Stephen Leather

Take Two

CHAPTER 1

The woman took a long, slow drag on her cigarette, drew the smoke deep into her lungs, and held it there for several seconds, relishing as she always did the warmth of the nicotine as it spread through her system. Then she exhaled just as slowly, her lips slightly pursed, and blew smoke up at the ceiling. She was Diana Bourne, she was rich, she was successful, and she was standing outside a bedroom door on the other side of which two people were having energetic and very vocal sex. Diana was pretty sure the male half of the copulating couple was her husband. As she was standing outside her own bedroom door, that seemed a fairly reasonable assumption.

She dropped what was left of the cigarette on the floor and ground it out with her Prada black high-heeled shoe. Everything she was wearing had a designer label. Versace suit. Gucci blouse. Louis Vuitton bag. Cartier watch. Chanel perfume. Designer labels were Diana’s camouflage and sometimes her armour.

She threw open the door and strode into the room, stopped under the gold and crystal chandelier and put her hands on her hips. ‘My husband and my best friend,’ she said bitterly. ‘If it wasn’t such a cliche it’d be almost funny.’ She shook her head and then reached into her bag and pulled out a gun.

Her husband was lying on his back, his head supported by two pillows. The girl had her back to Diana, but the waist-length lustrous blonde hair was more than enough to identify Fiona Hale. She had frozen mid-stroke, but then rolled off the bed, grabbing at the duvet and pulling it off the bed with her. As she wrapped it around her, Diana’s husband used his hands to cover what was left of his erection. She smiled ruefully. ‘Oh come on now Simon, suddenly you’re shy,’ she said and took aim at his groin.

‘Diana, come on, don’t be silly,’ he said. ‘We’re all adults here.’

‘Yeah, I’m an adult. An adult who’s been betrayed by her husband. I’m pretty sure any jury’s bound to consider it a crime of passion.’ Her finger tightened on the trigger.

‘Diana, it doesn’t mean anything. It was just…’ Fiona began to shake and was unable to finish the sentence.

‘Sex? Fun? A game? What was it exactly, Fiona?’ Diana pointed the gun at Fiona and she hugged the duvet tighter as if she thought it would offer some protection against a bullet. ‘How long have I known you Fiona? Fifteen years? You helped me start my company, you’ve been my friend, my advisor, my rock. And you screwed my husband?’

‘It didn’t mean anything,’ Fiona repeated, close to tears.

‘Maybe not to you, and maybe not to Simon there, but it bloody well means something to me.’ She pointed the gun back at her husband. ‘So, would you throw yourself in front of him? Would you take a bullet for your lover, Fiona?’

‘He’s not my…’ Again she left the sentence unfinished.

‘What is he exactly, Fiona? He’s my husband, but what is he to you?’

Simon shook his head, ‘Diana, please, this is…’

Diana held a finger to her lips. ‘Hush, darling,’ she said. ‘I’m talking to Fiona.’

‘You know you’re not going to use that,’ he said.

‘Darling, you are so wrong.’ Her finger tightened on the trigger and he flinched. Diana laughed. ‘How sad are you?’ she said. ‘Do you want to know something, Simon? Do you want to know what I was doing today while you were screwing my best friend?’ She grinned. ‘Well, first of all, I met with my solicitor and you’re about to be served with divorce papers. Then I cleared all the money out of our joint bank accounts. And then I convened a board meeting of our company and we unanimously agreed to terminate your contract. So you’re broke and unemployed and after my solicitor has got through with you, you’ll be homeless. All in all, I’ve had a pretty productive morning.’ She looked over at Fiona. ‘He doesn’t look quite so attractive now does he, babe?’

‘Please, Diana, I just want to go home.’

‘Of course you do, babe. Just let me shoot my lying, scheming bastard husband and then you can be on your way.’ She swung the gun back at Simon, aimed at his stomach, and pulled the trigger.

The sound was deafening and Fiona screamed. Simon clutched at his chest, his eyes wide and staring. Fiona pulled the quilt up to her neck as her whole body started to tremble.

‘Happy now, darling?’ Diana asked her husband.

Simon patted his hands over his chest. There was no blood, no wound.

Diana laughed and wagged the gun at him. ‘See darling, there was nothing to worry about,’ she said. ‘I’m firing blanks, just like you.’

There was silence for a few seconds, though Diana’s ears were still ringing from the shot. Then there was a sudden shout from behind her. ‘Cut! Brilliant everyone. That’s a wrap!’

‘Well, thank God for that,’ said the man on the bed. A young man in an Arran sweater hurried over and handed him a silk robe. ‘Please reassure me that no one could see my willy,’ he said, wrapping the robe around himself.

‘Not unless they were using a magnifying glass, darling,’ said Carolyn Castle, the actress playing the part of Diana. She kept the gun pointed down at the floor until Danny Brett, the former soldier who worked as the production company’s armorer, took it from her, made it safe and placed it in a steel case.

‘Bi-atch,’ snarled the man. He was Sebastian Lawton, her husband on the show but, in real life, as camp a homosexual as you’d meet in Soho on a Saturday night. He was in his sixties but had paid for enough surgery, Botox and hair transplant work that he could pass for fifty and was a good enough actor to come across as the ultimate ladies man.

‘Diana, you can pop back to make-up,’ the director said. ‘We’ll do close-ups on Seb and Andrea, so you’ve got time to get your hair fixed.’

Carolyn turned around and fixed him with her steely green eyes. ‘Darling, one, my name is Carolyn and two, what exactly is wrong with my hair?’

Jake Harrington jumped out of his director’s chair and hurried over to her, arms outstretched. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ he said, hugging her. ‘It’s just you are always Diana to me. I’ve watched Rags To Riches from the very first episode.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘If it makes you feel better, we’ll get Danny back and you can shoot me here and now.’ He released his grip on her. ‘I’m sorry. Really.’

Carolyn stroked his chin. ‘Darling, half the fans who ask for my autograph get upset if I sign as Carolyn,’ she laughed. ‘They want Diana’s signature, not mine. A lot of them have never heard of Carolyn Castle. To them I’m Diana Bourne, end of story.’

‘But I’m your director, and if I ever confuse you with your character again you have my permission to knee me in the crotch, at the very least.’

Carolyn smiled sweetly. She knew he was only over-reacting to make her feel good but she appreciated that he’d made the effort. ‘And the hair problem?’

Harrington made a flicking gesture with his hand. ‘It’s more of a lighting problem,’ he said. ‘We’re shooting you with quite a bright light behind you and its shining right through your hair so we’re seeing a bit of scalp.’

‘A bit of what?’ said Carolyn, horrified.

‘The outline of your scalp, darling, it’s nothing to worry about, Tracey will take care of it.’

‘What are you saying, Jake? Are you saying I’m going bald?’

Harrington laughed but Carolyn saw the nervousness in his eyes. ‘Your hair is lovely,’ he said. ‘You’re lovely. Now get yourself over to make-up so I can get started on Seb’s close-up.’

CHAPTER 2

Carolyn settled into the chair and stared at her reflection in the mirror in front of her. She turned her head slowly to the left and then to the right. ‘Tracey, is my hair thinning?’

‘Of course not,’ said Tracey, who was rooting around in the blue plastic fishing tackle box that she used to hold her brushes.

‘Don’t bullshit me, Tracey, I need an honest opinion.’

Tracey straightened up and ran her hands through Carolyn’s hair. Tracey was in her early twenties, with long natural blonde hair and a tight figure that came from genetics rather than time spent in the gym. ‘It’s fine,’ she said.

‘The truth, darling,’ said Carolyn.

‘It’s fine. Fine as in thin. You don’t have thick hair, Carolyn, you never have.’

‘Is it finer than it was?’

Tracey exhaled through pursed lips. ‘Maybe.’

Carolyn cursed under her breath.

Tracey put her hands on Carolyn’s shoulders. ‘You’ve got great hair,’ she said.

‘Don’t say for my age,’ said Carolyn.

‘For any age. But yes, it’s fine. And Jake said the light was shining through it, which never looks good. But it’s easy enough to put a bit of thickening through it.’ She took a step back and looked at her reflection. ‘You might want to start thinking about a wig.’

‘A wig? Are you serious?’

‘Half the actresses on EastEnders have wigs,’ said Tracey. ‘The older ones, anyway.’

‘Oh, thanks Tracey,’ said Carolyn.

‘I didn’t mean you were…’

‘Old?’ Carolyn sighed and leaned towards her reflection. She examined the crows feet at the corners of her eyes. ‘Do I need my eyes doing again, do you think?’

‘Your eyes are fine. Everything’s fine.’

‘Including my bloody hair?’

One of the runners popped his head around the door. ‘Miss Castle?’

Carolyn twisted around to look at him. He was a good-looking boy on his gap year, the son of one of the network producers. ‘Yes, Harry?’

‘Mr Harrington says he doesn’t need you for the rest of the day. They’re having camera problems.’

‘Thanks, sweetie. Can you dig up my driver for me?’

Harry flashed her a beaming smile and closed the door.

‘Well, Tracey, it looks as if we won’t be needing the thickener just now,’ said Carolyn. She looked at her watch. ‘You know what, I think I’ll give Eddie a surprise.’ She gave Tracey a sly smile in the mirror. ‘Do you think you could use your magic brushes and give me some seductive warpaint?’ Eddie Hunter was Carolyn’s long-time boyfriend, and had been since soon after her third divorce. Eddie was a musician, a talented pianist, but hadn’t had any work fixed up that month so he’d been hanging around his Chelsea flat at a loose end. She’d been working pretty much non- stop all week and had barely spent any time with him so she figured her early cut would be the perfect opportunity to put that right.

‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ said Tracey. ‘Would you like the Parisian courtesan, the subtle seductress or shall we go the full Madonna?’

CHAPTER 3

Carolyn’s driver was waiting for her in reception, sitting on a sofa as he tapped away on his iPhone. He jumped to his feet as he saw her coming through the double doors from the studio and pocketed his phone. ‘Early bath, Miss Castle?’ he asked.

‘Camera problems so Seb has to stay after school but I get to go home early,’ she said.

‘It’s an ill wind,’ he said, opening the main door for her. His name was Billy McMullen and he’d been her driver for the past three years. He picked her up each morning, drove her to the studio and took her home each evening. If there was any location shooting to be done, it was Billy who drove her in his Mercedes S-Class. He was a former soldier who had driven tanks in Iraq before leaving the Army and setting up his own minicab company in South London. The recession had sent his fledgling business into a tailspin and he’d joined the production company as a driver. Carolyn had immediately liked the former soldier’s gruff no-nonsense approach to the job and, in particular, his knack of knowing when she wanted to talk and when she wanted to sit in silence. It was a skill none of her three former husbands had ever acquired.

They walked together to the car and Billy opened the rear door for her. ‘Can we stop at an off licence? Then I want to go to Eddie’s place,’ she said as she climbed in.

‘Not a problem, Miss Castle,’ Billy said, closing the door. He was an excellent driver; nothing seemed to faze him. If a bus pulled up short in front of them, he just braked and smiled. If a courier cut him up, Billy just grinned. Carolyn had asked him once how he’d become such an unflustered driver and Billy had just shrugged and said that once you’d driven down a road that you knew was littered with IEDs — Improvised Explosive Devices — whatever happened on a London street was a walk in the park. ‘I’m just grateful no one is trying to shoot me,’ he said. ‘But there are some parts of South London that are a bit dicey these days.’

Carolyn took her iPad from her bag and passed the time on Twitter. She had more than a quarter of a million followers and she Tweeted at least half a dozen times a day, and always posted at least twice on her Facebook page. She knew her livelihood depended on her fan base and that time spent interacting with her fans was as important as the time she spent in front of the camera.

After half an hour Billy pulled up outside a Nicolas off-licence not far from Eddie’s apartment. ‘Shall I pop in for you, Miss Castle?’ he asked, looking at her in the rear-view mirror.

‘Thanks, darling, but with my luck you’d get a ticket,’ she said. ‘I’ll only be five minutes.’ She let herself out of the car and hurried across the pavement and into the shop. There was a cooler full of white wine and champagne and she studied the labels. Eddie was a big fan of Cristal and Pol Roget but they had neither so she had to settle for a bottle of non-vintage Bollinger. She preferred red wine but was happy enough to share a bottle of champagne with him. As she took it out of the cooler, she realised an old couple were watching her, the woman in a cheap cloth coat and wool hat and clutching a leather handbag to her chest, the man in a tweed overcoat and a long striped scarf. ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ said the woman. She tugged at her husband’s arm. ‘It’s her. Off the telly.’

Her husband was in his late seventies with a liver-spotted bald head and the look of a turtle that was about to withdraw into its shell. ‘What telly?’ he said,

‘The telly.’ She nodded at Carolyn. ‘You’re that Diana Bourne, off that show.’

Carolyn smiled. ‘Yes, I am,’ she said.

‘I love that show,’ said the woman. She nudged her husband. ‘We love that show.’

‘How lovely,’ said Carolyn.

‘What’s it called? Rag and Bone?’

‘Rags To Riches,’ said Carolyn, trying to get by the couple to the cash register.

‘That’s it,’ said the woman. ‘We love it. Wouldn’t miss it. So much better than that EastEnders. What is it with EastEnders? There’s always someone dying or fighting or shouting. But we love your show.’

‘Thank you so much,’ said Carolyn.

‘Could I have your autograph?’ asked the woman. ‘My daughter loves the show and she won’t believe I’ve seen you if I don’t have your autograph.’

‘Of course,’ said Carolyn. She looked at the old woman expectantly. ‘Do you have a piece of paper or something? And a pen?’

The old woman shook her head. ‘No dear. Sorry.’

‘Let’s see if the sales lady has one,’ Carolyn said and smiled. She managed to squeeze by the couple and went over to the cash register. The woman behind the counter was in her late twenties with dyed blonde hair, dressed all in black. Carolyn asked for a pen and then scribbled her Diana Bourne signature on the back of a leaflet advertising Australian wine. She handed it to the old woman and waved away her thanks, then paid for the champagne. The cashier held out her hand with the change. Her eyes widened in recognition. ‘You’re. . Carolyn Bourne,’ she said. She had an East European accent. Polish, perhaps.

‘Last time I checked, yes,’ said Carolyn. She motioned with her hand, asking for the change. She couldn’t be bothered correcting the girl, it was just too much effort to explain that her name was Castle and that Bourne was the character she played.

The cashier took back the change as if she had forgotten she had it in her hand. ‘It must be great to be a movie star,’ she said.

‘Well. I’m not really a movie star, it’s just television.’

‘But you’re famous.’

‘Believe me, it’s actually very hard work.’

‘My boyfriend loves you,’ said the shop assistant. ‘He says you’re his favourite Milf.’

‘Milf?’

‘That’s what he says but he won’t say what a Milf is. Can you tell me, what is a Milf?’

Carolyn laughed. She knew exactly what a Milf was but didn’t think she should be the one to tell the girl what her boyfriend meant. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Will you talk to him, please?’

Carolyn looked at her watch pointedly but the girl was already reaching for her mobile. She held the phone to her ear, nodding and smiling at Carolyn. Carolyn said a silent prayer that the boyfriend wouldn’t answer but he did. ‘Mark, you’ll never guess who’s in my shop,’ she said. She grinned. ‘No, you won’t guess. Here, you talk to her.’ She handed over the phone.

Carolyn smiled and took it. ‘Hi,’ she said, ‘This is Carolyn Castle.’

‘No way.’ He was from Liverpool and sounded as if he was a few years younger than the girl behind the counter.

‘It’s definitely me,’ said Carolyn. ‘I just popped in to your girlfriend’s shop to buy some wine and she mentioned you enjoyed the show.’

‘You’ve made my day, you really have,’ he said. ‘Can I tell you something, Carolyn?’

‘Of course.’

‘Your husband. Watch him. He’s getting a bit too pally with that Fiona. I don’t trust her.’

Carolyn laughed. ‘Thanks for the tip, Mark.’

‘I’m serious, Carolyn. There’s something not right there.’

Still laughing, Carolyn handed the phone back to the girl and retrieved her change. She was still laughing as she walked out of the shop and climbed into the back of the Mercedes.

CHAPTER 4

Billy brought the car to a halt outside the mansion block where Eddie had his flat. She saw Eddie’s black 5-Series BMW parked in the street. ‘Do you want me to wait for you, Miss Castle?’ asked Billy. When he’d first starting driving her, Carolyn had asked him to call her by her first name but he’d insisted it was company policy not to.

‘No, that’s okay, Billy,’ she said. ‘I’ll probably stay over, but I’ll send you a text either way.’

‘It’s an early call tomorrow,’ said Billy. ‘Seven o’clock in make-up, they said.’

‘I’ll be ready for you, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,’ she said. ‘Have you got anything planned?’

‘Thought I’d take the missus out for a movie and a pizza,’ said Billy. ‘Once she gets over the shock of me getting home this early.’

Carolyn climbed out of the Mercedes and waved goodbye to Billy as she let herself into the block. Eddie had given her a set of keys two months into their relationship and she’d reciprocated by giving him the keys to her house in Notting Hill Gate. There was an old lift that rattled up and down between the floors but Carolyn never liked using it. Eddie’s flat was on the third floor so she walked up the stairs. The common parts of the building were expensively decorated, funded by a sky-high service charge. The carpet was a deep red and there were brass-framed watercolours on the walls and small brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling. She walked slowly up the stairs as she fumbled in her bag for the keys. She reached the third floor and tucked the bottle of champagne under her left arm as she opened the front door, quietly because she wanted to surprise Eddie. She kicked off her shoes and shrugged off her coat, dropped her bag onto a side table and then padded along the hallway to the sitting room. She could hear the television and expected to find Eddie sprawled on his sofa watching Sky Sport, but the living room was empty. There were two glasses on the coffee table, ice cubes melting in them. Carolyn frowned as she stared at the glasses. She tried to swallow but her mouth had gone suddenly dry. There was only one bedroom in the flat, at the end of the hallway. She turned and walked back into the hall, the champagne bottle swinging slowly in her left hand.

She heard the noises as she got closer to the door. Panting. Moaning. Grunting. She felt tears sting her eyes and she blinked them away. She reached out with her right hand but flinched as she heard laughter from inside the bedroom. A man and a girl. Carolyn’s heart was pounding and as she reached out again her hand trembled. She seized the handle, turned it, and slowly pushed open the door. The hinges squeaked and Carolyn’s breath caught in her mouth. She heard grunting, and the slap of flesh against flesh. She pushed the door wide open and stepped into the room.

Eddie was on his knees with his back to her. The blonde girl was kneeling, her head on a pillow as Eddie pounded into her, his hands on her hips.

Tears ran down Carolyn’s face as she watched Eddie make love to her. She was moaning and groaning and calling out his name. Eddie was grunting in time with each thrust. He still had his socks on, Carolyn noticed. Black socks with a blue geometric pattern.

There was a large ornate, gilt-framed mirror above the bed and when Carolyn looked up at it she could see Eddie’s face. His eyes were closed and he was gritting his teeth as he pounded. His upper lip was drawn back into a snarl. It was a look she’d seen dozens of times, the face he made just before he came.

Carolyn took a step forward as the girl lifted up her head. Her face came into view in the mirror. She was in her twenties — half Carolyn’s age. Her mouth was open and her face was bathed in sweat. She was young enough not to need much make-up, just a touch of mascara. Her cheekbones were as sharp as razors, not a blemish on her skin. She moaned his name again.

‘You bastard!’ Carolyn screamed. She threw the bottle of champagne at the mirror and hit it slap bang in the middle. Eddie flinched as the mirror shattered and the girl screamed as hundreds of shards of glass fell around her. Tears ran down Carolyn’s face and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

‘What the hell are you doing!’ shouted Eddie. He grabbed his white toweling robe. ‘You shouldn’t be here! What do you think you’re doing?’ He put on his robe and tied the belt with a flourish. He pointed at the broken glass on the bed. ‘Look what you’ve done!’

‘What I’ve done?’ repeated Carolyn. ‘Who is she? Who the hell is she?’

The blonde woman was staring at the broken glass in horror. ‘You could have killed me!’ she shouted.

‘Chance’d be a fine thing,’ said Carolyn. ‘You shouldn’t have been here in the first place.’

‘You could have cut me!’ shouted the blonde. She turned to look at Eddie. ‘She’s crazy.’ She held up her right hand and stared at the palm. ‘Oh my God, I’m bleeding,’ she cried and dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door.

‘You’re not supposed to be back this early,’ Eddie said to Carolyn. ‘You said you were working late.’

‘Who is she?’ asked Carolyn, pointing at the bathroom door. ‘Who is that slut?’

‘She’s not a slut,’ said Eddie. ‘And no one said we were exclusive.’

‘What? Exclusive? What the hell does that mean?’

‘You and I have our moments, but let’s face it, you work all the hours that God sends and when we do go out it’s all about you and your bloody show. Zoe has time for me.’

‘And she’s half my age. Is that it?’

‘Don’t be stupid. That’s not what’s it about.’

Carolyn folded her arms. ‘Then tell me what it is about, Eddie. I thought we had something.’

‘We did. But so do Zoe and I. It’s your own fault for coming around without phoning first.’

‘And if I had phoned, what then? You’d have got her out of bed, would you?’

Eddie shook his head. ‘I’d have told you not to come.’

‘One of your famous migraines?’ Her mouth dropped open and she covered it with her hand. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘You’ve done it before, haven’t you? All those times you had a headache, you were screwing her?’

‘Not just her, honey.’ He sighed. ‘Look, Carolyn, no one ever said we were exclusive.’

She took out his keys and waved them at him. ‘Then why do I have these? And why do you have the keys to my house?’

‘Because that’s what you wanted. It was your idea. And I did tell you, call first.’ He looked at his watch. ‘You should go.’

‘Go? What do you mean, go?’

Eddie gestured at the door. ‘Just go home, Carolyn. We can talk about this tomorrow.’

‘What? You want me to leave? Really?’

‘I think that’s best.’

Carolyn took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising sense of panic that was threatening to overwhelm her. ‘Eddie, look, we can sort this out.’ She nodded at the bathroom door. ‘Tell her to go.’ She forced a smile and pointed at the unbroken bottle of champagne. ‘The bubbly’s still okay. We can drink it together.’

Eddie shook his head. ‘You’re the one who needs to go.’

Tears began to run down her face again. ‘Eddie, please…’ She sniffed and wiped her nose with her hand. ‘I just need to talk to you. I don’t want to be on my own, not tonight.’

He shook his head again. ‘You need to go, Carolyn.’

‘I love you, Eddie,’ she said. ‘Please, don’t throw me out.’

‘You shouldn’t have come in the first place,’ he said. He took a step towards the door. ‘Don’t make a scene, honey. Please.’ He put a hand on her shoulder, trying to steer her through the door. She threw her arms around him and hugged him, pressing her cheek against his chest. ‘Please, Eddie. Let me stay.’

‘Carolyn, no.’

‘I’ll do anything, Eddie. Anything you want. Don’t send me away.’

Eddie untangled her arms and held her by the wrists. ‘You can’t stay, Carolyn. I’m sorry.’

Tears were running down her face and she sniffed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t phone. I’m sorry I broke your mirror. I’m sorry about everything.’

‘I know,’ he said. He pulled her into the hallway. ‘But you have to go.’

Carolyn caught sight of her reflection in a mirror by his coat rack. Her face was red and blotchy and she’d smeared her lipstick. She looked away, embarrassed.

‘Come on Carolyn. Don’t make this worse than it is.’ Eddie released his grip on her left wrist and opened the front door.

‘Eddie, don’t do this,’ Carolyn sobbed. ‘I need you.’

‘You don’t need anybody,’ said Eddie. ‘That’s your problem.’ He pushed her out of the door. She stood outside, her hands over her face, sobbing as he closed the door.

Still crying, Carolyn reached out to ring the doorbell, but then stopped. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. ‘You bastard,’ she muttered. She was suddenly ashamed of the way she’d behaved. At least a dozen things she should have said flashed through her mind but she knew it was too late — there was nothing she could think of that was going to change anything. She turned and walked downstairs and let herself out of the building. As she crossed the road, she took out Eddie’s keys and used the Yale key to scratch the full length of the driver’s side of his BMW, sneering as the key scarred the immaculate paintwork. She started to drop the keys down a nearby grid but began to cry as she realised she couldn’t bring herself to throw them away. A black cab was driving towards her with its light on and she flagged it down. The driver wound down the window and she managed to blurt out ‘Notting Hill Gate’ before she climbed in the back and burst into tears.

CHAPTER 5

Carolyn’s alarm woke her at just after five. It was still dark outside. She rolled over, switched on her bedside light and picked up her mobile phone. She looked hopefully at the screen, wondering if Eddie had called or sent a text, but he hadn’t. She smoked a cigarette before rolling out of bed and padding over to her bathroom. She showered, toweled herself dry and pulled on a pale blue Chanel dress. She sat down at her dressing table and applied mascara, blusher and lipstick. It would all have to be redone when she got to the studio but there were always paparazzi around and the last thing she wanted was a picture of her disheveled and without make-up appearing in the Daily Mail along with snide comments about her looking her age. She tilted up her chin and ran her fingers along the skin there, then turned her head slowly from side to side. ‘You look good for forty-four,’ she said. She moved her face closer to the mirror and scrutinised the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. ‘Your eyes might need some work, though.’ She forced a frown and examined her forehead. There were a few lines there, but not enough to warrant another course of Botox.

Her phone rang and she flinched, then hurried over to the bedside table, hoping the call was from Eddie. Her heart sank when she saw it was Billy. ‘Miss Castle, just wanted to check where I was to collect you,’ he said.

‘I’m at home, Billy.’

‘I’ll be there at six on the dot,’ he said.

‘Thanks, Billy,’ she said. She ended the call and then scrolled through for Eddie’s mobile. She pressed the green button but the call went straight through to his voicemail. Eddie had switched his phone off.

She went downstairs and made a coffee and a slice of toast and smoked another cigarette. She stared at her mobile phone as she ate, willing it to ring. She just wanted to hear Eddie’s voice. She wanted him to say that everything was all right, that he still loved her and wanted her, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen. She felt tears well up in her eyes and she blinked them away. She shook her head, hating herself for being so weak. In the studio she could fake any emotion, and could cry on command, but in the real world she could do nothing to quell the feeling of panic and loss that she felt.

She paced around the central isle in her kitchen, trying to get into character and running through her lines. She was still pacing when her phone beeped to let her know she had a text message. It was Billy, letting her know he was outside.

She grabbed her coat and bag, set the burglar alarm, and hurried out to the waiting Mercedes.

Billy could sense she had something on her mind so he drove to the South London studio in silence. The security guard waved them through and Billy parked in front of the main studio building. ‘What about this evening, Miss Castle?’ he asked.

‘This evening?’

‘It’s the Soap Digest awards, Miss Castle.’

Carolyn groaned. She’d totally forgotten the event. It was in a hotel in Surrey and she had to go because they were giving her a lifetime achievement award. Eddie was supposed to be going with her.

‘What time shall I collect you?’

‘You know what, Billy, I’ll go with one of the team. There’s no point in taking up all your evening.’

‘Happy to do it, Miss Castle.’

‘Bless, but all the producers are going and half the cast will be there. I’ll tag along with them.’ She couldn’t bring herself to tell Billy that the last thing she wanted was to explain to any paparazzi why she was on her own. ‘You can disappear for the day.’

‘I’ll go back and give the missus a surprise,’ said Billy.

‘Yeah, well be careful with that,’ Carolyn said, opening the door. She climbed out and walked into the reception area.

A uniformed security guard raised a cup of coffee in salute. ‘Good morning, Miss Castle.’

‘Good morning, Charlie. How’s the wife?’

‘Not happy at me doing nights,’ he said.

‘What time are you off?’

He looked over at a digital clock on the wall. ‘Another two hours.’

‘At least you get to spend the day with her,’ said Carolyn.

Charlie laughed. ‘She’s on days this week,’ he said. ‘It’ll probably be next week before I get to see her.’

Carolyn smiled sympathetically, then pushed her way through the double doors to the production offices. Jake Harrington was already at his desk, going through the day’s shoot with his cameraman, Frank McWilliams. Frank had a thick black beard that merged seamlessly into a mop of unruly hair. He grinned at Carolyn. ‘The early bird, huh?’

‘Please tell me the camera’s working today,’ she said.

‘All good,’ said Frank.

‘We’re set up to go as soon as you’re ready,’ said Harrington. ‘Kelly’s waiting for you in make-up.’

‘I’ll go right in,’ said Carolyn. ‘Can you do me a favour, Jake? Can I come with you to the awards thing tonight?’

‘Of course,’ said the director. ‘What’s happened to Eddie?’

‘He’s not feeling too well,’ Carolyn lied. ‘Tummy bug.’

‘Frank and I will be leaving at about six,’ said Harrington.

‘I call shotgun,’ said Frank.

Carolyn laughed and walked along the corridor to the make-up department. There were three chairs facing a mirror that ran the full length of the room. Kelly was in her early twenties, and as always was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed despite the early hour. Kelly generally worked the early shift and Tracey came in at midday. She had shoulder-length blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and wore faded denim dungarees with lots of pockets in which she had slotted her brushes and combs. The lights around the mirror were so bright that Carolyn had to shade her eyes with her hand as she sat down in the middle chair. Carolyn hated the mirror and the lights, the combination showed up every imperfection, every flaw.

‘How are you this morning?’ Kelly asked.

‘I’ll let you know in an hour or so,’ said Carolyn.

‘You’re not really a morning person, are you?’ Kelly said and laughed.

‘Never have been,’ said Carolyn.

‘I love mornings,’ said Kelly. ‘Up with the lark, I am. Early to bed, early to rise.’ She bent down and peered at Carolyn’s face, gently running a finger under her eyes. ‘You’ve got your panda look,’ she said. ‘Were you out late last night?’

‘Quiet night in,’ said Carolyn. She forced a smile, trying to hide her discomfort. She had barely slept and had tossed and turned all night, checking her phone a hundred times. In the middle of the night she’d actually called her mobile from her landline just to check it was working.

‘No worries, easy enough to cover up,’ said Kelly.

She took out a brush and picked up a pot of foundation.

Carolyn looked at Kelly in the mirror. ‘How does my hair look to you?’

Kelly gave her a beaming smile. ‘Don’t worry, Jake’s already been in. I can take care of it.’

‘Take care of what?’

‘The thinning,’ she said. ‘A bit of spray and you’ll be good to go.’

‘It is thinning, then?’

‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ said Kelly, rubbing her brush on foundation. ‘It happens to everyone as they get older. And, trust me, there’s many worse than you.’

‘That’s good to hear,’ said Carolyn. She ran her hand through her hair and sighed.

‘So have you heard about Andrea?’ asked Kelly.

‘What?’

‘Her agent has just got her a huge pay rise. They’re going to make her part bigger.’

‘Come on, Kelly, how would you know that? No one talks about their salary in this business.’

Kelly looked around as if she feared that someone might be eavesdropping, even though they were alone in the room. ‘One of the extras told me yesterday,’ she said. ‘The blonde with the breasts.’

‘And how did she know?’

Kelly looked around again then lowered her head to whisper into Carolyn’s ear. ‘She’s been seeing one of the network producers. That Martin, the young one. He got her the job on this show and he told her they’re going to make Andrea’s part bigger. Apparently the viewers love her.’

‘Do they now?’

‘They did some market research, that’s what she said.’ Kelly began applying foundation to Carolyn’s cheeks. ‘And she said Andrea’s going to be taking over the company.’

‘What?’

‘She’s going to be taking over the company, that’s what she said. The writers are working on the plotlines now.’ She frowned. ‘Didn’t you know?’

‘They never tell us anything,’ said Carolyn.

‘But something like that, you’d think they’d mention it, wouldn’t you? You’re the star, when all’s said and done.’

Carolyn laughed bitterly. ‘When it comes to the power plays, we’re right at the bottom of the totem pole,’ she said.

There was a quick double-knock on the door and Harry appeared with a mug of latte and a croissant for her. ‘Anything else I can get you, Miss Castle?’ he asked.

‘Another two hours sleep,’ joked Carolyn.

It took Kelly just under an hour to get Carolyn ready for shooting, and most of the time was spent on her hair. Jake Harrington popped in twice to check on her progress. The second time he gave her new pages of dialogue, printed on pale green paper. ‘We did a bit of tweaking last night, sorry about the short notice.’

‘No problem,’ she said. She scanned the two sheets, then frowned. ‘You’ve cut my bit back, why’s that?’

‘Just a bit of tightening, that’s all.’

Carolyn put down the sheets. ‘You’ve gutted it, Jake.’

‘We’re running over, that’s all, and there were a few lines we could lose,’ he said. ‘I just thought it’d be better to do it now rather than when we’re editing.’

‘What about Seb and Andrea?’

‘We’ve trimmed everyone back.’ He laughed uneasily. ‘It’s not personal, cross my heart. We’ve just had to lose thirty seconds, that’s all.’ He patted her on the shoulder. ‘It’s still a powerful scene,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be brilliant.’ He winked at her in the mirror and then hurried out.

Carolyn sighed. ‘He’s nice, isn’t he?’ said Kelly.

‘He’s young,’ said Carolyn. ‘Directors always start out nice but it never lasts. The suits wear them down eventually.’

Kelly spent another ten minutes fussing over Carolyn’s hair before she was satisfied, then Carolyn went through to the wardrobe department to put on the Chanel suit and Prada shoes. Terry Carter, the props manager, appeared with her handbag. ‘Here you are, darling,’ he said.

Carolyn took the bag. It was a Louis Vuitton, the latest model. Like almost all of the bags, clothes and shoes she used on the show, it was a gift from the manufacturer. Designers were lining up to have their products featured on Rags To Riches as without fail an appearance on the show produced a spike in sales. Many of the designers also sent samples to Carolyn’s home in the hope their goods would appear in her paparazzi shots and while she ended up sending most to charity shops, she still had a wardrobe that would have cost hundreds of thousands of pounds if she’d had to buy them herself. It was one of the many advantages of being famous, and went some way to making up for the complete lack of privacy that went with the job.

‘Are you okay? You look tired?’ asked Terry.

‘Don’t say that. Kelly has just spent an hour working on me,’ she said.

‘A bit of slap isn’t going to fool me,’ said Terry.

Carolyn laughed. Terry was one of her closest friends, a confidant and a drinking buddy. He also had a great eye for fashion and she much preferred to go out shopping with him than any of her girlfriends. He was black, gay, and had the look of a young Denzel Washington. Early in their relationship after they’d drunk a couple of bottles of red wine, Carolyn had put Terry’s homosexuality to the test and, to her disappointment, he’d passed with flying colours.

‘Danny’s got the gun on the set,’ said Terry. ‘What are you wearing at the awards thing tonight?’

‘We thought the Vivienne Westwood,’ said Laura, the wardrobe mistress. She went over to a rack and pulled out a long purple and silver dress with long sleeves. She held it up for Terry to look at.

Terry threw up his hands in mock disgust. ‘Why don’t you pull a black bag over her head and have done with it,’ he said. ‘Didn’t Stella send in her new collection yesterday?’

‘Yes, but I was planning on putting Andrea in Stella.’

‘Where are they?’ asked Terry.

Laura pointed to a rack and Terry flounced over and began flicking through the dresses. ‘Ah-ha!” he said, and held up a red dress with small gold stars running through it.

‘Please tell me that’s backless, because I’m not showing that much cleavage,’ said Carolyn.

Terry went over to the dress and pressed it against her. She turned and looked into a long mirror. ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘It has that wow factor, doesn’t it?’

‘It is lovely,’ admitted Laura.

‘There you are then,’ said Terry. ‘Carolyn can wear this and you can give the Westwood abomination to Andrea. It’ll cover up her flabby forearms.’

Carolyn laughed out loud. ‘You’re such a bitch,’ she said.

‘That’s as may be, but at least I’m your bitch,’ said Terry.

Carolyn kissed him on the cheek. ‘I love you,’ she said.

‘Oh, be still, my beating heart,’ he said, wafting his hand in front of his face.

Harry popped his head around the door. ‘Miss Castle, Mr Harrington’s ready.’

‘Her master’s voice,’ said Terry. He folded the dress over his arm. ‘I’ll put this in your room,’ he said. ‘And I’ll pick out some jewellery.’

‘You’re going to make someone a wonderful wife,’ laughed Carolyn. She followed Harry down the corridor and through a set of soundproofed double doors. There was a sign above saying ‘Studio’ and a red light that came on when they were filming.

The studio was the size of a large warehouse with more than a dozen sets built next to each other. It appeared to have been constructed haphazardly so that the door from her bedroom led through to her office and that, in turn, led through to a wine bar. All the walls were moveable to allow the camera to film from any angle and the flooring was dotted with taped crosses so the actors could hit their marks. Rags To Riches was a show renowned for its glamour and glitz but there was nothing at all glamorous about the sets.

Frank was already sitting behind the camera, his young assistant standing at his shoulder. The bed had been moved and the camera was placed where the head of the bed had been so it would have Seb’s viewpoint. Harrington was sitting with Lucy, the script supervisor, facing two monitors, one in colour and one black and white. There was a canvas sheet on an aluminium frame over the top of the screens to cut down on the glare from the overhead lights.

Carolyn had to be careful where she walked as the floor was criss-crossed with thick black cables from the various floor-mounted lights.

Harrington got up from his folding chair and hurried over to her. ‘Everything okay with the lines?’ he asked.

‘I think you’ve cut more than you should, but sure, it’s not brain surgery. I’ll be fine.’ She looked around the set. ‘Where’s Seb?’

‘We don’t need him yet, or Andrea,’ said Harrington. ‘We’ll be in tight close-up all the time and there’s no overlap on the dialogue. I’ll use Harry to give you the eyeline and he can do Seb’s dialogue for you if you like.’

Carolyn nodded. She could do the scene with a monkey, if necessary. The camera would be on her and only her which, in all honesty, was what every actor wanted.

‘We’ll do the shooting first, then the full close-up, and by then we’ll put Harry in Seb’s robe and do a couple of over the shoulder shots. To be honest, the master shot we got last night was so good we’ll use that most of the time.’

Rick, the boom operator, waddled over. He was a portly Yorkshireman with swept-back grey hair and a thick moustache that had stayed black. He was holding the boom, at the end of which was a Zeppelin-shaped microphone. When she had first started working as an actress, Carolyn had assumed the boom operator was at the bottom of the food chain, but over the years she had come to realise it was one of the toughest jobs on the crew. It was physically demanding and required a lot of upper body strength. There was also a lot of skill involved, holding the microphone close enough to pick up the sound but never so close as to encroach into the shot. A clumsy boom operator could ruin a shot, but Rick was a true professional, one of the best in the business. ‘Morning,’ he said, and nodded. That was pretty much the sum total of Rick’s conversation during the day. A gruff ‘Morning’ or ‘Afternoon’ and a “Goodnight’ at the end of the day.

A cable trailed from the boom across the floor to where Dougie McLean, the sound man, sat on a folding chair with a set of bulbous headphones on. One of Dougie’s female assistants walked over to Carolyn, smiled, and began to attach a radio mic, concealing it under her dress and feeding a wire through to the transmitter that she clipped to the back of Carolyn’s dress. When she’d finished, the assistant flashed Dougie a thumbs-up. ‘Give me a level, darling,’ Dougie called over to Carolyn.

‘Mary had a little lamb, it’s fleece as white as snow, and everywhere that Mary went the lamb went as well, because unlike men lambs are loyal…’

‘That’s fine,’ said Dougie.

Harrington walked over and stood to the left of the camera, holding a set of pale green script sheets.

‘Everything okay, Frank?’ Harrington asked.

