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WEEK TWO: MURDER OF A MOVIE STAR

The scene: A film set at Pinewood Studios in Buckinghamshire in 1958

Even in death, Bette Starr was impossibly beautiful. Since first bursting onto the silver screen in her 1951 debut, Femme Fatale, the actress had become a household name. Now, seven years on, she lay on a chaise longue on the set of her latest film, Blonde But Deadly. Her lifeless body was draped in a green silk dress and a dagger streaked with blood was on the floor beside her.

Inspector Alan Morris took stock of the scene and turned to Constable Tommy Briggs. ‘I’ve lost count of the number of murders I’ve worked on,’ he said, ‘but I’ve never investigated a death that’s been captured on film.’ Two hours earlier, Oscar J Humphreys III, director of his wife’s new film, had sat down in his chair on set. As the cameras began to roll, Bette Starr had laughed in the face of her co- star, Gregory Holliday, and slapped him. As the script instructed, he’d drawn the dagger from his sleeve and stabbed her. It wasn’t a real dagger, just a prop, with a blade that retracted into the handle. At least, that was what was supposed to happen. But as the star collapsed, she’d let out a scream that chilled the blood. The director had called ‘ cut!’ and Holliday had yawned and rolled his eyes: his costar was overacting, again. But as Bette Starr lay motionless, and blood began to seep through her dress, the cast and crew had fallen silent. This was no longer play- acting murder, this was the real thing…

‘So,’ said the young constable, ‘do you think someone deliberately switched the prop knife for a real one?’ The inspector nodded. ‘Indeed I do, Briggs. The question is – who?’

Sitting to one side of the set, the dead star’s twin sister’s hands shook as she sipped a glass of medicinal brandy. ‘Judy, I understand it was you who placed the dagger on the set,’ said Inspector Morris gently. Judy Starr nodded. ‘Bette got me a job looking after the props,’ she said. ‘I know the knife I put in the box had a retractable blade but the set was deserted at lunchtime and anyone could have swapped the knives. As for where the prop dagger is, I’ve no idea.’ During questioning it emerged that the Starr twins came from a poor background, leaving school early, unable to read or write, a fact that made Bette’s ascent to stardom all the more impressive. ‘She learned her lines with help from her husband, reciting the dialogue parrotfashion,’ said Judy. ‘Oscar directed all her films. They were inseparable.’

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‘ Were you close to your sister?’ asked Inspector Morris. ‘Extremely,’ said the woman. ‘She was always giving me presents. Just yesterday, she gave me a pair of beautiful red shoes. They were cast- offs, but still – it’s the thought that counts.’ Constable Briggs flicked to a fresh page in his notebook and licked his pencil. ‘My Auntie Joyce reads all the film magazines,’ he said. ‘She told me you wanted to be an actress too, but never made the grade. Is it true you were jealous of your sister’s success?’ Judy’s knuckles whitened as she tightened the grip on her glass. ‘That’s nothing but a vicious lie,’ she said. ‘ Kindly tell your Auntie Joyce to stop gossiping and mind her own business.’

Gregory Holliday’s agent said he was ‘too distressed’ to be interviewed, but Inspector Morris insisted. Standing in the leading man’s dressing room, he stared at the absurdly handsome face he’d seen in more films than he cared to remember. Mrs Morris was a fan. The inspector was not. ‘Would you mind taking off your sunglasses, sir? It’s disconcerting talking to someone when you can’t see their expression.’ The actor sighed but did as requested, revealing the ice-blue eyes that had helped make him rich and famous.

‘I’m not to blame for what happened,’ said Holliday. ‘I simply used the dagger Judy Starr put in the props box.’ ‘Did you test it yourself, sir?’ said Morris. ‘To check the blade was retractable?’ Another sigh. ‘No, I did not. We’d already done the scene twice before lunch – this was to be the final take. I had no reason to believe the wretched knife was anything but a prop.’ ‘Do you know anyone who might have wished Miss Starr harm?’ asked the inspector. The man furrowed his brow. ‘I can’t think of anybody,’ he said. ‘Except,

perhaps, whoever was sending Bette anonymous poison-pen letters, written in green ink.’ ‘Do you know where the letters are?’ said Inspector Morris. ‘Bette burned them,’ said Holliday.

PC Briggs cleared his throat. ‘According to my Auntie Joyce’s magazines, you and Miss Starr were more than just good friends, if you catch my drift. But she’d recently broken things off. Is that true?’ The actor froze the constable with a glare. ‘Tell your auntie she’d be better off reading a good book.’ Inspector Morris kept his voice steady. ‘This is a murder enquiry, sir. PC Briggs asked a reasonable question. We’d be grateful for an answer.’ A muscle twitched beneath Holliday’s eye. ‘If you must know,’ he said. ‘It’s true that Miss Starr recently ended our liaison. But if you think I killed her deliberately, you’ve taken leave of your senses.’

