sergeant? I was in America.’
‘You see,’ MacNee went on, ‘no one checked. Maybe you were, but even in those days there were such things as planes. And it could have been worth a trip over if, let’s say, you found you’d got a girl pregnant—’
Lindsay stared at him, astonished. ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this! Is this some sort of accusation of murder ? I thought the series had some improbable plot lines, but this is something else.’
Fleming said soothingly, ‘No, no, sir, it’s not an accusation. Sergeant MacNee was just thinking aloud.’
Lindsay’s smile was unamused. ‘I’d really rather he didn’t.’
‘The thing is, Mr Lindsay, at the time you were actually accused of murder. Did you know that?’
‘Accused of murder?’ His shock was clearly genuine. ‘But – who by?’
‘I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to tell you. But it would be a great help if we knew your movements at that time, say between March and November 1985.’ She nodded to MacNee, who got out his notebook.
Lindsay seemed more irritated than uneasy at the questioning. ‘At this distance in time? I was in New York, I suppose – waiting and bar work again. I’d blagged a green card – my father had contacts from the war – and the actors’ unions weren’t as tough then as they are now, so I got some off-Broadway stuff, doubling as stage manager – that sort of thing. Then I was lucky enough to get a season in Connecticut doing summer stock. Great experience – got me touring dates afterwards and then TV work when I came home.’
‘So you were out of the country all that time? No visits back?’
‘Couldn’t have afforded it. Starvation wages, they paid.’
He had relaxed again, and indeed the flat statement left nothing to follow up. Yet Fleming couldn’t quite let it go.
‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but it would be most helpful to get corroboration – friends and colleagues at the time, for instance—’
Lindsay was shaking his head. ‘I haven’t really kept in touch. I was more or less nomadic for years and there wasn’t text or email, of course. But hey – hang on! I think I can do better than that.’
He got up with a triumphant air, went to the back of the room and stooped to lift a big album from the bottom shelf. He brought it over carefully and laid it on a round rosewood table in the window, blew dust off it, then opened it as Fleming and MacNee came to join him.
It was a scrapbook, crammed with yellowing cuttings and photographs. ‘My pa kept this, bless him,’ he said. ‘Right from when I was in school plays. I’d to send everything to him, though he censored the bad reviews.’
Lindsay pointed to one faded cutting. ‘This one was borderline. “Lindsay took on the role of the young Englishman and beat it into submission.” ’ He laughed, and turned the page.
‘Here we are!’ he said triumphantly. ‘The programmes. This one’s February – that run didn’t last long. Then March – The Importance. I was the butler with the cucumber sandwiches, look. We’d a good long run, right to the end of April, as far as I remember. Oh yes, here’s the closing notice – May 2. And here are the programmes for the summer stock, half a dozen plays, going into rehearsal at the end of May. Here’s The Chalk Garden – that transferred to Boston in September and we toured after that. Chicago, Indiana, even Illinois, for God’s sake!’
It was a convincing record. Lindsay was enjoying himself, talking about old times. It was quite hard for the officers, assuring him they were satisfied, to get away.
‘Thank God! They didn’t arrest you!’ Barrie Craig greeted Lindsay with a dramatic clutch at his heart. ‘Tony was having kittens.’
Tony Laidlaw, a thin, dark man with the expression of one who has heard everything and believed very little of it, said acidly that he had managed somehow to contain his panic.
‘What did they want, Marcus?’ Jaki asked. ‘CID – has
‘You see,’ MacNee went on, ‘no one checked. Maybe you were, but even in those days there were such things as planes. And it could have been worth a trip over if, let’s say, you found you’d got a girl pregnant—’
Lindsay stared at him, astonished. ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this! Is this some sort of accusation of murder ? I thought the series had some improbable plot lines, but this is something else.’
Fleming said soothingly, ‘No, no, sir, it’s not an accusation. Sergeant MacNee was just thinking aloud.’
Lindsay’s smile was unamused. ‘I’d really rather he didn’t.’
‘The thing is, Mr Lindsay, at the time you were actually accused of murder. Did you know that?’
‘Accused of murder?’ His shock was clearly genuine. ‘But – who by?’
‘I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to tell you. But it would be a great help if we knew your movements at that time, say between March and November 1985.’ She nodded to MacNee, who got out his notebook.
Lindsay seemed more irritated than uneasy at the questioning. ‘At this distance in time? I was in New York, I suppose – waiting and bar work again. I’d blagged a green card – my father had contacts from the war – and the actors’ unions weren’t as tough then as they are now, so I got some off-Broadway stuff, doubling as stage manager – that sort of thing. Then I was lucky enough to get a season in Connecticut doing summer stock. Great experience – got me touring dates afterwards and then TV work when I came home.’
‘So you were out of the country all that time? No visits back?’
‘Couldn’t have afforded it. Starvation wages, they paid.’
He had relaxed again, and indeed the flat statement left nothing to follow up. Yet Fleming couldn’t quite let it go.
‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but it would be most helpful to get corroboration – friends and colleagues at the time, for instance—’
Lindsay was shaking his head. ‘I haven’t really kept in touch. I was more or less nomadic for years and there wasn’t text or email, of course. But hey – hang on! I think I can do better than that.’
He got up with a triumphant air, went to the back of the room and stooped to lift a big album from the bottom shelf. He brought it over carefully and laid it on a round rosewood table in the window, blew dust off it, then opened it as Fleming and MacNee came to join him.
It was a scrapbook, crammed with yellowing cuttings and photographs. ‘My pa kept this, bless him,’ he said. ‘Right from when I was in school plays. I’d to send everything to him, though he censored the bad reviews.’
Lindsay pointed to one faded cutting. ‘This one was borderline. “Lindsay took on the role of the young Englishman and beat it into submission.” ’ He laughed, and turned the page.
‘Here we are!’ he said triumphantly. ‘The programmes. This one’s February – that run didn’t last long. Then March – The Importance. I was the butler with the cucumber sandwiches, look. We’d a good long run, right to the end of April, as far as I remember. Oh yes, here’s the closing notice – May 2. And here are the programmes for the summer stock, half a dozen plays, going into rehearsal at the end of May. Here’s The Chalk Garden – that transferred to Boston in September and we toured after that. Chicago, Indiana, even Illinois, for God’s sake!’
It was a convincing record. Lindsay was enjoying himself, talking about old times. It was quite hard for the officers, assuring him they were satisfied, to get away.
‘Thank God! They didn’t arrest you!’ Barrie Craig greeted Lindsay with a dramatic clutch at his heart. ‘Tony was having kittens.’
Tony Laidlaw, a thin, dark man with the expression of one who has heard everything and believed very little of it, said acidly that he had managed somehow to contain his panic.
‘What did they want, Marcus?’ Jaki asked. ‘CID – has
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