But Hinchley was kinder to me about it than to Remington. He actually said Remington’s performance in the title role was so bad that if Shakespeare were alive to see it, he’d have died of apoplexy on the spot.”
“Did you know he was in the theatre on Saturday evening?”
Again, Parks hesitated. “Well, I believe I heard someone mention they saw him out front.”
That was a lie, Witherspoon thought. They’d already been told by Trevor Remington that Parks had spotted Hinchley sitting in the audience. Drat. Why did peoplepersist in lying to the police? “And you were unhappy that he was here?”
“He was a critic. Inspector,” Parks drew himself up straighter. “I’m neither pleased nor displeased to know they’re in the audience. It’s simply a fact of life that one has to put up with.”
“What time did you leave the theatre?” Witherspoon asked. He remembered his discussion with his housekeeper.
“Right after the performance,” Parks replied. “I was in a hurry to get home. I wanted to make some notes on some changes I’m doing for the first act.”
“Did anyone see you?” Barnes asked.
“When I got home?” Parks lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “My housekeeper might have heard me come in. It was after eleven-thirty so I didn’t see her, of course. But I noticed the light on under her door when I went upstairs.”
Witherspoon asked, “How did you get home?”
“I walked, Inspector,” Parks said impatiently. “I live on Pope Street. It took ten minutes to get home.”
“Did anyone see you walking home?” Barnes prodded.
Parks shook his head. “Not that I remember. It was quite late at night. The streets were fairly empty. I went home, let myself in, wrote up my notes and went to bed.”
“Where are they, sir?” Barnes asked.
“Where are what?” Parks asked irritably.
“The notes, sir? I’d like to see them.”
Parks’s eyes narrowed. “Well, you can’t. I put them down backstage and now I can’t find them. I don’t know what you’re implying. But if I were you, I wouldn’t waste my time questioning innocent people. I didn’t like Ogden Hinchley but I certainly didn’t kill him. Ridiculous. There wouldn’t be a critic left in all of England if they weremurdered because they’d given a bad reviews. If I were you, I’d start talking to people who had personal reasons for hating Hinchley.”
“Who would they be, sir?” Witherspoon asked.
“A number of people, sir.” Parks’s smile was slow and sly. “To begin with, you might ask Edmund Delaney what he did after the performance. He hated Hinchley and his reasons were personal.”
CHAPTER 5
“I’ve a dreadful headache, Mrs. Jeffries.” The inspector rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Absolutely dreadful. I say, is there time before dinner for us to have a glass of sherry?”
“But of course, sir,” she replied as she got up and went to the sideboard. “With all this heat, it’s only a light supper. Mrs. Goodge will send it up whenever we’re ready. I believe a glass of Harvey’s will relax you. Perhaps help your headache.” She poured two small glasses of the amber liquid and, smiling sympathetically at her dear employer, handed one to him. “Oh, really, sir. It’s quite awful how you exhaust yourself on these cases.”
“One must do one’s duty.” He took a sip and sighed softly. “Today was quite trying. Theatre people are so…so…”
“Melodramatic,” she finished for him. “That’s what you called them this morning, sir.”
“And I was right too. Not only are they a melodramaticlot, but they’re rather cavalier about the most important matters.”
“Really, sir?” She took a sip from her own glass and waited for him to continue. As Luty would say, he’d come home with a bee in his bonnet, and she’d decided it would be best to let him unburden himself at his own pace. “In what way?”
“Humphhh.” He snorted delicately. “They’re not very good at keeping
“Did you know he was in the theatre on Saturday evening?”
Again, Parks hesitated. “Well, I believe I heard someone mention they saw him out front.”
That was a lie, Witherspoon thought. They’d already been told by Trevor Remington that Parks had spotted Hinchley sitting in the audience. Drat. Why did peoplepersist in lying to the police? “And you were unhappy that he was here?”
“He was a critic. Inspector,” Parks drew himself up straighter. “I’m neither pleased nor displeased to know they’re in the audience. It’s simply a fact of life that one has to put up with.”
“What time did you leave the theatre?” Witherspoon asked. He remembered his discussion with his housekeeper.
“Right after the performance,” Parks replied. “I was in a hurry to get home. I wanted to make some notes on some changes I’m doing for the first act.”
“Did anyone see you?” Barnes asked.
“When I got home?” Parks lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “My housekeeper might have heard me come in. It was after eleven-thirty so I didn’t see her, of course. But I noticed the light on under her door when I went upstairs.”
Witherspoon asked, “How did you get home?”
“I walked, Inspector,” Parks said impatiently. “I live on Pope Street. It took ten minutes to get home.”
“Did anyone see you walking home?” Barnes prodded.
Parks shook his head. “Not that I remember. It was quite late at night. The streets were fairly empty. I went home, let myself in, wrote up my notes and went to bed.”
“Where are they, sir?” Barnes asked.
“Where are what?” Parks asked irritably.
“The notes, sir? I’d like to see them.”
Parks’s eyes narrowed. “Well, you can’t. I put them down backstage and now I can’t find them. I don’t know what you’re implying. But if I were you, I wouldn’t waste my time questioning innocent people. I didn’t like Ogden Hinchley but I certainly didn’t kill him. Ridiculous. There wouldn’t be a critic left in all of England if they weremurdered because they’d given a bad reviews. If I were you, I’d start talking to people who had personal reasons for hating Hinchley.”
“Who would they be, sir?” Witherspoon asked.
“A number of people, sir.” Parks’s smile was slow and sly. “To begin with, you might ask Edmund Delaney what he did after the performance. He hated Hinchley and his reasons were personal.”
CHAPTER 5
“I’ve a dreadful headache, Mrs. Jeffries.” The inspector rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Absolutely dreadful. I say, is there time before dinner for us to have a glass of sherry?”
“But of course, sir,” she replied as she got up and went to the sideboard. “With all this heat, it’s only a light supper. Mrs. Goodge will send it up whenever we’re ready. I believe a glass of Harvey’s will relax you. Perhaps help your headache.” She poured two small glasses of the amber liquid and, smiling sympathetically at her dear employer, handed one to him. “Oh, really, sir. It’s quite awful how you exhaust yourself on these cases.”
“One must do one’s duty.” He took a sip and sighed softly. “Today was quite trying. Theatre people are so…so…”
“Melodramatic,” she finished for him. “That’s what you called them this morning, sir.”
“And I was right too. Not only are they a melodramaticlot, but they’re rather cavalier about the most important matters.”
“Really, sir?” She took a sip from her own glass and waited for him to continue. As Luty would say, he’d come home with a bee in his bonnet, and she’d decided it would be best to let him unburden himself at his own pace. “In what way?”
“Humphhh.” He snorted delicately. “They’re not very good at keeping
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