CHAPTER 46: SWAN SONG
Sherlock, John, Giulia, and Lestrade rush out of the makeup studio, looking for the producer. Sherlock does nothing to hide his impatience and edginess. His cold facade is crumbling under the blows of this intricate case.
None of the interviews of the potential suspects went as expected. Whenever one member of the company pointed the finger at another, the latter would easily deny any involvement and provide an alibi that is corroborated by the versions of the other people. Everyone has plausible deniability. Contrary to all expectations, the situation looks discouraging.
Holmes feels lightheaded as he approaches the entrance of the main auditorium. His long list of accusations has now been narrowed down to one name: Samuel Humphrey. He must be the killer. There is no other explanation.
They find the producer sprawled in the front row of seats, staring vacantly at the empty stage.
"Mr Humphrey, we have some questions for you," D.I. Lestrade catches his attention.
The man they had previously seen in a fit of rage raises his head slowly and gives a silent, uninterested nod.
Sherlock frowns at his reaction. This is not the standard behaviour of someone who is about to go down for murder. Has he already surrendered to his inevitable arrest?
Greg asks professionally, "Where were you from 6 to 8 PM today?"
Samuel smiles bitterly. He knows the police have been going around his theatre in search of new suspects the whole night. If they are now questioning him, it means they got a disappointing tour of the rest of the company.
"In the direction cabin. I spent the afternoon there, running the last check for the show."
"Can anybody confirm your alibi?" Lestrade inquires.
"If you ask the gaffer, he will probably remember bumping into me on his way of the cabin after he completed the light check. I stayed inside until a member of the crew came to tell me the cops were here. You know the rest," he adds with a sarcastic shrug.
"Were you alone in the direction cabin?" Lestrade insists, getting irritated by his dismissive attitude.
"Yes. As I said, when I went in, the gaffer was leaving, and no one else came to disturb me; my crew knows better than that. Anyway, if you don't believe me, feel free to check the computer-based system connected to the door of the cabin. That place is personnel-only; just a few of us have the automated key to get access to it. Everyone must swipe the card through the reader whenever they enter or exit the room. I'll give you the coding procedure to get the data, so you will track my movements and know exactly when I got in and out of the cabin. Computers don't lie, officer."
Detective Inspector, everybody mentally corrects, but no one speaks.
"Everything you need is on the hard drive: knock yourself out," Samuel concludes in a weary tone, taking Lestrade's notepad from his hands and scribbling down some lines of code before handing it back.
Sherlock processes that critical piece of information for a few seconds. All the previous suspects have interlinked alibis. And now, the only person who seemed deprived of a reasonable excuse is the very one who has the most airtight alibi. He is missing something: what truly happened to the tenor? How can everyone look so disconcertingly innocent?
The theatre plunges into silence as everyone looks expectantly at Holmes, then Greg steps in, trying to break the awkward stillness.
"How would you describe your relationship with the victim?"
"We were extremely close. I had always been there for him ever since he took his first steps in the world of lyric music. He had the voice of an angel but the soul of a demon. On stage, he was my shining star, but far from the spotlight, he was like a toddler; I had to take care of his misbehaviour constantly, cleaning up his mess. Poor Vincent didn't know a thing about the value of money. He lost so much on gambling. If I were his wife, I'd have kicked him out of the house a long time ago." He raises his brows eloquently.
Not a fan of Mrs Storing, are you? Sherlock infers. Smooth move, pinning the blame on the greedy widow.
"He certainly earned you hundreds of thousands of pounds. Someone called him your golden goose." Sherlock challenges him, folding his hands under his chin in his contemplative pose.
"He was, which is why, for the life of me, I can't figure out why you are still interrogating me. I would never kill the man who was making me rich. Meeting him was like finding my personal pot of gold," the producer rebuts, irritated.
"And everything worked out perfectly for you, but the spell would break soon. Your gold was about to take the flight to America," Sherlock drops in casually to study his reaction.
"What on earth are you talking about?" Samuel frowns at him, his mouth tightened in a straight line.
"Mr and Mrs Storing were planning on moving to the United States. Your star had even signed a hefty contract for a tournée that was scheduled to begin next month," Sherlock says, fixing his gaze in his eyes. This is his long-awaited moment of truth.
Samuel Humphrey stares back unflinching and protests fervently, "This is impossible."
"We read the contract less than an hour ago. It's legit," Lestrade confirms.
The producer sits back in the seat and sighs, passing a hand through his thinning hair.
"I can't believe he didn't tell me anything about it. How could he hide it from me? From me? After all this time, after everything I did for him, the ungrateful bastard would have left me empty-handed. This is inconceivable." His hand slowly descends over his knackered face until he lets it loll over one of the velvet armrests, exhausted.
