Chapter Text
‘I really can’t believe it,’ I said for the tenth time. ‘Who’d want to kill the old boy?’
We were lounging in my brother’s apartments, digesting the story that was splashed over all of the newspapers – the shocking murder of the film star, Renly Baratheon.
The Pictorial, in line with its competitors, had rushed out a special edition - but in truth they had almost nothing to print. He’d been found dead in his dressing room, and an unnnamed female admirer had been arrested. Beyond that, details were scarce. Under the headline – STAG HEART-THROB KILLED - They’d filled the page with a large picture of his face, handsome and dark-haired with a fashionable pencil moustache.
‘I don’t believe I ever had the pleasure of meeting him,’ said Tyrion, carefully replacing the paper on the coffee table.
‘I did. A few times, in passing.’ Our sister had married one of his brothers, the same poor cove who’d been shot a few months before. With all his travel and filming commitments, though, Renly didn’t have much time for family functions. ‘Seemed a pleasant man. Nobody had a bad word to say about him.’
‘Everyone has enemies, I think,’ said Tyrion, walking into his kitchen.
I turned to lean out of the window. Winter had turned into Spring, no doubt about it, and I was enjoying the long-absent warmth of the sun. I was pleasantly lost in thoughts of the country, the river, and the golf course, when my eye was caught by something off in the street below.
‘Look at that,’ I said.
Tyrion didn’t come back in. ‘Don’t tell me, brother. Another ravishing auburn-haired beauty is walking past outside.’
I didn’t think the jibe was merited. Tyrion’s romantic life consisted of semi-regular trysts with women from the continent who only went by one name, but I had the good grace not to needle him about it.
‘No,’ I replied irritably, ‘it’s a boy.’ I realised what I’d said, and continued before he could make another joke. ‘He’s hovering around outside the doors, as if he doesn’t know whether to come in.’
‘He looks scared,’ I added, after a moment.
‘The great Tyrion Lannister, babysitter,’ intoned my brother, and I heard him pass through the connecting door and out of the apartment.
Two minutes went by, and Tyrion re-entered, with his arm around the young boy I’d spotted outside. He was a ragged-looking specimen of about twelve, with an untucked shirt and a nose red from too much blowing. He gave me a fearful look.
‘It’s quite alright, lad,’ said Tyrion soothingly. ‘That’s just my brother. Jaime, this is Podrick. I think Podrick has something to tell us.’
He sniffled. ‘It’s… they’ve arrested her. They’re saying she killed him. Brienne. But she didn’t, she couldn’t have.’
We got his story out in fits and starts.
Pod, it transpired, was something of a stage-door johnny. Every Saturday (and, he blushingly admitted, on rather too many schooldays) he would take omnibus out to the film studios – Stag and Weirwood were next door to each other – and wait with a gaggle of rivals, hoping for glimpses of the stars who came back and forth every day. He liked to collect their autographs in an album – he showed us, clutched under one arm, his Citadel Who’s Who of the Silver Screen.
‘There’s always girls, too. With us. Older girls, I mean. With make-up, and hair. They don’t want autographs, they just want to scream and pretend to faint when Loras Tyrell goes past.’
‘I see,’ I told the boy. ‘And Brienne was one of these girls?’
‘Well, no. Yes, but no.’ He shuffled his feet. ‘She wasn’t like the others. I mean, she’s tall and big and the others are more… you know. And she was only interested in Renly. He was the easiest autograph to get, because he was so nice. He’d come out and talk to us almost every day.’
‘Talk about what?’ enquired Tyrion.
‘The film he was working on, the weather, what kind of day we’d had. Anything. He was a real gent. Anyway – this was about two weeks ago - he spotted Brienne in the line. They must have already known each other,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘They were talking about the old days. Then Renly invited her backstage!’ Pod’s eyes were wide, as if he were talking about being admitted into heaven. ‘The other girls didn’t like Brienne so much, but-‘ he gave a shy little grin -‘you should have seen their faces when she walked off with Renly Baratheon, like they’d been friends for years!’