‘Ready when you are,’ said Frank, staring at the viewfinder.

They spent the next hour filming Carolyn’s close-ups, then Harry put on a bathrobe and sat slightly in front of the camera so his shoulder was in the shot and they did all the lines again.

When they’d finished, Harrington looked at his watch. ‘If everyone’s okay, I’d like to get straight on to the gun.’

‘Fine by me,’ said Dougie, nodding.

‘Full steam ahead,’ agreed Frank.

‘Excellent,’ said Harrington. He stood up, removed his headset and went over to Carolyn. ‘Do you need another practice session with the gun?’ he asked.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Point and pull the trigger.’

‘And try not to flinch,’ said Harrington. ‘We’ll be on you from the waist up for the first shot so we’ll see your face. Then we’ll do a cutaway on just the gun. But for the first one, a sly smile would be good. And try not to blink.’

‘I know, the Michael Caine school of acting. Never blink.’

‘Yeah, that and talking in a dull monotone always did the trick for him.’ He waved Danny Brett over.

The armourer brought his metal case with him and placed it on the floor in front of Carolyn before kneeling down and opening it. He took out the gun, keeping the barrel pointed to the floor, and placed it in her hand. ‘All right?’ he said.

‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose you could get me one that fires real bullets?’

Danny grinned. ‘I think you could probably get one for five hundred in most pubs in South London,’ he said. ‘You got people you want to shoot?’

‘Just the one,’ said Carolyn.

Danny winked at her and stepped out of the shot.

Harrington was back in his seat with his headphones on. The microphone boom swept over her head and then stabilized. ‘Sound okay?’ he shouted.

‘Rolling,’ called back Dougie.

‘Okay,’ said Harrington. ‘And action!’

Andrea was already in character, wide-eyed and scared on the bed. Seb was still grinning over at one of the grips but as soon as Harrington shouted he grabbed the duvet as he had done last time they had shot the scene.

Andrea hesitated for two beats, then started to speak, her voice shaking. ‘Please, Diana, I just want to go home.’

‘Of course you do, babe. Just let me shoot my lying, scheming bastard husband and then you can be on your way.’ A mobile phone burst into life somewhere behind her. A Lady Gaga song.

‘For fuck’s sake, who’s left their bloody mobile on?’ screamed Dougie.

‘Cut!’ shouted Harrington.

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ said a red-faced man with shoulder-length hair who was standing at the far side of the set by the refreshments table. He fumbled in his leather jacket and pulled out his phone.

‘I might have known,’ shouted Dougie. ‘A fucking writer. Why do we allow them on set?’

‘Really, I thought I’d switched it off,’ said the writer. His name was Jeff Thompson and he was a recent addition to the writing staff, a veteran of Coronation Street and Holby City. Carolyn had chatted to him during the last read-through and he was a nice enough guy, though he had a habit of looking down at her breasts which she found a little disconcerting.

Harrington stood up. ‘Well, make sure it’s off now,’ he said. ‘Okay, everyone, let’s start again. And if anyone else has a phone, for God’s sake make sure it’s off.’ He sat down again. ‘Ready. Action!”

Andrea stared at Carolyn, steadied herself, and launched into her line. ‘Please, Diana, I just want to go home.’

‘Of course you do, babe. Just let me shoot my lying, scheming bastard husband and then you can be on your way.’ Carolyn swung the gun towards Seb who did a great job of registering surprise even though the camera wasn’t on him. Carolyn tightened her eyes, braced herself for the explosion, forced a smile, and pulled the trigger.

Seb pulled out his tongue and crossed his eyes but Carolyn blocked out his antics and focused her attention on delivering her line. ‘Happy now, darling?’

Seb stuck his finger in his ear and wiggled it in and out. Carolyn waited a few beats, still focused on Seb even though she knew the moment would be cut in the edit and it would be Seb’s reaction on screen. Then she wagged the gun and delivered the last line of the scene.

‘See darling, there was nothing to worry about,’ she said. ‘I’m firing blanks, just like you.’ She flashed a tight smile and held it, knowing this was the close-up that would end the scene, only relaxing when Harrington shouted ‘cut!’.

Danny hurried over and took the gun from her and then she walked over to Harrington, who was watching the playback on his black and white monitor. He grinned and, when it had finished, he flashed her a thumbs-up. ‘That’s a wrap,’ he said. ‘Well done everyone.’

Seb came over, fastening the belt of his robe. ‘You are such a professional, darling,’ he said. ‘I am in awe of your talent.’

‘You are such a bitch,’ said Carolyn. She laughed and put her arm around him. ‘I’ll get you back this afternoon. Trust me.’

The director stood up, smiling broadly. ‘That was brilliant,’ he said. ‘Just what we needed.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I never thought we’d get that in the first take. We’re actually ahead of the game for once.’ He clapped his hands loudly to get everyone’s attention. ‘Right, on to the boardroom scene,’ he shouted.

The crew burst into action, moving equipment and lights. Dougie began disconnecting wires and Terry started gathering up props.

‘Fancy a game of whist while we wait, darling?’ asked Seb.

Carolyn shook her head. ‘Rain check,’ she said. ‘I want to go through some lines.’ She walked back to her dressing room. She took her phone out of her bag and checked the screen, wondering if Eddie had called. There had been half a dozen calls while she’d been on the set and she scrolled through them, her heart in her mouth until she realised none was from him. She felt tears prick her eyes and she swore under her breath. She put the phone down onto the table, poured a mineral water and dropped in a slice of lemon. Her phone rang and she grabbed for it. It was her son, Robbie. She took a deep breath and took the call. ‘Darling, this is a nice surprise. Aren’t you in class?’ Robbie was boarding at a school in Cumbria and it had been a month since she’d last seen him.

‘I’ve got maths in five minutes but I wanted to ask you a favour.’

Carolyn sighed. ‘How much?’

‘Fifty.’

‘Fifty pounds? Please tell me it’s not for drugs.’

‘Very funny, mum. We’ve got a trip to Windermere at the weekend and I need some spending money.’

‘But fifty quid. What are you planning on buying?’

‘If you can’t, I can call dad.’

Carolyn bit down on her lower lip. Robbie was a master at playing her off against her ex-husband.

‘Please, mum. Everyone else is going to have fifty to spend and I don’t want to be the odd one out.’

‘Okay. I’ll put it in your account today.’

‘You’re a lifesaver, mum. Love you.’

‘Wait a minute, Robbie. How are you? How’s school?’

‘School’s school,’ he said. ‘Look mum, I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? And don’t forget the money.’

‘I won’t,’ she said, but the line had already gone dead. Tears were brimming in her eyes and she blinked them away. She scrolled through to Eddie’s number and called it but it went straight through to his voicemail. She didn’t leave a message.

CHAPTER 6

They filmed three more scenes before lunch, then Carolyn went through to the canteen where she picked up a smoked salmon salad and went to join Terry at a table by the window. He was tucking into a Shepherd’s pie and chips. ‘How’s the diet going, darling?’ she asked as she sat down opposite him.

‘Bitch,’ Terry said and laughed. ‘I’m in the gym with Gabe tonight, I’ll burn it off.’

‘You’re not going to the awards?’

Terry laughed. ‘I’m a prop master,’ he said. ‘One of the backroom boys. Out of sight, out of mind.’

‘Come with me,’ said Carolyn. ‘You can be my plus one.’

‘And sit with a load of prima donnas and network suits? I’d rather crawl naked across broken glass.’

‘I’m getting a lifetime achievement award.’

Terry grinned. ‘Well done, you.’

‘I’m not sure it’s a good thing,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t it mean that the best is over?’

‘It means you’re being appreciated,’ said Terry. He frowned. ‘Plus one? Where’s Eddie?’

‘Fucking some trollop,’ she said bitterly.

‘Are you serious?’

‘I found him in bed with a Barbie lookalike last night. ’

Terry put down his fork. ‘God, I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah. Me, too.’

‘And you never suspected anything was going on?’

Carolyn sighed. ‘I was too bloody busy.’

‘That doesn’t make it your fault.’

She nodded and prodded her salad. ‘I know.’

‘Do you know who the girl was?’

‘No, not that it matters. She wasn’t the first.’ She felt tears sting her eyes and she cursed.

‘Hey, come on,’ said Terry. He passed her a paper napkin. ‘Don’t let the bastard upset you.’

Carolyn dabbed her eyes with the napkin. ‘I went home early to surprise him,’ she said. ‘Well, that didn’t exactly go as planned.’

‘Your house?’

She shook her head. ‘His flat.’ She shook her head. ‘Forget it. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Of course it matters. You thought he was the one, right?’

She took a deep breath. ‘I hoped he might be,’ she said. ‘I really thought he loved me, Terry.’

‘You know what they say, darling. Women can fake orgasms but men can fake an entire relationship.’

Carolyn dabbed her eyes again. ‘I need a drink,’ she said.

‘You can hit the bottle at the awards thing.’

‘I need a drink now.’

Terry laughed. ‘Well you know that’s not going to happen,’ he said.

‘Why are men such bastards, Terry?’

‘That’s why we love them, right?’

‘Would Gabe ever screw around behind your back?’ Terry’s jaw dropped in mock surprise and Carolyn laughed. ‘That wasn’t a double entendre. You know what I mean.’

‘I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘I’m like the American military — don’t ask and don’t tell. Providing he’s in my bed every night, I’m not that worried about what he gets up to.’

‘Yeah, well Eddie made it clear that he’s done with me. It’s over.’

‘Then you’re better off without him.’

‘That’s easy for you to say.’

He leaned over the table towards her. ‘Darling, you’re one of the most famous faces in the country, you’re drop dead gorgeous and as fit as a butcher’s dog. If I wasn’t gay…’

Carolyn reached over and held his hands. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘I mean every word that I say,’ Terry said, and Carolyn could see he was telling the truth. She gripped his hands tightly but then the tears started again and she let go and dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. ‘Darling, the more you cry the more repair work they’re going to have to do in make-up,’ said Terry.

She nodded and took a deep breath. ‘I’ll be okay,’ she said.

‘Damn right you will,’ said Terry. ‘And tonight you’ll be surrounded by people who admire and love you. Think about that.’

‘Now you’re going too far,’ she said. She picked up her fork, then sneered at her salad. ‘Screw this,’ she said. ‘I’m going to have a steak. Rare.’

Terry grinned. ‘Go for it, girl,’ he said.

CHAPTER 7

After lunch, Carolyn was back in the studio shooting back-to-back scenes. There were three with Seb and a short scene where she was on the phone talking to a designer. It was bread-and-butter acting, nothing to stretch her but nothing so simple she could do it on autopilot. She managed to grab a break at three o’clock when Harrington told her she wouldn’t be needed for the next half an hour while they shot the scene prior to when she walked in on Seb and Andrea in bed together.

She was on her way to collect her cigarettes from her dressing room when she saw Jeff Thompson through a window, huddled next to a wall and smoking a cigarette. She pushed open a door and turned up the collar of her jacket. She didn’t have her cigarettes on her but this was a good opportunity to pick the writer’s brain. He looked over at her and smiled. ‘You a smoker, too?’ he asked.

‘You got a spare one?’

Jeff nodded and took out a pack of Silk Cut. He offered it to her.

‘You’re a life-saver,’ she said, and took one. He lit it for her and she nodded her thanks.

‘Is Jake still pissed off?’ he asked.

Carolyn laughed. ‘He’ll get over it,’ she said. ‘Everyone leaves their mobile on at some point. We’ve all done it.’

Jeff blew smoke up at the sky. ‘I feel like such a twat.’

‘Because you’re a Lady Gaga fan?’ Carolyn smiled and took a pull on the cigarette.

Jeff grinned. ‘I like the tune.’

Carolyn blew smoke. ‘So how are you settling in?’

Jeff nodded. ‘All good,’ he said. ‘Still getting the feel for things. Paul’s a nice guy. Solid, dependable.’

‘He has his moments,’ said Carolyn. ‘What was Holby like?’

Jeff shrugged. ‘Typical BBC,’ he said. ‘Everything’s done by committee, you feel like a dog with a dozen or so masters. You try to please everyone but you end up pleasing nobody. The great thing about this show is that there’s just the one boss — Paul. And he knows what he wants.’

‘And Corrie?’

Jeff nodded. ‘Yeah, I liked Corrie. They’re real pros, everyone knows what they’re doing and there are no egos.’

‘I heard some of the actors were hard to work with.’

‘Oh sure, they’ve got more than their fair share of prima donnas. But the production staff were great.’

‘So why did you leave?’

Jeff rubbed the fingers and thumb of his right hand together. ‘Money,’ he said. ‘They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.’

‘They?’

‘The network. They had me in for two interviews. The first time with their head of drama, the second time with three of the drama department.’

‘So Paul didn’t hire you himself?’

‘They said they were getting more pro-active on the hiring side. I met Paul, but they’d offered me the job by then.’

‘And what are you working on at the moment?’

‘Bits and bobs,’ he said. ‘Polishing the dialogue for this week’s scripts.’

Carolyn blew smoke up at the sky. ‘They’re not working you hard, then?’

He laughed. ‘Nah, there’s a big writers’ meeting on Wednesday the week after next. I’ll be given my plotlines and episodes then.’

‘I thought the story meetings were on Monday afternoon?’

‘This is different. The network is meeting with all the writers to outline where they want the show to go. It’s over at the network.’

‘Sounds major.’

Jeff nodded. ‘Yeah, they want to make some major changes. That’s what I was told. To be honest, I think they’re going to be getting rid of some of the older writers. Wednesday is when they bring in the new broom.’

Carolyn’s heart began to race. ‘Do you know what they’ve got planned?’ she asked.

Jeff took a long pull on his cigarette and then shook his head as he held the smoke deep in his lungs.

‘Interesting times,’ she said. Actually interesting wasn’t how she felt. A writers’ meeting at the network suggested something was going on behind the scenes and, after what Kelly had said about Andrea’s part being expanded, Carolyn was starting to get a very bad feeling about what was going on.

‘You know, I’m a big fan,’ said Jeff.

Carolyn looked over at him, wondering if the writer was making a pass at her, but he was watching a pigeon sitting on the car park wall.

‘I bet you say that to all the actors,’ she said.

‘I’m serious,’ said Jeff. ‘You really come across well on screen. You seem real, even though I know you’re acting. I mean, I really believe in Diana Bourne. You totally bring her to life.’

‘I tend to get good dialogue,’ she said. ‘That makes it easier.’

He grinned. ‘And I bet you say that to all the writers.’

She chuckled. ‘Did you used to watch the show before you came here?’

‘I watch all the soaps and most of the dramas,’ he said. ‘You have to. You have to know what’s going on, where the plots are heading. That’s what the network people don’t get.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They don’t watch TV. I mean, they watch the shows that they make, but they don’t sit down and watch it. They don’t connect with the viewers. In fact, truth be told, they hate the viewers.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Most of them hold the average viewer in complete contempt,’ he said. ‘In the evenings they’re in restaurants or wine bars or dinner parties. They’re not sitting down and watching Corrie or Holby City.’

‘They told you that?’

‘They didn’t have to,’ he said. ‘TV isn’t entertainment for them. It’s a way of making money. End of story. They don’t care about the craft. Or the characters. The only shows they care about are the ones that make money.’ He dropped what was left of his cigarette onto the ground and stamped on it.

‘You sound pretty fed up with it,’ said Carolyn.

‘It pays my rent,’ said Jeff. ‘So I can’t complain. I’m writing a couple of plays. That’s what I’m really interested in. I want to be able to sit at the back of a theatre and see how my work affects people, you know? See if I can make them laugh and move them, and be a part of that.’

‘I love the theatre, but there’s no money in it,’ said Carolyn.

‘It shouldn’t be just about the money,’ said Jeff.

Carolyn smiled ruefully. ‘How old are you, Jeff?’

‘Twenty-four.’

She nodded. ‘You’ll feel differently when you get older.’

‘I hope not,’ he said. He looked at his watch. ‘I’d better get back inside.’ He took out his phone and checked it was off. ‘I won’t be making that mistake again,’ he said.

Carolyn dropped her cigarette butt onto the floor. ‘Nice talking to you,’ she said.

‘And you,’ said Jeff.

‘Can I ask you to do me a favour, Jeff?’

‘Sure.’

‘If there’s anything said at Wednesday’s meeting that affects my part, can you tell me?’

Jeff’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you worried?’

‘I just don’t want any nasty surprises, that’s all.’

‘They wouldn’t do anything to Carolyn Bourne,’ he said. ‘You’re the star.’

‘I hope you’re right, Jeff. Okay, I need to get my face and hair done for the next scene.’

‘Break a leg,’ he said, and held the door open for her.

CHAPTER 8

Filming finished at just after five o’clock. Jake Harrington gave a short speech thanking everyone. ‘The early finish is because I’ve got to go to the Soap Digest awards tonight,’ he said. ’Hopefully, we’ll pick up something and, if we do, I’ll make sure everyone knows it’s a team effort.’

‘Just bring us back a few bottles of champagne!’ shouted one of the electricians.

‘I’ll do that,’ he said. ‘And please, everyone, nice and early on Monday morning. We’re a bit behind.’

Carolyn hurried out of the studio and down to the make-up department where Tracey was waiting for her. She dropped down onto one of the chairs and Tracey stood behind her. ‘Up or down?’ asked Tracey, playing with Carolyn’s hair.

‘Down,’ said Carolyn, but Tracey had already piled her hair up on top of her head. ‘No, you’re right. Up.’

‘What are you wearing?’

‘Terry’s got me a Stella McCartney.’

‘I love her stuff,’ said Tracey. ‘And she’s so animal friendly. Now, what do you want me to do with you?’

‘It’s got to be glamour, but I don’t want mutton dressed as lamb,’ said Carolyn.

‘As if,’ laughed Tracey.

‘I’m serious,’ said Carolyn. ‘I don’t want to see any nasty captions in the papers tomorrow.’

‘You’re in safe hands,’ said Tracey. She spent almost half an hour working on Carolyn’s hair and make-up, and by the time she’d finished Carolyn was well pleased.

She turned her head slowly from side to side, admiring Tracey’s handiwork. ‘God, you’re good,’ she said.

Terry appeared at the door, holding the dress. ‘OMG,’ he said. ‘You look fabulous.’

Carolyn got out of the chair and took the dress from him. She held it against herself and nodded appreciatively. ‘I’ve got a gold necklace that will look amazing,’ said Terry. ‘And a couple of chunky rings.’

‘Bag?’

‘I thought a black Prada. Nice and simple and it won’t be a distraction.’

‘And shoes?’

‘I’m going to stick with black and Prada. The dress is so fabulous we don’t want anyone looking at anything else.’

He folded his arms and nodded at her.

‘I’m not changing with you standing there,’ said Carolyn.

‘Darling, first of all, I’m gay. And, second of all, you haven’t got anything there I haven’t seen a dozen times already. And, third of all,…’ He threw up his hands. ‘I’m sure there’s a third of all but for the life of me I can’t remember what it is.’

Carolyn laughed, handed the dress to Tracey and took off the suit she was wearing.

Terry looked her up and down and smiled. ‘God, you’re fit for a… how old are you again?’

‘You are cruising for a bruising,’ said Carolyn. She dropped the suit on the back of one of the chairs and slipped on the dress. It was a perfect fit, accentuating her curves and revealing just enough cleavage.

‘You know, you should think about going braless,’ said Tracey.

‘I don’t think so, thank you very much,’ said Carolyn. ‘This is just fine as is.’

‘She’s right,’ said Terry. ‘Give it a go.’

‘You’re not serious.’

‘The way it’s cut, you’ll not see anything but you’ll get the ripple effect.’

Carolyn laughed. ‘The ripple effect? Or the nipple effect?’

‘Just try it,’ said Terry.

Carolyn took off her bra and then checked herself out in the mirror. They were right, it looked stunning.

‘Told you,’ said Terry. He handed her the shoes and she slipped them on. ‘You get your coat and I’ll fetch the bag and jewellery,’ he said.

Carolyn’s Tommy Hilfiger raincoat was in her dressing room. She was just putting it on when Terry arrived with the jewellery and a large black leather bag. ‘Room for your ciggies and big enough to pinch a couple of bottles of bubbly, if you’re half inclined.’ He put the necklace around her neck and gave her two large rings, both with red stones that were an exact match to the to the colour of the dress, and a pair of diamond stud earings.

He kissed her on both cheeks and waved her off like a father sending his daughter away to her first disco.

CHAPTER 9

Harrington was in the back of a Mercedes at the main entrance. Carolyn got into the back. ‘Frank’s not coming,’ he said. ‘His wife’s pranged the car. He’s not a happy bunny.’

‘Is she okay?’

‘She’s fine, the car not so,’ said Harrington.

The car moved out of the car park and headed south.

‘Why are we schlepping all the way down to Surrey?’ asked Carolyn.

‘Soap Digest have done a deal with Hello magazine,’ said Harrington. ‘And they don’t want all the celebs in the papers tomorrow. This place has got a ten-foot high wall around it and there’ll be security at the gate to keep the paparazzi out. That way, Hello gets the exclusive pictures. Plus they want to get the various stars together in a luxury setting. Makes a lot of sense.’

‘For them, sure. But I’d be happier at the Savoy.’

‘Maybe. But at least this way there’ll be no pictures of drunken stars tripping over and ending up in the gutter.’

‘Hey, listen, that was only once and it was eight years ago, and my heel broke,’ said Carolyn archly.

‘It was one hell of a picture,’ said Harrington.

‘Yes, well, my agent was supposed to have had all copies of it destroyed.’

‘These days it’s all computer files,’ said Harrington. ‘Once it’s out there, it’s out there for ever.’

‘So what is it? A country house?’

‘A country house hotel, I think is what they call it. And the chef’s got two Michelin stars, so the food will be good. And the wine cellar is world famous.’ Harrington rubbed his hands together. ‘And the magazine is picking up the tab, so it’s going to be one hell of a night.’

‘Do you think the show will get anything?’

‘It’s possible. You and Seb might even get best kiss.’

‘Oh God, don’t remind me,’ said Carolyn, settling back in her seat and folding her arms. ‘Jake, have you heard anything about the storylines?’

‘Like what?’

Carolyn shrugged as if she didn’t care overmuch. ‘Just where the story’s going.’

‘You know the directors are at the bottom of the food chain,’ he said. ‘First we get to hear of the plot is when the script arrives. We’re the hired hands.’

‘You talk to the writers, though.’

‘Only about the script I have. To be honest, even the writers don’t have much say in the plotlines anymore. It’s Paul who runs the show but even he has to take notes from the network.’

‘Since when?’

‘It’s been happening bit by bit over the past few years. In the good old days, long before my time, the network just put up the money and Paul produced the show. A couple of network execs might drop by during the edit but that was just a courtesy. It all changed when they asked for script approval. Then they wanted to make casting decisions and now the network decides pretty much everything.’

‘Paul never said anything.’

‘Well he’s not likely to, is he? The problem is that he doesn’t own the show. The network does. So if push came to shove, they could replace him.’

‘But it’s his show. He created it. Without Paul there wouldn’t be a Rags To Riches.’

‘Sure, but you’ve got to remember that when he was trying to get the show off the ground, he couldn’t get arrested. He was on London’s Burning and that closed, and he was on The Bill when that went under, and then he was unemployed for getting on five years. Rags To Riches was his way back in and the network knew that so they screwed him on ownership.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Carolyn.

‘Well it doesn’t affect you, does it? You’re a star. We all revolve around you.’

‘You think so?’

‘You’re the one they tune in to see,’ said Harrington. ‘You’re the one the public loves. You think they even know who Paul is? Or the network suits?’ He shook his head. ‘All those credits that run at the end of the show, do you think people even read them? That’s when they go for a pee or to put the kettle on.’

‘That’s funny because I heard that you directors refer to actors as talking props.’

Harrington chuckled. ‘You’d never hear me saying that,’ he said. ‘But there are some directors who feel that the actors do get in the way of their vision.’ He put his head on one side. ‘Something worrying you?’

Carolyn smiled, trying to make the smile appear as genuine as she could. She barely knew Harrington and while he seemed a pleasant enough guy and a competent director, she didn’t know him well enough to trust him. For all she knew, he might pass on anything she said to the network suits. ‘No, just wondering what was coming up, that’s all.’

‘I do know that there’s a big writers’ meeting the week after next and the network’s people will be there. That usually means there’s something big on the way.’

‘Yeah, it’s next Wednesday.’

‘How do you know that?’

She tapped the side of her nose. ‘I have my contacts,’ she said.

‘I knew it was Wednesday but I’m not in on it.’

‘Who is?’

‘The writers. Head of Drama. That’s Sally. There’s Lisa, Deputy Head of Drama. Sinead’s going. A few of the network producers. Nick, Francesca and Karen. And that new kid on the block, the one who always wears a sharp suit and smells of eucalyptus. What’s his name? Martin?’

‘But no directors?’

Harrington laughed again. ‘I told you. We’re just hired hands. I kid you not, Carolyn, they could replace every one of the directors on this show within an hour. There are people out there who would kill to direct this show and a lot of them would do it for free. You think actors have it tough? Directors really are treated like shit.’

‘Is it normal to keep you in the dark, then?’

‘Not normal, no.’

‘And what about Paul? Will he be there?’

‘That, I’m not sure about.’

‘Doesn’t that worry you?’

‘What?’

Carolyn sighed. ‘That they’re cutting Paul out of the loop. It’s like a bloody coup, Jake. It used to be that Paul ran everything. Now the network is pulling the strings.’

‘The network loves you, Carolyn. They’re huge fans. If anything, it will probably be good news for you.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Carolyn. She frowned. ‘Why is Sinead going to be there? She’s casting director.’

Harrington shrugged. ‘Like I said, they tell me nothing. What are you worried about?’

‘Maybe they’re planning a plane crash to kill us all off and bring in new blood.’

‘I doubt they’d have the budget for that.’

‘Maybe a car crash, then. Or a killer bug. And they need Sinead to put together a new cast.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I just get the feeling that there’s something going on and nobody will tell me.’

‘I hear that,’ said Harrington. ‘But like I said, you’re a star, Carolyn. They don’t get rid of stars.’

CHAPTER 10

There were a dozen photographers huddled around the gate at the entrance to the grounds of the country house hotel and flashes went off as the Mercedes drove by. ‘Why do they bother?’ asked Harrington.

‘Because they might get lucky and catch an actor smoking a joint or picking their nose,’ said Carolyn.

‘That bad?’

‘Worse than that, Jake. A thousand times worse. What they want is a reaction. Sometimes they’ll shout out the most obscene stuff, just to get a reaction. That’s why every now and then someone will snap and take a swing at them.’

‘You haven’t though?’

‘You can’t because the picture of you screaming at them is the one that’ll be on all the front pages. You just have to grin and bear it.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Besides, if there’s one thing worse than being pursued by the paparazzi, it’s being ignored by them.’

The Mercedes pulled up in front of the hotel. The driver got out and hurried around to open the door for Carolyn. As she got out, two pretty girls in short skirts and impossibly high heels tottered over. They both had tight tops with sashes across their chests with SOAP OPERA DIGEST across them. One of them presented her with a small bouquet and they escorted her into the hallway. To the left, a large banner had been set up and to the right was a bald photographer in a black suit who winked at her. ‘Miss Castle,’ he said. ‘Big fan.’

Carolyn took off her coat and gave it to one of the girls, then posed for half a dozen photographs, then waved for Harrington to join her. Standing next to the photographer was a young woman with a clipboard. She smiled at Carolyn and nodded at the dress. ‘Stella McCartney,’ said Carolyn, and the woman scribbled on her clipboard. She looked up again and smiled at Harrington. ‘And who are you?’ she asked.

‘Me? Nobody.’

Carolyn slipped her arm through his. ‘Jake Harrington,’ she said. ‘He’s a fabulous director and we all love working with him.’

‘And your new boyfriend?’

Carolyn laughed. ‘My director,’ she said. She smiled as the photographer took a few more pictures, then led Harrington away from the banner towards the main ballroom.

‘I don’t know how you put up with it,’ said Harrington.

‘With what?’

‘Being photographed all the time. I’d hate it.’

‘That’s funny, you being a director and all,’ said Carolyn. ‘That’s your job, taking pictures of people.’

‘My job is to let actors tell a story,’ said Harrington. ‘The paparazzi are more like peeping toms, sticking their noses where they’re not wanted.’

Carolyn gestured at the banner, where another actress was being photographed. ‘That’s not paparazzi,’ she said. ‘That’s part of the game. You come to somewhere like this and you get photographed and the photographs go out to the papers and the magazines. The magazine sells, my profile is raised and Stella McCartney gets free publicity. Everyone wins.’

‘Well, it would do my head in. I prefer the fact the girl back there didn’t know me from Adam.’

They stopped at the entrance to the ballroom. A large seating plan had been set up on an easel and it was flanked by two pretty blondes. There were twenty-five circular tables each seating sixteen. The tables were identified with the name of the various shows and production companies. The tables closest to the main stage were taken by the BBC, ITV, Channel 4 and Sky. Behind them were the tables of Coronation Street, EastEnders, Doctors, Holby City and the rest of the popular soaps. The Rags To Riches table was off to the right, closest to the kitchen. Carolyn frowned as she studied the seating plan. Hands seized her by the shoulder. ‘How’s my favourite actress?’ asked Paul Day, looming over her.

‘Wondering why all these reality shows are here,’ she said, pointing at a table marked The Only Way Is Essex and another labeled Made In Chelsea. ‘Since when are reality shows classed as drama?’

‘They’ve a new category this year,’ said the producer. ‘Reality and Constructed Factual.’

‘What the hell is Reality and Constructed Factual?’ asked Carolyn.

‘The future of entertainment, darling,’ said Day. ‘You take suntanned bimbos in tight dresses and you give them lines to shout and wine to drink. Costs next to nothing to make and the punters love it.’ He released his grip on her shoulders. ‘Come on, let’s grab our seats.’

Day, Carolyn and Harrington walked into the ballroom. There were huge posters on the walls, blown-up photographs of the shows that had been nominated, and at the back of the room a stage with two podiums and, behind them, a large viewing screen.

Carolyn had to walk by the Coronation Street and EastEnders tables and she had to air-kiss at least a dozen people. She knew most of the actors though there were a few younger cast members she hadn’t met before. Most knew she was being given a lifetime achievement award and wanted to congratulate her. It was the only award that had been announced in advance.

Seb and Andrea were already at the Rags To Riches table, along with Phillippa Lansdale, the director who was due to take over after Harrington’s episodes had wrapped. Carolyn had worked with Phillippa before and liked the woman. She was in her early thirties, anorexically thin and, like Carolyn, a confirmed smoker. She stood up and hugged Carolyn. ‘So we’re working together week after next,’ she said, brushing her dyed blonde hair over one ear.

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ said Carolyn. Day gave Phillippa a bear hug and then sat down, facing the stage. Carolyn sat next to him. Seb was sitting next to a pneumatic blonde model with vacant eyes, one of half a dozen that he used whenever he needed to prove to the world that he was a red-blooded heterosexual male. Carolyn had met her before but couldn’t quite remember her name — Mandy, or Sandy, or Candy or something similar. She had red-painted fingernails that were at least an inch long and lips that had clearly been pumped full of collagen. Andrea was sitting next to her long-time boyfriend, Charlie Russell, a good-looking Scot who managed his family’s multi-million pound trust. He was devoted to Andrea and always had a lop-sided grin on his face when he was around her.

They were joined by three more actors from the show — Fatima Dowling, Mo Julyan and Barry Hinton — as the ballroom began to fill up. Across the room, Carolyn saw the network executives take their places. Day waved over at Sally Westlake, the head of drama, and she blew him a kiss.

‘So where’s Eddie?’ asked Phillippa.

‘It’s not his thing,’ said Carolyn. She didn’t want it generally known that the relationship was in trouble. In fact, in her heart of hearts she hoped he would call her and apologise because the one thing she wanted most in the world just then was to have him back in her life. She missed him. She missed him a lot. And while the pain of his infidelity still burned, she was starting to feel she was partly to blame. She had been working stupidly-long hours for several months and hadn’t spent enough time with him. A waiter appeared and began pouring champagne. ‘Besides, with Eddie here I’d have to watch how much I drink.’ She waved at the waiter and mouthed ‘red wine.’ He nodded.

The head writer on the show, Zach Atkins, arrived in a white jacket and a black Mickey Mouse bow-tie. With him were two more writers — both earnest young men in their late twenties. They sat together next to Phillippa. Carolyn smiled over at Zach and he smiled back, but he looked away quickly and was soon deep in conversation with the director.

The room filled up over the next twenty minutes and then the meal was served. The food was excellent, way above what was normally served at an award ceremony, brought to the table by fit young men who looked as if they had just walked out of a fashion magazine. The starter was baked scallops, the main course was an apple and cranberry stuffed pork roast and the dessert was vanilla cheesecake with Scottish raspberries. There was a vegetarian option but as Carolyn was an enthusiastic meat-eater she didn’t even look at it. It turned out that alcohol had to be paid for but Day made sure plenty of wine ended up on their table.

When the coffee arrived, the lights dimmed and Ricky Gervais and Dawn French walked out to thunderous applause. The next hour was spent with the two presenters bantering back and forth and a succession of actors, writers and directors making their way up to the stage to be presented with a gold statuette. Gold coloured, anyway. Carolyn had two Soap Digest Best Actress awards in her downstairs bathroom and the gold had long worn away even though the cleaner only dusted them twice a week.

The first award was for Sexiest Female, won by a Hollyoaks actress, and a young hunk on Emmerdale won the award for Sexiest Male. Two photographers snapped away while four camera teams moved around the audience, shooting reaction shots. Carolyn, like the rest of the actors, smiled professionally when there was even a chance they would be caught on film.

‘What is he, twelve?” asked Seb, nodding at the Emmerdale actor, who was posing next to Dawn French as the photographers snapped away.

‘He’s fit,’ said Carolyn.

‘He’s a male model, not an actor,’ sneered Seb.

‘You’re just upset because he’s not gay,’ whispered Carolyn.

‘Bitch,’ said Seb.

‘And he didn’t get his award for his acting, he got it for his chiseled good looks and six-pack abs.’

The next award was for Best Scripted Reality Show. Carolyn looked over at Day. ‘What?’

The producer shrugged. ‘It’s the new big thing, darling.’

‘So now we’re doing away with sets and studios? Why don’t we just film in our own homes? They’re not bloody actors, Paul.’

‘You’re preaching to the converted, darling,’ said Day, leaning over to refill her glass.

The comedian read out the list of contenders, adding — ‘These are my favourite shows on TV. Fit birds, am I right?’

The table where The Only Way Is Essex actors were sitting went wild, shouting and cheering. They were followed a few seconds later by whooping from the Made In Chelsea table.

The comedian opened the envelope and expressed mock surprise. ‘I love these guys,’ he said. ‘And I’m not saying that because I’m from Essex. Because I’m not.’

The TOWIE table went crazy and a chair was tipped over as one of the actresses stood up and waved a bottle of champagne over her head.

‘Nice,’ said Carolyn.

Half a dozen girls with orange fake tans and silicon-enhanced breasts tottered onto the stage and made a series of embarrassing speeches, punctuated with loud whoops.

‘Do you think there’s going to be an award for worst tan?’ asked Seb.

‘And most silicon,’ laughed Andrea.

The girls were ushered off the stage, still whooping and yelping like overexcited puppies.

The award for Best Newcomer was next, and it was taken by Mr Sexiest Male. He went back up on stage to rapturous applause and screams from the TOWIE table.

‘So who did he have to sleep with to get two awards?’ scowled Seb.

‘Anybody he wants to. I’m guessing,’ said Phillippa. ‘I’m going to have to start watching Emmerdale more.’

Mr Sexiest Male and Best Newcomer made quite a sweet speech thanking his agent and his mother and everyone there for making him feel so loved.

‘Sweet,’ said Carolyn, and she actually meant it. Like Phillippa, she decided to make more of an effort to watch Emmerdale.

EastEnders picked up the next three awards — Best Comedy performance, Best Villain and Best Storyline, then Coronation Street won the award for Best Single Episode.

‘This isn’t looking good,’ Carolyn said to Harrington.

‘I’m keeping my fingers crossed for Best British Soap,’ he said. ‘And my toes.’

Ricky Gervais announced the contenders for the Best Actress. Andrea was one of the four names and she beamed as a TV crew moved in for a close-up. It was the killer moment at any awards ceremony. If you won, it was important to look surprised and humble. If you lost, it was just as vital to look as if you were thrilled for the winner. The camera was unforgiving and would pick up the slightest hint of jealousy or bitterness, so smiles had to be broad and eyes wide. Andrea sat with her back ramrod straight, her head up and a slight smile on her face as she listened to the comedian announce the winner.

Carolyn’s jaw dropped when she heard him call Andrea’s name. ‘Oh, my God!’ she said. Then she realised a television camera was pointing in her direction so she changed her look of surprise into admiration and started to clap.

The full range of emotions was flashing across Andrea’s face. Surprise. Amazement. Delight. She stood up and allowed Day, Harrington and Seb to embrace her, then she headed for the stage. ‘Did you know she’d won?’ Carolyn asked Day as he sat down again.

The producer shook his head. ‘They played their cards close to their chest.’

‘But you must have put her up for it?’

‘The network did,’ said Day. ‘They didn’t even ask me.’

‘The green-eyed God rearing its ugly head, darling?’ teased Seb.

‘Don’t be silly, Andrea’s a sweetie, and one hell of an actress,’ said Carolyn. She looked over at the network table and saw Sally and Lisa standing as they applauded Andrea on her walk to the stage. Carolyn drained her glass and held it out for Day to refill.

Andrea’s speech was clearly rehearsed and Carolyn wondered if she had known about the award in advance. A TV crew began filming the Rags To Riches table and she smiled supportively and increased her clapping rate.

Best Actor went to Chris Gascoyne of Coronation Street, which Carolyn figured was well-deserved as she’d seen several performances of his that were as good as anything she’d seen on the London stage.

‘What’s he got that I haven’t?’ asked Seb, only half-joking.

‘An award, for a start,’ laughed Carolyn.

‘Seriously,’ said Seb.

‘He’s a good actor, a real pro,’ said Carolyn. She raised her glass to Seb. ‘But he’s nowhere as good-looking or charming as you are, darling.’

Seb grinned and clinked his glass against hers.

The two presenters took it in turns to announce the contenders for Best British Soap — Coronation Street, Doctors, EastEnders, Emmerdale, Hollyoaks and Rags To Riches. They showed clips of each show and Carolyn was pleased to see she was in the Rags To Riches selection, a three-hander with Seb and Andrea.

Dawn French opened a gold envelope, paused theatrically, and announced the winner. EastEnders. Carolyn clapped enthusiastically, as did everyone else on the Rags To Riches table. The camera covering their table was pointed at Seb and Andrea and they both did a great job of portraying rapt enthusiasm.

The EastEnders cast made their way up to the stage, flanked by the producers and two of the directors. Sixteen people in all. One of the producers accepted the award and made a short speech. Carolyn couldn’t help but notice one group he didn’t thank was the poor licence payer who funded their extravagant salaries. It always seemed unfair to her that the BBC should pay for a soap opera because they were never constrained by the same budget restraints as the independently-produced shows.

Carolyn looked over at Day and saw the look of disappointment on his face. Unlike the actors, Day wasn’t great at hiding his true feelings. He caught her looking at him and he forced a smile. ‘There’s always next year,’ he said.

