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With a smug expression, Corndell continued the conversation. “You see, Mr Gardener, your records must be incorrect. Most of my business is either conducted online or through my mobile.”
“Our evidence doesn’t support your statement,” replied Gardener, making a mental note of the fact that Corndell used a computer regularly.
“Then I suggest you retrace your steps.” Corndell took another sip of tea. “Now we’ve cleared that one up, what else would you like to ask me?”
Gardener was unwilling to show his annoyance, but he realised he was treading water. Without a warrant, he couldn’t force the issue. “Let’s talk about films. In particular, your cinema–”
Corndell stood up, beckoned them, cutting Gardener dead. “Say no more, Mr Gardener. I shall take you.” Leading them out of the conservatory, he said over his shoulder, “I do realise that under normal circumstances you would have to obtain a warrant to do this, and we all know that if I push you hard enough, you will. I have nothing to hide, so I am now inviting you of my own free will into my cinema.”
Gardener wondered if Corndell was recording the meeting. No one spoke like he did. They followed him up the stairs. He made a point of showing them his favourite film posters, informing them of their value and rarity. At no stage were his attitude or his expressions those of a guilty man. Before continuing up to the top landing, he turned and spoke to them.
“I think I should take you in here first, Mr Gardener, it’s my make-up room.”
Corndell opened the door and switched on a light. Along the back wall stood a range of mannequins dressed in a variety of guises. Gardener immediately recognised the costume from last night’s performance of The Hunchback; the Phantom was also there, and others of which he had no idea.
“I don’t recognise all of them. Enlighten me.”
“Over there, is the Ape Man from the film A Blind Bargain. And there you can see the Clown from the 1924 film He Who Gets Slapped.”
“Who starred in those films?” asked Gardener.
“Lon Chaney, of course.” Corndell had made the statement so boldly that Gardener was convinced he was trying to rile him.
“I thought Lon Chaney only made horror films. What was the clown film about?”
“It shows how little you know about him, Mr Gardener. He was the greatest actor the world has ever seen. The film was based on a play by the Russian writer Leonid Andreyev. It had a successful run on Broadway in the 1920s. Chaney plays a struggling scientist in Paris who is betrayed by his wife and his benefactor, Baron Regnard. The Baron stole his essays, took the credit, and his wife. Disillusioned, Chaney eventually runs away and becomes a clown in a circus, changing his name to ‘He Who Gets Slapped’, because his fellow clowns slap him no matter what he does.”
Corndell had thrown in details that very few people left alive would know. Maybe that’s what Gardener needed, Corndell knocking nails into his own coffin. Perhaps now he could alter the course of the interview by turning up the heat and giving him the opportunity to hang himself.
“Fascinating,” said Gardener. “Are they all Chaney outfits?”
“Not at all. That one there which, to you, probably looks like a bunch of rags, is in fact from the first short movie adaptation of a United States version of the film Frankenstein made in 1910, in which the monster is played by Charles Stanton Ogle. A very prolific film, Mr Gardener, for which I probably have the only remaining copy. And that, may I add, cost me a fortune.”
The atmosphere in the room was intense. The walls were dark. The floor was natural wood, stained and polished. Opposite the mannequins was a tile-topped table running the length of the wall, and above that a huge, dusty mirror. The tabletop was crammed full of paraphernalia: wigs, creams, face powders, jars of chemicals. The whole space had a distinctly unsavoury odour that he couldn’t place, a sort of sour, spicy smell.
Corndell leaned forward and reached under the table. Producing a bin bag, he removed the clothes from the dummy wearing the Hunchback outfit.
“What are you doing?” asked Gardener.
“You’ll want these for forensic testing, Mr Gardener. You have my permission to take them.”
Gardener glanced at Reilly and then to Corndell.
“Do you require any samples of my make-up?” he asked.
Reilly answered the question. “What would be the point?”
“Evidence, Mr Reilly. After all, you are trying to eliminate me.”
“Come on now, Willie, old son. You’re only offering this lot to us because you know damn well that you’ve been careful and we can’t prove a thing. On top of that, there’s no evidence that the costume you’ve given us is the one you were wearing last night.”
Corndell turned. “That remark, Mr Reilly, implies that I am your killer. If my solicitor were here, you’d have to retract that.”
“But he isn’t, is he, Willie?”
Corndell glared at Reilly. “If you would be so kind, Mr Reilly, as to please use the name my mother gave me. Now, gentlemen, is there anything else you require from this room?”
“No,” replied Gardener.