‘You don’t think she killed him, then,’ I said, unnecessarily.
‘No.’ The boy was adamant. ‘Renly gave her a job, as one of his people. She was so happy, I thought she’d burst. And she was so nice. She wouldn’t kill him, or anyone. Stands to reason. You’re a detective,’ he finished. ‘She couldn’t have.’
With his oratory concluded, the urchin simply stood there, snivelling, casting his big brown eyes at each of us in turn.
‘Alright, Podrick,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we’ll take a look into it. Come back in a week and we’ll tell you what we’ve found.’
The boy thanked me profusely and made his way out. I turned to face Tyrion’s glare.
‘You saw his face,’ I said sheepishly. ‘And it’s not like we have a great deal on at the moment. What harm could it do to go and have a look?’
‘We work for money, brother. Do you think that boy is in a position to meet my completely unreasonable expenses?’ He went out to the kitchen, apparently disgusted.
I noticed that the boy had left his Who’s Who on the sideboard. I flicked through it absent-mindedly, and soon found the double-page spread for the stars of Stag Studios. Renly’s portrait was centred, and largest. The other actors and actresses were arranged around him.
Margaery Tyrell, the studio’s golden girl, whose sudden engagement to Renly had caused such a stir over the last week. Her striking, curly-haired brother, Loras, whose rather wooden acting style did nothing to deter his legions of teenage admirers. Bryce Caron, tall and aristocratic-looking with a widow’s peak – an American, but one who’d purchased a landed title as some kind of private joke. Then there was his fellow countryman and inseparable friend Guy Morrigen, a more rugged-looking character who’d made his name in cowboy pictures. With smaller portraits at the foot of the page were the constellation of supporting players. Podrick, I noted with a smile, had autographs for almost every picture.
Tyrion had re-entered the room with a coffee tray while I was poring over the album.
‘A public figure like Renly,’ I said casually. ‘There’ll be a national outcry if the killer isn’t hanged. They’d better be damned sure they laid it on the right person.’
I knew what kind of things motivated my brother. As soon as I saw the flicker of interest cross his eyes, I knew that we would be on the case.
*
The police officer in charge of the district was Superintendent Tarly. Getting in to see him wasn’t anywhere near as difficult as we feared. As soon as we appeared outside the station, two constables came to clear a path for us through the milling reporters. Tarly turned out to be a tall, lean, grey-haired man in a pristine uniform, gleaming buttons and all.
‘Truth be told, I was on the point of calling you myself,’ he said, as he led us through the corridors of the station. ‘Although I would probably have brought you in through the back. You’ve given our friends outside another angle on their story.’
‘Police baffled, call upon powers of legendary detective? That sort of thing?’ Tyrion smiled.
Tarly, closing the door of his office, didn’t join in the levity. ‘So far, all the newspapers know is that I’ve taken an unnamed woman into custody. I could hardly keep that a secret. Otherwise, the less they know, the better for everyone involved.’ He gave my brother a critical look. ‘I don’t have much time for private agents, but an old colleague recommended you.’
‘Ah! You refer to the-‘ but Tyrion fell silent when Tarly raised a finger.
‘I think he’d rather not be named. He told me you have a knack for resolving puzzling situations, and that’s what I need today. In truth, the crime is straightforward. She was the only person in the room when he died. What isn’t so clear is how she did it. There isn’t a mark on Renly’s body. The only bleeding was from the mouth.’
‘Has a cause of death been determined?’
‘Asphyxia, so far as our doctors can tell. But by what method? Strangulation would leave marks. Smothering might be worth looking at, but you’d expect signs of a fight. The dead man hasn’t so much a broken fingernail, and the murderess not so much as a scratch.’