‘We’re the better show, no doubt about that,’ said Carolyn. She looked at her watch. It was ten o’clock and the ceremony was supposed to be over by ten-thirty. She couldn’t help thinking about Eddie and wondering what he was doing. She had so wanted him to be there with her. Her bag was at her feet and she wanted to take out her phone and check to see if he’d called, but she knew she would be wasting her time. She felt tears prick her eyes and she blinked them away, then realised that everyone at the table was looking at her and that Rick Gervais was talking about her. She smiled and nodded and sat bolt upright as the comedian poured praise on her and introduced a two-minute clip of some of her most memorable moments on television — her appearances on Spooks, New Tricks, her spell on Dancing With The Stars, the first time she appeared on Rags To Riches. When it finished there was a roar of approval and everyone got to their feet and applauded. The cheers and claps echoed around the ballroom as Carolyn walked up and onto the stage.

The comedian handed her the award and kissed her on both cheeks, then Dawn French came over and gave her a hug. ‘I’m a huge fan, have been for ever,’ she said, which was nice whether or not it was true.

The two presenters moved back to their podiums, leaving the stage to Carolyn. She cradled the statuette and looked out over the audience. ‘This is such an amazing honour,’ she said. ‘And such a lovely surprise. I have to say I hadn’t expected to get a lifetime’s achievement so early in my career, but this is one gift horse I won’t be looking in the mouth.’ A ripple of laughter went around the room and she waited for it to subside. ‘I’m so grateful for Soap Digest magazine, and for its readers.’ She looked over at the table where the magazine executives were sitting and flashed them a grateful smile. ‘It makes it all the more meaningful knowing this award comes from the fans. Because without the fans, there’d be no point at all.’ The audience started clapping and she nodded enthusiastically until it died down. She gazed at the statuette with affection, and allowed her lower lip to tremble, just a bit. Truth be told, it was just one of more than a dozen awards she’d won over the years and they were all on a shelf in the guest bathroom on the ground floor of her house. But it was important to show humility, so she made a show of composing herself. ‘I have so many people to thank,’ she said. ‘Although it’s the actors that the fans see, we’re only the tip of the iceberg and the true creativity takes place on the other side of the camera.’ More applause, and she smiled as she waited for it to die down. Timing was everything when it came to delivering a speech. Timing and lots of eye contact with the audience.

She turned to look at the table where the network executives were sitting and she raised the statuette to them. ‘First, the network, who have been behind the show from Day One. It’s great to have such a supportive team behind us, so thank you from the bottom of my heart to Sally, Lisa, Nick, Francesca, Karen and Martin. I love you all.’ More applause. Actually she didn’t love them at all, they were a talentless bunch of bean-counters who cared nothing about the quality of the show and she would quite happily have nothing to do with any of them ever again, given the choice. But, unfortunately, the network executives had the money and the power, so she had no other choice than to bow down before them. They applauded her and she just hoped her smile didn’t look as fake as theirs.

When the applause had subsided, she looked over at the Rags To Riches table. She caught Harrington’s eye and he winked at her. She blew him a kiss. ‘I want to thank Paul Day, of course, for creating and producing such a wonderful show. And all the great directors who have worked on the show over the years. That’s Jake, and Phillippa, and Raj. And Frank, who has been DP on the show since I started. The crew is more like a family to me than anything. Heaven knows, I spend more time with them than I do with my own relatives.’

More laughter, though this time with a harder edge because most of the men and women in the room knew the long hours they worked were no laughing matter. The divorce rate in the television industry was beaten only by that of doctors and police officers.

‘But, seriously,’ said Carolyn, lowering her voice and speaking slowly and clearly. ‘There are two people I have to thank from the bottom of my heart, two people without whom I would never have had the success that I have been so fortunate to enjoy.’ She waited a couple of beats until she had everyone in the room hanging on her words. ‘My mum and dad, God bless them. I know they would be so proud if they were here today but, sadly, that’s not to be.’ She swallowed, and smiled bravely as she held the statuette up towards the ceiling. ‘This is for you mum and dad. I love you and miss you so much.’ Right on cue a single tear rolled down her cheek. She moved her head slightly, knowing it would glisten under the lights. The audience erupted with applause and one by one they got to their feet and stood clapping and cheering for a full minute. They were still clapping as she left the stage and went back to her table, stopping to exchange air kisses with half a dozen well-wishers on the way.

Carolyn waved the statuette in the air for a final time as she went to sit down next to Harrington. He leaned over and whispered in her ear. ‘How do you do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘Cry on command.’

She grinned and waggled the statuette at him. ‘A lifetime of experience, darling,’ she said.

Paul Day poured more red wine in her glass. ‘That was one hell of a performance, Carolyn,’ he said.

‘Don’t tell me, you want me to do it again for my close-up,’ she said. She picked up her glass and clinked it against his.

‘Seriously, you had them in the palm of your hand,’ said Harrington. ‘Have you done any theatre work?’

‘Panto,’ interrupted Day. ‘She’s plays a mean wicked stepmother.’

‘Oh, no, I don’t!’ said Carolyn.

‘Oh, yes, you do!’ chorused Day and Harrington. All three burst into laughter. Day waved at a passing waiter and pointed at the bottle of red wine. ‘One more,’ he mouthed and the waiter hurried off.

‘I’m not just saying this, Carolyn, but you really do have a stage presence. I know how good you work a camera, but that’s the first time I’ve seen you up on a stage and, really, there’s magic there. Every single person here was totally focused on you.’

Carolyn smiled and stroked his cheek. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ she said.

‘Trust me, I don’t. You should talk to your agent, get him to get you some stage work.’

Carolyn shook her head. ‘The theatre doesn’t pay, you know that. Not unless you’re in a West End hit and even then it’s got to be Shrek or Les Mis.’

‘You could play Shrek, darling,’ said Day.

‘And you’d make a great donkey,’ said Carolyn.

The MC was bringing the show to a close, thanking the sponsors one by one. Once he’d finished, there was more applause, then the doors behind them were opened. Carolyn felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned to look up at Martin Waites. Waites was in his late twenties but looked as if he was barely out of his teens, with gelled blonde hair and a girl’s cheekbones. He was wearing a black Armani suit and a grey shirt, buttoned up and tie-less. ‘You were fantastic, Carolyn,’ he said. ‘And never was an honour more well-deserved.’ He flashed her a beaming smile and she caught his eyes flicking down to her cleavage and back to her face.

‘Why thank you, kind sir,’ she said.

‘And I can tell you that everyone at our table was chuffed to bits that you mentioned us all by name. That was a nice touch.’

‘I meant what I said. The show would be nothing without the network.’

‘I wish everyone on the show felt the same,’ said Waites. He smiled at Day. ‘There are those who think we’re the enemy.’

‘We have different expectations of what a show should be,’ said Day, rising to the bait. ‘We want to make the best show we can, you want to sell as much advertising as you can with the minimum up-front expenditure.’

‘Paul, you know full well your budget is way above that of EastEnders, Corrie, even Holby. They look at your location budget and salivate.’

‘And the money we spend shows on the screen,’ said Day. ‘That’s why we get the viewers. Because we have a quality product.’

‘And the best stars,’ said Waites. He’d moved to stand behind Carolyn and he reached down and began massaging Carolyn’s shoulders. ‘We wiped the floor tonight. That demonstrated how much the fans love the show.’ He patted Carolyn’s arms. ‘Now a Bafta or two, that would be nice.’

Carolyn looked up at him. She wanted to ask him to stop touching her shoulders but she didn’t want to sound over-sensitive. He looked down at her and winked. She smiled tightly.

Day waved at an empty seat. ‘Sit yourself down, Martin. You need to spend some time with the troops.’

Waites laughed and sat down between Andrea’s boyfriend and Phillippa. Carolyn smiled at Day and he winked at her. She realised he’d noticed her discomfort and done something about it. She raised her glass and mouthed ‘thank you’.

CHAPTER 11

Carolyn finished her wine and looked at her watch. It was just before eleven. She looked over at Harrington and caught his eye. ‘What time are you heading back to London?’ she asked him.

‘Sorry, didn’t I say? I’m booked in for the night.’

‘You’re staying here?’

‘I thought it best. I haven’t had a boozy night for months. Figured I’d nurse my hangover in style. Frank’s staying over, too.’

‘Are you looking for a lift, Carolyn?’ asked Waites from across the table. ‘I’m ready to push off.’

Carolyn hesitated. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be stuck with the network executive for the hour or so it would take to drive home.

Waites held up a glass of iced water. ‘I haven’t been drinking,’ he said. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Notting Hill Gate.’

He grinned. ‘I’m just down the road from you,’ he said. ‘More than happy to drop you off, and I’d much rather have someone in the car with me.’

‘Okay, thank you,’ said Carolyn. She bent down and picked up her bag, and put the statuette in it. She took out her phone. Eddie hadn’t called or sent a text message. She put the phone back in the bag and smiled brightly. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Ready when you are.’

She said goodbye to everyone at the table with either a hug or an air kiss, then threaded her way through the tables to the entrance receiving more congratulations on the way. From a pretty brunette in a long black evening dress she collected her coat and a goody bag packed with perfume, chocolates and trinkets, most of which she knew she’d be giving away to friends.

Waites collected a goody bag, too, and they walked outside. She laughed when she saw his car. A red Porsche 911. ‘I sort of guessed you’d have a Porsche,’ she said.

‘It’s only two years old,’ he said, opening the door for her. ‘It goes like a rocket.’ He took her goody bag from her and tossed it and his onto the back seat.

‘Good to know,’ she said, fastening her seatbelt.

He slammed her door shut and climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine roared and he gunned it a couple of times before driving away from the hotel. He drove too fast, accelerating into curves and braking harder than necessary. Carolyn tried not to show how uncomfortable she was. It was her own fault for not arranging for Billy to take her.

‘Are you okay, Carolyn?’ he asked as he changed up a gear and stamped on the accelerator.

‘Bit queasy, actually,’ she said. ‘Would you mind slowing down, just a bit.’ She flashed him her little-girl-lost smile.

‘Sure, of course,’ he said, and braked sharply so that the seat belt tightened against her chest. ‘That was a good night, wasn’t it?’

‘Terrific,’ she said.

‘Bet you’ve been to a lot over the years?’

‘A fair few.’

‘They’re still a new thing for me,’ he said. He slowed as they approached a hump-backed bridge but still went over it so quickly that Carolyn felt herself rise out of her seat. Her stomach lurched. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘Where were you before?’

‘Before? In what way?’

‘Before the network? Where did you work?’

‘I joined straight from university,’ he said. ‘Graduate entrant. Six hundred applied and they only took three of us.’

‘Impressive,’ said Carolyn, wincing as he almost lost control of the car and missed scraping a dry stone wall by inches.

‘Yeah, the selection process was brutal. But I got through and they sent me on several shows to learn the ropes and now I’m on Rags To Riches.’

‘It’s a great show.’

‘Absolutely. But we can make it better. We should be getting another million or so viewers.’

‘And how will you do that?’ asked Carolyn.

‘We might have to take the show in a different direction,’ said Waites.

She looked across at him. ‘How would you do that?’

He shrugged carelessly. ‘There’s lots of options,’ he said. He grinned. ‘Do you want to do a line?’

‘A line?’

‘Coke,’ he said. He patted his jacket pocket. ‘Got some great stuff here.’

Carolyn shook her head. ‘I don’t…’

‘What, never? I thought all actors did.’

‘When I was younger, maybe. But these days, alcohol and nicotine are my drugs of choice.’

‘Coke is way better for you than booze,’ he said. ‘No hangover, no weight gain.’

‘You’re not telling me I look fat, are you?’

Waites laughed. ‘God, no,’ he said. ‘You’re amazing for…’

He left the sentence unfinished but she knew what he was going to say. For her age.

‘I tell you, Carolyn, I’ve always fancied you. At uni you were always at the top of my “to do” list.’

‘Excuse me?’ said Carolyn.

He grinned. ‘The list of stars you’d like to… you know.’

‘And I was top of yours?’

Waites nodded enthusiastically. ‘Bloody right.’

‘I suppose I should be flattered. Who else was on your list?

Waites laughed. ‘You really want to know?’

‘Sure.’

‘Angelina Jolie for one. Megan Fox.’

‘So I’m in good company,’ she said. ‘But I don’t get why I was on your list.’

‘I was a big fan of the show at uni,’ said Waites. ‘Me and my mates used to watch it together. You know, four years ago the show had a much younger viewer profile. That’s something we need to address.’

Carolyn nodded.

‘So where’s the show heading?’

‘Heading?’

‘You know, what direction do you plan to take it?’

‘That’s a very open-ended question,’ he said. ‘We want to continue to grow the audience, of course, so we can maximize the advertising revenue. We want to develop storylines that will excite our existing viewers and hopefully bring in new ones.’

‘And how exactly do you go about doing that?’

Waites grinned. ‘That’s why we’re paid the big bucks,’ he said.

‘I know that,’ she said. ‘But I’m wondering what sort of changes you might be making to bring in new viewers.’

‘We’re looking at several options.’

‘A younger cast?’

‘Well there’s no doubt we’d like to see the average age of our viewers come down a bit. Back to where it was when I was at uni. The average age of a Rags To Riches viewer is about five years below the typical Corrie or EastEnders, but we’re still well above Holby and Hollyoaks.’

‘But does that mean lowering the average age of the cast?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Has somebody said something to you?’

Carolyn shrugged carelessly. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘It just seems obvious if you want a younger audience, you get a younger cast. I’m old enough to remember when almost all the actors in Corrie were in their forties. Now most of them are kids with sunbed tans and too much eyeliner.’ She grinned. ‘And that’s just the boys.’

‘It’s the way of the world,’ said Waites. ‘We can’t fight it, all we can do is roll with it.’

‘But it’s crazy. Youngsters aren’t sitting at home in the evenings watching TV. And if its spending power you’re after, then it’s the middle-aged audience you want. The ones who’ve paid off their mortgages and said goodbye to their kids. They’re the ones with the money.’

‘That’s not the way my bosses see it,’ said Waites. He patted her leg, just above the knee. ‘What’s worrying you, Carolyn? Has somebody said something to you?’

‘What might they have said?’ asked Carolyn.

‘I don’t know. But something is obviously worrying you.’

Carolyn sighed. She looked down at his hand that was still resting on her leg. ‘There’s a meeting the week after next. A writers’ meeting.’

‘Yes…’ he said, hesitantly.

‘I just get the feeling that something big is being planned. And I don’t want to pick up a script in a few weeks and find I’m lying in an Intensive Care Unit with Seb crying on Andrea’s shoulder as they pull the plug.’

Waites laughed and gave her knee a gentle squeeze. ‘That’s not going to happen,’ he said. ‘If they were going to write you out, they’d do it so you had the option of coming back. That’s a given.’

‘Are they thinking about writing me out?’ she asked.

‘At the moment everything’s up in the air,’ said Waites. He smiled seemingly unaware of how uncomfortable he was making her.

Carolyn bit down on her lower lip. It was the last thing she wanted to hear. Before she realised what had happened, Waites had pulled over to the side of the road. They were parked next to a five-bar gate that led to a field. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘I’m getting tired,’ he said. ‘I need a pick-me-up.’ He took a small silver phial from his pocket and unscrewed the top. He held it in front of her. ‘Sure you don’t want some?’

Carolyn shook her head. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure you should be driving and snorting coke.’

Waites sprinkled a small amount of white powder on the back of his left hand and sniffed it up both nostrils. He grinned and shuddered. ‘That’s better,’ he said as he put the cap back on the phial. He shuddered again. ‘See, coke should be on the show. The fashion business runs on drugs but we never see it on the show.’

‘You can’t show drug-taking on TV,’ said Carolyn.

‘Of course you can. And we should. How do you think models stay so thin? The models I know all do coke. Lots of it.’

Carolyn looked at her watch. It was after half eleven. ‘We should be going,’ she said.

Waites put away the vial. ‘What’s the rush?’ he said. He unfastened his seat belt and put his left hand on her knee. ‘We’ve got the moonlight, some very good cocaine, I’m with the sexiest woman on TV. Have you ever done it in a Porsche?’

‘Are you insane?’

‘Come on now, Carolyn. Live a little.’ He tried to kiss her but she pushed him away. He sneered at her. ‘You need all the friends you can get at the moment, honey,’ he said. ‘You’d be a lot better off with me in your corner.’

‘What do you mean?’

He tried to kiss her again but she pushed him away.

‘What do you mean?’ she repeated.

‘I mean you’re not on everybody’s to-do list, Carolyn. Some people at the network just think you’re a dog that’s had its day. They want to replace you with a younger model, maybe one of the girls from The Only Way Is Essex.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Is it? Reality TV is where the big numbers are. We get one of the hot reality girls onto Rags To Riches and the numbers will go through the roof. And if that happens, you’ll be history.’

‘Is that what the network’s planning?’

Waites grinned, He reached between his legs. ‘Tell you what, you give me a BJ and I’ll tell you which way the wind is blowing.’

Carolyn couldn’t believe she’d heard him right. ‘What?’

Waites rubbed his nose with his left hand and then reached for the back of her neck. Carolyn knocked his hand away. ‘Don’t touch me, Martin.’

‘Come on, honey. What’s wrong?’

‘Fuck off, Martin!’

Waites grinned. ‘Playing hard to get, huh?’ He laughed and rubbed his nose again.

Carolyn noticed for the first time how red and bleary his eyes were. She opened the door and climbed out. ‘Screw you!’ she shouted and slammed the door. She slung her bag over her shoulder and began to walk away from the car.

Waites wound down the window. ‘Now you’re being ridiculous, we’re in the middle of nowhere. Get back in the car.’

‘Sod off!’ shouted Carolyn, still walking.

‘Carolyn, this is a complete overreaction,’ said Waites. ‘Just calm down, I’ll drive you home and I won’t say another word.’

Carolyn stopped and turned around. ‘Screw you,’ she said. ‘I’ve never, ever, slept with anybody to get where I am and I’m bloody well not going to start now. And definitely not with a spineless little shit like you.’

He opened the door and got out of the Porsche. ‘Just get back in the car,’ he said.

Carolyn pointed at him. ‘Get away from me,’ she said. ‘You come near me and I’ll call the police and tell them you’ve got cocaine on you.’

His face hardened. ‘You stupid cow!’

‘Yeah, well, I guess I’m off your to-do list,’ she said. She started walking again.

She heard the car door slam and a few seconds later the car drove off down the road.

She didn’t look around, but as the car disappeared into the night she became aware of just how dark it was. There was a sliver of a moon overhead and plenty of stars but there were trees all around her and she could barely see fifty feet in front of her. She fished her mobile phone out of her bag and pressed the screen. The light seemed blindingly bright and she had to squint at it. No bars. Not one. ‘Of course there’s no signal,’ she muttered to herself. ‘How could there be? That would just make it too bloody easy, wouldn’t it?’

She stood at the side of the road, trying to remember how far they’d driven since they’d passed a house. A couple of miles, maybe. There had been a farmhouse. And a couple of cottages, but so far as she could remember all of them had been in darkness. She started walking, wondering what the odds were of a car driving by at that time of night. Probably not good, she decided. She walked as quickly as she could but the Prada shoes and McCartney dress weren’t designed for trekking along a country road at night and after a few minutes her feet were hurting. She realised she had made a big mistake getting out of the car, but she had been so annoyed at the way Waites had behaved she figured she hadn’t had any choice. With hindsight she realised she should have just sat there and made him drive her home. Her right foot twisted on the uneven surface and she cursed. She checked her phone again. Still no signal.

The road ahead curved to the left and as she reached the bend she saw a house ahead of her. She smiled thinly when she saw the lights were on. ‘Please be home,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Please, please, please.’

She could see a high brick wall through the trees. Beyond the wall the land sloped upwards and the house was at the top of the slope.

She walked down the road and reached a set of black wrought iron gates set between two ten-feet tall brick pillars. She tried to open the gates but there must have been an electronic mechanism and they wouldn’t budge. From where she was standing she couldn’t see the house. The driveway curved around to the right and there were lines of bushes either side. She looked around for a doorbell or intercom but there was nothing. There was a letterbox set into the brick pillar on the left, along with a brass plate that read ‘No Junk Mail’. She stood back and wondered if she had any alternative other than to climb over the gate. The walls were too high and there was nothing to hold on to, but at least the ornate wrought iron provided handholds and footholds. She sighed and took off her shoes, then pushed them through the gate, along with her bag. She hitched her skirt up around her waist and began to climb. It wasn’t as difficult as she’d imagined, though she had to be careful not to snag her dress as she went over the top. Once she reached the other side she smoothed down her dress, put her shoes back on, picked up her bag and headed up the driveway.

The house was a good hundred yards from the gate, it was modern, a two-storey white cube with lots of glass and a flat roof. Between the wall and the house was a gently-sloping lawn that was as flat and even as a carpet. To the right of the house was a double garage and in front of it were parked two cars, a black Bentley and a white Mercedes. The front door was on the right of the building, and to the left was a floor-to-ceiling window that looked into the main sitting room. She could see a man standing in the middle of the room and there was another man sprawled on a sofa. Carolyn smiled to herself. At least there was someone at home. Hopefully they’d call her a cab and she could get back to London.

She carried on walking up the drive, now with a spring in her step, her painful feet all but forgotten.

CHAPTER 12

‘Where’s my fucking money, Nicholas? You’re going to save yourself a whole world of hurt by telling me now.’ Nicholas Cohen put his hand up to his lip, then blinked at his fingers. They glistened with blood. His blood. Cohen was middle-aged with a receding hairline, heavy jowls and an expanding waistline, the body of a man who had spent most of his life sitting behind a desk. Cohen was on his knees, looking up at the man who’d hit him. Drops of blood splattered onto the thick white rug underneath him.

‘I don’t know,’ he said.

Warwick Richards shook his head. Richards was sitting on one of the sofas, watching Cohen with hard eyes. ‘You see, lying like that isn’t going to help you. You’re an accountant, Nicholas. You’re my accountant. Money is your job. Looking after it, putting it where the Revenue won’t find it. That’s what I’ve been paying you for. So telling me you don’t know where it is just doesn’t wash.’ Richards was a big man, six foot two tall and broad-shouldered, but he wasn’t the one who’d hurt Cohen. It had been years since Richards had hit anybody. He’d reached the stage where he paid to have people hurt though, truth be told, he sometimes missed the adrenaline rush that came with dispensing retribution. Richards crossed his legs and straightened the creases of his Hugo Boss trousers. He stretched his arms along the back of the sofa as he waited for Cohen to reply.

‘I’m not lying, I don’t know where it is.’

‘Two million quid doesn’t just go walkabout on its own. The only two people who had signing rights were me and you and if I’d taken the money out I wouldn’t be asking you where it was, would I?’

‘I think he’s broken my bridge,’ said Cohen, gingerly touching his jaw.

‘What fucking bridge?’

‘My bridgework. Three of my teeth, they’re a bridge. He’s broken it.’ Cohen pointed at Mick Halpin, the man who did most of the hurting that Richards needed doing. Halpin was an inch or two shorter than Richards but much wider, with a square shaved head and the thick muscular neck and forearms that came from regular visits to the gym and equally regular purchases of illegal steroids. Halpin had a small gold earring in his left ear and a thick gold chain around his neck. He was wearing an open-necked shirt that was flecked with Cohen’s blood and, as he stared down at Cohen, he cracked his knuckles.

‘The only reason that Mick hit you is because you won’t tell me where my bloody money is. This is on your head, Nicholas. So don’t cry about your busted bridge because it’s all down to you. Now where’s my fucking money?’

‘I told you, I don’t know.’

Richards sighed and waved a languid hand at Halpin. Halpin stepped forward and backhanded Cohen across the face. The sound was as loud as a pistol shot and Cohen fell back onto the white rug. Halpin kicked him hard in the stomach and the accountant curled into a foetal ball.

‘Don’t lie to me, Nicholas,’ said Richards. He looked at his watch, a solid gold Rolex. ‘Stop messing me around. I’ve got to be at the club before it closes.’

CHAPTER 13

Carolyn stood rooted to the spot, her hand over her mouth. The man on the sofa, the good-looking one, was saying something to the man on the floor. The bald man kicked him again and Carolyn winced. She took her mobile phone out of her bag. Still no signal. She began to shake, partly because of the cold but more because of what she was witnessing. Her mind was in a whirl, and she had absolutely no idea what to do. She knew she should just turn and walk away, climb back over the gate and head off down the road, that nothing good could possibly come from her staying where she was. She knew the sensible thing to do was to get away from the house, but it was as if her legs had turned to stone. She stared at the men in the living room, her hand still clamped over her mouth.

CHAPTER 14

Cohen stayed on the floor, curled up with his knees against his chest. ‘Get the fuck up and stop being such a baby, Nicholas,’ said Richards. ‘You took my money. I found out. Now I want it back. You’re going to be eating hospital food for a few weeks, but if you don’t stop fucking around it’s going to be a lot worse than that.’ Cohen didn’t react other than to sniff loudly. ‘Get the fuck up, Nicholas, now!” screamed Richards.

Cohen sniffed again and pushed himself up onto his knees. ‘Warwick, mate, let me tell you what happened,’ he gasped.

Richards stood up and pointed a finger at the kneeling man. ‘You’re no fucking mate of mine, Nicholas. Not after this.’

‘Look, just listen will you. I moved the money, you know that, but I can’t get it back.’ He coughed and spat out bloody phlegm. You know I gamble, right?’

‘What?’

‘Oh come on, mate, we’ve been to the races together. Cheltenham. Goodwood. I took you to Ascot once. All on me, remember?’

‘What’s your point, Nicholas?’

‘Cohen coughed again and sat back on his heels. ‘I had a bad year. I lost more than I won. Hell, I lost a lot more than I won.’

‘How much, Nicholas?’

Cohen shrugged. ‘A few grand at first. So I remortgaged this place. That was easy enough. But I kept on losing. So I borrowed more against the house.’

‘So your bank’s got my money, is that what you’re saying? Then you’re going to have to sell your bloody house if that’s how I get my money back.’

‘I’m sorry, Warwick. It’s more complicated than that.’

‘What do you mean?’

Cohen began to cry and he wiped his cheeks with the palms of his hands.

‘I was chasing my losses. I figured I was just on a bad streak and it would turn, so I borrowed.’

‘Borrowed? From who?’

Cohen swallowed nervously. ‘Lenny Wilson.’

‘Lenny fucking Wilson? Why the fuck would you borrow from that shark?’

‘I know, I know. I just wanted a loan for a week, I had a couple of sure things. But then they lost so I had to borrow more and then he started giving me credit and then…’ He began to sob again and buried his head in his hands.

‘Lenny fucking Wilson has my money? You stole two million quid from me and gave it to Lenny fucking Wilson? How could you lose two million on the horses?’

‘It wasn’t the horses, it was the interest. Ten percent a week. And then he said if I didn’t get the cash he’d kill me. And he meant it, mate. I know he meant it. And it wasn’t two million. It was just a couple of hundred grand, at first. I thought I could win it back so I took some from your account but that went and then I went back to Wilson. Then I had to keep paying.’

‘With my money?’

‘I’m sorry, mate. Really. I’ll get it sorted.’

Richards sneered at Cohen. ‘So what are you saying, that you’re more scared of him than you are of me?’

‘No, I just figured I could get back in the black before you found out. I’ve had a few wins, so I think my luck’s finally changed.’

‘Your luck? You fucking mug. There’s no luck in gambling. You gamble, you lose. It’s just that you’ve lost my fucking money, not your own. My fucking money. Why the fuck did you think you could use my money to pay off your debts, you fucking slag?’

‘Warwick, mate, be reasonable…’

‘Reasonable!’ yelled Richards. ‘You want me to be fucking reasonable. You stupid fucking twat!’ He reached over and grabbed a crystal figurine of a leaping dolphin off the coffee table, swung it to the side and smashed it into the side of Nicholas’s face. Blood splattered across the window behind him and Cohen slumped to the ground without a sound.

CHAPTER 15

Carolyn grunted into her hand, her eyes wide and fearful. Blood began to trickle down the window. She stared in horror as the man in the suit put the crystal dolphin back onto the coffee table. The blow had caught her by surprise — one moment the man had been talking, the next he had picked up the figurine and hit the kneeling man. There was so much blood on the window she was sure he was dead or, at best, seriously injured. Her whole body began to shake. Without realising what she was doing, she took a step forward. Then another. And that was when the security light above the garage clicked on.

Carolyn stood rooted to the spot. The light was blinding — as bad as looking into the sun — and she instinctively threw up a hand to shield her eyes.

CHAPTER 16

A bright white light flooded the lawn and Richards screwed up his eyes. ‘What’s going on out there?’ he said, pointing to the window.

‘It’s the security light,’ said Halpin. ‘Must be motion activated.’ He walked over to the window, pressed his hand against the glass and peered into the garden. ‘Boss, there’s someone out there.’

‘What? Who?’

‘A woman.’

‘Well get the hell after her!’ shouted Richards. He stared down at the blood-spattered body at his feet. ‘Do you see what you’ve done now, you stupid bastard!’ Cohen wasn’t moving and his eyes stared lifelessly up at the ceiling. ‘Oh, shit,’ said Richards.

CHAPTER 17

Carolyn could barely run across the lawn so she kicked off her shoes. She heard a door slide open behind her but she didn’t look back. She pulled up her dress and concentrated on running, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The reason she spent hours in the gym every week was to maintain her figure, but for once she was grateful that all the time on the treadmill had boosted her stamina. She saw the gates ahead of her and ran to them. She threw her bag over the gate, hitched up her skirt, grabbed at the metal bars and climbed over. As she reached the top she saw the bald man hurrying across the lawn towards her. He was jogging rather than running, his mouth wide open as he gulped in the night air.

Carolyn dropped down onto the ground and sprinted to the road, her bag clutched to her chest. She ran at full pelt, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up the pace for long. She heard a loud crack behind and she flinched. Was that a gunshot? Was he shooting at her? Her hands began to shake and she squeezed them tight but it didn’t seem to make any difference. She ran, barely aware of the pain of her bare feet slapping against the Tarmac. She was sure they’d come after her in a car eventually so she wouldn’t be able to outrun them. All she could do was run into the woods and hide, but she’d have to do that before her pursuer reached the road. He was a big man so she figured it would take him a minute or so to climb over the gate. Unless he had a key.

She reached the road and turned right. Her feet were hurting but she ignored the pain and ran for all she was worth. Her mind was in a whirl. She had to run into the trees at some point but which side of the road would be best? She had no idea how thick the woods were, and if she made the wrong choice they’d find her.

The trees ahead of her were suddenly illuminated by a bright light and she heard the growl of an engine behind her. Her first thought was that they’d come after her in one of the cars but when she turned her head she saw it was a large container truck. She moved into the middle of the road and waved her arms. The driver sounded the horn and it sounded like an animal bellowing in pain.

Carolyn stood her ground and carried on waving. The driver slammed on the brakes as he continued to pound on the horn. The truck came to a halt about six feet from where she was standing. Carolyn could make out the driver’s face through the windscreen — a man in his late fifties wearing a flat cap. She hurried around to the passenger side and reached up to open the door.

‘What the hell are you playing at, love?’ asked the driver before she could open her mouth. ‘I damn near ran over you.’ He had a Birmingham accent and while he sounded severe he had a kindly twinkle in his eye.

‘Please, can you give me a lift?’ asked Carolyn.

He smiled uncomfortably and scratched his neck. ‘If it was up to me it wouldn’t be a problem, love, but the company won’t let me. It’s ‘elf and safety, you know.’

‘Please, just a few miles. Just away from here.’ She looked down the road, towards the house, expecting to see the bald man at any moment.

‘Here, you’re that Diana Bourne, aren’t you? Off the TV?’

She looked up at him and nodded enthusiastically. ‘I sure am. Rags To Riches.’

‘My wife loves that show. That Fiona woman, she’s after your husband, you know?’

‘Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.’ Carolyn looked back down the road. The bald man appeared, his gun held high.

‘Are you all right, love?’

‘Not really,’ said Carolyn. ‘Please, just a few miles.’

The driver sighed. ‘What the hell, the way my wife talks about you, you’re practically family. Climb in.’

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ said Carolyn and she hauled herself up into the cab and slammed the door. She clutched her bag to her chest as she looked at the wing mirror. The bald man was running towards the truck, his gun in the air.

‘Seat belt,’ said the driver.

‘Please, can we just go?’ pleaded Carolyn.

‘Not without your seat belt,’ said the driver, folding his arms.

‘Okay, okay,’ said Carolyn. She fumbled with the belt, fastened it, and nodded at the driver. ‘Okay?’

‘Off we go,’ said the driver. He pressed his foot on the accelerator and the truck moved off, its twin beams carving tunnels of light in the darkness ahead of them. ‘So what’s that Fiona like then, in real life? Is she as devious as she comes across?’

Carolyn stared at the mirror. The bald man had stopped and had taken out his phone. She grinned. ‘Waste of time, there’s no signal out here,’ she muttered.

‘Sorry, what did you say?’ asked the driver, changing gear and accelerating.

‘Nothing,’ said Carolyn. She turned to look at the driver and smiled sweetly. ‘So your wife’s a fan, is she?’

CHAPTER 18

Richards ran up to Halpin, breathing heavily. ‘Where did she go?’ asked Richards. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. He was holding the shoes that the woman had left behind.

Halpin pointed after the truck. ‘He picked her up.’ He’d tucked the gun into his belt.

‘Please tell me you got the registration number,’ said Richards.

Halpin showed him the screen of his mobile phone. ‘Typed it in so I wouldn’t forget it,’ he said.

‘Not as stupid as you look then,’ said Richard. He patted him on the back. ‘Come on, back to the house before someone sees you with that shooter.’ He held up the shoe. ‘We’ve got to get rid of the body and then we can start looking for Cinder-fucking-rella.’

They hurried back to the gate. Richards had opened it and they slipped through. Richards picked up the second shoe. ‘Prada,’ he said. ‘And not a knock-off, either.’

‘Boss, the cops are going to be on their way,’ said Halpin.

‘They’ll be a while yet,’ said Richards. ‘There’s no phone signal for miles. Then, when she gets through to nine nine nine, they’ll probably put her on hold. This time of night all the drunks are out, so the cops are fully stretched. The nearest cop shop is twenty miles away and I’m pretty sure that’s not manned at night. Half an hour at the absolute earliest, probably more like an hour.’

‘She knows I’ve got a gun.’

‘Which means they’ll have to wait for an armed response vehicle and, again, at night there’s not too many of them about in the sticks. We’ll be out of here in fifteen minutes, don’t worry.’

He pushed open the front door and went over to Cohen’s body. ‘Wrap it up in the rug, we’ll take it with us and dump it off the boat at the weekend,’ said Richards. He went through the hi-tech kitchen, all brushed stainless steel and German appliances. He picked up a couple of Marks and Spencer reusable bags and a roll of kitchen towel. As Halpin rolled the body up in the rug, Richards wiped the blood off the window then put the shoes in one carrier bag and the crystal dolphin in another after carefully wiping them clean.

Halpin stood up. ‘Okay, boss, done.’

Richards handed him a piece of kitchen towel. ‘Wipe down everything you touched,’ he said.

The two men moved quickly through the room, cleaning all the places where they might have left fingerprints, then Richards shoved the crumpled paper into the bag with the dolphin. ‘Can you manage that on your own?’ asked Richards, nodding at the body wrapped in the rug.

‘Sure,’ said Halpin. He grunted as he swung it onto his left shoulder.

‘In the boot,’ said Richards. ‘I’ll have a final look around.’

As Halpin carried Cohen’s body out to the Bentley, Richards walked slowly around the room. There was no blood on the carpet, it had been confined to the rug and the window. They were taking the rug away and the window was clean. There had been a few spots on the coffee table but he’d dealt with them.

Cohen lived alone. He had a housekeeper but she only came in twice a week. It was Friday, which meant the accountant probably wouldn’t be missed until Monday by which time he’d be at the bottom of the North Sea. And even though he would be missed, there were no signs of violence in the house, no clues as to what had happened there.

He took the bags through to the kitchen. There was a small black remote control that Cohen used to open the main gates and Richards picked it up. When he got outside, Halpin closed the Bentley’s boot.

‘All good,’ said Richards. ‘Time to get the hell out of Dodge.’ He climbed into the front passenger seat, but then changed his mind and got out of the car. ‘Tell you what, you take the Bentley, I’ll follow you in Cohen’s Merc. If they find the car here, they’ll wonder where he got to. But if the car’s gone, they’ll think he went off somewhere.’

Halpin got into the Bentley while Richards hurried back to the kitchen to get the keys to the Mercedes. The two men drove down the driveway as the electronic gates slowly opened. As they turned into the road and headed for London, the security light above the garage clicked off and the house disappeared into the darkness.

CHAPTER 19

‘Reg, really, just drop me anywhere here and I’ll catch a cab,’ said Carolyn. They had just crossed the Thames and were in North London, heading for Notting Hill Gate.

‘My wife wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I didn’t take you home,’ said Reg. ‘Especially if you send me a signed picture like you said.’

‘Cross my heart,’ said Carolyn. ‘Monday morning first thing I’ll put one in the post. For Debs.’

‘It’ll blow her socks off,’ said Reg. He slowed and stopped at a red light. ‘Speaking of which, what’s the story with your shoes?’

Carolyn wrinkled her nose. ‘I broke a heel,’ she said. ‘One shoe’s no good so I chucked them away.’

‘And this was what, after your car died?’

Carolyn had told Reg that her car had died out on the road and the lack of a signal meant she hadn’t been able to call for help. He seemed happy enough with her story. ‘Five minutes after I’d started to walk,’ she said. ‘I have to say Reg, you were an absolute God-send.’

The light changed to green and Reg started driving again. Carolyn didn’t want Reg to know where she lived but she couldn’t think of a way of persuading him to let her out before they reached her home. She had no way of knowing if the bald man with the gun had seen the registration number of the truck or not. ‘Well, I can’t have you walking around London in your bare feet,’ he said. ‘It’s no trouble.’ He nodded at her bag, which she was clutching to her chest. ‘You could try your mobile, get someone out to look at your car.’

‘I’ll do it tomorrow, Reg,’ she said. ‘All I want to do is to get home, take a shower and dive into bed.’

CHAPTER 20

Reg dropped Carolyn outside her house and made her promise for the third time to send a signed photograph for his wife. He wrote his name and address, and his wife’s name, on a petrol receipt and she had it clutched in her hand as she waved goodbye. She hurried into the house, unlocked the front door and tapped the four digit code into the burglar alarm pad. She padded into the kitchen, switched on the kettle and then phoned Terry Carter. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

‘Demolishing a bottle of Baileys and thinking about watching some porn. You?’

‘Can you come around, Terry? Now?’

‘Is something wrong, darling?’

‘Sort of,’ she said. ‘Can you come?’

‘I’m out of the door,’ he said.

Terry lived a few miles away in Kilburn and he usually rode around on his bicycle which meant he could get to her door in ten minutes or so. Carolyn rushed upstairs to her bedroom, threw her clothes onto the bed and had a quick shower, then wrapped herself in a bathrobe she’d liberated from the Ritz Hotel in Paris. She was pouring boiling water into her chrome and glass coffee maker when the doorbell rang. She went to open the front door and as soon as Terry crossed the threshold he gave her big hug and a kiss on both cheeks. ‘So where is it?’ he asked.

‘Where’s what?’

‘Your award, silly.’

Carolyn had forgotten all about it. She gestured at her bag which she’d dumped on the floor by the sofa. ‘It’s in there.’

‘Are you serious?’ Terry hurried over to the bag and pulled out the award. He grinned. ‘You star!’

‘It’s a few quids worth of cheap metal,’ she said.

‘It’s what it represents, and you know it. It shows they love you.’

