The Partner
Hans Evans spread out breadcrumbs as though the detective was among Hansel and Gretel. A woman who commanded respect from all, yet one who was shunned by her kin, Alexandra was the next suspect who may have given The Forgotten its grave ending.
“Is she here?” the detective asked, unconvinced as to whether she would, in fact, turn up.
“Larson’s wife? She is waiting in the lobby. Should I call her in?”
“In five minutes please,” he called out and sat down.
There was still so much left to ask, so many people left to interview, so many intricacies to ponder upon; he simply couldn’t concentrate. On top of that, listening to the victim’s wife with an open perspective would certainly be a struggle in this situation.
From what he had gathered, Alexandra wasn’t just the mere wife of an actor, atypical for a woman of her social standing. Coming from such a house as she did, she was expected to marry into another house of equal stature and perform the usual duties of raising well-bred heirs, maintaining the footing of the family, and standing pretty by their husbands.
Unlike her peers from the old-guard families, she chose to marry a man who earned his riches, rather than inherit it. She chose to give away substantial amounts of her funds to the causes she believed in. She wanted to make a name of her own, refusing to be defined by her surname.
As expected, she walked in, sceptical but self-assured. She was remarkably well put together, like any typical well-heeled lady; discerning yet distinctive. However, there was an evasive depth to her, beneath the façade she was forced to wear.
“Take a seat, ma’am”, the detective said, pointing towards a chair. Alexandra sat as dainty as she could.
“Hello detective, It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, her head bent down.
“Can I get you anything to drink, ma’am?,” the detective asked out of courtesy.
“Sure, can I get a White Russian with extra coffee, please?” Alexandra replied timidly.
“Right away. Anyhow, let’s get to the point, shall we, Mrs. Larson?” the detective asked, his eyes piercing through her.
”It’s Miss Benette for you, sir,” she corrected him.
“Right, Miss Benette. Your husband, as you know, had a tragic death, delivering his final performance. I also gather that you were in the audience that day, despite not having met him in almost a fortnight. So, why did you leave your husband?” the detective asked inquisitively.
“Well, Henry came home early in the morning, after rehearsal. But that wasn’t the first time he came late. It had become a regular thing, him arriving late, dishevelled and unwilling. I could feel him becoming distant. I could feel the love and trust evaporate from our marriage, but that day was the tipping point of it all. Henry said he was tired and he wanted to sleep, but I wanted my answers. He refused to even treat me as his fair equal in the public eye.”
“He could have been uncomfortable with the attention, or shy, there are so many things that could have been the reason,” remarked the detective.
“Marital instincts. This is the person I fell in love with, the person whose traits I’ve witnessed and absorbed. When suspicion sets in, you know it’s true.”
Alexandra turned away for a moment as if she regretted ever suspecting him, fracturing the very marriage she held on to so dearly.
“Well to answer your question, the other day, the production manager of the play that Henry was a part of, gave me a tip-off about this other person that Henry was getting comfortable around during rehearsal. Earlier that day, I had received a parcel under Henry’s name. I opened it to find a platinum chain with the initials PL. With the suspicion that it was indeed P. Larson, I went to the studio where the play was being produced to surprise Henry and, also to put my racing heart to rest.”
She paused for a moment, perhaps due to what had transpired, and then proceeded with her version of events.
“Henry was getting his make-up done before a take, which didn’t seem that fishy. I sat down on one of the sofas of the dressing room, intently watching my husband, hoping that he’d notice my arrival. But soon enough, I realised that the make-up artist was making obvious passes at him, and the worst part was that my husband was responding to it. That’s when it all fell into place. Here I was, trying to find the mystery woman in Henry’s life, but I unsolved a different mystery altogether. All this new information clouded my judgement, and I felt suffocated, living in my husband’s house. So, I left for my cottage with the kids.
A few days later, I caught hold of one of the posters of the play from the newspapers. Henry could’ve been the worst husband to me, but he wasn’t a terrible actor. He’d become the character he played, to the point you’d forget that he was a real person. So, I thought that it would only be fitting to respect his art and watch the play. The execution was heart-breaking to watch, but then I noticed that the ropes were hanging a little too low to support his frame. So, I rushed to the dressing room, where I found the lifeless corpse of my husband. Since then, I have been under police observation, so you would know.”
“Well, thank you for that account, Miss Bennette. But, there is one thing that I have to inform you of. Your husband’s affair was not with the makeup artist, but with another lady. Miss Sirena Prince gave her testament yesterday on how she knew of you and your husband’s marriage, much into their relationship and that she parted ways with him immediately,” the detective said, sounding apologetic.
“No, I don’t think that is true. It has to be the makeup artist. There is simply no other explanation for why my husband would cheat on me,” Alexandra said, looking away.
She hadn’t been entirely truthful. How else would she be able to explain all the jewellery and the dresses her husband had commissioned, none of which materialized? She refused to accept the presence of another woman. Denial was easier than confrontation, and she chose the pathway more often traversed by the women around her. To her, she was the only woman her husband might have ever loved.
“I see. Before we disperse though, there is one question I must ask. When, if at all, did you ever stop loving him?” the detective asked curiously.
Alexandra looked at him, a lone tear trailing down her cheek.
Up next on the detective’s checklist was a man known for his ability to transform individuals; Larson’s make-up artist.