He frowned at us. ‘To be sure – if we put this woman before a jury now, they’d hang her, no hesitation. They wouldn’t be too worried about connecting the dots. But I’m a sworn officer of the law, and I’m not handing this over to the prosecutors until I know, to my satisfaction, how and why. I need to establish these things quickly. The longer this goes on, the greater the outcry will be.’
Tyrion spread his hands. ‘The truth is, Superintendent, we have already been engaged in matters related to this case by another party.’ He shot me a dark look. ‘On the other hand, as that party has yet to pay our retainer, I think there is no conflict of interest. Please – tell me all that you know.’
Tarly just nodded. ‘Very well then. The crime took place first thing this morning. Renly was preparing for the day’s shooting. Around half past eight, there was a commotion from his dressing room. The co-star, Loras Tyrell, burst in – his dressing-room is next door – and he found this woman bent over Renly’s body, covered in his blood. Tyrell’s been in the station all morning, baying for hers.’
‘And what does the accused say?’
‘Precious little,’ grunted Tarly. ‘She’s barely said a word to us. Killer’s remorse, I expect. When Tyrell first confronted her, she told him some ridiculous story, something about a shadow…. one of her fairy-tales. If you want to hear that, you can hear it from the man himself. He’s in a room upstairs with his sister. Heaven knows how I’m going to get them out of there, with that circus outside.’
‘What about the scene of the crime? Is it preserved?’
‘Of course. I’ve got men up at Stag Studios right now. Want me to arrange a car for you?’
‘Not just yet, Superintendent. We should talk to the Tyrells, seeing as they are so providently here. And perhaps we could talk to the accused also?’
‘Shouldn’t let you do that, really,’ said Tarly. ‘I suppose it’s necessary under the circumstances. We’ve got her in a holding cell in the basement.’
‘One last thing,’ said Tyrion. ‘You said that Miss Tarth was telling tales again. What did you mean by that?’
‘Hm? Oh, yes. I’d seen her here once before. She came into the station last week telling stories about rape. Upset about something that had happened to her at one of Renly’s parties.’
‘And who did she accuse?’
Tarly gave Tyrion a long stare, but eventually shrugged and selected one of a dozen manila folders from his desk. ‘Here we are,’ he said, producing a tea-stained typed sheet. ‘Owen… Inchfield. An actor, of course. Lives in shared digs down in Fitzrovia.’
‘Was there any substance to the allegation?’
‘Frankly, Mister Lannister, I’m disinclined to care. I sent Miss Tarth on her way, because I think that any young woman who mixes with that crowd deserves everything she gets.’
‘Friday night,’ I put in, glancing at the report. ‘The same day Renly announced his engagement.’
‘That was the purpose of the party, so far as I can tell,’ sniffed the superintendent. ‘Any excuse, for these showbusiness people.’
‘And this is your file on Miss Tarth? Twenty years of age. Unmarried. Mother dead, father abroad, no other family. No previous criminal record. Attended Evenfall school… just like Renly.’ He handed the sheet back. ‘Well, I think we have all we need to make a start. Can you show us where you are keeping the Tyrells?’
*
The Tyrell siblings were in what appeared to be a storage room upstairs. I thought it strange that in this windowless room full of oddments of furniture and old filing cabinets, sat two of the most bankable movie stars of the day.
Margaery drew the eye first – brunette, with delicate features, and the kind of expressive, mobile mouth so common in theatrical types. She was stalking the room in an immaculate heavy-collared mink coat. Loras was clearly cast from the same mould as his sister, with long hair and fine features. He was slumped on a bench nursing a mug of something.
I recalled when I’d last seen Loras – playing Lancelot to Renly’s Arthur in a recent picture. We’d sat in the stalls stifling our laughter at the girls who sighed every time he flicked his ringlets. In truth, though, seeing him in the flesh made me wonder if his looks might have held his career back. Despite his athletic build, he was a trifle too pretty to be seen as a real leading man.
My brother introduced us politely.