‘It’s not me they love, it’s my character,’ said Carolyn. She laughed. ‘If you like it so much, you can have it.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he said, setting it down on the coffee table. ‘It’s yours. You’ve earned it.’ He turned to look at her. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘It’s a long story,’ she said. She took him through to the kitchen and finished making coffee, then flopped down on the battered old leather sofa facing the French windows that overlooked her garden. Terry sat down next to her, holding his coffee mug. He was wearing tight jogging pants and a purple Pineapple Studios sweatshirt. In between sips of coffee, Carolyn told him the whole story. Getting out of the car in the middle of nowhere. The walk to the house. What she’d seen. And how she got back to London. Terry didn’t interrupt, but his mouth opened wider and wider. When she finally finished, he stared at her, his mouth so wide that she could see every one of his perfect, white teeth. ‘Close your mouth darling, you look like a vampire about to take a bite out of my throat.’

‘You’ve called the police, right?’ he said.

She shook her head.

‘Why the hell not?’

‘Because it would cause me problems on so many levels,’ she said. ‘First of all I’d have to explain what I was doing out there that late at night, which means I screw up my relationship with a network producer which will be the kiss of death for my career. He’ll get hauled in for questioning, and that’s going to piss him off. And when the story gets out…’ She shrugged.

‘Why would it get out?’ asked Terry.

‘Come on, you know what the police are like,’ she said. ‘Someone will call one of the tabloids or one of the magazines. Every time a celebrity gets busted for anything the papers are on it like flies on shit. Within hours of talking to the cops I’ll be on the front page of the Sun and the Mirror and probably the Mail. And then, of course, Sky News will be all over it.’

‘But you saw a murder, Carolyn. Someone died.’

‘I saw someone get hit with a crystal dolphin, that’s what I saw. And I saw a lot of blood. But he might not be dead.’

‘Even so…’ He studied her with unblinking brown eyes. ‘You have to go to the police.’

‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘What can I tell them? I saw one man hit another? It was late at night, it was dark, and I’d been drinking.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I’d had a hell of a lot to drink, actually.’

‘Can you describe the man you saw? The one that did the hitting?’

‘Tall. Dark. Good looking. Nice suit. But that’s it, Terry. I’d probably recognise him if I saw him again but could I describe him?’ She shrugged. ‘Not really.’

‘But if the cops can identify the victim, maybe they’d have an idea who the killer is.’

‘And what if they don’t? And what if they go public? Soap star witness to gory murder. What then? What if the murderer decides to get rid of the only witness to his crime? It’s not as if I’m low profile, is it? I can’t hide, can I?’ She smiled ruefully. ‘What do you think, they’d put me in witness protection?’ She pointed at her face. ‘How many magazine covers have I been on? I can’t go into a department store without half a dozen fans asking me for my autograph.’

‘It doesn’t work like that, not in the real world,’ said Terry. ‘Murderers don’t go around killing witnesses.’

‘They shot at me,’ said Carolyn. ‘When I was running away.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I heard a shot, and I’m pretty sure the guy chasing me had a gun. He was a big bald guy. I was lucky he was so big because he couldn’t run for toffee.’ She smiled. ‘All those sessions in the gym paid off.’

Terry raised his coffee mug. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘I need a cigarette,’ said Carolyn.

‘Do you have to?’ sighed Terry. ‘You know I hate those things.’

‘I’ll smoke it in the garden,’ she said. She got up and retrieved her cigarette and lighter from her bag. ‘Terry, will you stay with me tonight?’

‘Of course.’

‘I don’t want to be alone,’ she said.

‘I’ve already said yes,’ he said. He waved at the door that led to the garden. ‘Go and smoke your coffin nail while I see what we can watch on your cable.’

‘Not porn,’ she said. ‘Anything but porn.’

Terry laughed and wagged a finger at her. ‘Visitor’s choice,’ he said. ‘Can I open a bottle of wine?’

‘My fridge is your fridge,’ said Carolyn. ‘There’s a bottle of Bollinger in there, we can toast my award.’

‘You don’t like champagne.’

‘No, but I know you do.’

‘You’re such a sweetie.’

CHAPTER 21

Terry woke up and blinked at the ceiling. There were cream curtains over the window and three watercolour paintings of Venice scenes on the walls. He stretched and rolled over. The sheets were as smooth as silk, cool against his skin, and he made a mental note to ask Carolyn where she’d bought them. They were the most comfortable sheets he’d ever slept on. He stretched his arms and then looked at his watch. It was just after seven. They’d sat downstairs and demolished the Bollinger and fallen into bed at two o’clock in the morning. Terry had offered to take the spare bedroom but Carolyn had told him not to be so stupid and insisted he share her bed. It wasn’t the first time they’d slept in the same bed, and for most of the time he’d held her in his arms. Terry was convinced Carolyn’s best option by far was to go to the police, but he couldn’t convince her.

He rolled out of bed. He was still wearing his jogging pants and his Pineapple Studios sweatshirt and he found a white silk robe hanging on the back of the door and slipped it on as he went downstairs. Carolyn was sitting cross-legged on a sofa in the sitting room watching the television above the ornate Victorian fireplace as she sipped a mug of coffee. ‘Can’t sleep?’ asked Terry.

‘I wanted to see if there was anything on the news.’ She was watching Sky News and she used the remote to click over to the BBC. ‘But there’s nothing.’

‘Maybe he’s not dead,’ said Terry, dropping down next to her on the sofa.

‘Or maybe they haven’t found the body yet.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘There’s coffee in the cafetiere if you want it.’

‘I have to get it myself? I’m a guest.’

‘You slept with a TV star last night. You want me to get you coffee as well?’

Terry laughed and went through to the kitchen. He poured coffee and a splash of milk into a mug and took it back into the sitting room.

‘Terry, I need to ask you a favour. Just hear me out before you say no.’

‘Sure,’ said Terry, sitting down and swinging his feet up on the coffee table.

‘I want to go back to the house. Will you come with me?’

‘No,’ said Terry flatly.

‘Just hear me out.’

‘I did hear you out. No. Why on earth would you want to go back to that house? What if the cops are there? And if the cops aren’t, what if the killer is? Either way it’s a no-win situation for you.’

‘I just want to know what happened,’ said Carolyn.

‘You know what happened. You were there, remember.’

‘Pretty please.’

‘No.’

Carolyn moved closer to him. ‘Pretty, pretty please.’

‘You’re like a kid with a loose tooth,’ said Terry. ‘If you keep messing with it you’re going to lose it.’

‘It’s Saturday. We can go for a drive. We’ll have a pub lunch. Lots of pubs in Surrey. I’ll buy.’

Terry tried to look at her sternly but she started making puppy whining sounds and his face broke into a grin. ‘You’re mad,’ he said. ‘You know that?’

‘Think of it as doing a recce for a crime show.’

‘Okay darling, now listen to me. You can’t go prowling around crime scenes. Everyone knows who you are.’

‘So give me a makeover. You were in hair and make-up before you were in props. You haven’t lost the knack, have you?’

‘Darling, I could take ten years off you, easy. But we’ll have to go to my place.’

She grinned. ‘Then let’s do it.’ She raised her coffee cup and clinked it against Terry’s. ‘You’re a star.’

‘No darling,’ he said. ‘You’re the bloody star. I’m just one of the minions who makes you look good.’

CHAPTER 22

Terry lived in a converted clothes factory in Kilburn, close to the main high street, with his boyfriend, Gabe, and hundreds of movie and theatre props. While Terry was under contract with the company that made Rags To Riches, he and Gabe also ran a firm that specialized in props and costumes for film and television productions. The downstairs area was packed with movie props, everything from furniture and paintings to half-built robots, fake trees and plants and hundreds of labeled cardboard boxes. The main door led into the storage area the size of a tennis court and to the left was a metal staircase that led to the upstairs living area, two large bedrooms, a sitting room, two bathrooms and a kitchen. Terry took Carolyn up the stairs and switched on the kettle. ‘Coffee, then I’ll get you fixed up,’ said Terry.

‘Fixed up?’ repeated Gabe, walking sleepily into the kitchen. He was unshaven and wearing only black silk pyjama bottoms, showing off his six-pack abdomen. He ran his hand through his tousled blonde hair and smiled at Carolyn. ‘Not planning on stealing my boy are you?’ he asked.

‘As if she could,’ said Terry, planting a kiss on Gabe’s cheek and patting him on the backside. ‘Get her a coffee while I take a quick shower.’

Carolyn sat down at the breakfast bar and sighed.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Gabe. ‘Terry said you were a bit distraught last night.’

‘I’m going through some shit at the moment,’ admitted Carolyn. ‘Not the least being that my boyfriend of two years has decided he’d rather shag a younger model.’

‘Men,’ said Gabe. ‘Can’t live with them, can’t shoot them in the nuts.’

Carolyn laughed. ‘In this case I might make an exception.’

Gabe made three mugs of coffee and Terry reappeared just as Carolyn was sipping hers. He’d changed into a Nike tracksuit. ‘Right, let’s get started,’ he said to Carolyn. ‘I’m thinking estate agent. Both of us. Drumming up business. I’ll run off some business cards and we’ll get you in a suit.’

‘What’s going on?’ asked Gabe.

Terry patted him on the cheek. ‘Secret squirrel stuff,’ he said. ‘We could tell you, but then we’d have to kill you.’

Gabe smiled sarcastically and folded his arms. ‘Don’t fuck around, Terry. What are you up to?’

‘I’ve got a problem, Gabe, and Terry’s trying to help me with it,’ said Carolyn. ‘It’s personal. Really personal. And Terry’s being an angel.’

‘And you can’t tell me what it is?’

Carolyn looked pained. ‘I’d rather as few people know as possible. If that’s okay. If you really, really want to know I’ll tell you, but I’d much rather not.’

Gabe nodded slowly. ‘Okay. I get it. Mum’s the word.’

‘You can see why I love him, can’t you?’ Terry said to Carolyn. ‘Now come on, downstairs. Let’s see what we can do about your hair.’

They went down the stairs to the main storage area. There were three columns of metal shelving units each twelve feet high with just enough space between them to manoeuver a stepladder. Every inch of space was filled with labeled cardboard boxes and objects swathed in bubble wrap. Terry found the box he was looking for and pulled it out. ‘Wigs,’ he said. ‘I’m thinking dirty blonde with a slight curl.’ He pulled out a blonde wig and Carolyn tried it on. Terry grinned. ‘A bit of tidying and it’ll be fine,’ he said. He went over to a rack of women’s suits and pulled out a dark blue skirt and jacket. Carolyn pulled a face and Terry laughed. ‘It’s not high fashion, darling, it’s camouflage.’

‘And you’re wearing a tracksuit?’

‘I’ll change once we’ve done your face and hair,’ said Terry. He took her back upstairs into the kitchen and sat her at the breakfast bar. Gabe had gone back to bed. Terry retrieved a make-up case from his bathroom and spent half an hour fixing her wig, applying a small beauty spot by her lip and applying make-up that accentuated her cheekbones. When he’d finished, he showed her the new look in a mirror. Carolyn nodded as she admired his handiwork. ‘You said you were going to take ten years off me but you’ve gone and added five years,’ she said.

‘I’ve given you a certain maturity,’ he said. ‘It’ll make you much harder to spot. Whenever you’re in the papers, they Photoshop you to make you look younger.’

‘They do not!’ protested Carolyn.

‘You know they do,’ said Terry. ‘So no one ever sees you this way. Your own son won’t even recognise you. How’s Robbie doing, by the way? He’s in his second year now, right?’

‘He’s doing just fine. Still wants to be a journalist, which worries me a bit. But hopefully he’ll grow out of that. Last year he wanted to be a pilot. And the year before that an astronaut.’

‘He’ll do all right,’ said Terry. ‘He’s a smart boy. Takes after his mum.’ He put away his make-up brushes. ‘Okay, if we’re going to do this, let’s do it.’

CHAPTER 23

Terry’s car was a blue BMW Z4 Roadster and he insisted they drive down to Surrey in it. ‘Just in case,’ he said. ‘If someone notes down the registration number, my name’s in the frame and not yours.’ It was a convertible but he kept the top up because otherwise the wind would have played havoc with Carolyn’s wig. She didn’t know for sure where the house was, but they had plotted a route on Terry’s laptop that took the direct route for the hotel which had hosted the awards ceremony. They had printed out the map and Carolyn had it in her lap though the SatNav seemed to be taking them along the same route.

About half an hour after leaving the city, they drove by a stone church with a stumpy steeple and Carolyn stiffened. ‘We’re close,’ she said. ‘I remember passing that church.’

‘In the car or when you were in the truck?’

‘The truck. It was dark but I remember seeing a young couple sitting on the bench at the entrance.’

‘So, how far?’

Carolyn frowned. ‘Ten minutes. Fifteen maybe.’

Terry continued to drive south. They drove through a pretty village and then farmland and then the road dipped down into woodland.

Carolyn looked to her left. She saw a wall and a gate but it wasn’t the house she was looking for. Then she saw a wooden fence. ‘Slow down, Terry,’ she said.

‘Is this it?’

She shook her head. ‘No, but we’re close.’

They drove by a gateless driveway, then more woodland, then she saw a brick-built barn conversion and then she saw the wall and the gate she’d climbed over the previous night. ‘That’s it!’ she said, pointing to the left.

‘I’ll drive by and we’ll come back,’ said Terry. He slowed the BMW to a crawl and they both looked to the left. As they went by the gate, Carolyn got a glimpse of the house. ‘Do you see any cops?’ asked Terry.

‘No,’ said Carolyn. ‘No cars, anyway.’

Terry drove a few hundred yards down the road, then did a U-turn and pulled up at the side of the road. ‘What do you want to do?’ he asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The gate was locked, you said?’

‘It’s one of those electronic things. I climbed over.’

‘You can’t really do that again, can you?’

‘I did it last night.’

‘And what if there’s someone there? Or what if someone drives by and sees you?’

‘This road isn’t that busy,’ she said. As if to deliberately contradict her, a British Gas van came up behind them, beeped its horn and accelerated by.

‘I’ll go,’ he said.

‘Sure, a black man climbing over a gate. How’s that going to look? They have shotguns out here, you know.’

Terry laughed. ‘I’m a black man in a suit, I’ll be fine.’

‘But you’re right. What if the police are inside?’

‘I can’t believe there isn’t some sort of bell or intercom,’ he said. ‘How do visitors announce themselves?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Carolyn. ‘But it was dark. Maybe I missed it.’

‘Okay, here’s what we do. We’ll brazen it out and pull in at the gate. I’ll look for a bell. If there isn’t one I’ll climb over and have a quick look. The estate agent story will just about stand up.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’ve reached the stage where I’d like to know what happened last night,’ said Terry. ‘And for all we know the guy’s up there nursing a sore head and we’re worrying about nothing.’

‘There was a lot of blood,’ said Carolyn. ‘It splattered across the window.’

Terry nodded, took a deep breath, and drove back to the gate. He pulled over in front of it and climbed out. He walked over to the left-hand side of the gate and examined the brick pillar. There was nothing that looked like a bell. He turned back to the car, shrugged, and then walked over to the other pillar. There was a letterbox set into the bricks. Terry grinned when he spotted a small brass button in a grille on the side of the pillar facing the gate. He pushed it and waited but there was no response. He pushed it again, waited a full minute, then went back to the car. ‘There is a bell there but there’s no answer so I’m guessing the place is empty. I’ll nip over and have a quick look. Have your mobile ready. If anyone turns up text me. And sit in the driver’s seat, just in case you have to move the car.’

‘Have you got a signal? Because when I was here my phone didn’t work.’

Terry took out his phone and shook his head. ‘You’re right. Okay, beep the horn three times if there’s a problem.’ He put the phone away.

‘Be careful, Terry.’

‘All of a sudden you’re worried,’ he said. ‘That’s rich. All morning you’re the one who’s been wanting to play detective.’ He patted the top of the car then jogged over to the gate. He looked left and right down the road, then nimbly climbed up and over. He dropped down onto the driveway and jogged towards the house.

Carolyn had said there were two cars parked in front of the garage last night, but there were no vehicles in sight now as he headed up the driveway. The house was cold and clinical, white walls and large expanses of glass, an architect’s project rather than a home. He decided to ring the doorbell just in case there was anyone at home, all ready to go with his estate agent story. He rang twice but there was no answer. He walked around to the front of the house and peered through the floor-to-ceiling glass window. Carolyn had said that blood had sprayed across the glass, but it appeared pristine. The room was just as she’d described it, but there was no crystal statue of a dolphin. He moved a few feet to the side to get a different view but still couldn’t see any blood. In fact, there was no sign of anything untoward in the sitting room.

He walked around the side of the house. There was a large terrace at the rear of the building, with a barbecue area and a white circular cast iron table surrounded by half a dozen ornate matching chairs. Beyond it was a large swimming pool with a diving board and stretching into the distance were well-kept lawns dotted with trees.

There was a conservatory at the rear of the building with French windows. Terry walked across the flagstones and tried the handle. To his surprise, the door opened. He stood still for a few seconds as he wondered what to do. If he entered the building, he was trespassing. But if he walked away, he and Carolyn would never know the truth. He took a deep breath and stepped inside. As he crossed the threshold, he saw a burglar alarm sensor close to the ceiling. As he stared at it a red light flashed and he flinched, expecting an alarm to go off, but nothing happened. He figured the sensors were on but the alarm hadn’t been armed. There was a possibility that there was a silent alarm linked to a police station or a security company but they were in the middle of nowhere so even if the alarm was on, he figured he had enough time for a quick look around.

He walked through the kitchen into a double-height hallway and into the sitting room. It was pretty much as Carolyn had described it, except for the fact there was no sign of anyone having had their brains bashed in. The floors were pine polished to a gleaming shine. He walked around and while there were several large crystal figurines, there was nothing resembling a dolphin. He went over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and inspected the glass carefully. The glass was spotless. He frowned. Perhaps too spotless. He stood back and looked at the glass from an angle. It looked as if someone had polished parts of the window. He knelt down and scrutinised the bottom of the frame. It too had been cleaned but he saw a small red spot near the floor. He licked his finger, pressed it against the spot and rubbed it. He removed his finger and stared at the red smear on the frame. Blood.

He stood up and looked around the floor. There was a very slight difference in the colour of the wood in front of the coffee table, more obvious at some angles than others. He moved his head from side to side as he stared at the polished boards. There had been a rug there, probably for many years. The sun had lightened the exposed wood but not where it had been covered by the rug.

Terry’s heart was pounding and he could feel sweat beading in the small of his back. Carolyn hadn’t imagined it. Someone had been attacked in the room and it looked as if the body had been wrapped in a rug and taken away.

As he walked to the hallway, another alarm sensor’s red light winked on. There was a marble table in the hallway with half a dozen unopened envelopes on it. He looked through them. There was a gas bill, a mobile phone bill, and several circulars. He slipped the phone bill into his pocket and then went back out through the conservatory and let himself out. He closed the door behind him and hurried down the driveway.

He climbed over the gate and jogged over to the car. Carolyn got out, laughing. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a shady past, the way you shimmied over that gate,’ she said.

‘Darling, that was not a shimmy,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here. The alarm sensor thingies were flashing red, there might be a phone link to the cops.’

He got into the driving seat while Carolyn walked around and got into the passenger side. As they drove back to London, Terry told her what he’d seen in the house.

‘See, I wasn’t making it up,’ said Carolyn.

‘I didn’t think for one minute you were,’ said Terry. He handed her the envelope he’d taken from the hall.

‘Terry, bloody hell. You little thief.’

‘It’s a phone bill, darling, it’s not as if I stole the family jewels. It’ll tell us who lives in the house.’

Carolyn opened the envelope and slid out the bill. ‘Nicholas Cohen,’ she said. She frowned. ‘The thing is, is he the hitter or the hittee?’

‘The hittee?’

‘The guy that got hit. Was he Nicholas Cohen? Or was it Nicholas Cohen who was doing the hitting?’

‘That’s easy enough to find out,’ said Terry. ‘You just call his number. If he answers, he’s the killer.’

‘That’s what you think? That whoever got hit, died?’

‘If there was as much blood as you said there was, it sounds like it. Plus the missing rug suggests they took away a body. You know, now’s the time we should call the police.’

‘And say what? I saw a crime while I was trespassing?’

‘What’s the alternative, pretend that it never happened?’

Carolyn waved the phone bill at him. ‘Let’s see who this Nicholas Cohen is, shall we? If he’s still alive then I need to get a look at him. If he’s the guy who I saw, then okay maybe we can go to the cops and they can arrest him. But if he’s the victim, then we need to think it through.’

‘Think what through?’

‘If I go to the cops, all I’ll have is a description of the killer. And if that gets out, then I won’t know who the killer is but the killer will know who I am and I don’t think I can live with that, Terry. I’ll be looking over my shoulder until they arrest the guy. I’m the only witness, so if he’s killed once he’s not going to worry about doing it a second time, is he?’

‘Darling, I think you’re over-thinking it.’ He grinned. ‘But playing detective is good fun, so let’s give it a go. We can be like Dempsey and Makepeace.’

‘Now you’re really showing your age,’ laughed Carolyn. ‘That was thirty years ago.’

‘I watch the reruns on ITV3,’ said Terry. ‘Michael Brandon was fit back then.’

‘He’s still fit,’ said Carolyn. ‘He was in Hustle a few years back. And New Tricks.’

‘And Glynis just keeps on working. She did Emmerdale, EastEnders and The Royal.’

‘Bitch,’ laughed Terry.

‘Bloody right,’ said Carolyn. She laughed. ‘Actually that’s not fair, she’s a sweetie. But I wish I had her agent.’

CHAPTER 24

Terry drove back to his house and parked in the car park at the rear of the building. They went inside and up the stairs to the living area. ‘Wine?’ asked Terry.

‘I don’t see why not,’ said Carolyn, taking off her jacket and dropping down onto a sofa.

‘Red, white, pink?’

‘Surprise me,’ she said. She studied the phone bill that Terry had taken. Nicholas Cohen used the phone a lot, dozens of time a day. Most of the calls were to other mobiles but there was one landline number in central London. She reached for Terry’s phone and began to tap out the number. An answering machine picked up. It was a firm of chartered accountants. Cohen and Kawczynski.

She was putting the phone back when Terry returned with a bottle of Chardonnay and two glasses. ‘Cohen’s an accountant,’ she said.

‘Nice,’ said Terry.

‘I’ll try calling his mobile.’

Terry put the wine and glasses on the coffee table, next to Carolyn’s award. ‘Do me a favour, darling, and don’t use my phone.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Because if Mr Cohen is dead, I don’t want the cops asking why I was calling him. And if he’s a murderer I don’t want him having my number. I’ve got a pay-as-you go mobile, you can use that.’

He went over to a low sideboard, opened a drawer and took out an old Nokia phone. He saw the look of confusion on Carolyn’s face and he grinned. ‘I did a bit of online dating before I met Gabe and I didn’t want to have my number out there. I was changing Sim cards every week or so.’

‘You slut,’ said Carolyn.

He tossed her the phone and she tapped out the number of Cohen’s mobile as Terry opened the wine. It went straight to voicemail and she put the phone down on the sofa. Terry sat down next to her and poured wine into the glasses. ‘We’re going to have to phone the police,’ he said. ‘The longer we leave it, the angrier the cops are going to be.’

‘We don’t know he’s dead,’ said Carolyn. ‘For all we know they took him to hospital.’

‘Darling, they shot at you, you said.’

‘I heard a bang.’ She sipped her wine and shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Terry, it’s starting to feel a bit fuzzy.’

‘What?’

‘I’d been drinking. A lot. It was dark.’

‘Are you telling me you might have imagined it. Because last night you were scared shitless. Remember?’

‘I remember. But in the cold light of day it all seems a bit…remote.’

‘Remote?’

Carolyn sighed. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Darling, we drove all the way to the arse end of nowhere and I proceeded to do a spot of breaking and entering, and now you’re telling me you made the whole thing up?’

‘I’m not saying that,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want to call the police and have the whole thing blow up in my face. What say we call Cohen’s office on Monday and see if he’s in?’

‘You said you saw him belted with a statue. That’s what you said. And there was blood, by the window.’

Carolyn nodded. ‘I know, I know. But can we just leave it until Monday, please?’

‘If that’s what you want, sure. But whether he’s in the office on Monday or not, we’re no further forward, are we? If he is there that suggests he’s the guy who did the hitting. And if he’s not…’ He left the sentence unfinished.

‘Then he’s dead,’ said Carolyn.

Terry nodded. ‘Either way we’re going to have to call the police.’

Carolyn shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ said Carolyn. ‘This is an important couple of weeks for me, maybe the most important of my life. If the network decides to give me the push then my life’s over.’

‘Don’t be silly, that’s not going to happen.’

‘You don’t know that,’ said Carolyn. ‘Waites as good as said they were going to bring in new blood, and if I go to the cops and tell them about him taking drugs and kicking me out of the car in the middle of nowhere, then the network is going to be gunning for me.’

‘I thought you said you stormed off.’

Carolyn forced a smile. ‘Six of one,’ she said. ‘But either way he’s going to be in trouble. Plus the publicity. Plus I then become a witness in a murder investigation.’ She took a long gulp of wine. ‘I can’t, Terry. Really, I can’t.’

Terry nodded sympathetically. ‘Okay, whatever you think’s best. Do you want to stay here tonight?’

‘Do you mind?’

‘Of course not. Gabe was planning to do his famous chili tonight, the more the merrier.’

‘You’re my knight in shining armour.’

‘And I’m here to serve my damsel in distress,’ said Terry, raising his glass to her.

CHAPTER 25

Terry drove Carolyn to the studio early on Monday morning. She had phoned Billy on Sunday night and told him she wouldn’t need him until filming had wrapped on Monday. She spent an hour in make-up and was all too well aware of how tired she looked. ‘Rough night?’ asked Kelly as she brushed concealer over the dark patches under Carolyn’s eyes.

‘Drinking wine with Terry,’ said Carolyn.

‘That’ll do it, all right,’ laughed Kelly.

Carolyn forced a smile. It wasn’t the drink that was the problem, it was the fact she’d barely slept all night.

The first scenes to be filmed were in the office where Diana was interviewing a new designer, a pretty black girl who, according to Harrington, it would later turn out, had a drug problem and an abusive boyfriend. The actress was clearly inexperienced and kept fluffing her lines, but Carolyn kept her cool and was as helpful as possible. It wasn’t that the actress hadn’t memorized her lines, she was just nervous. After the sixth take on one relatively simple exchange, Carolyn took her to one side. ‘You’re over-thinking it,’ she said. ‘I can see the wheels turning.’

‘I’m just so nervous,’ said the girl. Her name was Jaymee and Carolyn noticed her nails were bitten to the quick.

‘It can be intimidating joining a new team,’ said Carolyn. ‘But everyone here is rooting for you.’

Jaymee nodded. ‘I know, I’m sorry.’

‘There’s no need to apologise,’ said Carolyn. ’We’ve all been there. Is this your first time in a studio?’

Jaymee nodded again. ‘This big, yeah,’ she said. ‘I’ve done loads of commercials but this is Rags To Riches, you know? The big time.’

Carolyn smiled and patted Jaymee on the arm. ‘Yes, it is,’ she said. ‘But just remember this. You’re stunning, you really are. You look fabulous. The guys who are watching are going to be looking at your figure and the women are going to be looking at your clothes. So you don’t have to act. Just relax and we’ll have a conversation. Keep your eyes on me and you’ll do just fine.’

‘Okay, let’s go again!’ shouted Harrington.

Carolyn winked at Jaymee and went back to sit behind her desk. Jaymee stood on her mark, holding a large folder under one arm. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed,

The scene went perfectly and after Harrington had pronounced himself satisfied, Jaymee went over to Carolyn and gave her hug. ‘I owe you, big time,’ she said.

‘I got the same advice years ago, when I first started,’ said Carolyn. ‘And I’ve no doubt the day will come when you’ll be giving the same words of comfort to a youngster on their first day. The circle of life thing.’

Hannah from the wardrobe department came over and apologized for interrupting. ‘I’ve got five minutes to get you into the outfit for scene 76,’ she said to Carolyn. ‘And the zips are a bugger.’

It was eleven o’clock before Carolyn had some time to herself. Harrington was set to film a scene with Seb and Andrea and she wouldn’t be needed for a couple of hours. She dropped her bag and coat in her dressing room then walked along the corridor to Paul Day’s office. The producer’s office was the farthest away from the sets with a window overlooking the car park. His assistant, Laura, a pretty blonde in her twenties, was sitting at the outer office. ‘Can I have a few minutes with him?’ she asked.

‘He’s a bit grumpy today, too much wine last night, I think,’ said Laura. ‘So no loud noises or sudden moves.’

Carolyn laughed. ‘I’ll be gentle with him,’ she said.

She knocked softly on the door to Day’s office and pushed it open.

Day stood up when he saw her. ‘Come in, darling,’ he said. ‘I was planning on swinging by the set. How’s it going?’

‘All good,’ said Carolyn.

Day was wearing one of his Savile Row, made-to-measure suits but he’d lost weight recently and the jacket hung loosely as he stood up and walked around his desk to greet her. He hugged her and air-kissed her dramatically. ‘And well done again on the award. It’s not every day you get a lifetime achievement award, is it?’

‘A lifetime achievement award? I’m only forty.’ Day lowered his chin gave her an admonishing look. ‘Okay, forty-four,’ she said. ‘But that’s hardly a lifetime, is it?’

‘Was back in the Middle Ages,’ he said. ‘You’d have been riddled by syphilis and the lurgy by now.’ He released his grip on her and went back to his chair. ‘And how’s the new girl getting on? What’s her name? Jaymee?’

‘A bit nervous, but who isn’t on their first day?’

‘She doesn’t have much experience, but she seems keen.’

‘You did hire her, didn’t you?’

Day pulled a face as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. ‘The network sent her, if you must know. Sally had seen her in some commercial and decided she’d be great for the show. Between you and me I think it’s about tinkering with the ethnic profile of the show, but she’s a pretty girl and, like I said, she seems keen.’ He sighed. ‘Anyway, how’s life?’

‘Bit of a curate’s egg,’ she said, sitting down opposite him. ‘Look, I need to know what’s going on, Paul.’

‘In what way, darling?’

‘Am I being written out of the show?’

Day’s jaw dropped. ‘Are you what?’

‘It’s a simple enough question, Paul. Do I have a future on the show or not?’

Day looked stunned but Carolyn recognised bad acting when she saw it. ‘What’s put that idea in your head?’ he asked.

‘Waites for one.’

‘That prick? He’s a nobody, Carolyn.’

‘He works for the network. And he’s got the ear of Sally and Lisa.’

‘He’s their bitch, that’s what he is. He doesn’t make the decisions.’

‘No, but he’s there when the decisions are taken. And he as good as told me I was on the way out.’

‘Well he’s talking through his arse.’

‘Then what’s the writers’ meeting next week? What’s that about?’

Day’s smile hardened a little. ‘It’s a regular get together of the writers to talk through the storylines.’

‘And Sally and Lisa will be there?’

‘The network always sits in on the meetings. They sit in on the read-throughs, too. There’s nothing sinister about it.’

Carolyn nodded slowly. She was sure he was lying, but she knew there was no point in pushing him. As Harrington had said to her, the power was gradually being taken away from Day, and even though he was credited as being the producer, most of the actual producing was done by the network executives. But that didn’t explain why he wasn’t being honest with her.

‘Darling, is there something wrong?’ asked Day.

‘I’m just feeling a bit insecure,’ said Carolyn. ‘I don’t want to pick up a script and find I’ve contracted a terminal illness or crashed my car into a canal.’

Day put his hand over his heart. ‘I swear to God that’s not going to happen,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t allow it. I really wouldn’t. You’re the backbone of this show, Carolyn. You’ve been with it from the start and the viewers wouldn’t stand for anything happening to you.’

‘That makes me feel better.’ It did, a little, but there was still something wrong, something that he wasn’t telling her. ‘I’m just being silly.’

‘You are. But you’re a star, you’re allowed.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Darling, I hate to cut and run but I’ve got some rushes to look at and then I’ve got a lunch at Grouchos.’

‘No problem,’ said Carolyn.

He stood up and held out his arms. Carolyn got up and he wrapped his arms around her. Carolyn closed her eyes and let him hug her. Day had the knack of making people feel safe and loved and his physical presence alone was reassuring. He kissed her on the top of her head the way her father used to do when she was a child and she smiled despite herself and hugged him back.

Carolyn left Day’s office and went to see Terry. He was in his office tinkering with a spreadsheet on one of his computers. He looked up and smiled. ‘Okay, darling?’

‘Nose to the grindstone,’ she said. ‘Did you call the office? Cohen and Kawczynski?’

Terry pushed his keyboard to the side. ‘Yeah. Nicholas Cohen hasn’t come into the office today and they don’t know when he’ll be in.’

‘So the chances are it was Cohen I saw getting hit?’

‘If he doesn’t turn up for work in the next couple of days, I’d say that’s probably right. Carolyn, I think now’s the time you went to the police.’

Carolyn shook her head. ‘No can do, Terry. I’m not having my face plastered all over the papers as a witness to a killing.’

‘But that’s what you are, darling. And unless you say something, a man’s going to get away with murder.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Carolyn. ‘Look, if this Nicholas Cohen is dead, eventually the police will be called. They’ll realise something has happened to him and when they do they’ll go looking for his enemies. That’s what detectives do. They detect.’

‘That’s what TV cops do. In the real world detectives spend most of their time filling out forms.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I went out with a cop once.’ Terry grinned. ‘Well more than once, as it happens. We had a thing for a couple of months.’

‘No doubt it was the handcuffs you found attractive. Or was it his truncheon?’

‘Darling, they don’t have truncheons any more. They have batons. But my point is, it’s not like Morse or Frost or Silent Witness. There’s no guarantee they’ll find the killer. But you can give them a description and that’ll speed things up if nothing else.’

‘A description of what? A good-looking man in his forties with dark hair?’

‘You didn’t say he was good-looking.’

‘Well he was. But that doesn’t mean I can give them a detailed description. My memory doesn’t work like that. I can memorise dialogue until the cows come home but I’m terrible with faces.’

‘At least you could give them something to go on. And you saw two cars, right? The Merc and the Bentley.’

‘They could have been Cohen’s cars.’

‘Maybe. But they weren’t there on Saturday when we went to the house. Which means somebody drove them away. And assuming Nicholas Cohen was taken out wrapped in a rug, it wasn’t him.’

Carolyn shuddered. ‘I can’t go to the police, Terry. They’ll tell the press and I really couldn’t cope with that. And, like I said before, once it’s leaked, the killer will know who I am but I won’t know who he is.’ She sighed. ‘And there’s another problem. A biggie.’

‘I’m all ears.’

‘That little shit Waites. The cops will want to know what I was doing in the middle of nowhere. Which means I’ll have to tell them why I got out of his car. Which means telling them about the cocaine.’

‘Ah…’ said Terry. ‘That’s not good.’

‘Even if I don’t mention the Colombian marching powder I’d have to tell them about the pass he made, which means they’ll question him and that means he’s going to be as mad as hell.’

‘He might lose his job, is that what you mean?’

She shook her head. ‘I think it’s more likely the network will rally around him and I’ll be the one left out in the cold.’

‘So what do you want to do, darling?’

‘I don’t know, Terry. I just don’t know.’

‘You’re going to carry on as if nothing’s happened?’

‘I need time to think. If I don’t handle this the right way, my career could be over.’

‘A man died, Carolyn.’

‘I know that. But me going to the police won’t change that. For all we know he…’ She tailed off.

‘’What?’ said Terry.

‘Well, maybe he deserved it. Maybe he did something really bad.’

‘He was an accountant.’

‘Accountants can do bad things,’ said Carolyn. ‘We don’t know what happened, and we don’t know why it happened. All I saw was one man hitting another. I need to think about this before I can decide what to do.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I sound like a wimp, don’t I?’

Terry shook his head. ‘Darling, I was brought up in Brixton. People could be shot on the pavement and no one would see anything. The cops would turn up and ask a hundred people and they’d all have miraculously been looking the other way. Bad things have a habit of happening to witnesses in Brixton. So I hear what you’re saying. You take your time and whatever you decide is fine by me.’

Carolyn smiled at him. ‘Marry me, and bear my children,’ she said.

Terry laughed. ‘Darling, I thought you’d never ask.’

The door opened. It was one of the runners. ‘Terry, have you got a briefcase? Jake says a metal one, if you have it.’ The young man noticed Carolyn. ‘Oh, sorry, Miss Castle,’ he said.

‘Not a problem,’ she said. “I have to be in make-up anyway.’

‘What are you doing tonight?’ asked Terry. ‘Do you need company?’

Carolyn shook her head. ‘We’re filming until late and then I’m having dinner with my agent.’

‘Okay, but if you need me, call.’ He blew her a kiss and she pretended to catch it and press it to her heart. She waved goodbye and headed to the make-up department.

CHAPTER 26

Billy pulled up in front of the restaurant and twisted around in his seat. ‘I’m happy to wait for you, Miss Castle,’ he said.

‘No need, Billy,’ said Carolyn. ‘I’m a hop, skip and a jump from my house. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Billy picked up a clipboard with the call sheet. ‘Seven-thirty pick-up,’ he said. He grinned. ‘You get a lie in.’

Carolyn laughed and climbed out of the Mercedes. She waved as Billy drove off. The restaurant was a small Italian place she’d used for more than ten years. Luigi the owner ran the front of house while his wife and son worked in the kitchen. The food was good home cooking, the wine was reasonably priced, and they had a table in a corner that was partly obscured by a supporting wall on which Luigi had hung a large poster of the leaning tower of Pisa. It was the perfect table for when she wanted a quiet meal alone or if she had business to discuss. And most of the diners were regulars which meant she was rarely disturbed by a fan wanting an autograph or a mobile phone photograph.

Luigi spotted her as soon as she opened the door and he hurried over. He was a small man, an inch shorter than Carolyn when she was wearing heels, and he had a large stomach that suggested he was a big fan of his wife’s cooking. He air kissed her and took her coat. ‘Your guest is already here,’ he said, showing her over to the table. Peter Sessions was halfway through a bottle of Chianti and he got to his feet when he saw her.

‘I’m so sorry I’m late, I had some dubbing to do and it just had to be finished tonight,’ she said.

Peter kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Luigi has been taking good care of me,’ he said. ‘As always.’ Peter was her agent and had been since she’d first started working as an actress. During the twenty years they had been together, his hair had thinned and greyed and his crow’s feet had multiplied and deepened but he hadn’t gained a pound and was as stick-thin as the day they had first met.

They sat down and Luigi produced two leather-bound menus. ‘I have some wonderful sea bass, so fresh that it swam here this morning,’ he said. ‘My wife is cooking it with some garlic and tomato and it’s so good I’ll be having it later tonight.’

‘That’ll be fine,’ said Carolyn. She looked over at Peter and he nodded enthusiastically. ‘We’ll both have it,’ she said.

‘And your chicken Caesar salad to start?’

‘Perfect,’ said Carolyn, handing back the unopened menu.

‘Soup of the day for me,’ said Peter, giving back his menu. ‘Ask the chef if he could go easy on the salt. Doctor’s orders.’

Luigi headed to the kitchen. ‘So, congratulations on your award,’ said Peter.

Carolyn laughed. ‘It’s in the guest bathroom, with the rest of them,’ she said.

‘Best place for them,’ said Peter, ‘You can’t take them too seriously. But it was well-deserved, and it was the viewers who voted which makes it a real award.’

The waitress brought their starters over and Carolyn toyed with her salad. ‘Peter, how easy would it be to move to another show?’ she asked.

Peter’s spoon froze halfway to his mouth. ‘Has something happened?’

‘Nothing really, I just feel like a change.’

