leonard was worth a fortune. Money were the last thing on his mind. He did it because he loved it.”
“Where was he staying for the Leeds gig?”
“Same place he always stayed while he was here, The Manor House in Skipton. Big luxurious place on the road going out to Keighley.”
“Same place? Was he a man of routine?”
“I wouldn’t say so. He liked to do certain things in certain ways.”
“Such as?”
“Well, it was more when he went on stage, really. He was very superstitious. Most thespians are. He would never have live flowers on a stage, something to do with flowers having a short life, and it would reflect on the performance. He didn’t like whistling on stage. That was to do with the early days of theatre, when dock workers were often scenery change men and whistle calls went wrong. But other than that, no.”
“So, he never had a cup of tea at the same time every day, or did anything else at a certain time in a certain way because that’s the way it should be done?”
Val White thought about the question. “Not that I can recall.”
“When my father came to see him last week, he said that Leonard wasn’t himself. He seemed worried about something, and that you wouldn’t understand. Any ideas what that might be?”
“Like I said, we didn’t get on very well, we didn’t talk much. If he did have a problem, he never told me about it.”
“You obviously knew him pretty well, you’d been married a long time. Despite not getting on, any reason to think he’d been acting strange lately?”
“No.”
She’d answered a little too fast for Gardener’s liking.
“Who checked his post while he was on tour?” he asked.
“Well, I did, of course.”
“Nothing unusual there? No threatening letters, or phone calls?”
“No. His post was mainly fans wanting signed photos, asking the usual questions. Would he ever go back into films? Was his stage show coming to their area? We had the odd bill, but there were nothing that carried any warnings about him being killed, or blackmailed, or anything else.”
Reilly gave her time to sip her tea and take a drag on the cigarette before his next question. “Where were you last Thursday night, Mrs White?”
“Come again?” Judging by her expression, Gardener suspected she was puzzled by the question, as if Reilly had no right to ask her about her private life.
“It’s a simple enough question,” retorted Reilly. “Where were you on the night your husband was murdered?”
“Back home in Kendal.”
“By yourself?”
“No.”
“Who were you with?” Reilly persisted.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“We would like to establish your whereabouts,” said Gardener. “Do you have an alibi?”
“You think I murdered him?”