The policeman smiled. ‘You must admit, it would be an ingenious plan. To swap the daggers then “accidentally” kill Miss Starr while providing yourself with a plausible excuse – that you had no idea the knife wasn’t a prop.’ ‘You’re too clever for me,’ said the actor. ‘One last question,’ said Morris. ‘I understand she was also Mrs Humphreys – she was married to the film’s director. Did he know that you and his wife were more than “just good friends”?’ The actor’s hands trembled as he reached for a cigarette. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you ask him?’ He struck a match and gave Briggs a thin smile. ‘Or perhaps you’d be better off talking to Auntie Joyce.’

Inspector Morris made do with speaking to the deceased’s husband. The renowned director Oscar J Humphreys III had served in the war, a gunshot wound leaving him with the limp that required the use of a cane. ‘When will it be possible to view the film of your wife’s… accident?’ asked Morris. ‘The rushes won’t be developed until tomorrow,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think they’ll tell us anything we don’t already know.’ ‘Forgive my bluntness,’ said Inspector Morris, ‘but I assume you knew about your wife’s romance with Gregory Holliday?’ The director’s eyes widened. ‘What romance?’ The inspector looked to Briggs for confirmation. The constable cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid the affair was all over the gossip magazines, sir.’ The director swallowed, fighting back tears. He seemed genuinely taken aback by the revelation, thought Inspector Morris. But what if he was as accomplished a performer as

his wife? ‘One final question, sir. Do you know of anyone who might have had a grudge against Miss Starr?’ ‘Everyone adored Bette,’ he said. Then a thought seemed to strike. ‘Except, perhaps, one person… the man who wrote the script for Blonde But Deadly…’

Gene Romano was a gum-chewing Italian-American in his early 30s. Sitting in his office, feet on his desk, he coolly fielded questions from the two policemen. No, he hadn’t been near the set at lunchtime. No, he didn’t know who might have switched the prop for a real blade. ‘And no, I bore Bette no ill will.’

Inspector Morris smiled. ‘Mr Humphreys tells us she had a habit of altering your script, sir – demanding changes to the characters and plot.’ Romano’s jaw tightened. ‘I spent six months writing Blonde But Deadly, and frankly she was making it worse, not better. I wanted to direct the film myself and the lousy producer said no. But if you think I’d kill someone just for ruining my work, you’ve completely lost the plot.’

Taking a final look around the set, Inspector Morris searched for every possible clue, from the chaise longue to the typewriter, from the camera

equipment to the ornaments on the mantelpiece. There, he picked up an autograph album. ‘It’s mine,’ said a soft voice, and the policemen turned to see a young, mousy-haired woman. She introduced herself as Holly Wood. Constable Briggs raised an eyebrow. She gave a shy smile. ‘My real name is Eve Audrey Wood but I’m a movie fan so I changed it.’ ‘May I ask why you’re here?’ said the inspector. ‘I won a competition to meet Miss Starr,’ she said. ‘It’s all jolly exciting. But I had no idea something like this would happen.’ PC Briggs stepped towards her. ‘May I see your right hand, madam?’ She looked surprised but offered her hand. ‘Is that ink on your fingers?’ said the constable. She nodded. ‘I’ve been writing my diary, recording every detail of my exciting day.’ ‘Do you always use green ink?’ said Inspector Morris. ‘Always,’ said Holly Wood. ‘Why do you ask?’

Heading for the car park, Inspector Morris ran through the suspects. ‘A spurned lover; a cuckolded husband; a jealous sister; an aggrieved scriptwriter; and a poison-pen-letter-writing fan.’ All had a motive and access to the set. Then, reaching their car, Morris saw an envelope tucked under

a windscreen wiper. Inside was a photo of Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck, in the award-winning hit movie, Roman Holiday.

There was nothing written on the envelope and no note inside. ‘We’d better dust the photograph for fingerprints,’ said PC Briggs. But the inspector didn’t look convinced. ‘I think whoever’s trying to tip us off is too clever to leave a trace.’ PC Briggs leafed through his notebook. ‘Didn’t Holly Wood say her real name was Eve Audrey?’ he said. ‘Yes,’ said the inspector. ‘And the leading man is Gregory Holliday – but where does that leave us? Is our informant suggesting the actor and the fan were in cahoots?’ The constable scratched his head. ‘I don’t know, sir, but perhaps there will be more clues.’ ‘I hope you’re right, Briggs,’ said the inspector. ‘Because I feel as if I’m swimming in a shoal of red herrings and have absolutely no idea who murdered Bette Starr.’

In the panels above are full instructions on how to play and the first clue. Look for further clues each day next week in the Daily Mail – and see if you can solve the mystery with the final clue on Friday.

Simon Booker’s new thriller Kill Me Twice is available now.

NEXT SATURDAY’S MYSTERY: MASTERCLASS IN MURDER