Peter put down his spoon. ‘Come on, now, you’ve just won an award and now you want to jump ship. Something must have happened.’

Carolyn shrugged and sipped her wine.

‘Problems with one of the directors? I can speak to Paul.’

‘The directors are terrific. The new one, Jake Harrington, is a sweetheart.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘I’m just not sure how much of a future I have on the show.’

‘Has someone said anything?’

‘There’s a writers’ meeting next week and it’s all hush hush. The network are going to be there and I have a feeling my part is going to be cut back. But it’s just a feeling.’

‘I can put out a few feelers, see which way the wind is blowing.’

Carolyn shook her head. ‘If it happens, it happens,’ she said. ‘And if they are planning to write me out, we’ll be the last to know. At this stage, I just want to know what my options are.’

Peter looked pained. ‘Things aren’t good in TV land these days, you know that,’ he said. ‘The internet, DVDs, cable, they’ve all hit the broadcasters for six. The big money isn’t there any more.’

‘I’m not saying I want a pay rise, Peter. I’ll work for the same money. It’s about the work.’

‘I hear what you’re saying, but the fact is you’re paid far more than most and if you move to Emmerdale, you’d put a lot of noses out of joint. If the producers hire you, they’ll have half a dozen of their stars demanding parity.’

Carolyn sighed and prodded a piece of chicken. She didn’t have much of an appetite. ‘Is Emmerdale a possibility?’ she asked.

‘I really don’t think so,’ he said. ‘They’ve just brought in another family with four new characters.’

‘What about Corrie?’

‘Corrie’s all about the kids these days,’ he said. ‘Buff studs and sunbed tans and cleavages. They’re chasing the younger market.’

‘The younger market isn’t inside watching TV,’ said Carolyn. ‘They’re either on the internet or outside getting drunk. Or high.’ She shook her head. ‘What happened to our industry, Peter? It used to be about the work. And the stories.’

‘Those days are gone,’ said Peter. ‘Now it’s about murder and rape and incest. And they want young, they really do.’

‘I’m forty four, Peter. Since when has that been old? Look at Ian McKellen. He did Corrie and he was what, seventy? Look at Bill Roach, still going strong in his eighties.’

‘You know it’s unfair, I know it’s unfair, but nothing is going to change the way it works. Women get older and men mature.’

‘You’d think with so many women in top jobs at the BBC and ITV that would change.’

‘The women are the worst,’ said Peter. ‘Way bitchier than the men.’

‘I think it’s Sally and Lisa who are trying to stitch me up,’ said Carolyn. ‘They’ve never liked me.’

‘Jealousy,’ said Peter. ‘You’re everything they want to be.’

‘Nice of you to say so, Peter. But that doesn’t help me. Look, if the worst comes to the worst and I have to leave the show, what are my options?’

Peter sipped soup from his spoon, giving himself time to think. ‘You’re still a hot commodity,’ he said eventually. ‘I can get you as many after-dinner speaking gigs as you can handle at between two and five grand a go.’

‘Oh come on, Peter.’

‘Don’t knock it. You could make a hundred grand a year from a few hours a week talking to businessmen and the like. And we turn down most of the personal appearances you’re offered because you’re in the studio all day. I could get you two or three supermarket openings a week, grand or two a go. There’s promotional videos, there’s commercials, you’re one of the best known faces in the country. Then there’s panto.’

‘Panto?’

‘A month’s work once a year and you could be looking at fifty grand. More, if we can get you a London gig.’

‘Playing what, Peter? The Wicked Witch? The Evil Stepmother?’

‘I was thinking more Peter Pan. Principal Boy. Cinderella, maybe. Don’t turn your nose up at panto, some actors live the whole year on what they earn in December.’

‘I want to work in television, Peter. Or film. I want to act.’

‘I could probably get you on Countdown. And Have I Got News For You. Might be able to push you for Loose Women.’

‘That’s not acting, Peter. I’m an actress, not a TV personality.’

‘You can make the transition,’ he said. ‘Look at Ulrika Jonsson on Shooting Stars. That really raised her profile.’

‘A panel game? Be serious, Peter. What about film? Could you put me up for roles?’

‘I could, yes,’ he said. ‘But the age thing is the bugbear.’

Carolyn’s eyes narrowed. ‘The age thing?’

‘You’re at the awkward age. You know you are. You’re too old for the sex kitten roles and you’re not old enough for the character roles. If you were thirty I’d be putting you for every film that’s being greenlit, if you were over sixty you’d be spoilt for choice. But forty-five…’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a tough sell, I won’t lie to you. Look at Sharon Stone. The work just dried up. It always does.’

‘Forty four, Peter. I’m forty four.’ Carolyn took a sip of wine, then gulped down half of her glass. ‘So my options aren’t great, that’s what you’re saying?’

‘I’m saying if you want to work in television, you’ve pretty much got the best job going. My advice to you would be to do whatever is necessary to safeguard what you have.’ He put down his spoon. ‘You’re worried they’re going to write you out? Is that it? Because that won’t happen.’

‘You don’t know that, Peter.’

‘I know we have a contract that has four more months to run. So they’re hardly going to stop using you. That wouldn’t make any financial sense.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘There’s no “suppose” about it. Your contract is rock solid. They have to pay you whether or not they use you so, of course, they’ll use you. And four months is a long time in TV Land. Half the suits on the show will have moved on by then.’

‘They could reduce my role.’

‘Again, why would they? They pay the same whether you’re on screen for twenty minutes or twenty seconds. And, again, four months is a long time. Even if they did, the viewers would howl and they’d go back to the status quo.’ He picked up his spoon again. ‘You’re worrying about nothing,’ he said. He smiled confidently. ‘Trust me.’

CHAPTER 27

A portly man in a flat cap waddled over to one of the trucks in the car park, holding a Thermos flask and a pale blue Tupperware container. ‘That’s him,’ said Halpin. ‘Reg McKenzie.’

‘You’re sure?’ asked Richards. They were both sitting in the Bentley, across the road from the trucking firm. There were five trucks parked a short distance away from a Portakabin that served as the transport company’s office.

‘The drivers always have the same trucks,’ said Halpin.

Richards opened the door. ‘Come on then,’ he said.

‘We’re going to do it here?’

‘Strike while the iron’s hot,’ said Richards.

Halpin got out of the car and the two men walked through the metal gates and into the car park. ‘Mr McKenzie!’ called Richards. ‘We’d like a word, please.’

McKenzie had been about to climb into the cab of his truck but he stopped and dropped back to the ground. He frowned at the two men, holding his Thermos and sandwiches to his chest.

‘Not D.O.T are you?’ asked McKenzie. ‘I keep getting the tachograph checked, it’s not my bloody fault.’

‘We’re not Department of Transport, we just want a chat about the woman you picked up on Friday night.’

‘Bloody hell, she was in the middle of nowhere, I could hardly leave her there could I? You’ve not told the boss have you?’

‘No need to bother your boss with this, Reg. No need to bother anyone.’

McKenzie frowned and squinted at the two men. ‘What is this? Who are you?’

‘We just need to know who she was, that’s all.’

‘What’s it to you?’

Halpin stepped forward menacingly but Richards held up his hand. ‘It’s all right, Mick, Reg just wants to know where he stands and that’s fair enough. Why did she say she was out in the middle of nowhere, Reg?’

‘Her car broke down, that’s what she said.’

‘Well now, you see, Reg, that’s not strictly speaking the truth. She hit my car, that’s what happened. Damn near wrote it off. I’d parked outside a mate’s house and she ran into the back of it. Buggered up both cars. She must have legged it and flagged you down.’

McKenzie nodded slowly. ‘That makes sense,’ he said. ‘She’d been drinking, that much I know.’

‘And no shoes, did you notice that?’

McKenzie laughed. ‘Yeah, that was funny. So she smashed your motor, did she?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Why not just call the cops? They’ll trace her.’

Richards pulled a face. ‘I’ve a bit of a problem with my insurance, Reg. I don’t have her details. You know how it is. The last thing I want is the cops sticking their nose in. I’ve got her car. If I can just talk to her, I’m sure she’ll understand that the best thing to do is for her just to make good the damage. Let’s face it, if she’d been drinking, then she’s not going to want the cops involved, is she?’

‘Bloody right,’ said McKenzie. ‘Not with her being famous and all.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Richards.

McKenzie lowered his voice. ‘Carolyn Castle, that’s who she is,’ he said. ‘She’s on that show, Rags To Riches. My wife loves it.’

‘You’re not serious?’ said Halpin.

‘God’s truth,’ said McKenzie. ‘She’s sending me a signed photo for the wife. Lovely lady.’ He frowned. ‘Not the sort to run away from an accident,’ he said.

‘Who is this Carolyn Castle?” asked Richards.

‘She’s a soap opera star,’ said Halpin. ‘Rags To Riches, the show about the fashion business.’

Richards shrugged. ‘Never seen it.’

‘It’s big,’ said Halpin.

‘Look, I don’t want to get her into trouble,’ said McKenzie. ‘She was lovely. A real lady.’

‘No one’s going to get into trouble, Reg,’ said Richards. ‘The insurance companies will handle it. I’m insured and I’m sure she is. We just need to exchange details. It’s not as if anyone got hurt. So where did you drop her, Reg, that night?’

‘Took her home, I did. Notting Hill Gate. Big house with one of those Japanese cherry blossom things in front of it. Must have cost her millions.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. Traffic’s a bitch on the M1 and I have to be in Brum by two.’

Richards patted him on the shoulder. ‘No problem, Reg, thanks for your time. And you drive carefully.’

As McKenzie walked to his truck, Richards took his cigar case from his jacket pocket. He bit off the end and spat it to the floor as Halpin fumbled in his pocket for a box of matches.

‘So you know this Carolyn Castle?’ asked Richards.

‘Sure, I watch the show all the time.’

‘You’re winding me up, right? Since when have you been a soap opera fan?’

Halpin struck a match and lit the cigar for Richards. ‘There’s some fit birds on it. Okay, not all the time but if I’m in and it’s on I’ll watch it.’

‘And it was her, right? Her that you chased?’

‘I only saw the back of her but, yeah, I’d say it was her.’

‘She’s famous, yeah?’

‘Yeah, she’s always on the cover of one magazine or another. She’s forty-odd, but I’d give her one.’

‘That’s good to know,’ said Richards. He headed back to his Bentley and Halpin followed.

‘One of the actors on the show is a regular at the club,’ said Halpin.

‘Is he now?’

‘Yeah, guy called Seb Lawton. He plays her husband on the show. He’s in our VIP room every week or so, usually with some rent boy in tow. Drops a lot of money. Perfect customer.’

‘But not her? Please don’t tell me she’s a regular?’

‘Never seen her. He doesn’t tend to hang out with women. Not at our club anyway. He likes us because we let him use the private entrance and we keep the paparazzi away.’

Richards opened the car door and they both climbed in. ‘I’m going to have to lose the Bentley,’ he said. ‘She must have seen it.’

‘What about Cohen’s car?’

‘Parked it at the airport,’ said Richards. He started the engine and drove off. ‘It’ll be months before anyone notices it hasn’t been collected and it’ll muddy the waters. Make them think he’s done a runner. Tell you what, I’ll drive us home and then you can find a lock-up for the Bentley. I’ll use the Porsche.’

‘And what about her?’ asked Halpin.

‘I don’t know,’ said Richards.

‘She must have seen us.’

‘She saw you shooting at her, that’s for sure.’

‘She was running before I fired. So she must have seen something.’

‘We don’t know that for sure,’ said Richards. ‘And even if she saw Cohen getting whacked, that doesn’t mean she saw our faces.’

‘Better safe than sorry, boss.’

Richards looked across at him. ‘What do you mean?’

Halpin made a gun with his hand and mimed firing it.

‘She’s a bloody soap opera star,’ said Richards. ‘The cops’ll go crazy. Remember the shitstorm when Jill Dando got shot?’

‘Yeah, and they never found out who did it, either,’ said Halpin.

‘If she saw something, why didn’t she go straight to the cops,’ said Richards. ‘I know there’s no mobile phone signal near Cohen’s place but when she was in the truck she could have called. And she obviously didn’t say anything to Reg.’

‘Yeah, I don’t get that either,’ said Halpin. ‘Why didn’t she tell him what had happened?’

‘Maybe she didn’t see anything. She told Reg her car had broken down so maybe that’s what happened. She breaks down and goes looking for help. Comes to Cohen’s house and then gets spooked when the security lights go on. You go hurtling out with your gun and she runs for it. She doesn’t go to the cops because she knows she was trespassing.’

‘You think that’s what happened?’

‘It’s a possibility, right?’

‘I don’t know, boss.’

Richards fell silent again. He drove and smoked his cigar.

‘Boss?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’d feel safer if we took care of her. If she did see us…’

‘Yeah, but what if she didn’t? She’s a civilian, you don’t fuck around with civilians unless you don’t have a choice. Here’s the thing, if she could identify us, the cops would be all over us already. If she gave them a description it wouldn’t take long for them to find us. They’d look at Cohen’s client list and our names would jump out at them. And, with an eyewitness, they might think they have enough to charge us even without his body.’ He chuckled. ‘That’s one good thing about all this, Cohen’s at the bottom of the North Sea where no one can get him.’

‘So what are you thinking? We just forget about her?’

‘We need to know what she saw,’ said Richards. ‘We need to know one way or the other if she knows what I did. If she didn’t see us, then we can relax. But if she did…’

‘Yeah, but how exactly do we do that?’

Richards took another long pull on his cigar. ‘This Seb guy. You know him enough to talk to him?’

‘If he’s in the club, sure.’

‘Have you got his number?’

‘We gave him a VIP card. They’ll have his number on file.’

‘How about you give him a bell? Ask him if he can come along to that charity thing we’re doing on Friday. Tell him we’ll give him a free table and ask him if he’ll bring a few of the cast. See if you can get him to bring her. But be tactful, yeah?’

‘Tactful is my middle name, boss.’

‘No, your middle name is pull out my fucking gun and shoot anything that moves,’ said Richards. ‘I’m serious. I want her at the do but I don’t want her to know I’m the one doing the asking. Get her there with a group of the actors and I’ll bump into her.’

Halpin grinned. ‘Consider it done, boss.’

Richards blew another cloud of cigar smoke. ‘Just don’t fuck it up,’ he said.

CHAPTER 28

Wednesday was an early start. Carolyn had to be in make-up by six and in front of the camera by seven. There were three scenes to be done by lunchtime and Carolyn could see from Harrington’s face that he was under pressure.

The first scene was a three-hander with Jaymee and an actor who was a semi-regular on the show. Jaymee had really lifted her game and they wrapped up the first scene on the third take.

The second scene was an exterior, a quick conversation between Carolyn and Andrea in the car park. Exteriors were always a problem sound-wise because they were on the flight path to Heathrow and if the wind was in the wrong direction, the engine noise could ruin a take. Luck was on their side and the only time a plane flew overhead was when they were setting up for Carolyn’s close-up.

When Harrington finally announced they could break for lunch, Carolyn hurried along to Seb’s dressing room and knocked on the door. ‘Enter!’ he shouted theatrically, then grinned when he saw who it was. ‘Darling, fancy a few hands of cribbage?’

‘I’d love to,’ she lied. ‘But I’m back on the set in fifteen minutes. I’ve another scene with Jaymee.’

‘She’s lovely isn’t she?’

‘Very pretty.’

‘You know she’s a protege of that little prick, Waites?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Well, word on the street is that she didn’t get the part because of her acting ability, if you get my drift.’ He wiggled his eyebrow suggestively.

‘Poor girl,’ said Carolyn.

‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Seb. He picked up a glass of wine. ‘Drinky-poo?’

Carolyn shook her head. ‘No thanks,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to see if you’d heard anything about the writers’ meeting?’

‘Not a peep, darling. But my agent is prepared to come out swinging if they start fucking around with my part.’

‘Why would they do that?’

Seb laughed. ‘That shit Waites wants my character to come out. On the show.’

‘He what?’

‘I kid you not, darling. He cornered me in the loo and asked me how I felt about making my character gay. I said it would be over my dead body. He said he didn’t understand why I was so anti considering I am gay and I told him being gay and playing gay were too different things and if I started camping it up, I’d pretty much lose my entire fan base. He just didn’t get it. But then, why would he, he’s barely out of nappies.’

‘He’s an idiot,’ said Carolyn.

‘How did the lift home go, by the way? Did he try anything on?’

Carolyn forced a smile. ‘Of course not. It’s young flesh he’s after.’

‘You’re such a lousy actress, darling,’ said Seb.

‘I have a lifetime achievement award that says different.’

‘I work with you, darling. I know everything you have in your little bag of tricks and I know when you’re lying. What did he do? Put his hand up your skirt?’

‘Nothing I couldn’t handle,’ said Carolyn.

‘Well just watch the little shit,’ said Seb. ‘He’s got the ear of Sally and Lisa and they’ve got him on a very loose rein. That’s how he got Little Miss Chocolate Drop on the show.’

‘Seb, you can’t say that!’

He raised his wine glass to her. ‘Darling, I can say what the hell I want. There’s only you and me here and, besides… I think she’s lovely. If I wasn’t gay, I’d be up her like a rat up a drainpipe.’

‘You’re incorrigible.’

He wagged a finger at her. ‘I knew there was something I had to tell you. Are you free on Friday?’

‘What have you got in mind?’

‘I’ve been invited to a charity do, making wishes come true for kids with terminal illnesses. We’ve got a table and they want to offer an auction prize of lunch with the stars. I thought you and I could do it.’

‘Lunch with a stranger? Oh come on, Seb. We might get stuck with stalkers.’

‘It’ll be all tightly controlled. And the guy I spoke to says they expect the prizes to go for thousands so that’ll weed out the nutters. Come on darling, I already said you’d do it. There’s a group from Les Mis doing a few numbers and the champagne’s going to be flowing like, well, like champagne.’

‘Seb…’

‘Pretty please?’ He pouted.

‘Okay, but your driver takes me from here and takes me home afterwards.’

‘Young Martin can drive you back.’

Carolyn’s jaw dropped. ‘He’s not going, is he?’

Seb laughed. ‘Your face,’ he said, ‘Of course not. It’s the stars they want, not the bloody network leeches. Yes, we’ll take you there and we’ll drop you home afterwards. And wear something sexy, we’ll see if we can get your price up.’

There was a knock on the door and a female runner appeared with Seb’s lunch, a plate of smoked salmon and a salad. Carolyn left Seb to his food.

CHAPTER 29

Seb’s driver was a thirty-something Glaswegian with a shaved head and a small diamond stud in his left ear. Like Billy, he drove a Mercedes but, unlike Billy, he was an aggressive driver, cursing and swearing whenever anyone caused him to brake and with an unhealthy tendency to pound on his horn to voice his displeasure. Carolyn couldn’t understand why Seb put up with it. She would have been a nervous wreck if he’d been her regular driver. Seb patted her on the knee and flashed her a beaming smile. ‘You’re a trooper for coming,’ he said.

‘It’s for charity, and it’s Friday so I can have a lie-in tomorrow. But I’m a bit worried about this buy-a-date thing.’

‘It’s lunch,’ said Seb. ‘And you won’t be on your own. The charity sends along a chaperone, if you want one. And, like I said, the cost will be way out of the price range of any would-be stalkers. Last year some internet whizz-kid paid thirty grand for lunch with Patsy Kensit. He was a big fan of that movie she did, way back when.’

‘Absolute Beginners,’ said Carolyn. ‘David Bowie was in it. And James Fox.’

He patted her on the knee again. ‘Anyway, don’t worry. Seriously. The auction is usually about ten, so I can have you home by midnight if it’s all too terrible for you.’

Carolyn saw flashes off in the distance and she realised they were almost at the hotel. As always, the paparazzi were lined up outside but, thankfully, they had been herded behind a metal barrier. Several of the more enthusiastic photographers had brought stepladders with them so they could get a better view. She took a small mirror out of her Prada bag and checked her make-up.

‘Darling, you look lovely,’ said Seb, adjusting his tie. The car pulled up in front of the hotel. ‘Once more into the breech.’ He waited for the driver to climb out, walk around the car and open the door. He stepped out, grinned at the waiting photographers and held out a hand for Carolyn. The flashes intensified as Carolyn stepped out of the Mercedes. She was wearing a figure-hugging Alexander McQueen dress and Prada shoes that matched her bag.

She stood with Seb, moving her gaze from camera to camera. ‘Is Seb your new boyfriend, then, Carolyn?’ shouted one of the photographers.

‘Just good friends,’ said Carolyn.

‘Very good friends,’ said Seb, patting her on the arm.

‘Over here, Carolyn!’ shouted a female photographer at the side of the group and Carolyn turned to give her a full on smile. Her face was starting to ache, but it was part of the job and she knew she had to literally grin and bear it.

Another limousine pulled up, so Seb and Carolyn moved inside the hotel to give the new arrivals the limelight. There was a second area for photographs with a board filled with the names and logos of the event sponsors. There was a taped cross on the floor and Seb and Carolyn took their mark with no help needed from the flustered PR who was checking off names on a clipboard. There was a single photographer with a top-of-the-range Nikon. He took three quick snaps and winked. ‘Thanks guys,’ he said, clearly appreciating their professionalism.

The PR, a redhead with a Botoxed forehead and too much make-up, hurried over to them. ‘You’re at Table Two,’ she said. ‘And we’ll have goody bags for you on the way out. Enjoy yourselves.’ Her smile was as fake as her unlined forehead and before she’d even finished speaking, she was looking over her shoulder at the two actresses who were being photographed.

CHAPTER 30

Carolyn was surprised at how much she had enjoyed the charity event. Seb’s table was a good mix — there was a young American actor who had a major role in Quentin Tarantino’s new movie and his very pretty girlfriend, a girl singer who had recently appeared on some TV reality show or another who had come with her father, a middle-aged guy who was chief executive of some computer supply company and his trophy wife, a TV chef and his wife, and two representatives of the charity that was benefiting from the evening.

The actor was hilarious and regaled them with tales of working on the American soap The Young And the Restless, and it turned out the father of the girl singer had once walked to the South Pole, pulling a sled. There was a half-hour performance of highlights of Les Miserables that was stunning. The food was surprisingly good and the organisers had laid on some very good wines, so by the time the auction came around Carolyn was feeling very relaxed. There were ten dates up for auction, including a Member of Parliament, a Radio One DJ, a former topless model who had married a well-known footballer, and a tennis player who had promised a lesson instead of lunch.

The tennis player fetched eight thousand pounds with the winning bid coming from an overweight woman in her forties who, from the look in her eyes, was hoping for more than coaching. The lowest was the MP, with just a thousand pounds offered, and that bid had come from the MP’s own table.

Eventually the comedian who was handling the auction pointed over at Carolyn’s table and a spotlight swung around to illuminate them. ‘And the big prize of the night, lunch with two of the biggest stars on television, Carolyn Castle and Sebastian Lawton. Let’s have a big hand for them, shall we?’

The audience burst into applause. Carolyn and Seb stood up and waved.

‘Let’s get them up on the stage, shall we, folks? Let the dogs see the rabbits!’

Carolyn and Seb threaded their way through the tables and joined the comedian on the stage. The lunch with Seb was auctioned first, and won by a silver-haired woman in a too-tight Versace suit who blew Seb a stream of kisses as the bidding went higher and higher. Her winning bid was just over twelve thousand pounds.

Seb went back to his table as the comedian started the bidding for lunch with Carolyn. The opening was a thousand pounds, from a bald-headed man in a shiny suit. It went up quickly in multiples of a hundred pounds, then five hundred pounds, and within a minute they had passed Seb’s figure. The audience went crazy when the bidding went past fifteen thousand pounds.

There seemed to be three main bidders. To Carolyn’s right was a forty-something woman with flame-red hair and a thick gold chain around her neck, to her left was a chubby square-jawed man with a sovereign ring who kept dabbing at his perspiring forehead with a napkin, and at the back was a dark-haired man in a black suit.

The bidding kept going up with all three waving their hands in the air. The woman dropped out when the price reached twenty thousand pounds and the comedian announced bids would then be accepted only in multiples of a thousand. Bidding was soon up to twenty-five thousand pounds. There were lights shining in Carolyn’s face and she shielded her eyes as she tried to get a better look at the second bidder from the back of the room.

CHAPTER 31

Richards could see Carolyn was looking right at him. He waved his hand, taking the bidding to twenty-six thousand pounds. His last remaining rival was hesitating and Richards knew he was going to win. Richards kept his hand in the air, showing he was going to bid no matter what the other man did. The rival shook his head and flopped back in his chair.

‘The winner at the back with a bid of twenty-six thousand pounds!’ shouted the comedian. The audience went wild, applauding and cheering, and Richards stood up to acknowledge the applause.

Richards knew all the people at his table — three were employees of his and six were VIP regulars at the club who’d been invited to join him. Halpin was outside minding the Porsche. Richards figured it would be better to keep Halpin away from Carolyn until he’d worked out whether or not she’d seen him at Cohen’s house.

She was shading her eyes against the lights as she looked in his direction and he waved at her and flashed her a beaming smile. Including the two actors in the auction had been Halpin’s idea and it had been a good one. She’d get to see him in a public situation and he’d get to judge her reaction. If he felt she hadn’t recognized him, he’d do the one-on-one lunch and then he’d know for sure. As he looked at her on the stage, she seemed totally at ease.

A pretty blonde appeared next to Richards holding a clipboard. Richards took out his cheque book, wrote out a cheque for twenty-six thousand pounds to the charity, signed it with a flourish and handed it to her. ‘You could take me to lunch for a lot less than this,’ she said.

‘Really?’ said Richards.

She pressed a card into his hand. ‘Really,’ she said.

‘I might take you up on that,’ he said.

CHAPTER 32

Seb raised his glass to Carolyn. ‘I think your mystery admirer is heading this way,’ he said. They were back at their table and had started on another bottle of vintage claret. Carolyn looked over her shoulder and saw the man walking purposefully towards her table. Her stomach lurched when she saw the man’s face and she swore under her breath.

‘What’s wrong, darling, he looks fine to me,’ said Seb.

Carolyn swallowed. Her mouth had gone bone dry and she almost gagged. She took a quick sip of wine. It was him, the man she’d seen at Nicholas Cohen’s house. Or was it? How could it be? She tried to remember what the killer had looked like but her memory wasn’t good for faces. He was certainly the right size and build. Tall and dark with wide shoulders.

‘For God’s sake smile, darling, he’s going to think there’s something wrong with him.’

Carolyn forced a smile as she looked at the man heading her way. He was tall and good-looking and exuded confidence with his head held high and his shoulders back. But was it him? Was it the man she’d seen at the house? How could it be? What were the odds that the man she’d seen would turn up at a charity do and bid to have lunch with her. And if he was the killer, why would he want to meet her? Her mind whirled and she fought to stay calm.

He locked eyes with her from six feet away and smiled showing teeth so white and even that she thought they must be capped. ‘Miss Castle? I thought I should come over and introduce myself.’ He held out his hand and she caught a glimpse of a bulky gold cufflink. ‘Warwick Richards. Big fan.’

She smiled and shook his hand.

Seb stood up and waved at his chair. ‘Seeing as you paid twenty-six grand for the lady, the least I can do is to give up my seat,’ he said.

Richards offered his hand. ‘Good to meet you, Seb. I gather you’re a regular at the club, I’ll pop over and see you next time you’re in.’

‘Of course,’ said Seb. ‘Warwick Richards. That Warwick Richards.’

‘You know each other?’ asked Carolyn.

‘I sometimes drink at Warwick’s club,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think we’ve ever actually met.’

‘I tend to give VIPs the privacy they deserve,’ said Richards. ‘The last thing you want is the staff bothering you when you’re out for a quiet drink.’

‘Staff?’ said Carolyn.

Richards grinned. ‘Well, owner actually,’ he said. He shook hands with Seb then sat down next to Carolyn. He looked into her eyes as he smiled at her. He had wonderfully blue eyes, she realised. ‘I just wanted to reassure you that I’m not a stalker and if you don’t want to go through with the lunch, that’s fine. I’m happy enough to help the charity.’

‘You don’t look at all like a stalker,’ said Carolyn. A waiter poured champagne into a glass for Richards and he nodded his thanks. ‘What’s the club you mentioned?’ asked Carolyn.

‘It’s in Leicester Square. Seb’s a regular, I’m told. You should drop by some time. I’ll have your name put on the VIP list, just walk right in. We’ve a very discreet VIP area and an amazing roof terrace.’

‘Sounds like fun.’

‘It is. We take good care of our customers, especially VIPs like you. You can let your hair down without worrying that someone’s going to start taking a picture on their phone.’ He nodded over at Seb who had moved to the next table and was deep in conversation with a young actor from Coronation Street. ‘That’s why Seb likes it. No one cares who he’s sipping champagne with, if you get my drift.’ He sipped his drink. ‘So what about you, Carolyn? What do you do for fun?’

Carolyn sighed. ‘Ah, yes, I remember fun,’ she said. ‘Most days we’re in the studios by eight which means I’m up at six so there aren’t many late nights.’

Richards chuckled. ‘Six? That’s about when we’re closing up,’ he said. He put down his glass. ‘Anyway, I won’t take up any more of your time,’ he said. ‘But I would love to take you up on the lunch.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Look, if you’re a fan of the show, why not come to the studio one day next week? Say, Friday? I know we’re in the studio all day Friday. I can show you around and the food in the canteen is pretty good.’ She held up her wine glass. ‘No wine, unfortunately.’

‘That sounds like a plan,’ said Richards. ‘And wine isn’t a problem, I’ll be driving.’

‘What sort of car do you have, I’ll leave the details with security.’

‘A Porsche,’ said Richards.

‘That’s funny, I wouldn’t have you down as a Porsche man.’

‘It’s a Cayenne,’ said Richards. ‘I like a bit of room when I drive.’ He stood up and flashed her another beaming smile. ‘So I’ll see you on Friday, Miss Castle.’

‘Carolyn, please,’ she said. ‘And I’ll look forward to it. Do you have a card?’

‘Sure.’ Richards took out his wallet and gave her a business card before he headed back to his table.

‘Wow,’ said the girl singer. ‘He is hot.’

‘Do you think so?’ asked Carolyn, picking up her glass.

‘Oh yes. On a scale of one to ten he’s an eleven. Tall, dark and handsome. And clearly loaded. What more could you ask for?’

Carolyn watched as Richards took his place at his own table and began talking to a young red-headed girl in a gravity-defying dress. ‘That’s a very good question,’ she said.

CHAPTER 33

Richards climbed into the back of the Porsche and lit a cigar. ‘How did it go?” asked Halpin, twisting around in his seat.

Richards shrugged. ‘I’m having lunch with her on Friday.’

‘You met her?’

‘Sat down next to her, closer to her than I am to you.’

‘And?’

Richards shrugged again. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘You’re not sure? How can you not be sure? Either she recognised you or she didn’t. Did she say anything?’

‘Chit chat. That’s all.’

‘Chit chat?’

‘Chit chat.’ Richards wound down the window and blew smoke. ‘What did you expect her to say? Point her finger at me and scream “murderer!” That was never going to happen.’

‘Did she recognise you, boss? I need to know because if she recognised you then she’ll recognise me.’

‘I don’t know. She looked me in the eye and smiled like she wanted to suck my dick, but I don’t know if she recognised me. She’s an actress and a bloody good one.’

‘This is fucked up, boss. We need to know one way or another.’

Richards narrowed his eyes. ‘You think I don’t know that?’

‘That’s not what I’m saying, boss. But you’re playing a dangerous game here.’

‘A game? You’re saying I think this is a game?’

Halpin shook his head. ‘That’s not what I’m saying boss.’ He started the engine. ‘Home?’

‘Nah, hang on a minute. I’m waiting for someone.’

‘Not her?’

Richards laughed. ‘No, not her.’ He took a long pull on his cigar and then slowly blew smoke through the window. ‘I know how important this is,’ he said. ‘If she has recognised me and goes to the cops, I’m screwed.’

‘Her word against ours. And the body’s at the bottom of the North Sea.’

‘Which means they’ll have us under surveillance, twenty-four seven. And I can’t afford that. Cohen ripped off all my working capital and I’ve got bills to pay. I’m going to have to get busy with The Mint and I can’t do that if I’ve got Five-O breathing down my neck.’

‘The Mint?’

‘Murray Wainwright. He’s an old mate of mine, over from Spain. He’s connected to some of the biggest dope smugglers in Morocco. I’m sounding him out about the possibility of funding a few shipments. But I’m not going to be able to do that with the cops on my back.’

‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Halpin.

‘I think we’re in the clear. There’s been nothing in the papers, no photo-fits or descriptions or anything. And if she had gone to the cops, that’d be in the papers, too. They couldn’t keep a lid on something like that.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Halpin.

‘So that means that, for whatever reason, she hasn’t talked to the cops. And I’m fairly sure from the way she behaved that she didn’t recognise me. I’ll see how we get on over lunch, and if she’s the same then it probably means we’re in the clear.’

‘And if we’re not?’

‘If we’re not and she did see us in Cohen’s house then she’ll be talking to the cops tonight and we’ll know soon enough. Like you said, it’d be her word against ours and we’ve both got cast iron alibis. They haven’t got a body and, other than her, there’s no one to say we were in Cohen’s house. Everything else is circumstantial.’

‘We both know people who’ve gone down on circumstantial evidence.’

‘True. But if she goes to the cops and identifies us, then she puts herself in the firing line. Without her, they’ll have no case at all.’

‘So we wait and see?’

Richards took a long pull on his cigar, blew smoke, and then nodded. ‘That’s it exactly,’ he said. ‘We’ll cross our chickens as and when we come to them.’

The blonde PR who had taken his cheque walked out of the hotel and waved at him. She was wearing a long blue coat that flapped in the wind.

‘Nice,’ said Halpin.

‘Eyes front,’ said Richards, opening the door for the girl. ‘And ears closed.’

CHAPTER 34

Seb was as good as his word and dropped Carolyn off in front of her house. ‘Thanks for tonight,’ he said, patting her on the leg. ‘Above and beyond the call of duty.’

‘Happy to help,’ said Carolyn. ‘Anything for the kids.’

‘You seem to have struck gold with your lunch date, which is more than I can say.’

‘How long have you known him?’

‘Warwick? Tonight was the first time I’ve met him. I’ve heard of him, but never actually crossed his path.’

‘You’re a regular at his club, he said.’

Seb chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t say it’s a home away from home, but if you want a quiet place for a few drinks late at night away from prying eyes, it’s hard to beat. There’s a VIP lift that goes straight from the car park to the club so there are no paps around. And the VIP section really is VIP so no one gets in your face.’

‘Was it Warwick who invited you?’

Seb shook his head. ‘One of his people. Guy called Mick. Mick Halpin. Mick I see quite often. He schmooses the big spenders and is in charge of security. Big guy, you wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley.’ He grinned. ‘Though having said that…’

‘You’re incorrigible,’ said Carolyn.

‘Well I have to confess to enjoying a bit of rough every now and again,’ said Seb.

‘And did Mick specifically ask you to invite me?’

Seb’s eyes narrowed. ‘I can hear the wheels turning,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’

Carolyn laughed. ‘Nothing’s wrong. I just wondered if it was a coincidence, you know, my being invited and then Warwick bidding so much for the lunch.’

‘You think he’s a fan?’

‘Something like that,’ said Carolyn.

‘Seems a bit complicated,’ said Seb. ‘If he’d wanted to get to meet you I’m sure Mick could have mentioned it to me. I mean, Warwick’s a good looking guy, Carolyn. I’d have linked you up.’

‘Pimped me out, you mean,’ she laughed. She was making light of it but behind her laugh her mind was still in a whirl. Was Warwick Richards the man she’d seen in the house or not? The man in the house wielding the crystal dolphin had been tall, dark and good-looking and Warwick Richards fitted that bill. But it had been at night and there had been reflections on the window and she had been drinking and, hand on heart, she wasn’t sure.

‘Do you know much about him?’

‘Just what I’ve heard, that he’s the owner and has an eye for the ladies.’

‘He’s not a gangster, is he?’

Seb laughed. ‘A what?’

‘You know what I mean, Seb. There are some very edgy people in the nightclub business.’

‘In the Sixties maybe, but these days?’ He shook his head. ‘They don’t let gangsters run nightclubs. The council pulls their licences at the first hint of anything like that.’ He grinned. ‘Having said that, I’ve definitely seen some very iffy people spending money in there. Sharp suits and broken noses and tarts with their tits out, but everyone’s as good as gold.’

‘He is good looking, isn’t he?’

‘Darling, I’ll swop yours for mine any day of the week. I think that woman who paid for me is expecting a nooner for her money.’

“I trust you’ll let her down gently,’ she said,

Seb’s car stayed outside her house until she let herself in, then his driver beeped the horn and drove off. She keyed in the burglar alarm code, kicked off her high heels and poured herself a glass of red wine before phoning Terry. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked him.

‘Drinking wine and watching America’s Next Top Model,’ he said. ‘You?’

‘Just back from a charity do with Seb.’

‘Good that you want to put something back, darling.’

‘I think I met the guy from the house,’ said Carolyn.

‘Stay right where you are,’ said Terry. ‘I’m coming round.’

CHAPTER 35

‘You are shitting me,’ said Terry. ‘You’re pulling my chain, right?’ He was sprawled on one of Carolyn’s sofas holding an oversized glass of red wine.

‘I’m saying it might be him. I’m not a hundred percent sure.’

‘And you’re seeing him for lunch on Friday?’

‘I said I’d give him a tour of the studio. That way I can run him by you, see what you think.’

‘Darling, you’re the one who saw him bashing Cohen’s brains in. What do expect me to do?’

‘I just wanted you to meet him,’ said Carolyn. ‘He’s charming. And very good looking.’

‘But is he the man you saw in the house? That’s the only thing that matters.’

Carolyn sipped her wine thoughtfully. ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘When I saw him walking across the room towards my table, I was certain. But the closer he got, the less certain I was. Then, when he started talking to me…’ She shrugged.

‘He’s charming so he can’t be a killer? Is that it?’

‘He just seemed so nice. And what are the odds that the man I saw committing a murder would be at a charity dinner and would pay to have lunch with me?’

‘Anything’s possible, darling. Look at Elton John’s hair.’

Carolyn laughed. ‘If it was him, why would he want to have lunch with me.’

‘Is there any way he could have seen you at the house?’

‘I don’t think so. As soon as the lights went on I was running for the gate. I’m sure they couldn’t have seen my face.’

‘You left your shoes behind.’

‘Bog standard Prada,’ said Carolyn. ‘It’s not as if I dropped my wallet. There’s no way he could have identified me from the shoes.’ She frowned. ‘What do you think? You think he knows I was there?’

‘If he didn’t see you, then obviously not. In which case it’s a coincidence. Assuming it is him you saw at the house.’

‘Oh, and he drives a Porsche Cayenne, not a Bentley.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I asked him. Told him I needed to talk to studio security.’

‘You little detective you,’ said Terry, raising his glass in salute. ‘You really have to think this through, Carolyn. Is it him or not? Because if it is him, you need to go to the cops now before it goes any further.’

‘I hear what you’re saying, really. But the more I try to remember, the fuzzier it becomes.’

‘Fuzzier?’

Carolyn sighed. ‘My memory’s never been great,’ she said. ‘I can remember lines but I’m terrible with dates and I really can’t remember faces. I’m forever introducing myself to people I’ve already met. And now when I think back to the house, I see his face but I’m not sure if it’s because I saw him tonight. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Terry nodded. ‘They say eyewitness evidence is the most unreliable. Forensic or CCTV you can rely on, but if six people witness an accident they’ll each come up with a different version of what happened.’ He grinned. ‘My cop boyfriend told me that.’