‘I’m very, very sorry for your loss, madam,’ he said smoothly. ‘How tragic that the fairytale wedding will never take place? And Mr Tyrell – condolences to you too. You and Renly were close friends, I gather.’
Loras nodded miserably. ‘For years. We would often… rehearse together. I’ve been looking at his body downstairs, but… I can’t believe he’s gone. I simply can’t believe it.’
‘The police tell me that you were the first on the scene.’
‘Yes. I heard some kind of scuffle, and ran across. When I looked in…’ he closed his eyes and shivered. ‘She was kneeling over his body, his blood all over her shirt. I asked her why… why?’ Loras shook his head in anger. ‘She could barely get her tongue working around those horrible teeth of hers. She stammered that the lights went out, then a shadow floated in and stabbed him.’
‘You cannot see a shadow in total darkness,’ said Tyrion thoughtfully. ‘And there were no stab wounds on the body.’
‘Of course there weren’t!’ snapped Loras. ‘She must have thought I was a fool. I was furious. I…’
‘You attacked her,’ stated Tyrion. I looked at him in surprise.
‘The bandage,’ he went on, in answer to the unspoken question. I looked down. There was, indeed, a freshly wrapped dressing on the actor’s hand. ‘The deceased has no injuries, but you do. You struggled with Miss Tarth.’
‘Not exactly,’ Loras mumbled. ‘I picked up the nearest thing – a glass, from the dressing table – and thrust it at her. It must have broken in my hand.’
‘And then?’
‘I… don’t really remember,’ said Loras uncertainly. ‘A few moments later, the others came in. Bryce, Guy, a few stagehands. They separated us, and I suppose someone called the police. ’
‘While you were in the corridor, on your way to Renly’s dressing room, did you see anyone else?’
‘Like a shadow, you mean?’ he asked scornfully. ‘No!’
Margaery reached across and took her brother’s hand. ‘We’re all shocked by what’s happened,’ she said, with a concerned glance at us.
‘Perhaps you can help me with something, Miss Tyrell? I’m most curious to know what happened at this engagement party of yours,’ said Tyrion.
‘Well… yes.’ For the first time I’d seen, Margaery looked awkward. She glanced at her brother. ‘We were worried that might have been the reason… well.’ She sighed. ‘Brienne was infatuated with Renly. Everyone knew that. We all felt rather sorry for her.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Loras.
‘Brienne isn’t much of a one for parties, really, but Renly wanted her to be there in person when we made the announcement. Letting her down gently, you know? She ran off crying, and – I meant to go and console her. I was cornered by some annoying person and couldn’t shake them off for a while. I don’t think I saw Brienne again all night. She must have left.’
‘And feeling spurned, in a fury, she killed Renly the next time they were alone,’ finished Loras with a hiss. ‘All the kindness, the pity, he showed her. That’s how she repaid him.’
‘A fury,’ said Tyrion thoughtfully. ‘And yet the police tell us there was no sign of a struggle. Tell me – what was the nature of Miss Tarth’s employment under Renly?’
‘A kind of… valet, I suppose,’ mused Margaery. ‘She drove him around, dealt with his fan letters, helped him dress and prepare for his scenes. She was around him all the time, really. I swear she was seeing more of him than I was.’
‘One last question, perhaps,’ said Tyrion. ‘You know the police are uncertain as to how exactly Renly was killed. That is why they have called me in. How do you think it happened?’
Loras frowned. ‘She’s a great beast of a woman. She could have overpowered him, I think. To think of her choking him to death in those arms of hers…’ his face crumpled, and he looked like he was going to burst into tears.
‘I must ask you to leave now,’ said Margaery firmly, gathering her brother in her arms. ‘Please.’
‘I am most grateful for your time,’ said Tyrion, and with a final bow, he led me out of the room, and left the siblings to their grieving.
‘Strange thing,’ I said, once we were safely out of earshot. ‘He looked more upset than she did.’
‘Most enlightening,’ was all my brother said. ‘Now, we talk to Miss Tarth herself.’