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“Well, it’s not one I know.”
“What about banned films, anything spring to mind?”
“There’s been plenty of ’em over the years. Freaks, in 1932. MGM made it but disowned it. A lot of people said it was tasteless. I think it was because they used real freaks. A bit like that other film The Sentinel, in ’76, they used proper freaks and that got banned.”
“Do you know of a film that was banned by the local watch committee in Leeds in the late Seventies or early Eighties?”
Fettle thought long and hard. Gardener could almost hear the cogs turning inside his head. “No.”
Gardener started to wonder about the title of the film Imperfection, and how well it defined Corndell. He needed to find out more about it. Was that the title of the banned film they were looking for? What was it about? Why had it been banned? And if that was the film, what connection did it have with Corndell and how had he managed to obtain a copy?
“Last time we spoke, I mentioned a director by the name of Rupert Julian. You said he was dead.”
“Aye, he is,” replied Fettle.
“Did he have a son?”
Fettle finished his tea and another biscuit. “I’ve no idea. I’ve never heard one mentioned, but I’m not as well up on directors as I am the films. You could soon find out.”
Reilly and Price entered the room. Paul Price had a copy of a letter, which he passed to Gardener. “I thought I recognised the name Corndell. He sent me a letter a few months back.”
Gardener took it but didn’t read it. “What about?”
“He wrote and asked if he could have a tour of the place, quite some time ago now.”
“Why?”
“He said he was an author and he was writing something new which he wanted to set in the Grand Theatre. Asked if I would mind showing him round so as he could get the feel for the place.”
Gardener glanced at Reilly. “Why would he do that? According to him he’s spent his life in theatres up and down the country, writes regularly for Broadway.”
Price continued. “He mentioned his success in America. I asked him if he had a website, but he said he didn’t. I was hoping to do a little checking myself. He also said he wrote his material under different names.”
“Can you remember any of them?”
“I’m sorry, no.”
“Yet you still met him and showed him round?” questioned Gardener.
“Oh yes. I didn’t mind. I had some free time on my hands. The only thing I stipulated was that he should write nothing that would bring the theatre into disrepute. I also asked him of the success he’d had in America and he mentioned one or two titles, which I later wrote down on the back.”
Gardener turned the paper over and studied the titles. He didn’t recognise either. He then passed the paper to Fettle. He was about to ask Price another question when Fettle jumped out of his chair.
“Hey, I know that one, and it’s not one of his.”
“Which one?” Gardener asked.
“Blood’s Thicker Than Water.”
“Who wrote it?” asked Gardener.
“Yon lad as worked for Playhouse.”
“Harry Fletcher?”
“Aye, that’s him. He wrote Blood’s Thicker Than Water. I remember reading about it somewhere.”
“Any idea what it’s about?” asked Gardener.