‘I just don’t know,’ said Carolyn. ‘And if I’m wrong, I mean, how awful would that be to go to the police and blame someone for a murder if they didn’t do it? And we’re still not sure there’s been a murder.’

‘I rang the office today and Cohen still hasn’t been in,’ said Terry. ‘They were a bit terse when I rang this time.’

‘Terse?’

‘It’s been a week. I asked them if there was something wrong and the girl who I was speaking with said they were starting to get a bit worried.’ He swirled his wine around the glass thoughtfully. ‘You’re playing with fire, you know that?’

‘Only if he’s the one. He might just be a fan who happens to be tall, dark and handsome.’

‘Oh, so now we’ve upgraded him to handsome, have we?’

‘You know what I mean. I might just be jumping at shadows.’ She sipped her wine. ‘I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll get my private eye on the case.’

‘You’re private eye? What are you talking about?’

‘Max Dunbar. The guy who got that stalker off my back. I’ll get him to check Warwick out. He’s got access to all sorts of databases and stuff.’

‘And then what?’

‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,’ said Carolyn. ‘Let’s see what happens next Friday.’

‘Be careful, darling.’

‘I always am, Terry.’

CHAPTER 36

Richards brought his Porsche to a halt in front of the barrier and wound down the window as a uniformed security guard walked over holding a clipboard. ‘Warwick Richards,’ he said. ‘I’m here to see Miss Castle.’ It was Friday, just before noon.

The guard studied a list on his clipboard, nodded, and handed a security badge through the window before showing Richards where to park. ‘If you go to reception, somebody will be waiting for you there,’ said the guard.

Richards parked the car and walked through the double glass doors into the reception area. On the walls were life-size photographs of the show, including one of Carolyn in a little black dress and a string of pearls holding an attache case in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other.

He was about to talk to a receptionist when a good-looking black man in a tight-fitting polo shirt and baggy Versace jeans walked over. ‘Mr Richards? I’m Terry Carter.’ He held out his hand and flashed Richards a beaming smile.

‘Call me Warwick, please,’ said Richards as he shook Terry’s hand. ‘How did you know it was me?’

Terry laughed. ‘Carolyn said you were tall, dark and handsome.’

‘Same as you, then,’ said Richards.

‘Plus security called to say you’d just arrived,’ said Terry. ‘Carolyn’s on the set at the moment. She’s asked me to take you through. Could you do me a favour and switch off your mobile? Nothing annoys a director more than a phone going off.’

‘No problem,’ said Richards. He took out his phone and switched it off. Terry took him through a set of double doors that led to a long corridor. ‘So you’re a fan of the show?’

‘Big time,’ lied Richards. In fact, earlier that week he’d bought a DVD set of the show and spent the weekend watching it. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience and, after the first few hours, he’d opened a bottle of champagne which had helped a bit. The only thing he had enjoyed had been the steady of stream of pretty girls who passed through the show, usually being bedded by one or other of the regular male characters. ‘What is it you do, Terry?’

‘Props master. I supply the bits and bobs that clutter up the sets. And I help out with wardrobe.’

‘Must be fun.’

‘It has its moments,’ said Terry. ‘Carolyn tells me you paid twenty-five grand to have lunch with her.’

‘Twenty-six,’ said Richards. ‘It was for charity. For kids. I bid on Seb, too, but I’m glad I got her and not him. She is fit, isn’t she?’

Terry grinned. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘As a butcher’s dog.’

They reached the doors to the studio. The red light was on, Terry pointed at it. ‘That shows they’re filming,’ he said. ‘We can go in, but no noise and be careful where you put your feet. There are cables everywhere.’

Richards nodded and Terry opened the door. They slipped inside and Terry closed the door carefully behind them.

Terry took Richards around to the left. They turned a corner and found two dozen people, mainly men, standing around as Carolyn and Seb were talking. They were in the kitchen that Richards recognised from the DVD. Carolyn was holding a champagne glass and was listening to Seb, her head cocked to the side.

Standing a few feet to her left was a man holding a sound boom above her head. As Richards watched the two actors work, he was impressed with the way they were able to focus on each other and ignore the dozens of people who were standing around the set. Seb was accusing Carolyn of not pulling her weight at the company and, when it was her turn to speak, she ripped into him coldly and clinically and finished by throwing the contents of her glass in his face.

‘Cut!’ shouted the director.

Everyone started moving around purposefully, moving lights and reattaching cables, and a young girl in tight jeans rushed over to Seb and began dabbing at his face with a towel.

‘We’re breaking for lunch!’ shouted a girl with a clipboard. ‘Back here at two sharp to pick up with scene forty-seven.’

Carolyn walked over to Richards and held out her hand. ‘Welcome to the coal face,’ she said.

He shook her hand. ‘Thanks for having me,’ he said. He looked around the set. ‘I’m, surprised to see there’s just one camera.’

Carolyn laughed. ‘Most people are,’ she said. ‘They think we act and three or four cameras film it as it happens. No, we do it with just one camera. So they film me saying a line, then the other actor saying their line, then a shot with us both in the frame, then another looking over my shoulder. They sometimes film the same scene five or six different ways and then they all get cut together in the editing suite.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Are you okay for the canteen?’ she said. ‘It’s actually quite good.’

‘But no wine?’

‘Definitely no wine,’ said Carolyn. ‘In fact, that was lemonade I just threw in Seb’s face.’

‘And it was the third take,’ said Seb, walking over. He shook Richards’ hand. ‘You’re here for your twenty-six grand lunch?’

‘I certainly am,’ said Richards. ‘And I’m looking forward to it.’

A runner came over with a blue dressing gown and Carolyn slipped it on. ‘I feel a bit underdressed in the little black number,’ she said. ‘And I need to be wearing it for the next scene. Hope you don’t mind.’

‘You look good in blue,’ said Richards.

‘Well let’s go and see what’s on the menu.’

‘Do you want me to tag along?’ asked Terry.

‘A chaperone?’ said Richards. ‘I promise not to make any untoward advances.’

‘We’ll be fine, Terry,’ said Carolyn. ‘But leave your mobile phone on.’ She saw the look of surprise on Richards’ face and she grinned. ‘Joking,’ she said.

‘I’ll be on my best behaviour,’ said Richards.

‘I’m sure you will be,’ she said.

CHAPTER 37

Carolyn was surprised at how well the lunch went. Richards was very good company, he was funny and clearly intelligent, but he was a good listener, too. She’d picked at a Dover sole, not because she wasn’t hungry but because she was so involved in their conversation. Richards had chosen seafood spaghetti and most of it was untouched on his plate as well. She nodded at his plate. ‘Not good?’

‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘To be honest, I was having too much fun talking with you.’

She laughed. ‘I was thinking exactly the same.’

‘You should come to the club sometime.’

She lifted her glass of water and watched him as she took a sip. Then she smiled. ‘I might, at that.’

Richards grinned.‘If you need a chaperone, we could make sure Seb’s there.’

‘The problem is during the week we always have early starts,’ she said, putting down her glass.

He leaned towards her and lowered his voice. ‘Between you and me, there’s been a few times when Seb has gone straight from the club to the studio.’

Carolyn laughed. ‘I believe you,’ she said. ‘But Seb’s a guy and if he looks weathered that’s all well and good. We women have to look good at eight in the morning and make-up can only do so much.’

‘Weekends then,’ said Richards. ‘Friday is always a good night.’

‘Maybe,’ said Carolyn.

‘I won’t push you any more,’ he said. ‘I know it must be annoying being pressured by fans.’

‘Is that what you are? A fan?’

‘Of course.’

She raised one eyebrow. ‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously. Why else would I pay twenty-six grand for lunch with you?’

‘How many years has the show been running?’

‘Nine.’

‘What time does it go out?’

‘Eight.’

‘What car do I drive in the show?’

‘A Lexus Prius in town and a Land Rover Evoque in the country.’

She nodded, impressed. He grinned. ‘Do you want me to tell you what colour underwear you’re wearing?’

‘Now that would be creepy,’ she said.

Richards laughed as he speared a prawn with his fork. ‘Do you grill all your fans like this?’ he asked.

‘Only the ones that pay twenty-six thousand pounds for a plate of seafood spaghetti.’

‘I do watch the show. And I’m glad I got the chance to meet you. But, hand on heart, I like to help that charity out whenever I can. I didn’t have the easiest of childhoods and if I can help kids who’ve been dealt a shit hand in life then it’s the least I can do.’

‘I’m sorry if I sounded like I was quizzing you.’

‘You were quizzing me, but you’re entitled. I’m a stranger, and you can’t be too careful with strangers. He popped the prawn into his mouth, chewed and swallowed.

‘So is there a Mr Castle?’

‘There are three former Mr Castles,’ said Carolyn. ‘All well in the past, thank God. You?’

‘Never had a Mr Castle,’ said Richards.

‘What about a Mrs Richards?’

Richards shook his head.

‘So, no kids?’

‘No, I have a son. Jamie. But he’s with his mum. We never married. I see him every few weeks and over the school holidays.’

‘How old?’

‘Fourteen.’

‘Ah, so he thinks you know nothing and everything you do is an embarrassment?’ said Carolyn.

‘Got it in one,’ said Richards.

‘I’ve a fourteen-year-old son, courtesy of Mr Castle Number One.’

‘Does he live with you?’

‘I share custody, but he’s at boarding school so I see him mainly during his holidays. My work schedule is so stupid he tends to stay with his father. We Skype, though.’

Richards laughed. ‘Yeah, how did we manage before Skype? It’s brilliant isn’t it?’

‘I dunno, I think I prefer phones so I don’t have to see the look of contempt.’

They both laughed and Carolyn realised with a jolt that she was totally at ease in his company. That didn’t make any sense. She was still interviewing him as a potential murder suspect, yet here she was swapping stories about bringing up teenagers.

‘Can I make a confession?’ he asked.

Carolyn’s jaw dropped. ‘What?’

‘A confession,’ he said. ‘Before I met you, I really did think you were the bitch from hell.’

‘Seb telling stories out of school, was he?’

Richards laughed and his eyes sparkled. ‘Of course not. I’ve never seen him at the club. No, I guess I’d formed my impression from what I’d seen on TV.’

‘You really thought I was Diana?’

‘Sure. I think everyone does, right? Hardly anyone gets to see the real you.’

‘And your point is?’

‘My point is the real you is quite something.’ He clinked his glass of water against hers. ‘I’m glad we did this.’

‘You know, so am I,’ said Carolyn.

‘Is there any way I could persuade you to do this again?’

‘What, lunch in the staff canteen?’

Richards laughed. ‘I had in mind a proper meal with champagne. I tell you what, if you’re still worried I might be a stalker, why not come to the club with Seb? We can have a decent bottle of champagne and we can eat on the terrace.’

‘I never thought you were a stalker,’ said Carolyn. ‘And, like I said, I do feel bad about you paying twenty-six grand for a seafood spaghetti. But I prefer red wine to champagne, it has to be said.’

‘So is that a yes?’

‘It’s a definite maybe,’ she said. ‘One Saturday, maybe. Let me talk to Seb.’

‘You’ve got my card,’ said Richards. ‘I’ll leave the ball in your court.’ He sniffed and cocked his head on one side.’

‘I really like that perfume,’ he said. ‘Chanel?’

‘Coco Mademoiselle,’ she said. ‘It’s been my favourite for a while.’

‘Well it’s my favourite now,’ said Richards. He grinned. ‘How corny did that sound?’

‘Fairly corny,’ she laughed. ‘But I’ll take compliments in any shape or form.’

They finished lunch and Carolyn walked Richards out to the car park. ‘Nice,’ she said when she saw his Porsche. ‘I like SUVs. I always feel so much safer in them.’

‘What do you drive?’ asked Richards.

‘Most of the time I’m driven, these days,’ she said. ‘But I have an Audi TT.’

‘Now that is a nice motor,’ he said.

‘It’s nippy,’ said Carolyn. ‘It’s not the car of my dreams, though.’

‘Yeah? What would you prefer?’

‘If I had the room, a Bentley,’ she said. ‘But my parking space is tight and the house doesn’t have a garage. Leaving a Bentley on the street would be asking for trouble.’

‘Yeah, there’s a lot of envy out there,’ said Richards. He smiled as he looked into her eyes, trying to work out whether she was testing him about the Bentley or if it had been a chance remark. ‘Red,’ he said.

‘Red?’

‘That’s the colour of your underwear.’ He blew her a kiss and got into his car. She was still laughing as he drove away.

CHAPTER 38

Filming continued pretty much non-stop during the afternoon and it wasn’t until just after six that Carolyn was able to talk to Terry. He was in the props room, working on a set of files that Seb would be holding in a close-up later that week. ‘So what do you think?’ she asked, sitting on the edge of his desk.

‘He’s good enough to eat, isn’t he?’

Carolyn laughed. ‘Well that’s an image that will stay with me until my dying day,’ she said.

‘What’s more important is do you think it’s him? Was he the guy you saw at Nicholas Cohen’s house?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Carolyn. ‘Seriously. The first time I saw him I thought he was, but now I’m not so sure.’

‘You can’t remember?’ asked Terry, sitting back in his chair.

‘I’ve got a terrible memory for faces, Terry. I just have. I can’t remember what my mum looks like. I mean, I can, but all the memories I have are based on her photographs. That’s the face I see.’

‘What are you saying? The man in your memory doesn’t have a face?’

‘No, now he has Warwick’s face but I’m not sure if that’s because my memory is playing tricks on me or because I’m deliberately picturing him there.’ She shrugged. ‘That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?’

‘No, it doesn’t sound stupid at all. I understand what you’re saying. The police always say that eyewitness evidence is the most unreliable. No one has a perfect memory.’

‘It doesn’t feel like it’s him,’ she said. ‘But that might be because he’s such a nice guy.’

‘And handsome.’

‘And handsome,’ agreed Carolyn. She pushed herself off Terry’s desk and began pacing up and down.

‘Ted Bundy was handsome and he killed a hell of a lot of women,’ said Terry.

‘Warwick’s not a serial killer, he might have killed Nicholas Cohen but…’ She shrugged and didn’t finish the sentence. ‘I just don’t know, Terry.’

‘Why not just talk to the police?’

Carolyn stopped pacing and folded her arms. ‘And say what?’

‘Well for a start tell them you think you might have seen Richards smack an accountant over the head.’

‘And if I’m wrong?’

‘If you’re wrong then he can tell the cops where he was at the time and all’s right with the world.’

‘And then he sues me for libel.’

‘He won’t know it was you.’

Carolyn laughed. ‘You know the cops talk to the press every chance they get,’ she said. ‘It’s me, Terry. If I so much as go out without make-up on it’s at the top of the Mail’s website. And remember that time I put on a few pounds? The tabloids were all over me. So think what they’ll be like if they know I’m involved in a murder investigation.’ She went back to lean against his desk.

‘I think you’re worrying too much.’

‘Yeah, well, you work in a bloody office and no one knows who the hell you are. I’m in the public eye and trust me, if it gets out that I witnessed a murder it’ll be all over the papers.’

Terry flashed her a tight smile. ‘Darling, I know how famous you are. And that I’m just one of the unsung backroom boys.’

Carolyn laughed and patted him on the arm. ‘You know what I mean,’ she said. ‘Look, the network is planning to reorganize the show and they’ll use any excuse to push me out.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Terry.

‘I’m serious, Terry. The last thing I need right now is to be tied in with something like this. And it might all be about nothing. Warwick’s a lovely guy. Maybe he just looks like the guy I saw at Cohen’s house. I mean, how likely is it he’d want to have lunch with me if he thought I’d seen him commit a murder?’

‘Maybe he’s as crazy as you are,’ laughed Terry. ‘So what are you going to do now?’

‘I’ll give Max Dunbar a call. He can run a check on Warwick.’

‘I don’t like that guy.’

‘Max? He’s okay.’

‘He’s sleazy, Carolyn. And he keeps looking at your tits when he thinks you don’t know.’

Carolyn laughed. ‘I think you’ll find most heterosexual men do that, Terry.’

‘I’m serious. I’ve never really trusted him.’

‘He gets the job done,’ said Carolyn. ‘That stalker I had, I never heard from again after Max had a word with him. He’s got great police connections and he’s discreet.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Anyway, I’d best be going. Billy’s waiting for me out front.’

‘Just be careful,’ said Terry, kissing her on the cheek. ‘And if you feel like a sleepover, call me.’

CHAPTER 39

Richards had just locked up his Porsche and was heading for the lift to take him up to his penthouse flat when a figure stepped out of the shadows. His hands bunched into fists but he relaxed when he saw it was Halpin. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ asked Richards. ‘You almost gave me a bloody heart attack.’

‘Sorry boss, I wanted to know how it went, that’s all.’

‘So why stalk me? Couldn’t you have phoned?’

Halpin moved closer to Richards and lowered his voice. ‘No, I couldn’t phone because if the cops are on to us they’ll be listening in. You know what Five-O are like. They’ll be all over us until they’re sure they’ve got a cast iron case.’

Richards nodded and took out a cigar. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ He bit off the end and spat it away, then lit it.

‘So how did it go?’ asked Halpin.

Richards blew a cloud of smoke before answering. ‘I think we’re okay.’

‘You think? We need more than that, boss.’

Richards narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re starting to piss me off, you know that?’

Halpin put up his hands. ‘I’m sorry, but this matters, boss. If she can identify us we’re going away for a long time.’

‘She was as sweet as a nut,’ said Richards. ‘Chatted away about her job and her family, said she might come on out to the club. I didn’t pick up on anything.’

‘But she’s an actress. Maybe she was acting.’

‘Yeah, but why meet me, why have lunch with me?’ said Richards. ‘If she’d recognised me, why not just call the cops?’

‘Maybe she was wired.’

They reached the lift and Richards pressed the call button. ‘Wired?’

‘Maybe the cops fitted her with a wire. Maybe they were listening in.’

‘What, while I confessed to murder in the studio canteen? You’ve been watching too much TV.’

‘Maybe she didn’t see everything. And don’t forget they don’t have a body and there’s bugger all forensics. Plus we’ve got alibis. So if she does go to the cops, chances are they’re going to be looking for us to confess.’

‘That’s not going to happen, is it?’

‘Which is why they might think about wiring her up.’

Richards blew smoke up at the roof of the car park as the lift doors opened. ‘She didn’t ask anything like that. It was just chit-chat.’

‘So you think we’re all good?’

Richards stepped into the lift and Halpin followed him. ‘I think so, yeah.’

‘Boss, we need more than that.’ The lifts doors closed and Halpin pressed the button for the top floor.

‘We’re in the clear,’ said Richards. ‘I’m sure of it. She didn’t see anything.’

Halpin nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. ‘So it’s business as usual?’

‘Yeah. You can start phoning me instead of jumping out of the shadows, and I’ll arrange to see The Mint tomorrow.’

CHAPTER 40

Carolyn waited until Saturday morning before phoning Maxwell Dunbar. She didn’t have his number stored in her phone but she had kept his business card. She’d put it in a large glass bowl with several hundred other cards and, when she got home, she tipped them out onto her dining table and spread them out. Dunbar’s was a plain white card with black lettering — Maxwell Dunbar Investigations. There was a landline and a mobile number. She tapped out the mobile number and Dunbar answered after a few seconds. ‘Max? It’s Carolyn. Carolyn Castle.’

‘Miss Castle, long time no hear. I hope your stalker isn’t back.’ He had a slight lisp and a habit of breathing too hard, as if he was asthmatic.

‘No, you sorted that little problem for me just fine, Max. But I have something else I need doing.’

‘At your service as always, Miss Castle.’

‘Max, I know it’s short notice but could you come around now? I’m working long days all this week and it’s fairly urgent.’

‘Not a problem, Miss Castle. Are you still in Notting Hill Gate?’

‘I am, Max. I’ll be waiting for you.’

Carolyn cut the connection. She made a cup of coffee and she was just finishing it when her doorbell rang. She had the door on the chain and checked through the viewer to make sure it was Dunbar before opening the door. He shook her hand, wiped his feet on the doormat, and took off his raincoat. She hung it on a coat rack and took him through to the kitchen. He sat down and exhaled. He was a heavy-set man in his early sixties. Carolyn had last seen him three years earlier but he seemed to have aged a decade. His hair was thinner and greyer and there was a waxy sheen to his face that suggested he wasn’t in the best of health. His beer gut strained at his shirt buttons and there was a dribble of something that could have been mustard down his shirt front.

‘Would you like a coffee, Max? Or water?’

He winked at her. ‘You know, a whisky would go down a treat and keep out the cold,’ he said. He tapped the side of his nose, which was threaded with red veins. ‘Maybe a splash of water, just to take the edge off.’

Carolyn went through to the sitting room and retrieved a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label. She took it back to the kitchen, poured a decent measure into a glass and added some tapwater. He took it from her, raised the glass in salute, and drank almost half of it in one swallow. There was a sour smell coming from him as if he hadn’t bathed in a couple of days.

‘So what’s your problem, Miss Castle?’ he asked.

‘I need you to check someone out for me. A man I’ve met. Warwick Richards is his name.’

‘Warwick Richards?’

Carolyn nodded. ‘He’s about six two, good shape, dark hair, he’s clearly got money. Drives a Porsche Cayenne. He says he runs a nightclub in Leicester Square and has a few properties.’

‘And what do you want me to do?’ asked Dunbar.

‘I need to know everything about him. Who he is. Where he lives. Friends. Enemies.’

‘Is he giving you a problem, Miss Castle?’

‘Not really. I’ve met him and I just need to know more about him. Can you do that?’

‘Of course. Now you say you’ve met him. Did he give you a card?’

‘Yes.’ She handed him the business card that Richards had given her. ‘Oh, and see if you can find out if he has any connection with an accountant called Nicholas Cohen. He’s a partner in a firm called Cohen and Kawczynski.’

‘No problem,’ said Dunbar.

‘How long do you think it’ll take, Max?’

‘A couple of days.’ He drained his glass and stood up. ‘I’ll call you as soon as I get anything.’

‘You’re a lifesaver, Max, thank you.’

‘Shall we say five hundred, on account?’

‘It’ll have to be a cheque, I’m afraid.’

‘A cheque’s fine, Miss Castle.’

Carolyn wrote him a cheque as he stood behind her, breathing heavily. She gave it to him, showed him out then went back to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine.

CHAPTER 41

Richards had arranged to meet The Mint at a canal-side pub in Maida Vale, north London. The Mint was seeing his mother for lunch and said he’d be at the pub by three. He was waiting in the car park when Richards drove up. Richards parked, climbed out, and hugged his old friend. Murray Wainwright was in his sixties and the two men had known each other for more than twenty years. In a business full of liars, cheats and violent psychopaths, The Mint was one of the few men Richards totally trusted. He had long grey hair tied back in a ponytail, skin tanned from years in the Spanish sun, and pearly white teeth that were the best implants Harley Street could provide. There was a gold Rolex on his left wrist, a chunky gold bracelet on his right and a two gold sovereign rings on his right hand that were as effective as any knuckle duster.

‘Times are hard, are they?’ asked The Mint, looking over at the Porsche.

‘The Bentley, you mean? It was a red rag to a bull for the traffic cops. So many drug dealers drive Bentleys these days, we all get tarred with the same brush.’

‘And they ignore white Porches, that’s the plan?’

‘Don’t knock it if it works.’

‘MPG?’

‘Who the hell knows, Murray? And more to the point, who cares?’ The two men laughed and Richards opened his cigar case and offered it to The Mint. He took one, sniffed it, and bit off the end.

Richards did the same and lit them both before they walked along to the pub and sat at a table on the terrace overlooking the canal.

‘I remember when this was a right dangerous boozer,’ said The Mint. ‘You wouldn’t step in here without a gun in your pocket or a machete down your trouser leg.’

‘Gentrification,’ said Richards. ‘It’s happening all over.’

‘You’re not kidding,’ said The Mint. ‘I bought my mum her flat twenty years ago for a couple of hundred grand and you know what it’s worth now? A million quid. A bloody million. It’s a nice flat, mind, but it’s only got two bedrooms.’ A waiter came over and Richards ordered a bottle of Cristal.

‘I need to do some business,’ said Richards after the waiter had left. ‘I’ve run into a bit of a cash flow problem.’

‘Move to the Costa full time, mate. The Spanish are much easier to deal with.’

‘I need to stay close to the club. And you know I don’t like the sun.’ He leaned towards him. ‘Can you put something together for me? Rush job?’

‘What did you have in mind?’

‘I’ve got seven hundred and fifty grand tucked away for a rainy day. I was figuring we split that into three. You fix me up with three runs, if one gets through I’ll be covering my costs, if all three get through I’ll be a very happy bunny.’

The Mint nodded. ‘I’ve got a supplier in Morocco who’s champing at the bit,’ he said. ‘Do you want to go solo or mob-handed?’

Richards blew a cloud of smoke over the canal. Putting his money together with other investors meant more profits by virtue of economies of scale, but the more people involved the greater the danger that someone would grass them up. ‘I’ll leave that up to you, Murray. You’ve never steered me wrong in the past.’

The waiter returned with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two glasses. He poured a splash into one glass but The Mint waved his ringed hand over the glass. ‘Just pour it, it’ll be fine,’ he said.

They both sipped their champagne until the waiter had left. ‘Is your money in the system or are we talking used notes?’ asked The Mint.

‘It’s in the bank,’ said Richards. ‘Jersey. I’ve put most of my cash through the club over the last few years so it’s all legit. I was planning on leaving it there for the long haul but now I’ve got no choice other than to put it into play.’

‘Good to know,’ said The Mint. ‘I can get you a better rate for bank deposits, you know that.’ He took a pen from his jacket pocket and a business card from his wallet and scribbled down a number. ‘Transfer the money when you’re ready,’ he said.

Richards pocketed the card. ‘You’re a gentlemen and a scholar,’ he said.

‘You okay? Is this cash shortage a problem?’

‘It was a one-off,’ said Richards. ‘I dealt with it but I’m having problems getting the money back.’ He shrugged. ‘I might end up writing it off in which case I’ll be back to see you.’

‘Always happy to help,’ said The Mint. He raised his glass in salute.

Richards clinked his glass against The Mint’s. ‘You’re a lifesaver,’ he said. He drained his glass and looked at his watch. ‘I’m going to have to love you and leave you.’

‘I’ll stay here and enjoy the bubbly,’ said The Mint. ‘But pick up the tab on your way out.’

CHAPTER 42

Richards cursed under his breath when he saw the bright yellow clamp on the front offside wheel of his Porsche. There was no ticket under the windscreen wipers but he saw two heavy-set men in bomber jackets leaning against a Range Rover. They both had shaved heads. One was just over six feet tall with a tattoo of a cobweb across his neck. The other was shorter and wider and had a nose that had been broken in the past and healed badly. He had LOVE tattooed across the knuckles of his left hand and HAT across the right. It looked as if it had once said HATE but the E had faded with time.

The two men walked over slowly, their arms swinging by their sides. They had the swagger of men who were used to being feared because of their size. Richards took a pack of cigars from his coat pocket.

The two men stopped a few feet from him. Broken Nose folded his arms and stared at Richards. Richards smiled at the attempt at intimidation. It had been a long, long time since he had been intimidated by another man, especially one who clearly had an IQ barely in double figures.

Cobweb Tattoo snorted and then spat greenish phlegm onto the pavement. ‘Nice motor. The 550 horsepower Turbo S, yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ said Richards. ‘Nice clamp. Fell off the back of a lorry, did it?’

Cobweb Tattoo ignored the sarcasm. ‘What would a car like that cost? A hundred grand?’

‘Closer to a hundred and twenty, with all the extras,’ said Richards. ‘Now are you going to take that clamp off, or not?’ He lit a cigar.

‘That’s up to you, innit?’ said Broken Nose. ‘You’re the one who parked on private property.’

‘Didn’t know it was private,’ said Richards.

‘There’s a sign,’ said Broken Nose.

‘I didn’t see a sign.’

‘It’s over there,’ said Broken Nose, pointing at a sign the size of a postcard on a brick wall some distance away.

‘Look mate, what’s your name?’ Richards asked Cobweb Tattoo.

‘We don’t give out our names,’ he said. He had a thick neck and over-developed forearms that came from steroid abuse rather than exercise.

‘Fair enough,’ said Richards. ‘Look, can we just let this slide? It’s Saturday. Who knew it’d be a problem at the weekend?’

‘No can do,’ said Cobweb Tattoo. ‘Once the clamp goes on, it doesn’t come off until you pay.’

‘How much?’

Cobweb Tattoo pointed at the sign. ‘Same as it says over there. Two hundred quid.’

‘Two hundred pounds? Are you having a laugh?’

Cobweb Tattoo folded his arms. ‘Up to you, pal,’ he said. ‘The car stays where it is until you pay.’

‘And if I don’t pay?’

‘Then we’ll have the car towed away and you’ll have to pay five hundred.’

‘Now you’re definitely having a laugh,’ said Richards.

‘Do we look like we’re having a laugh?’ growled Broken Nose.

‘No,’ said Richards. ‘You don’t. And does everyone pay?’

Cobweb Tattoo nodded. ‘They moan and they whine and sometimes they threaten us but at the end of the day, yeah, everyone pays.’

Richards took out a roll of banknotes from his pocket and peeled off four fifties. He handed them to Cobweb Tattoo. The man grinned and pocketed the cash. Broken Nose took a set of keys from a pouch on his belt and knelt down by the clamp.

Richards took a step back and took out his phone. He took a photograph of Cobweb Tattoo. ‘Here, you can’t take our picture,’ he said. Broken Nose looked up and Richards snapped a picture of his face. ‘Won’t do you any good anyway, mate. We’re totally legal. The cops won’t do anything. You’re on private property.’

Richards turned around and took a photograph of the Range Rover’s number plate. ‘I don’t give a toss about the cops, mate,’ he said, and put the phone away.

Broken Nose lifted up the clamp and carried it over to the Range Rover.

‘Do you want a receipt, then?’ asked Cobweb Tattoo.

Richards smiled. Let me explain to you what’s going to happen, whatever your name is,’ he said. ‘Then you can decide whether or not I get a receipt.’

Broken Nose raised the tailgate of the Range Rover and put the clamp away.

‘See now, what I’m going to do is give the pictures to a good friend of mine, and he’ll know everything there is to know about you and your mate within a few hours. Soon as he knows where you live, you and your ugly mate are gonna get bricks through your windows and your tyres are going to be slashed.’ Richards sucked on his cigar. ‘I know, you’re thinking that a brick through your window and a slashed tyre is no big thing, but my mate and his pals will be doing that just so you know what’s coming next. You got kids?’ Richards grinned. ‘Yeah, I can see from the look on your face that you’ve got kids. Well, your kids are going to need a lot of very expensive dental work because my mate will make sure they get smashed in the mouth with a monkey wrench. Now, if they’re really young, they’ll have their second teeth to look forward to, but if not…’ Richards shrugged and blew smoke at the man.

‘Hey, Darren, are you coming or what?’ shouted Broken Nose. Cobweb Tattoo ignored him.

‘Then your wife, she’s going to get battery acid thrown in her face. Might blind her. Might not. But however it works out, Darren, she’s not going to be pretty to look at.’ Richards grinned. ‘And you? Well, Darren old mate, they’ll probably leave you alone. But you can spend the rest of your life knowing what I did to your wife and kids. All because of two hundred fucking quid.’

‘Darren, come on!’ shouted Broken Nose.

‘Fuck off!’ yelled Cobweb Tattoo.

‘So the question you’ve got to ask yourself, Darren, is do you want to give me a receipt for that two hundred quid, or do you want to give me the money back and be on your way? No pressure, Darren, you can decide. I don’t give a fuck either way. My mate owes me a favour. It won’t cost me a thing.’

Richards took another pull on his cigar and shrugged carelessly. He turned towards his car but stopped when Cobweb Tattoo thrust the notes at him. Richards took the money and got into his car. As he drove away, Broken Nose was shouting at Cobweb Tattoo and jabbing his finger at his face. Richards took a last look in his driving mirror just in time to see Cobweb Tattoo rear back and head-butt his colleague.

CHAPTER 43

There was a lot Carolyn Castle didn’t know about Maxwell Dunbar. She didn’t know he’d been in prison, for instance. He’d served three and a half years of a seven year sentence for GBH, which the police referred to as Grievous Bodily Harm but which Dunbar described as a Good Bloody Hiding. That was when he was much younger and, ever since, he’d made sure that if and when he did get physical with someone there were no witnesses, no CCTV and, ideally, a cast-iron alibi already prepared. She also didn’t know he paid policemen for information. Dunbar liked to give the impression he was once a police officer, a Flying Squad detective no less, but, in fact, he’d never been able to pass the medical. Ever since he had been a teenager he’d struggled with Type 2 diabetes and his doctor was now threatening to start him on insulin injections. But he did have friends on several police forces, though when it came to providing him with information they were friends who needed cash in a brown envelope before they’d come up with the goods. Carolyn also didn’t know the truth about how Dunbar had dealt with her stalker. A detective friend of Dunbar’s had printed off the man’s Police National Computer file and, after reading, it Dunbar had realised a softly-softly approach wasn’t going to work. The stalker’s name was Thomas Bale and he’d been in and out of mental institutions for most of his adult life. He was thirty-seven, had an IQ of borderline retarded, and had schizophrenia that was just about controlled by medication. Carolyn wasn’t the first actress he’d fixated on. One of the stars of Emmerdale had taken out a restraining order against him after he’d turned up on her doorstep with a bunch of roses.

Carolyn had made it clear she didn’t want to take legal action against Bale because of the publicity it would create. And until Bale actually physically threatened or assaulted her, the police wouldn’t do anything. Dunbar went around to see Bale to see if he could talk some sense into him but it was clear within the first few minutes that wasn’t going to happen. He was a small weasely man with no chin and an annoying stammer and he kept insisting his human rights meant he was free to talk to whoever he wanted and there was no law against him writing to her or even standing outside her house. Bale spent a lot of time on the internet and he was able to quote his rights at length, so Dunbar had just nodded and listened. When Bale had finished speaking, Dunbar had slipped a set of brass knuckledusters onto his right hand and then punched Bale where most men had a chin, breaking his jaw and splintering his teeth. Dunbar had then grabbed Bale by the throat and told him if he ever contacted Carolyn Castle again, he would come back with a gun. Then he’d hit him in the groin, hard. He’d left Bale curled up in a ball on the floor and the next day he’d billed Carolyn for two grand.

Dunbar was sitting in his front room with a glass of whisky and Coke and his mobile phone on the coffee table in front of him, considering his options. He knew Warwick Richards, or at least knew of him. And one thing he knew for sure was that Warwick Richards wouldn’t be warned off with a knuckle duster. The honest thing to do would be to draw up a brief report on Richards and tell Carolyn not to go near him with or without a bargepole. But if he did that, he’d only be able to bill her for a few hundred. If he was lucky, he might get to keep the five hundred she’d given him. He’d paid the cheque into his bank first thing on Monday morning and it was now Wednesday and it had cleared. The last thing he wanted to do was to start handing back money. Besides, Carolyn Castle had more money than she could shake a stick at.

There was a way he could squeeze more money from the situation, but that would mean taking a risk. He took another gulp of whisky and reached for his phone. He tapped out the number from the business card Carolyn had given him. When Richards answered he sounded angry. ‘Who the fuck is this?’

‘You don’t know me Mr Richards but…’

‘If I don’t know you why the fuck are you calling this number?’ asked Richards.

‘I just want…’

‘Fuck what you want,’ snarled Richards. ‘This is my personal phone, you call me again and I’ll track you down and break your legs.’

Richards ended the call. Dunbar took the phone away from his ear and looked at it. ‘Nice,’ he muttered. He took another pull at his whisky, then tapped out an SMS. Two words. ‘Carolyn Castle.’

Ten seconds after he sent the message the phone rang. Dunbar grinned and let it ring for a while before taking the call. ‘Yes?’ he said.

‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘The name’s Maxwell Dunbar. And we need to talk.’

‘About what?’

‘You got my message. You know about what.’

‘And?’

‘She’s a client of mine,’ said Dunbar.

‘Is that right?’ said Richards.

‘That’s right.’

‘And what are you? Her lawyer?’

‘I’m a private detective,’ said Dunbar. ‘Look, we need to meet.’

‘I don’t think we do,’ said Richards.

‘We need to talk.’

‘About what?’

‘I don’t think you really want to do this over the phone, do you?’

There was a long pause. ‘Okay,’ said Richards eventually. ‘Give me your address and I’ll come around.’

‘To be honest, I’d prefer somewhere a bit more public,’ said Dunbar. ‘You’ve got a bit of a reputation. Where are you?’

‘Who the fuck do you think you are, asking me where I am? What’s it to you where I am?’

‘I was just trying to make your life a bit easier, that’s all,’ said Dunbar. ‘If you were in the club, I could come up West.’

‘You wanna come to the club?’

‘For fuck’s sake no. I’m not doing the lion’s den thing. But I can see you in Leicester Square.’

‘Can you be there in two hours?’

Dunbar looked at his watch. ‘Nah, I’ve got something on. But I can be there at eight. But I need you to be there on your own, okay?’

‘And how will I recognise you?’

‘I’ll recognise you,’ said Dunbar. There were two printed sheets on the coffee table next to the bottle of whisky. Information from the Police National Computer, including a head and shoulders photograph. ‘I want you to come on your own.’

‘Fuck that,’ said Richards. ‘I don’t know you from Adam.’

‘Well if you do bring someone, make sure they keep their distance. I don’t think you’d want anyone listening in on what I’ve got to tell you.’ Dunbar cut the connection and drained his glass. He smiled. So far, so good.

CHAPTER 44

Richards rode down in the private lift with Halpin. ‘So who is this guy, boss?’ asked Halpin. He was wearing a heavy black overcoat with the collar turned up. There was a clear plastic earpiece in his right ear that allowed him to hear what was being said by the security staff and there was a transceiver clipped to his belt.

‘Just some private eye,’ said Richards. ‘Once we’re outside keep an eye on me but keep your distance.’

‘You sure about that?’

‘He’s not going to try anything in Leicester Square on a Wednesday evening,’ said Richards. ‘Anyway I think he’s the one who’s scared.’

The lift stopped and the doors opened into the lobby of the building. Two doormen were standing there in black bomber jackets and matching earpieces. They nodded at Richards and Halpin as they stepped out.

‘All good, guys?’ asked Halpin.

‘Quiet so far,’ said the taller of the two doormen.

Halpin looked at his watch. It was only eight o’clock and the club usually didn’t start to get busy until midnight. ‘Early yet,’ said Halpin. He followed Richards through the reception area and out into Leicester Square. The square was packed with tourists and cinemagoers as Richards slowly threaded his way through to the centre. Halpin stayed at the entrance to the building, chewing gum as he kept his eyes on Richards.

Richards stopped and lit a cigar. Two middle-aged women in cheap coats glared at him and he grinned. ‘I’m outside, you sour-faced cows,’ he said. ‘If you don’t want second-hand smoke you can fuck off home.’

The two women looked away and hurried off.

‘Winning friends and influencing people, Mr Richards?’

Richards turned to look at an overweight balding man in a raincoat. ‘You’d think I was murdering their kids. You Maxwell?’

‘Max to the max,’ said Dunbar. ‘I wouldn’t mind one of them myself. What are they, Cuban?’

‘Hand-rolled on a dusky maiden’s thighs,’ said Richards, taking out his brown leather cigar case. He opened it and offered a cigar to Dunbar. Dunbar bit the end off and spat it to the floor while Richards took out a box of Swan Vestas and lit a match. ‘Never use a lighter,’ he said. ‘Ruins the taste.’