"His wife seems to think he was a changed man," John explains, and the producer shoots him a mocking grin.
"People like Vincent don't change. He was in a vicious cycle and would never get out of it. I knew him better than anyone else. I've lost count of all the women whose silence I had to pay generously. But don't be fooled; I did it for the press and his reputation, certainly not for his marriage. There was no point. His wife was too clever; she always caught him. It wouldn't surprise me if Abigail planned this whole American plot to kill him and divert every suspicion."
"We are verifying whether the couple did indeed sell their house in London in anticipation of their upcoming departure, but according to our preliminary assessment, it would seem the case. Anyhow, Mrs Storing has an alibi," Lestrade contradicts him rapidly.
"In this case, gentlemen, I think you have a hard nut to crack. If you have no more questions..." he says, standing up from his front seat, and Lestrade gestures that he is free to go. He steps away without a second look at that uncommon group, while Sherlock pins his eyes on his back.
When the producer is out of hearing range, Holmes declares in a flat voice, "He lied."
"What?" Giulia turns to him, baffled.
"When someone experiences genuine surprise, their eyes widen, making the sclera (the white of the eyes) clearly visible. I stared into his eyes while he was making his little scene: his pupils didn't dilate. Also, sudden surprise usually causes the jaw to become slack, making people involuntarily open their mouths slightly or even gape. None of these signs appeared on his face. In fact, he maintained his lips tightly pressed together when I told him about Vincent's imminent getaway to the USA. Conclusion: he already knew it." Sherlock presents all his scrupulous observations, much to everyone's surprise.
"Houston, we have a problem. He has an ironclad alibi," John points out.
Sherlock nods pensively. "We are in front of an impossible dilemma. Five potential suspects: the wife, the mistress, the gossip columnist, the costume designer, and the producer. All of them had grievances against the victim, yet none of those was good enough a reason to kill a man—nay, to make his lungs explode. But that's not even the strangest part. Four out of the five alibis are interlinked, while the fifth is protected by dead certainty through technology. I'm sure the murderer is among them, but who did it?" He asks, mainly to himself.
"Maybe Moriarty gave one of them an incentive just like he did with the nun's killer," John suggests.
"He didn't simply pay the first killer off, John. That was the end result. No, he played with his greed and vengeance; he awakened his demons. That's what he does, and that's what he must have done in this case, too. But he wouldn't pay any of these suspects: that would be banal." He sneers at the thought of such dullness: not Moriarty's style.
"Jim and I, we are playing a very elaborate match. I told you time and again: he wouldn't repeat a move twice. That would make him predictable, and he knows he can't take that risk with me. It's something different this time. I'm certain Moriarty helped someone plot and carry out this homicide by exploiting the dark voices in their heads. I just have to figure out how."
"How can you be so sure?" Giulia asks.
Sherlock looks away while replying, "Because he is a consulting criminal, I am a consulting detective: we are polar opposites. People come to me when they are out of their depth, and I provide them with answers. Jim provides them with troubling questions instead; your spouse bothers you? Easy: Why don't you just kill them? You have financial troubles? Quick solution: Why don't you just rob a bank?"
He walks away before adding in a whisper, "He plants the seeds of crime in people's minds. And this time, I must admit, he did an outstanding job."
Author's note: Dear readers, here we go: now you have been presented with all the five suspects. What are your thoughts on them? Who killed the tenor? Why and how?
Here's another recap of the suspects.
· Vincent Storing: victim and tenor of the theatre company. Over the last few years, he used to travel with some hired musicians to Africa and the Middle East during the weekends. Neither his wife nor his mistress ever accompanied him.
· Abigail Storing: victim's wife and soprano of the company. She knew her husband was unfaithful and had dilapidated all their savings, but he had promised to start over with her in the US after signing a rich contract for a tournée. They were planning to start a family.
· Calvin Dewey: costume designer. A medical school dropout, he hoped to hit the big time as a tenor, after abandoning the prospect of working with his father in a funeral home. He fought with the victim over costumes because of the victim's skin allergy to silk.
· Megan Trevors: victim's mistress and make-up artist of the company. She is pregnant with the victim's child. She tried to blackmail the victim to extort money for the baby.
· Gordon Ammel: gossip columnist hellbent on unearthing a scandal to destroy Vincent's life, as revenge for his sister's suicide. His sister, Bella Ammel, was the victim's fiancée before he met his present wife and dumped her.
· Samuel Humphrey: victim's best friend and producer of the company. He has repeatedly rescued the victim whenever he got into trouble. He has invested his whole life and career in Vincent's talent.
I can't wait to hear your theories while I prepare some explosive chapters for you.