Dunbar drew on the cigar and then blew smoke contentedly. ‘No argument here,’ he said. ‘A woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke. Who said that?’

‘Rudyard Kipling,’ said Richards.

‘Thought it was Winston Churchill.’

Richards shook his head. ‘Kipling.’

‘Well he does make exceedingly good cakes,’ said Dunbar. He took another long pull on his cigar.

‘What do you want, Maxwell?’ asked Richards.

‘It’s more about what you want,’ said Dunbar. ‘Carolyn Castle.’

‘Look, I’ve got a business to run, now tell me what the fuck you want or I’m off.’

Dunbar shrugged. ‘Here’s the thing, Warwick. She wants me to check you out, tell her what sort of person you are. And there’s two answers I can give her, right? There’s the real version and there’s the sanitized version.’

‘Sanitized version?’

‘Sure. Successful businessman and club owner. Supporter of charities. Good with kids and small animals.’

‘And the unsanitized version? What would that be?’

‘Gangster, drug dealer, extortionist.’

‘I’ve never been charged with anything,’ said Richards. ‘Never been convicted. Never even had a speeding ticket.’ He pulled on his cigar.

‘Only because you’re smarter than the average crim.’

Richards exhaled a cloud of bluish smoke. ‘Which raises the question, how do you know so much about what I might or might not have done? You had a sneaky peak at my PNC file, have you? Because I’m pretty sure that would be a breach of the Data Protection Act.’

Dunbar smiled and held up his hands. ‘Look, Warwick, I’m guessing that she has a thing about you but wants to check you out before taking it further. The job is worth a couple of hundred quid at most. But I figure it’s got to be worth more to you for me to give you a clean bill of health, right?’

‘You might be right.’

‘Of course I’m right. I mean, I don’t know if it’s the sex you’re after or if you want her to help boost your profile, but you’ve got a lot to gain by having Carolyn Castle on your arm. That’s got to be worth a few grand to you, hasn’t it? So it’s a win-win situation. You get the girl, I get a few grand.’

‘The alternative being that I don’t get the girl and you get a couple of hundred.’

‘Is she going to want to be seen with a gangster? That’s the question you have to ask yourself,’ said Dunbar. ‘No offence.’

Richards smiled thinly. ‘None taken. So two grand buys me a glowing report?’

‘A few grand is what I said. How about we call it a round five grand?’

‘What did she tell you?’ asked Richards.

Dunbar frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t fuck me around, Dunbar. What is this really about? What did she say to you?’

Dunbar’s frown deepened. ‘She wanted me to check you out.’

‘That’s it?’

Dunbar shrugged. ‘I’ve worked for her before. She trusts my judgement.’

Richards laughed harshly. ‘Well that’s not working out too well for her, is it?’

‘I’m just trying to maximize my earnings,’ said Dunbar. He stood up. ‘If you’re not interested, I’ll just take the two hundred and give her the facts. It’s no skin off my nose.’

‘Relax, Max,’ said Richards. ‘I’ll pay.’

Dunbar grinned. ‘I knew you’d see it my way. Oh, and she wants to know if you know an accountant called Cohen.’

‘Does she, now?’

‘He works for some firm of accountants. Cohen and some Polish name. What do you want me to tell her?’

Richards shrugged. ‘Tell her the truth. I don’t know the man.’

‘No problem.’

‘You’ll take a cheque, right?’

Dunbar laughed. ‘It’s a cash-only deal,’ he said.

‘I don’t have that much on me,’ he said. He gestured over at Halpin. ‘See that guy over there in the overcoat? His name’s Mick. He’ll give you the cash tomorrow. He can call you on the number you used to call me?’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Dunbar. ‘Pleasure doing business with you.’ He held up the cigar. “And thanks for this.’ He grinned and walked away.

Richards went over to Halpin. ‘All good,’ he said.

‘What did he want, boss?’

‘A bloody shower for a start,’ said Richards. ‘He stank to high heaven.’ He patted Halpin on the back. ‘Come on, let’s go back to the club.’ They walked together across the square. ‘We’ve got a problem with the lovely Carolyn,’ said Richards. ‘She asked him to check me out, see if I’m naughty or nice.’

‘She hasn’t spoken to the cops. If she had, they’d be all over us by now.’ Halpin scratched his head. ‘Do you think Dunbar’s trying to set you up?’

‘He’s not smart enough for that. If his brains were gunpowder he wouldn’t be able to manage a loud fart.’

‘So all she wants to do is have you checked out? That’s good, right?’

Richards shook his head. ‘No, it’s bad. As bad as it gets. She’s checking me out because she saw what I did. She told him to find out if I knew Cohen.’

‘So why hasn’t she gone to the cops?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Richards. ‘But I know one thing. She’s one hell of an actress. When I saw her, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Then she goes and hires Dunbar. She’s one cool cookie.’ He dropped what was left of the cigar onto the pavement and ground it out with his heel.

CHAPTER 45

Dunbar’s mobile rang and he put down his copy of the Daily Mirror and looked at the phone’s screen. The caller was withholding his number but that was nothing unusual, half of his calls came from blocked numbers. It was Halpin. ‘I’ve got your five grand,’ he said.

It was Thursday, the day after Dunbar had met Richards in Leicester Square. It had been too easy and Dunbar mentally kicked himself for not asking for ten grand. ‘Excellent,’ said Dunbar.

‘One thing, the boss wants to be sure you’ve given the woman a glowing report.’

‘No problem, soon as I get the money I’ll go and see her. I’ll tell her Warwick’s the best thing since sliced bread.’

‘No, he wants more than that,’ said Halpin. ‘He wants me to be there when you check in with her.’

‘That’s not going to fly,’ said Dunbar. ‘She knows I work alone so she’s going to wonder why I’ve turned up mob-handed. Plus, she made it clear she wants this done on the QT.’

‘Then I need to hear you make a call before I give you the money.’

‘That’ll work,’ said Dunbar.

‘You can make the call, I’ll give you the five grand and everyone’s happy.’

Dunbar looked at his watch. It was ten-thirty. He had a surveillance operation he was supposed to be starting at five o’clock that evening but, other than that, he was free all day. ‘I’ll meet you somewhere,’ he said.

‘You don’t want me to know where you live, is that it?’ said Halpin. ‘Waste of time, pal. We already know.’

‘Bullshit,’ said Dunbar. He wasn’t on the electoral roll and none of the utilities were in his name.

Halpin chuckled. ‘Where are you now?’ he asked.

‘Home.’

‘I meant which room, dickhead.’

Dunbar frowned. ‘The kitchen.’

‘Walk through to your front room, mate, and open your blinds.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘I’m serious, dickhead.’

Dunbar walked quickly into his sitting room and peered through the slats of the wooden blinds covering the main window. Halpin was standing on the pavement outside the house. He grinned and waggled his fingers at Dunbar. ‘Surprise,’ he said.

Dunbar cursed and put his phone away. He went to the front door and opened it. ‘I don’t see people at home,’ he said.

‘There’s a first time for everything,’ said Halpin, unbuttoning his overcoat. He reached inside and took out a bulky envelope. ‘Do you want your bloody money or not?’

‘Yeah, all right, come in,’ said Dunbar. He held open the door and Halpin stepped inside. ‘Kitchen,’ said Dunbar. ‘I’ve just made a pot of tea.’

Halpin walked through to the kitchen as Dunbar closed the front door. ‘Nice,’ said Halpin, looking around. ‘You married then, Maxwell?’

‘Wife died a few years ago,’ said Dunbar. ‘Cancer.’

‘Yeah, cancer’s a bugger,’ said Halpin. ‘Took my old fellah last year. Colon.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Dunbar. He gestured at the teapot. ‘You want tea?’

‘Milk and one sugar,’ said Halpin, sitting down at the kitchen table. He toyed with a sovereign ring as Dunbar poured tea for the two of them.

‘Let me see the money then,’ said Dunbar as he sat down.

Halpin slid the envelope across the table. Dunbar took it and grinned when he opened it and saw the money inside. Halpin leaned over and took it from him. ‘It’s yours once you’ve made the call,’ he said.

‘You know she works every day?’ said Dunbar. ‘And her phone has to be off when she’s on the set.’

‘I’m in no rush,’ said Halpin. ‘Just keep calling until you get through.’

CHAPTER 46

Andrea had the giggles. Corpsing they called it, and Andrea could have corpsed for the Olympics. The scene was a simple two-hander, Diana and Fiona sitting in a wine bar discussing their friend Saffie’s new boyfriend. Saffie was a buyer for a top London store. She was in her fifties and had a thing about younger men. Much younger. There were ten lines of dialogue in all, accompanied by sips of Ribena masquerading as claret. The scene was the day before Diana would discover Fiona in bed with her husband and it was light banter with a couple of very funny lines.

The first take had been almost perfect except for the fact that, at one point, Carolyn had accidentally clinked her glass against the bottle. It was a small thing but Harrington wanted to go again. That’s when the giggling had started. The line was simple enough. All Andrea had to say was ‘good things come in small packages’, which was meant to be a double entendre and was supposed to be accompanied by Andrea raising one eyebrow, one of her trademark looks. She fluffed the line and said ‘on small packages’ and, from that point on, she was unable to say the line without cracking up. She had half a dozen goes at it before apologizing profusely to the director and the crew, took a minute to compose herself and tried again. Unfortunately, she went from bad to worse and would giggle as soon as Harrington called ‘action!’

The giggling was infectious and soon Carolyn was also unable to speak and the two of them sat at the table giggling until tears as the director became increasingly frustrated. Eventually, after the fifteenth botched take, he took off his headphones and walked over to the table, his cheeks flushed. He bent down and lowered his voice. ‘Ladies, please, we are so far behind already today and if I don’t get this done and on to the next scene, I’m going to be in deep, deep shit.’

‘I’m sorry, Jake, really,’ said Andrea, wiping her eyes.

‘And now you’re smearing your make-up,’ said Harrington. ‘Come on, we’re all professionals, please let’s just do the job that we’re paid for, shall we?’

‘Jake, you’re right,’ said Carolyn. She took a deep breath. ‘It’s just a case of the giggles. We’ll get over it.’

Harrington looked at his watch then stood up. ‘Okay, take ten everyone,’ he shouted. ‘I need make-up to work on Andrea and when we start shooting I want everyone on their best behaviour.’

He went back to his monitors while Kelly rushed over with her make-up box and began fussing over Andrea. Carolyn stood up and took out her phone. She switched it on. There was a voicemail from Max Dunbar so she found a quiet part of the set and called him back. ‘Sorry, Max, I was shooting,’ she said.

‘Not with real bullets, I hope,’ he said.

‘Just a difficult scene. So, you have something for me?’

‘Yes, I’ve asked around about Warwick Richards, and done a little digging. He’s quite well known on the social circuit, he owns Charades nightclub in Leicester Square has quite a few commercial properties in Soho. He’s a bit larger than life, bit of a character, but he’s as clean as they come.’

‘Not a gangster, then?’

Dunbar laughed. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ he asked.

‘I just wondered,’ said Carolyn. ‘And you say he owns a nightclub. They’re usually pretty shady, aren’t they?’

‘Back in the Eighties, maybe,’ said Dunbar. ‘But with all the licensing laws and whatnot, it’s a much more professional business these days. Look, I had a word with a few of my cop friends and they all said he’s as clean as a whistle. Whiter than white. Does a lot of charity work but keeps it low profile.’

‘You’re sure, Max?’

‘Sure, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘I’m not saying he doesn’t meet the odd villain in his club, but that’s par for the course in the hospitality business. Warwick Richards is a straight-shooter, never had so much as a speeding ticket.’

‘Really?’

‘I shouldn’t be telling you this but I checked him out on the PNC. The Police National Computer. I’m not supposed to do that, what with the Data Protection Act and all, but I can tell you he doesn’t have a record.’

‘That’s good to hear. And did you check to see if he had any connection with an accountant called Nicholas Cohen?’

‘I did and I couldn’t find anything. He uses a city firm, one of the biggies. There’s no connection between him and the company you mentioned, Cohen and Kawczynski.’

‘Okay, Max, thank you. You’ll send me your bill, right?’

‘I’ll put it in the post,’ he said. ‘Oh, and there’s something else you might be interested in. He’s not married, never has been.’

Carolyn ended the call and switched off her phone. She was surprised at what Dunbar had told her. As clean as they come, he’d said. Yet she’d seen him batter a man to death. Or had she? She was starting to doubt her own memory. It had been late at night, there had been reflections on the glass, she’d had quite a bit to drink. When she’d first met Warwick Richards she had been sure he was the man she’d seen but after having spent time in his company, she was finding it harder to remember what she’d seen that night.

Harrington waved her over to the table and she put the phone away and went to join Andrea.

CHAPTER 47

Dunbar put down his phone and grinned at Halpin. ‘Happy?’ he said. ‘She bought it hook, line and sinker.’

‘You’re a natural,’ said Halpin. ‘You could be an actor, no question.’

Dunbar grinned. ‘Yeah, I’ve been told my face is perfect for radio.’ He held out his hand. ‘So I’ll take the money now, if that’s okay with you.’

‘You’ve earned it,’ said Halpin. He tossed the envelope to Dunbar and stood up. ‘Don’t spend it all at once.’

Dunbar grabbed at the envelope. As Halpin walked behind him he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a large flick knife. Dunbar started to turn when he heard the blade click into place but it was too late. Halpin put his left hand over Dunbar’s mouth and drew the knife across his throat in one smooth movement. Blood gurgled between Dunbar’s lips and he slumped to the ground, his hands clasped to the gaping wound. His body went into convulsions but after a few seconds it went still as a pool of blood continued to spread across the carpet.

Halpin wiped the knife clean on a dishcloth then put it and the envelope of money into his coat pocket. He spent the next ten minutes making it look as if the house had been broken into and Dunbar killed by a burglar. The area where the private eye lived was a burglary hotspot and all the police needed to see was a broken window and that Dunbar’s watch, wallet and BluRay player were missing for them to assume it was a drug addict looking to pay for his latest fix.

CHAPTER 48

Carolyn knocked on the door to Sinead O’Brien’s office. There was a plastic sign with her name and, underneath it, CASTING. ‘It’s open,’ called Sinead.

Carolyn opened the door. Sinead was texting on her BlackBerry and she looked up and smiled when she saw Carolyn. ‘Give me a minute,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to get an Asian model with short hair.’

Carolyn nodded and sat down. There were whiteboards all around the walls of Sinead’s office plastered with photographs of actors and actresses. In pride of place behind the desk was the whiteboard containing the pictures of the main characters on the show with Carolyn and Seb’s head and shoulders in the centre.

‘Okay, done,’ said Sinead. ‘How the hell are you? Haven’t seen you for days.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Carolyn. ‘Just wanted to pick your brains. Fancy a cigarette break? I’ve got a pass for fifteen minutes.’

Sinead nodded enthusiastically. ‘I’m gasping,’ she said. She grabbed her cigarettes and lighter and followed Carolyn outside.

There were half a dozen people in the designated smoking area but they found a spot where they couldn’t be overhead. They lit their cigarettes and both inhaled gratefully.

Carolyn liked Sinead. She was from Belfast and had black hair and blue eyes and a figure that showed her love of Italian food cooked by her Italian husband, a talented chef with whom she’d had two children. ‘You want to ask me about yesterday’s meeting, don’t you,’ she said.

‘Am I that transparent?’ asked Carolyn.

‘You haven’t said a word to me in four weeks,’ she said. ‘I figured you must want something.’

‘I’m sorry. I just don’t know who else I can talk to.’

‘Really? I thought you had an in with that new writer, Jeff.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because he was singing your praises. He almost got to blows with Simon Hastings.’

Hastings was the lead writer on the show. ‘About what?’

‘I’m not supposed to talk about the meeting,’ she said.

‘What, it’s turning into Fight Club, is it?’

Sinead laughed. ‘I’ll tell you, of course I will, but mum’s the word and you didn’t hear anything from me.’

Carolyn had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was certain she was going to hear bad news. ‘Sure. Of course.’

Sinead blew a plume of smoke up into the leaden sky before continuing. ‘Hastings wants a clear out of the cast. He wants to bring in new blood. He thinks a young cast will boost ratings.’

‘Shit,’ said Carolyn.

‘Jeff said he thought you were a vital part of the cast and that your character should be at the forefront of any storylines.’

‘That was nice of him.

‘Carolyn and Jeff, sitting in a tree,’ sang Sinead. ‘K-I-S-S-I-N-G.’

‘Very funny,’ said Carolyn.

‘Seriously, he’s a fan. And Sally is, too.’

‘Now that surprises me,’ said Carolyn.

‘No, seriously. Sally is right behind you. Lisa was siding with Hastings and I think they had a power play thing going on. Oh, and that little runt, Martin, is with them. He really has something against you.’

‘Does he now?’

Sinead nodded. ‘He said you couldn’t act your way out of a paper bag, but you didn’t hear that from me. He wants you to go out in a blaze of glory, a car inferno or a rape-murder.’

Carolyn gritted her teeth. ‘Bastard.’

‘Don’t worry, Sally knocked that straight back. But you need to watch Martin, he’s got it in for you. And with him, Lisa and Hastings on your back, you’ve got a rough road ahead of you.’ She flicked ash away.

‘I had a feeling something like this was going to happen. So where do I stand?’

‘Sally’s allowing the writers to introduce new characters. And Andrea is going to get a big push. But you and Seb will stay centre stage, for the next three months anyway. At that point, they’ll talk to focus groups and see how the new characters are being received.’

‘That’s better than nothing, I suppose.’

‘Sally’s in your corner, and Jeff is keen to write for you. And you know Paul is on your side.’ Sinead took a long pull on her cigarette.

Carolyn sighed. ‘It’s a nasty business, isn’t it?’

‘TV? Always has been. But it’s worse now that the network controls everything. These days you only have to piss off one set of suits and your career is over. But seriously, Carolyn. Sally is on your side.’

‘Until the focus groups start saying they want more teenagers. Then she’ll have me out of the door faster than you can say Holby City.’ She dropped her cigarette butt onto the ground and stamped on it. ‘Still, I’ve got three months.’

‘And a lot can happen in three months. Network executives come and go, you know that.’

Carolyn nodded. ‘Thanks for the pep talk. And thanks for the info.’

CHAPTER 49

Terry poured red wine into Carolyn’s glass. ‘That better not be Ribena,’ she said. ‘I spent all morning sipping blackcurrant juice.’

‘Darling, this is a Nuits St Georges and it cost Gabe thirty quid a bottle.’ They were in Terry’s home, sprawled on a sofa in front of the television. Carolyn had been shooting on location until nine o’clock, scenes of her arriving at the townhouse they used as Diana’s home and a scene from another episode where she and Seb were having an argument. That had been quite good fun because she got to slap Seb across the face and Harrington had made her do it half a dozen times from different angles.

The house wasn’t far from Terry’s place so Carolyn had asked him if she could pop around. She wasn’t planning on being there for long so Billy was waiting for her outside in the Mercedes. She’d asked if he’d wanted to come inside to wait but, ever the professional, he said he’d stay with the car. On reflection, he had probably made the right choice — Terry didn’t live in the best of areas and there was every chance they’d get back to the car to find it on bricks with the wheels missing. She sipped the wine and sighed appreciatively. ‘Now that is nice,’ she said. ‘Well worth Gabe’s money. Where is he, by the way?’

‘He’s gone to see his grandmum. She not getting any better.’

‘And he still hasn’t told her he’s gay?’

Terry shook his head. ‘The thing is, with her Alzheimer’s he could tell and she’d forget about it within hours. But he says she’s lived this long without knowing and he doesn’t want to cause her any distress now. His mum and dad know and they’re cool about it. About the gay thing, anyway. The dad’s still coming to terms with the fact I’m black.’

‘Seriously?’

‘He pretends to be cool about it, but I can see it in his eyes that he’s not comfortable.’

‘You’ll grow on him, babe,’ said Carolyn.

‘That’s what Gabe says. So dish me the dirt on Richards. What’s the story?’

‘My private dick has checked him out,’ she said.

‘Darling, I love it when you talk dirty. But really, you should have got a better class of detective. You know, Magnum butch or Hazell cute. Maxwell Dunbar is just a sleazebag.’

‘Terry, you’ve got to stop watching those old TV shows.’

‘Come on, Nicholas Ball in the Eighties, couldn’t you just eat him alive?’

‘I think you’ll find Hazell was late Seventies,’ said Carolyn. ‘He was good in EastEnders, remember? Played a gangster. What was his name?’ She grinned. ‘Terry, that was it. Terry Bates.’

‘Who the hell comes up with these names?’

‘The writers?’

‘Yeah, but Terry Bates? How is that a villain’s name? Now Warwick Richards, that’s a classy name for a villain.’

‘But he’s not,’ said Carolyn. ‘Not a villain. That’s what Max says, anyway.’

‘He’s sure?’

‘Says he’s spoken to the cops and he doesn’t have a record.’

‘That’s good news,’ said Terry. ‘I suppose. Or is it?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘It would have made more sense if he was a gangster or had been inside for assault.’

‘Nice guys don’t commit murder? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘He’s handsome and charming. Hard to think of him as a killer.’

‘Ted Bundy was handsome and charming,’ said Terry.

‘You’re not helping,’ said Carolyn. ‘And you’ve clearly got a thing about Ted Bundy.’ She sipped her wine and sighed. ‘I’m so bloody confused.’

‘Why?’

‘Because there’s still this nagging doubt at the back of my mind it was him I saw in Cohen’s house.’

‘Darling, was it or wasn’t it? It’s a simple enough question.’

She sighed again. ‘I don’t know for sure it was him, and I don’t know for sure it wasn’t. I mean, yes, when I saw him I thought he looked like the guy I saw in the house. But maybe that’s because he’s tall and good-looking and has dark hair.’

‘Carolyn, is it him or not?’

‘That’s the thing, I really don’t know for sure. If I was in court and a barrister asked me was I absolutely one-hundred percent sure, I couldn’t say hand on heart that I was. And what if he has an alibi? I mean, what if it wasn’t him and I say it was and it turns out he was in the nightclub that night and he’s got a hundred witnesses. How am I going to look then?’

‘You’re over-thinking it again, darling.’

‘I’m just considering the options. When I saw him at the charity do, I was sort of sure it was him. At first. But then he sat down and talked to me and I wasn’t so sure. And now, when I think back to that night, it’s Warwick’s face I see. But is that because I’ve met him? I’d been drinking. It was late at night. I might be wrong. And he doesn’t drive a Bentley. He has a Porsche. A Cayenne.’

‘I wouldn’t trust a man who drives a car named after a condiment,’ said Terry. ‘Besides, he could have switched cars.’

‘Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve,’ said Carolyn. ‘And he didn’t know Cohen. If he didn’t know Cohen, why would he kill him?’

Terry poured more wine into their glasses. ‘I don’t know what more you want to do.’

Her mobile phone rang and she picked up her bag. She pulled out her phone and looked at the screen. ‘Speak of the devil,’ she said.

‘Cohen?’ said Terry, frowning.

‘Warwick.’

CHAPTER 50

‘Maybe she’s ignoring you,’ said Halpin. He puffed on his cigar and blew smoke up at the ceiling. He was sitting on one of the two massive white leather Italian sofas that dominated the Clerkenwell flat where Richards lived. Richards was pacing up and down in front of the cast iron fireplace that was almost as tall he was. The fireplace had once been in a stately home that belonged to a second cousin of the Queen and it had cost Richards a small fortune. They’d had to use a crane to get it through the window of the fourth floor flat. It was on the top floor, and Richards owned the three flats below. He had bought the flats one at a time, then acquired the freehold, but he only used the top flat. He was planning to convert the lower floors into a gymnasium, a sauna and a games room but was having trouble finding a designer who was on his wavelength.

‘You sure Dunbar gave me the all-clear?’

‘He said the sun shone out of your arse, pretty much.’

‘While I remember it, where’s the five grand?’

Halpin chuckled and took the envelope from his pocket and dropped it onto the coffee table. ‘I was just waiting for the right moment,’ he said.

‘Of course you were,’ he said. He held up his hand, telling Halpin to be quiet. Carolyn had answered the call. ‘Carolyn, how are you?’ he asked.

‘Tired,’ she said.

‘Rough day?’

‘A long day,’ she said. ‘I’m halfway through a bottle of wine as we speak.’

‘I don’t know how you can work such long hours.’

‘The alternative is unemployment, unfortunately. If you work on a soap you don’t get to choose your hours.’

‘So how about I take your mind off work this weekend? Come and have a drink on my boat.’

‘I’m not very good on boats, Warwick,’ she said. ‘I get queasy in the bath.’

‘It’s a gin palace at St Katherine’s Dock, near the Tower of London,’ he said. ‘We won’t be going anywhere. Just a couple of drinks and then we’ll go eat. There’s plenty of good restaurants around there.’

‘What’s the point of a boat if you never go anywhere?’

He laughed. ‘I do take it out sometimes. It’s big enough to take across the Channel, if that’s what you want. But mainly I just use it to entertain clients, pop up and down the river, show them the sights. Foreigners love it. But I just thought Saturday we could have a drink or two. Then have brunch. Are you up for it?’

For a few seconds there was silence. ‘Sure, why not?’ she said eventually.

‘I’ll pick you up,’ he said. ‘Tennish, is that okay?’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’

‘Terrific. See you Saturday.’

‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ she asked.

Richards frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ll need my address.’

‘God, yes, sorry. Let me get a pen.’ He paced up and down. He didn’t need a pen because he already knew where she lived. ‘Okay, go ahead,’ he said. She gave him the address and he ended the call. He looked over at Halpin and winked. ‘Easy, peasy,’ he said.

‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Halpin.

‘I take her on the boat and slip her a mickey,’ said Richards. ‘I’ll put her in one of those metal trunks and then pop off to the club to establish an alibi. You can take the boat out and do what we did with Cohen’s body. Dump it in the North Sea at night.’

‘You’re sure about this?’ asked Halpin. He puffed on his cigar.

‘She’s suspicious or she wouldn’t have gone to that scumbag, Dunbar,’ said Richards. ‘Sooner or later she’s going to get suspicious again.’

‘Plus you might talk in your sleep.’

‘Ha ha ha,’ said Richards. ‘And get your feet off the coffee table, will you? Were you born in a barn?’

Halpin did as he was told. ‘Boss, I’ve been thinking.’

‘That’s a new one for you, mate.’

‘I’m serious, boss. It’s the truck driver.’

‘Reg, whatsit?’

Halpin nodded. ‘When they realise Castle has gone missing, there’ll be publicity. Lots of it. It’ll be all over the papers. Look what happened when Jill Dando got shot.’

‘That was a bit different. She was shot on her doorstep. With what we’ve got planned, no one is going to find her.’

‘They’ll look, boss. And the papers will be all over it. And when that happens, Reg is going to come forward. Stands to reason, right? He was one of the last people to see her.’

Richards nodded thoughtfully. ‘And he’ll tell them where he picked her up.’

‘Which means they’ll find Cohen’s house sooner or later. And they’ll realise Cohen is missing. So we’re vulnerable on two fronts. If Reg talks to the cops he’ll tell them about us. And even if that doesn’t ring alarm bells, they’re going to find out Cohen was your accountant.’

Richards sat down. He knew that Halpin was right. ‘Shit,’ he said.

‘So you can see where I’m going with this?’

‘Can you take care of it?’

‘I can, boss. Sure. But we’re going to have to be clever about it.’

‘I hear you,’ said Richards.

‘I’ll make it look like a robbery, maybe. And I’ll do it when he’s away from home. That way the Met won’t be investigating it. The further away the better.’

‘Do you need help?’

‘The fewer people who know what’s going on the better,’ said Halpin. ‘And it’ll be easy enough, he’s not going to be expecting it.’

‘When do you want to do it?’

‘The sooner the better. But it’ll depend on his schedule. Let me do some checking.’

CHAPTER 51

‘I don’t believe you just did that,’ said Terry. ‘What was going through your head? You think he’s a murderer and you’ve just agreed to go on a boat with him?’

‘The boat’s not going anywhere,’ she said. ‘I’ve been to St Katherine’s Dock before, it’s full of million pound boats for posers.’

‘Even so, darling. You’re playing with fire.’

Carolyn grinned. ‘I love it when you get all protective,’ she said.

‘I’m serious,’ said Terry. ‘Have you forgotten what you were like that night after you’d seen him kill Cohen? You were shaking.’

‘I’m not sure if it was him. Really. But maybe if I spend a bit more time with him I’ll get a better sense of what he’s like.’

‘And what if he knows you saw him?’

‘Then he’s a better actor than I am,’ she said. ‘And I’ve just been given a lifetime achievement award, remember?’

‘I just want you to be careful, okay?’

She raised her wine glass in salute. ‘I will be.’

‘You need to think about this, Carolyn. Suppose he saw you that night. And tracked you down. And now he’s trying to get close to you…’

‘He didn’t see me, I’m pretty sure of that. As soon as the security lights went on, I was out of there like a bat out of hell. I practically leapt over the gates.’

‘You told me you left your shoes behind.’

‘Yes, and they were Prada. They were lovely shoes but there’s no way he could have traced me that way. Everyone wears Prada these days.’

‘I don’t think you should go.’

‘You could come with me?’

Terry laughed. ‘Yeah, I’m sure he’d want me along as a third wheel.’ He wagged a finger at her. ‘I’m serious darling, you need to be careful.’

‘You are so masterful sometimes, I bet Gabe just goes weak at the knees, doesn’t he?’ She finished her wine and held up her empty glass. ‘Now how about a refill?’

CHAPTER 52

Detective Inspector Mark Biddulph nodded at the cluster of police cars around an ambulance and what appeared to be a SOCO van. ‘Give them plenty of room, Kim,’ he said. ‘Last time I was at a murder scene my car was scraped by an ambulance and I spent hours on the paperwork.’

‘No problem,’ said Detective Sergeant Kimberley Marriott. She had been Biddulph’s regular partner for the past six months on the Met’s Homicide Command. The car was from the office pool but she knew the inspector was right, every scratch and dent had to be accounted for and they both had better things to be doing with their time.

Marriott parked the car and she and Biddulph climbed out. He was in his late forties, tall and thin with a receding hairline. His tendency to wear dark suits and a black raincoat gave him the look of a dour undertaker. Marriott was a decade younger with shoulder-length blonde hair and a trim figure that belied the fact that she was the mother of three young children.

A uniformed sergeant walked over. From the look on his face it was clear he was as pleased as the two detectives to have a late-night murder case. ‘Jim McDonald, I’m with the Safer Neighbourhood Team,’ said the sergeant.

‘And how’s that working out for you?’ asked Biddulph. He flashed his warrant card and Marriott did the same.

The sergeant frowned and then realised the inspector was joking. ‘Right, yes,’ he said. ‘The victim’s name is Maxwell Dunbar. He’s lived here for twenty years or so. Looks like he disturbed a burglar. Phone’s gone, along with his wallet and watch and, we think, a DVD player and a laptop.’

‘Forced entry?’

The sergeant nodded. ‘Smashed a window at the back. Dunbar was a private detective, worked from home.’

‘Was he ever in the Job?’ asked Marriott.

The sergeant shook his head. ‘No. He applied way back when but he had medical issues. Tried to sign up as a Special but private eyes aren’t allowed, for obvious reasons.’

‘SOCO already in?’ asked Biddulph as he started walking towards the house with Marriott in tow.

‘They got here half an hour ago,’ said the sergeant.

‘And the medic’s pronounced him dead?’

‘All done and dusted.’

They walked by the ambulance. A paramedic was sitting in the open rear door, smoking a cigarette. He nodded as the cops passed by.

‘Any similar burglaries recently?’ asked Biddulph.

‘With fatal stabbings?’

‘Involving a knife. And smashing a window.’

‘That’s pretty much every burglary we have around here,’ said the sergeant. ‘They’re pretty much all drug-related and we don’t see much in the way of subtlety.’

The front door was open, guarded by a uniformed constable in a high-visibility jacket. He stepped to the side to allow them in. ‘Body’s in the sitting room,’ said the sergeant.

He led them along the hall and into the sitting room. A SOCO technician — a young man with a bad case of acne — was taking swabs from the under the victim’s fingernails. The victim was an overweight man in his late forties or early fifties.

‘Do we need shoe coverings?’ asked Biddulph.

‘I won’t be getting anything off the carpet and I’ve already given it the once-over,’ said the technician. ‘Providing you don’t step in the blood, you’ll be okay.’

There was a gaping wound in the victim’s throat and a large pool of congealed blood around his head.

‘Time of death?’ asked Biddulph.

The technician frowned. ‘Do you mind talking to my boss? He’s in the kitchen. He’s senior to me and he gets a bit tetchy if I do the talking. Sorry.’

‘I know exactly what you mean,’ said Marriott.

Biddulph and Marriott headed down the hallway to the kitchen. ‘What did you mean by that?’ asked Biddulph.

‘I was joking,’ said Marriott.

‘You’re sure?’

Marriott nodded. ‘I’m sure.’

A SOCO technician in white overalls was picking up pieces of glass with a pair of tweezers and putting them in a clear evidence bag. He was a short man, almost as wide as he was tall, with a greasy comb-over. Biddulph recognised him. John Yates, a SOCO veteran of more than thirty years. Yates grinned when he saw Biddulph. ‘Hello, Mark. Not often I see you outside of office hours.’ He straightened up and nodded at Marriott. ‘How’s it going, Kim?’

‘I could have done without a Thursday night murder, that’s for sure,’ said Marriott.

‘I think you’ll find it was a morning murder,’ said Yates. ‘Time of death probably eleven, maybe twelve. Knife wound to the throat. Left to right so the killer’s right-handed.’

‘From behind? Left to right?’

‘That’s what it looks like. Something wrong with that?’

‘Burglars don’t tend to cut throats from behind, do they? They tend to stab or slash.’

‘Burglars tend to just run when they’re disturbed,’ said Yates. ‘They only get violent if their escape route is blocked.’

‘He definitely died in the front room?’

‘That’s where the blood is.’

‘No sign of the knife?’

Yates shook his head. ‘Probably took it with him.’

‘Probably brought it with him is more to the point,’ said Biddulph. He smiled thinly. ‘No pun intended.’

‘What pun?’ asked Yates.

‘Knife. Point.’

‘That’s not really a pun,’ said Yates. ‘More of a juxtaposition of bladed terms.’

Biddulph looked over at Marriott but she raised her hands. ‘Don’t involve me,’ she said. ‘I’m still trying to work out what’s funny about Little Britain.’

Biddulph walked over to a knife block. There were slots for four knives and all the knives were in place. He pulled open a drawer and looked down at a breadknife and a large carving knife.

‘Something wrong?’ asked Marriott.

Biddulph sighed. ‘I don’t know.’ He closed the drawer and walked back to the sitting room. Marriott followed him. The uniformed sergeant had gone, probably pleased to have washed his hands of the crime scene.

They stood at the body’s feet. Biddulph pointed at the pool of dried blood around the head. ‘He died in this room, that’s for sure. But, like John said, burglars usually only attack when they’re trapped. The first thing a professional housebreaker does is make sure he’s got an avenue of escape. He’ll unlock a door, open a window, he’ll have some way of making a quick exit. And at the first sign they’ve been rumbled, they’re off.’

‘Unless they’re high on drugs.’

‘This happened in the morning and most druggies don’t get up before midday.’

Biddulph walked around the room and went to stand at the head of the body, with his back to the window. ‘The victim was in this room. The burglar broke in through the kitchen. So how does the killing happen here?’

‘Dunbar doesn’t hear the burglar break in. Maybe he’s out at the shops. The burglar is in here. Dunbar comes home. Walks in here and the burglar is trapped.’

Biddulph nodded. ‘Nice,’ he said.

‘You think that’s what happened?’

‘No. But it’s a nice theory.’

‘So where am I wrong?’

‘I’m not saying you’re wrong. I just think it’s unlikely. There’s nowhere in here to hide so I don’t see the burglar can have come up behind him.’

‘Behind the door? Then he grabs Dunbar from behind. Cuts his throat. Then turns as he struggles and dies.’

Biddulph smiled. ‘You really like the disturbed burglar theory, don’t you?’

‘Sometimes the simplest explanation is the right one. That’s what you always tell me.’

‘Yes. And usually I’m right. But Dunbar worked from home. Any burglar worth his salt would have known that and moved on to easier pickings.’ He held up a hand. ‘And before you say that the burglar could have waited until Dunbar left the house, he was wearing slippers and no coat and no sign he’d brought anything in from the shops.’

‘The burglar could have been drugged up? Not thinking clearly.’

‘Clear enough to kill with one cut? The average druggie tends to lash out a bit more. And other than the broken window, it’s all a bit clean and clinical, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Marriott. ‘Where does that leave us?’

‘With a dead body and a broken window,’ said Biddulph. ‘You might be right. It might be an opportunistic druggie who lost the plot, but let’s have a good look around, shall we?’

CHAPTER 53

Carolyn looked at the clock on the wall. It was a quarter to five and there were still two scenes to be shot. It was Friday and the following week was already choc-a-bloc so she knew she wouldn’t be leaving until they had finished. Tracey was working on her hair, putting it up because the next scene was a cocktail party and the director wanted her looking glamorous. Glamorous was all well and good but it meant an hour in make-up and doing the scene in high heels which would play havoc with her ankles all weekend.

A runner popped her head around the door. It was a girl with cropped hair and a nose ring, a new face to Carolyn. ‘Miss Castle? Mr Day wants to see you in his office.’

‘Now?’ said Tracey, two hairpins between her lips. ‘I’m halfway through this.’

‘He said it was important,’ said the runner.

Tracey grunted in annoyance and stepped back from the chair. She took the two pins from her mouth and tossed them into a plastic container in front of the mirror. ‘They think we can just throw your hair together, clearly,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry, Tracey. I’ll be right back.’ Carolyn took the blue sheet from around her neck as she stood up, and draped it over the chair. She grimaced at the reflection in the mirror. ‘I look like I’ve just walked through a wind tunnel’.

Tracey handed her a scarf. ‘Wear that,’ she said. ‘I don’t want anyone thinking I did that to your hair.’

Carolyn laughed and put the scarf on the chair. ‘I’ll explain to everyone,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, your reputation is secure.’

Carolyn headed down the corridor to Day’s office, wondering what it was he wanted. It could only be bad news, she was certain of that, and the only bad news she could think of involved her future on the show. Sinead had been optimistic but things could change quickly in TV–Land.

Laura looked up from her computer and frowned when she saw the state of Carolyn’s hair. ‘It’s a work in progress,’ said Carolyn. ‘Paul wants to see me. Is it bad news?’

‘There are two detectives in with him but I don’t know what it’s about,’ she said. She stood up, knocked on Day’s door, and opened it.

Day was sitting on one of his sofas and there was a middle-aged man and a blonde woman on the sofa facing him. Day stood up and hugged her. ‘A couple of policemen want to talk to you, darling,’ he said. ‘Takes me back to my days on The Bill.’ He waved a hand at the two visitors. ‘Inspector Marriott and Sergeant Biddulph.’

‘It’s the other way around, actually,’ said the man standing up. He flashed a warrant card. ‘Inspector Biddulph. My colleague is Sergeant Marriott.’

Carolyn’s heart raced and she felt light-headed. ‘Has something happened to Robbie?’

‘Robbie?’ repeated the detective, frowning.

‘My son. Robbie. Is he okay?’

‘We’re not here about your son, Mrs Castle,’ said Marriott.

Carolyn put her hand over her heart. ‘Thank God for that. You scared the life out of me.’

Biddulph waved at the sofa next to Day. ‘Please just have a seat while we ask you a few questions.’

Carolyn was still finding it difficult to breathe. ‘I thought something had happened to Robbie,’ she said to Day as she sat down. He patted her on the knee and smiled sympathetically.

Biddulph put his warrant card away and sat down next to his sergeant. ‘I’m sorry to have caused you concern there, Mrs Castle,’ he said. ‘We’re actually here in connection with a Mr Maxwell Dunbar. We called your home but kept getting your machine and then realised we’d have a better chance of catching you at the studio.’

‘Max?’

‘You do know Mr Dunbar?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, he does some work for me from time to time.’

‘Is he the guy who dealt with that stalker of yours?’ asked Day.

Carolyn nodded.

‘A stalker?’ asked Biddulph.

‘It was some time ago,’ said Carolyn. ‘I had a fan who was getting a bit too up close and personal and Max sorted it out for me. He’s a private detective.’

‘Well I’m afraid to tell you that Mr Dunbar is dead.’

Carolyn nodded slowly, not sure how to react. She barely knew the man and was more concerned about why the two detectives had come to see her. ‘What happened?’

‘He was murdered, I’m afraid. At his home, yesterday.’

‘Murdered?’ Carolyn put her hand over her mouth. ‘Max? No.’

‘There was a robbery at his house. At least, some things were stolen. But we’re just contacting the people he saw over the last couple of weeks, just to get a feel for how he was.’

‘I’m confused,’ said Carolyn. ‘He was robbed, you say?’

‘He was robbed, there’s no question of that,’ said Biddulph. ‘His phone, wallet and watch were taken, along with a BluRay player. His area is a burglary blackspot, lots of drug addicts with habits to pay for. But the level of violence was more than you’d expect from a robbery gone wrong. If a householder disturbs a burglar, more often than not the burglar will just run for it. If they lash out, it’s usually because they were cornered. It’s very, very rare for a burglar to kill during the commission of the burglary.’

‘So what do you think happened?’ asked Carolyn.

‘We’re not sure,’ said Biddulph. ‘Which is why we’re speaking to everyone he was in contact with over the last week or so. We found a copy of a cheque for five hundred pounds in his desk, a cheque dated last Saturday.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Can you tell me what that was for?’

‘For?’

‘It’s a lot of money, can you tell me why you gave it to him?’

Carolyn shrugged. ‘He was doing some work for me.’

‘What, specifically?’ asked Biddulph.

‘Does that matter?’

‘It would, if he was blackmailing you,’ said the sergeant.

‘What?’ said Carolyn.

‘Sergeant Marriott is speaking hypothetically,’ said Biddulph, flashing his sergeant a withering look.

‘You think I killed him because he was blackmailing me?’

Biddulph put up a hand. ‘We’re following several lines of inquiry,’ he said. ‘But, at the moment, we are looking for a motive.’

‘Well, Max wasn’t blackmailing me. The idea’s ridiculous. I have another fan who has been following me a little too zealously. Max helps me sort things out like that. He was going to track them down and then get them to stop.’

‘And how does he do that, exactly?’ asked Marriott, scribbling furiously in her notebook.

‘Usually just making contact is enough,’ said Carolyn. ‘But if that doesn’t deter them, Max sets a lawyer on them.’

‘And do they ever get violent, these fans?’ asked Biddulph.

‘No, they’re just a bit deluded. You surely don’t think one of my fans killed Max, do you?’

‘We’re just looking at all lines of inquiry at the moment,’ said the inspector. ‘So when was the last time you saw him?’

‘Saturday. When I gave him the cheque.’

‘Did he usually make house calls?’

Carolyn shrugged. ‘We work long hours and I didn’t want him turning up at the studio. Saturday worked for him, too. He came around to the house and I gave him the cheque.’

‘And you didn’t see him again?’ asked Biddulph.

Carolyn shook her head.

‘Did you speak at all?’

Carolyn looked at the inspector, keeping her face impassive. She knew that, as a detective, he would be good at reading people but, as an actor, she was equally adept at hiding her true emotions and feelings. They had already said his phone had been stolen so she could probably lie about the call that Dunbar had made yesterday. But, even without the phone, they would be able to check his calls with the phone company and they would have a record of all the calls he had made. There was no point in lying or being evasive. They might even already know that he had called her. ‘He phoned me once, just to tell me he was still working on the case.’

‘When was that?’ asked Marriott, looking up from his notebook.

‘Yesterday, actually.’

‘When, precisely?’

‘Sometime in the morning.’

‘I really could do with a definite time,’ said Marriott.

‘Elevenish, I guess.’

‘That’s about the time he was killed, Mrs Castle,’ said Marriott, and Biddulph flashed her another withering look. Carolyn realised that was information he didn’t want her to have.

‘It was really just a check call, to say he’d be making more enquiries.’

‘And can you give us the fan’s name?’

‘I don’t have it to hand,’ said Carolyn. ‘I got a couple of letters and I gave them to Max.’ That was a lie but she doubted it would be a problem. And it would cause her a lot less grief than telling them about Warwick Richards. She figured that was one can of worms best left unopened.

CHAPTER 54

Terry looked over the top of his wine glass at Carolyn and narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re as mad as the proverbial hatter, you know that?’ It was close to midnight and they were sitting in Carolyn’s kitchen. Filming had kept her in the studio until after ten and, as Billy was driving her home, she’d phoned Terry and asked him if he fancied a nightcap. As they’d demolished a bottle of Nuits St Georges from Gabe’s cellar, she’d told him about the visit from the two detectives.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘What, the day after Max Dunbar is murdered, you’re going out onto a boat with Warwick Richards?’

‘You think there’s a connection?’

‘Carolyn, will you listen to yourself? You pay Dunbar to check up on Richards and five days later someone cuts his throat.’

‘Oh, come on, Warwick’s not like that.’

‘What do you mean, he’s not like that? He’s absolutely like that. You saw him kill Cohen with a blunt instrument, have you forgotten?’

‘I saw someone who looks like Warwick hit Cohen over the head. We don’t know that Cohen’s dead, remember?’

‘Well I called his office this afternoon and he’s still not turned up.’

‘You did not.’

‘Bloody right I did. His office has no idea where he is or when he’ll be back.’ He sipped his wine. ‘You need to keep the hell away from Richards. Seriously.’

Carolyn sighed. ‘We don’t know for sure it was him I saw in Cohen’s house.’

‘Only you know that, darling.’

‘Exactly. And the more I think back, the less I think it was Warwick.’

‘And you think Dunbar being killed is just a coincidence?’

‘His house wasn’t in what you’d call a salubrious area,’ she said. ‘Break-ins aren’t unusual, drug addicts looking to pay for their latest fix.’

‘You believe that? Seriously?’

Carolyn shrugged. ‘I believe that more than I believe Warwick Richards slit Max’s throat.’

‘Like I said, you’re as mad as a hatter. And I can’t believe you didn’t say anything to the cops. They were there, in Day’s office. All you had to say was that you think you saw Richards smashing Cohen over the head and you asked Dunbar to check him out. They could have gone off and done their police thing and you could have got on with your life.’

‘And what if Warwick didn’t do it? What’s he going to think?’

‘He’ll think you’re crazy but he’ll get over it. If he has an alibi for the night Cohen was killed, and an alibi for when Dunbar died, then that’ll be the end of it. And if he doesn’t have an alibi, then you did the right thing by telling the cops.’

‘And then the papers get hold of it and they’ll ask why I was in the middle of nowhere after being given my lifetime achievement award and then my career will be pretty much over.’

Terry refilled their glasses. ‘So what are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to finish my wine. Then I’m going to bed. Then, tomorrow, I’m going for drinks on Warwick’s gin palace.’ She grinned at him. ‘Why don’t you tag along?’

‘Maybe I will,’ he said. ‘Do you think he’d be up for a threesome?’

‘I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted by that,’ laughed Carolyn.

CHAPTER 55

Carolyn heard a squeal of brakes as a car pulled up outside her house and, a minute later, her mobile rang. It was Richards. ‘Your chariot awaits,’ he said. It was Saturday morning and the sun was shining from a cloudless sky.

‘I’ll be right out,’ she said. She checked her make-up in the mirror above the fireplace. She was wearing a blue and white Karen Millen dress, one of half a dozen the designer had sent over for her to try. And a pair of blue Gucci shoes, also a freebie. She’d paid for her bag — a black Mulberry — and her coat, a long, dark-blue, lightweight Chanel that had been one of her favourites for years.

She set her burglar alarm, locked her front door and walked down the path to the waiting Porsche Cayenne. She breathed out slowly. She had been half expecting him to have turned up in the Bentley she’d seen outside Nicholas Cohen’s house. She saw that Warwick was smiling at her and she waved and walked faster. He didn’t get out of the car or open the door for her and she wondered if he was deliberately not being chivalrous. Not that she minded, she was old enough to open her own doors. She got in and slid onto the buttery leather seat. He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek and she caught the scent of an expensive aftershave. ‘You look fabulous,’ he said. ‘And you’re wearing Coco Mademoiselle again. Nice.’

He looked good, too, but she decided as he hadn’t opened the door for her she’d forgo any compliments. But his Black Hugo Boss suit fitted him perfectly and she liked the fact he wasn’t wearing a tie but had buttoned his grey silk shirt up to the neck. He’d changed his wristwatch, this time he was wearing a gold Cartier on a black leather strap. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ She looked around the car. ‘Now this is lovely.’

‘I’m a big fan of the Cayenne,’ he said. ‘It’s an SUV so it’s big, but you’ve got the kick of a Maserati when you put your foot down.’ He put the car in gear and pulled away from the pavement.

‘You don’t see many of them around.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, there’s a few. The Sloane Rangers have started using them on the school run.’

They made small talk as he drove to St Katherine’s Dock. A uniformed security guard waved them through to the parking area and they climbed out. The marina was small but packed with huge cruisers and yachts, and surrounded by multi-million pound flats. Richards locked the car and nodded towards one of the larger cruisers. ‘There she is,’ he said.

The boat was about sixty feet long, gleaming white with chrome rails around a seating area at the stern which was big enough to accommodate a small cocktail party. ‘My God, you weren’t joking, it is a gin palace,’ she said.

‘Yeah, she’s a bit over the top. But she’s a real boat. Took her to the Med last year. Took a group of pals scuba diving.’

‘I bet you don’t get much to the gallon.’

Richards laughed. ‘If you worry about the cost of the fuel then you can’t afford it in the first place,’ he said. ‘For me it’s a tax write-off. I’ve lost count of the number of contracts I’ve signed on board.’

He took her along a wooden pier to the boat. The name was emblazoned across the stern. ‘ALINA’. Carolyn pointed at the name. ‘Former girlfriend?’

‘The name’s nothing to do with me,’ said Richards. ‘It was built by a Russian guy and he named it after his mistress. I thought about changing it but apparently that’s unlucky so I’ve left it.’

‘You could always look out for a girl with that name,’ she said.

‘I’m on the case,’ he said. ‘Seriously, it’s not a bad name. It’s not some stupid play on words. Anyway, it’s sort of grown on me.’ They reached the stern and he helped her on board.

‘It’s huge,’ she said. He joined her on the deck and took a set of keys from his pocket. They walked across a seating area with black leather bench seats protected from the elements by a white canvas awning. There were racks of diving equipment including compressed air cylinders underneath the seats

‘There are plenty of bigger boats around,’ he said. ‘But this is fine for me. There are two large suites down below and another four berths so it can sleep eight. But, like I said, I mainly use it for entertaining. I’ll take you for a run down the Thames one day, if you like. See the sights.’

‘Do you sail it?’

‘Drive,’ he said. ‘You drive a boat like this. And no, I have a captain who does the driving. You’ve got to know what you’re doing on the Thames.’ He unlocked the sliding door that led to the main cabin and switched on the lights. ‘Come on, I’ll give you the tour.’

Richards showed her around the boat and Carolyn had to admit it was pretty impressive. The bathrooms wouldn’t be out of place in a five star hotel and the bedrooms were luxurious with polished teak floors and flat screen TVs. He took her coat from her when she got back to the main cabin and she dropped down onto a plush leather sofa. ‘I love it,’ she said. ‘It’s bigger than my first flat.’

Richards laughed. “I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘First place I lived in after I left home you couldn’t swing a cat in. I know because I tried.’ He went over to a built in bar. ‘Cocktail? Wine? What’s your poison?’

‘Wine would be great,’ said Carolyn. ‘Red, if you have it?’

Richards opened a cupboard and took out a bottle of claret. He showed it to her. Carolyn recognised the label. It was a very, very expensive bottle.

‘Are we celebrating?’

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Your first visit to the Alina. We can celebrate that.’

‘And you keep it in the fridge?’

Richards shrugged. ‘What can I say? I like chilled red wine. It’s not a capital offence, is it?’

Carolyn laughed. ‘I’d be interested to know your position on warm champagne.’

He used a chrome corkscrew and poured wine into two glasses. ‘So your first flat,’ he said. ‘Where was it?’

‘Clapham,’ she said. ‘I was trying to get started as an actress and I had to share with two other girls. There was only one bedroom so we took it in turns to sleep on the sofa.’ She patted the sofa she was sitting on. ‘And that was about half the size of this one.’

‘Funny how life works out,’ he said, carrying over the two glasses. ‘Back then, you’ve no idea how things are going to work out. It’s scary but at the same time it’s…’

‘Exhilarating?’

He nodded and handed her one of the glasses. ‘Yeah. It makes life worth living. Gives it that kick, you know?’ He sat down next to her and they clinked glasses. ‘To the good old days,’ he said.

They both drank. Carolyn looked around the boat. ‘When you were in that flat swinging cats around, you probably never dreamed you’d end up with a boat like this.’

Richards grinned. ‘You know, even when I was a kid I knew I was destined for better things. I knew what I wanted, and I knew if I worked hard I’d get it. And I did.’ He waved his hand around the boat. ‘This is the third boat I’ve owned and each was bigger than the last.’ That was when Carolyn saw the statue. It was a dolphin, in crystal. Her eyes widened as she stared at it. It was the statue that had crushed Cohen’s skull, she was sure of that. But what was it doing on the boat? She felt suddenly dizzy and put a hand up to her forehead.

‘Carolyn, are you okay?’

‘I feel a bit woozy.’

‘Try a bit more wine. It might settle your stomach.’

Carolyn did as he suggested but, as she sipped her wine, she realised that what he’d said didn’t make sense.

‘You’ve just been overworking,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘It’s been a rough few weeks, that’s true.’

‘You should take some time off.’ He clinked his glass against hers. ‘Tell you what, take two weeks off and we’ll go down to Spain. I’ve a place in Marbella. A villa overlooking the sea. It’s got a staff and everything. We’ll be waited on hand and foot.’

Carolyn laughed but her voice sounded distant, as if she was hearing it through water. ‘Sounds wonderful.’

‘Drink your wine.’

Carolyn took another swallow of wine and realised her glass was empty. She smiled at Richards but her lips felt numb. ‘I feel funny,’ she said.

‘Why don’t you lie down for a while?’ said Richards, taking the empty glass from her.

Carolyn tried to speak but she was finding it hard to keep her eyes open. She rested her head back and passed out.

CHAPTER 56

Richards took both glasses into the galley and washed them clean. The drug he’d used would keep her out for six or seven hours. He poured the rest of the wine into the sink and put the bottle in the trash. There was a storage area in the stern and inside was a black metal trunk, about five feet by three feet by two feet. He carried it through into the main cabin. Carolyn was snoring softly. He picked her up and placed her in the trunk, put her bag by her feet and then closed the lid. He looked around the room and spotted her coat. He picked it up and opened the trunk again. He stood looking down at her. She looked so peaceful, like a small child. Her hair had fallen across her face and it moved each time she exhaled. ‘I’m sorry, honey,’ he said, ‘but this has to be done. I wish there was some other way.’ He draped her coat over and closed the lid. He took a deep breath. There was a part of him that wanted to take her out of the trunk and pretend she’d never been drugged, take her to a restaurant and enjoy her company and then, eventually, take her to bed. But she had seen him kill Nicholas Cohen, he was sure of that. He’d seen the look in her eyes when she’d spotted the crystal dolphin. She’d disguised her reaction quickly, she was one hell of an actress, but there was no doubt she’d recognised it. And that meant he could never relax so long as she was alive. He took another deep breath and headed for the stern.

He waited until he was back at the car before phoning Halpin. ‘It’s all in hand,’ he said. ‘Where are you?’

‘About half an hour away,’ said Halpin.

‘Okay, I’m going to head to the club. I’ll be there all night. You take the boat out, dump her when it’s dark.’

‘Consider it done,’ said Halpin.

Richards ended the call, climbed into his Porsche and drove to central London.

CHAPTER 57

It was starting to get dark when Halpin arrived at the marina. He was with Sonny Parker, the man that Richards hired to drive the boat. Parker was in his late fifties, grey haired and his skin leathered from years in the sun. He’d been a keen yachtsman in his teens, crewing for wealthy owners year-round, and in his twenties he had sailed around the world single-handed in a thirty-foot yacht. In his thirties, he made a living smuggling cannabis from North Africa into the UK and, as a result, spent most of his forties behind bars, during which time his wife divorced him and the police seized almost all his assets. Now in his fifties, he offered his services as a freelance captain, though he did risk the occasional drugs run if the price was right. Parker worked for cash and never asked questions. He had helped dump the trunk containing Nicholas Cohen for two thousand pounds and had agreed to help Halpin with the second trunk for the same amount. He parked his car and walked with Parker to the boat. ‘Let me have a quick look around and then you can let go the ropes,’ said Parker.

Parker headed up to the bridge while Halpin stayed in the main cabin. He picked up one end of the trunk. It was heavy and would need the two of them to get it over the side.

Halpin went through to the galley, opened the fridge and took out a bottle of lager. He was halfway through it when Parker reappeared, wearing his captain’s hat. ‘All good,’ he said. ‘Untie us and we’ll head out.’ He looked at the trunk and if he had any reservations at all about the fact it contained a body, he didn’t show it.

Halpin undid the ropes that held the boat to the pier as Parker went back to the bridge. The engine kicked into life and, as Halpin went up to join Parker, the boat reversed away from the pier.

The journey from the marina to the Thames Estuary could take between three and four hours, depending on the tide. Halpin sat in the high-backed grey leather chair next to Parker’s and sipped his lager as they headed along the river. Parker took them through the Thames Barrier and onwards to Dagenham, Dartford and Gravesend.

Eventually, they were out in the North Sea. Parker picked up a pair of binoculars and spent ten minutes reassuring himself there were no other vessels close by. He put down the binoculars, cut the engine and nodded at Halpin. ‘This is as good a place as any.’

‘How deep is it?’

Parker looked at the depth indicator. ‘Ninety feet.’

‘Come on, then,’ said Halpin, pushing himself out of the chair. The two men went down to the main cabin. There were handles on either end of the trunk and they grabbed one each. Halpin grunted as he lifted but Parker seemed to find it effortless. They took it through to the stern and heaved it over the side. It went straight under the waves. Almost immediately there was a flurry of bubbles as the air in the trunk burst to the surface but after a few seconds that stopped.

CHAPTER 58

Richards stayed in the club all night, mainly in the corner of the VIP room, drinking champagne and staring into the middle distance. His staff could see he was upset about something so they kept their distance. At just before midnight, his mobile rang. It was Halpin. ‘We’re heading back now,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ said Richards. He ended the call and waved over one of the waitresses.

She came over, smiling nervously. ‘Is everything okay, Mr Richards?’ she asked.

‘Get me a drink,’ he said.

‘More champagne?’

Richards shook his head. ‘Brandy,’ he said. ‘Courvoisier. With ice. And bring me the bottle.’ He stared at the table as she went off to get his drink. He wanted to get drunk and he wanted to get drunk quickly because that was the only way he could deaden the sick feeling of guilt that kept threatening to overwhelm him. He’d had no choice. He couldn’t have allowed Carolyn to live, not if that meant spending the rest of his life behind bars. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t killed before. He’d smashed Nicholas Cohen’s skull without a second’s thought and hadn’t felt one sliver of guilt at the time or since. He’d shot two men and in his teens, had knifed an Asian guy and sat and watched as he’d died, again without a moment’s regret. But Carolyn was different. He’d liked her, he’d liked her a lot. Under other circumstances he was sure he’d have taken the relationship further. But, instead, she was lying at the bottom of the North Sea in a steel chest. And he knew that was an image that was going to stay with him for a long, long time.

CHAPTER 59

Richards spent most of Sunday morning nursing a wicked hangover. He got up just after eleven and made himself tea and toast and sprawled on the sofa in front of the television watching Italian football. He didn’t remember getting home, so assumed he must have taken a taxi which meant he’d left his car in the club’s car park. At just before two he phoned Alistair Cumming, the genial Scot who managed the club.

‘Bet you’re feeling rough, boss,’ said Cumming.

‘What time did I leave?’

‘Three o’clock. You were away with the fairies so I had one of the staff drive you back in the Porsche. I didn’t want anyone taking advantage of you.’

‘I woke up in bed naked,’ said Richards. ‘Please don’t say it was the gay Russian who put me to bed.’

Cumming laughed. ‘Anita took you. And she said she got you to the bedroom, gave you a bottle of water and left you to it. Apparently getting the burglar alarm code from you took some doing but she managed.’

‘Tell her thanks,’ said Richards.

‘Will do. The car’s in the car park, she said. What’s happened to the Bentley, by the way?’

‘Got rid of it,’ said Richards. ‘It was always giving me problems.’

‘The Cayenne’s a cool car,’ said Cumming. ‘Are you in tonight?’

‘Probably not,’ said Richards. He ended the call and went to shave and shower.

As he stood in the shower with water from six high-powered jets spraying every inch of his body, he suddenly flashed to Carolyn in the trunk and he shuddered. The drug he’d given her would have kept her comatose for at least six hours so he was sure she would have been unconscious when she went into the water. Death would have been quick and painless and her last few moments of consciousness were spent drinking claret on his boat. He arched his back and let the hot water play over his face. He’d killed before and never felt like this. He’d smashed Cohen’s skull with the crystal dolphin and hadn’t regretted it. Cohen was a thieving bastard who’d stolen two million pounds from him. And Richards had told Halpin to kill Maxwell Dunbar without a second thought. Dunbar was a nasty piece of work who had been more than happy to betray Carolyn. There had been others who had died, some at Richards’ hand and some because he’d ordered it, but he had never regretted it afterwards. Until today. He took a deep breath and shook his head under the torrent of water. He really, truly, hadn’t wanted to kill Carolyn. If there had been any alternative, he would have taken it. Grabbed at it, even. She was one of the sexiest women he’d ever met, she was smart, she was fun, she was stylish, she was pretty much everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. The only downside was that she had seen him commit a murder and, for that and that alone, she had died.

He closed his eyes and tried to think about something else but the same images kept coming back. Carolyn, bent over in the chest, gasping and choking as it filled with sea water. He knew that’s not what had happened, that she’d been unconscious when the chest went into the sea, but knowing that didn’t change the images that flashed through his mind. He slammed his hand hard against the tiles, relishing the pain, and then he bunched his hands into fists and punched the wall, left and right, until his knuckles were bloody and bruised.

CHAPTER 60

Richards fell asleep on the sofa in front of the television. He slept fitfully, plagued by dreams of Carolyn and the chest filling with water. His mobile rang at two o’clock in the afternoon and he retrieved it from the floor. It was Halpin. ‘You okay, boss?’ he asked.

‘Fine and dandy,’ said Richards, ‘considering all the booze I put away last night. The boat’s back at St Katherine’s Dock?’

‘All good,’ said Halpin. ‘And Parker’s squared away.’

Richards took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Every time he thought of sea water pouring into the trunk he felt as if he was about to throw up.

‘You going to the club tonight, boss?’

‘I’m not sure. It’s Sunday, it’ll be a quiet night.’

‘There’s something I need to talk to you about, boss.’

‘I’m all ears.’

Face to face, boss. It can wait until this evening.’

‘This evening?’

‘The Mint, boss. You’re seeing him at nine tonight, remember? I’ll pick you up at eight.’

Richards ran a hand through his hair. He’d forgotten all about his meeting with The Mint. He was supposed to see him at the Mayfair Bar in the West End to discuss the deals he was putting together. As usual The Mint was reluctant to say anything over the phone and on Monday he was leaving for Spain.

Richards ended the call. He went to the kitchen and looked in his fridge but there was nothing he wanted to eat. He called up a local Indian that did decent takeaways and an hour later he tucked into a chicken tikka masala and a lamb biryani. The food helped to get rid of his headache. He opened a bottle of Cristal and polished off half of it.

The more he drank the less he thought about Carolyn. He finished the bottle and watched football on Sky Sports until he fell asleep.

CHAPTER 61

Carolyn ran a hand through his hair and pulled him towards her, her mouth opening. Richards kissed her, his tongue slipping easily between her lips, and she moaned softly, grinding herself against him as she returned the kiss. He reached up and cupped her breast and she moaned again, louder this time. He felt her nipple stiffen and he caressed her breast, softly at first and then harder. He heard a buzzing sound but he ignored it and continued to kiss her, his lips pressed hard against hers.

He broke away, his heart pounding. ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ he said.

‘I’ve missed you too,’ she said.

‘I’ll never let you go again,’ he said. He could smell her perfume. Coco Mademoiselle. The buzzing was louder, more insistent.

‘You didn’t let me go, Warwick,’ she said, looking deep into her eyes. ‘You killed me, remember?’

The buzzer went again and Richards woke up. He was lying on the sofa and the television was still showing football. He wiped his face and sat up. The door entry phone buzzed again. He looked at his wristwatch. It was just before seven-thirty. He tried to work out if it was morning or evening. It was evening, he realised. He’d slept away most of the day.

He stood up and walked over to the entry phone, wondering why Halpin had turned up half an hour early. There were four buttons on the unit at street level but only the top one was connected. He reached for the handset but he froze when he saw the face on the monitor. A woman, her face soaking wet, her hair drenched, her eyes wide and staring. It was Carolyn.

CHAPTER 62

Richards raced down the stairs, figuring that would be quicker than the lumbering lift. He hadn’t picked up the handset, he’d just grabbed his keys and run out of the flat. His heart was pounding and it wasn’t from the physical exertion of running down the stairs. Carolyn? How could Carolyn be at his front door when she was in a trunk at the bottom of the North Sea?

He reached the second floor, grabbed the metal rail that ran the full length of the onside wall and swung himself around. There was a fire door at the very bottom of the stairwell that led into a small tiled lobby. The front door was to the left and he fumbled with the lock before yanking it open. It was pouring with rain and, as he stepped outside, there was a menacing roll of thunder off in the distance. The pavement was deserted. A black cab drove by with its yellow FOR HIRE light on.

He whirled around but there was no sign of her. A young couple sheltering under an umbrella walked by him. ‘He’s got no shoes on, did you see that?’ he heard the woman say in a strangled Essex accent. ‘What sort of idiot goes out at night in the rain without shoes?’

Richards looked across the road. The rain was blinding him and he put his hands up to shield his eyes. There was a man holding a newspaper over his head and a teenage girl with a Spaniel on a leash sheltering in a doorway. Richards did a slow three-sixty as the rain drenched him. There was no sign of her.

He ran his hands through his soaking wet hair, wondering if he was going crazy. Had he imagined it? Was it the booze? Or was his guilty conscience playing tricks on him? He turned and went back into the building.

CHAPTER 63

Richards changed out of his wet clothes and then showered again and put on a suit and tie. He was slipping on his shoes when the door entry phone buzzed again. He hurried over to the handset. It was Halpin. Richards said he’d be right down.

Halpin had parked his Lexus in the road and Richards climbed in. The wipers swished back and forth across the windscreen,

‘You okay boss?’ asked Halpin. ‘You look like shit.’

‘I didn’t sleep much,’ said Richards.

Halpin pulled away from the kerb and headed for West London.

‘Everything went okay, yesterday?’ asked Richards.

‘Sure.’

‘No problems at all?’

Halpin shook his head. ‘Took the boat out, dumped the chest in the water, headed back.’

‘And you saw it go into the water?’

‘Boss, I did it myself. Me and Sonny.’ He looked across at Richards. ‘Something wrong?’

‘Just want to make sure it was done right.’

‘It was, boss. As right as rain.’

Richards took his cigar case out of his jacket pocket and lit one. ‘Never thought I’d kill a woman,’ he said quietly.

‘It had to be done, boss,’ said Halpin. ‘You had no choice. If she’d grassed you up it’d be life behind bars. For you and for me. And she hired Dunbar. She wouldn’t have done that if she wasn’t on your case.’

‘Yeah, you’re right.’ He puffed on his cigar. ‘I just wish there’d been another way.’

‘You could have married her,’ said Halpin.

Richards looked over at him. ‘What?’

‘I’m just saying, wives can’t testify against their husbands. So if you’d married her…’ He shrugged. ‘Just saying.’

‘Yeah, well just don’t say,’ said Richards.

They drove in silence for a while. ‘How’s it going with the truck driver,’ asked Richards, eventually.

‘I’m on the case,’ said Halpin. ‘It’ll be easy enough. He sleeps in the cab when he’s away from home. I think I can get a look at his roster to see when he’s away and I could do him miles from London.’

‘You okay with that?’

‘Boss, my name’s in the frame for all of this. I’m covering my own arse.’

‘Then cover away, Mick.’

‘It’ll mean I’ll be away for a day or two.’

‘No sweat, I’ve nothing major coming up. I’ll be okay. I’ll let you know when it’s a good time.’

Richards took a long pull on his cigar. ‘You’re okay with the way it went down?’ he asked.

‘What do you mean?’

Richards shrugged. ‘Getting rid of her the way we did.’

‘We didn’t have a choice, boss. It was her or us. And I don’t know about you but I’m not going to do a twenty stretch for anyone. She brought it on herself by hiring Dunbar. If she’d just kept quiet she’d have been fine.’

Richards nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said.

‘Look at this way, boss. That bastard, Cohen, was stealing from you and you did him without a second thought. She would have done you more damage than he did, no doubt about it. We did what had to be done. End of.’

‘You’re right,’ Richards said quietly.

‘Damn right I’m right,’ said Halpin.

Richards settled back in his seat and tried to get his head straight for when he met The Mint. The rain was heavier now and, even at full speed, the wipers were finding it hard to cope with the deluge.

They reached a set of red traffic lights and Halpin brought his Lexus to a halt. Richards stared through the windscreen with unseeing eyes, his mind on the money that he was getting ready to transfer to one of The Mint’s offshore accounts. The swish-swish of the wipers was almost hypnotic. There was a white Audi TT stopped at the lights on the other side of the junction. There was a woman at the wheel. Richards narrowed his eyes as he tried to focus. He took the cigar out of his mouth and leaned forward. ‘What the fuck…?’

‘What boss?’

The lights changed to green and the Audi leapt across the junction. Richards turned to watch the car speed by. ‘Turn the car around!’ he shouted.

‘What?’ said Halpin.

‘Turn the fucking car around!’ shouted Richards, twisting around in his seat. ‘Just fucking do it!’

Halpin hit the turn indicator but there was a bus coming towards him. The bus driver sounded his horn and accelerated.

‘Come on, come on!’ shouted Richards.

Halpin stepped on the accelerator and twisted the steering wheel. The bus driver slammed on his brakes and pounded on the horn as Halpin made the turn.

Richards pointed down the road. ‘That Audi,’ he said. ‘Follow that Audi.’

‘I don’t see an Audi, boss,’ said Halpin, accelerating down the street. The bus driver was continuing to pound on his horn behind them.

‘There, she’s turning. See?’

Ahead of them the white car turned into a side street. ‘She? Who is it, boss?’

‘Carolyn Castle. She was driving.’

‘Boss?’ He took his foot off the accelerator and the car slowed.

Richards pointed ahead. ‘Don’t fucking stop, get after her!’

Halpin did as he was told.

‘It was her. I swear to God it was her!’ hissed Richards.

‘Boss, it can’t be.’

‘Don’t tell me what can’t be. I fucking saw her!’

‘She’s dead, boss. You know she’s dead.’

‘Just fucking follow her!’

Halpin sighed and nodded. ‘Okay, okay.’ They reached the turn that the Audi had taken and as they went around the corner Richards leaned forward. There was no sign of it. ‘I don’t see it, boss,’ said Halpin.

‘Faster, she must be ahead of us.’

Halpin accelerated but even in the heavy rain he could see the road ahead was clear. ‘Boss…’ he said. ‘It’s not here.’

‘She must have gone down a side street,’ said Richards. ‘Turn around. Let’s go back.’

‘Boss, if she did, we’ve lost her. She could be anywhere by now.’

‘If? What do you mean? You think I’m fucking making this up?’

‘I’m just saying, boss, I didn’t see her.’

‘You saw the Audi?’

‘I guess.’

‘You guess? You fucking guess? What the fuck are you saying? You think I’m making this up?’

‘Boss, look, I saw the car but I didn’t see who was driving. How could I, what with all this rain and all? And you’re starting to spook me carrying on like this. She’s dead. She’s at the bottom of the North Sea.’

‘Unless you fucked me over.’

‘Fucked you over? What do you mean?’

‘How the fuck do I know that you did what I told you to do? Maybe you let her out. Maybe she paid you off. How else do you explain the fact she’s alive and well and driving around?’

‘Come on, boss, you only caught a glimpse of the driver as she went by. It could have been anyone.’

‘Yeah? And who was ringing my bell? Answer me that?’

Halpin said nothing.

‘Just drive around for a bit. Keep looking.’

‘Sure. Whatever you want, boss.’ Halpin turned left into a side street lined with parked cars and they scanned left and right, looking for a white Audi. Fifteen minutes later they were still looking. Eventually Halpin looked at his watch pointedly.

‘Okay, let’s leave it,’ said Richards. ‘We’d better not keep The Mint waiting.’

CHAPTER 64

Richards shared a bottle of Cristal with The Mint as they sat in a window seat surveying the models, footballers wives and minor television stars who made up the female clientele of The Mayfair. There were some stunning women decked out in all their finery, but all Richards could think about was Carolyn and her watery death.

A couple of times The Mint had asked him if there was something wrong but Richards had forced a smile and said everything was fine. Halpin sat with them, nursing a tonic and water. The reason for the meeting was simple enough. The Mint was brokering a major cannabis shipment for an Irish consortium and they had come up four hundred grand short. If Richards was interested, The Mint could get him in. The downside was Richards would only have enough for two runs which would make it slightly riskier.

‘But it’s a good ‘un, Warwick,’ The Mint had said, patting his leg. ‘We’re talking about a training yacht that has been completely rebuilt, they could put a team of dogs on it and they’d come up with nothing. They could drill a hundred holes and come up empty. And most of the crew are kids from broken families. It’s the closest thing I’ve seen to a sure thing for a long time.’

Richards had agreed and they’d sealed the deal with a second bottle of Cristal.

They had left the bar at eleven. Halpin left first to collect the car, then called Richards once he was outside. Richards hugged The Mint, blew kisses at the two Eurasian girls who were sitting either side of him, and headed outside. There were two photographers standing on the pavement but they paid no attention to him as he climbed into the Lexus. It had finally stopped raining but the roads and pavements were still soaking wet.

Richards lit a cigar and they drove in silence for a while. ‘Let’s swing by her house, Mick,’ said Richards eventually.

‘Her house?’

‘In Notting Hill Gate.’

‘Castle’s house? Are you serious?’

‘I just want to know for sure.’

‘Boss, what if the cops are there? What if she’s been reported missing and we turn up? The cops aren’t stupid.’

Richards turned and looked at Halpin. ‘Are you going to second guess every decision I make, is that what’s going to happen? Because I’m not standing for that.’

‘I’m just telling you what I think, boss.’

‘Yeah? Well, if I want to know what you think I’ll fucking well ask you. Until then you keep your mouth shut, okay?’

Halpin nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But do me a favour and put the address into the SatNav will you? I don’t know my way around that part of London. It’s out of my price range.’

CHAPTER 65

The SatNav announced they were about to arrive at their destination. Richards and Halpin looked around but there was nothing to indicate it was anything other than a normal, peaceful evening in one of London’s most expensive residential areas. ‘Just drive by, nice and slow,’ said Richards. ‘Her place is on the left. There’s a Japanese cherry tree out front.’

Halpin nodded and edged the car forward. Richards could feel his heart pounding and he took slow deep breaths. He knew he was being stupid. Carolyn Castle was dead. The house was empty. It couldn’t possibly have been her driving the white Audi. It was stress, nothing more. He needed alcohol, that would help him relax. A few drinks at the club and he’d be okay. He needed some female company, ideally long-legged and large breasted, someone to take his mind off Carolyn.

‘You’re right, Mick,’ he said quietly. ‘This is a waste of time. Take me home. I’ll have a few hours kip and then we’ll hit the club.’ He settled back in the seat. That was when they saw the white Audi TT parked outside Carolyn’s house.

CHAPTER 66

Richards got out of the Lexus and slammed the door shut. Halpin pressed the button to wind down the window. ‘Boss, I should come with you,’ he said.

Richards shook his head. ‘I’m just going to have a look-see,’ he said.

‘Boss, it can’t be her. She’s dead.’

‘I know.’

‘I dropped that trunk over the side and she was in it.’

‘So you say.’

‘What, you think I’m lying?’

‘Fuck Mick, I don’t know what to think.’ He pointed at the Audi. ‘All I know is that’s the car I saw and she was driving it. So you just sit tight while I take a look.’ He walked away, slipping his hands into his pockets. He walked up to the car and bent down to look inside the two-seater. There was nothing inside to give a clue as to who owned it, it was as pristine as the day it had rolled off the production line. He peered under the car. The road there was wet, which suggested that the car had been somewhere else during the rainstorm. He straightened up and walked towards Carolyn’s house. She couldn’t be there, he knew that. It couldn’t have been her he’d seen driving the Audi. But the car was there and he hadn’t imagined that.

He pushed open the wrought iron gate and walked down the path. He looked at the front door and wondered if he should ring the doorbell. Carolyn lived alone and she was dead so there was no point, he decided. The path led around to the back of the house and he followed it, treading softly. There was another wrought iron gate at the side of the house and he opened that. There was a paved terrace and beyond it a manicured lawn and, in the distance, a well-tended rockery. He walked on to the terrace. There was a brick barbecue and a round teak table with six chairs around it. He took a deep breath. He could imagine sitting with Carolyn at the table, drinking a decent bottle of wine and looking out over the garden. The house was in central London but the garden wasn’t overlooked and there was a countryside feel to it.

He took out his cigar case and turned to look at the house. To the right was a conservatory filled with palms and ferns, and next to it was a set of French windows leading to her sitting room. He tapped out a cigar. He was just putting it to his mouth when Carolyn walked into the sitting room. She dropped a book onto a sofa and then turned towards the window. When she saw him she opened her mouth and screamed. The cigar fell from his hand as he stared at her in horror.

CHAPTER 67

Richards took a step back as the French windows opened. ‘Who are you and what are you doing in the garden?’ she asked.

Richards opened his mouth but he couldn’t speak. His hands were shaking and his throat had gone dry. He swallowed and almost gagged.

‘If you don’t leave now, I’m calling the police.’ She held up a mobile phone. ‘I’ve already pressed two nines, one more and I’m on to the police.’

‘Carolyn?’

‘What? Who are you?’

‘Carolyn, it’s me. Warwick.’

She frowned. ‘Warwick?’

‘For God’s sake, what are you playing at?’

Her eyes widened. ‘Warwick? Warwick Richards? You’re Warwick Richards?’

‘What?’

She lowered the phone. ‘I went to your flat this evening but you weren’t in.’

‘What?’

‘You like to say that a lot, don’t you?’

‘What?’

‘There you go again.’

‘Carolyn, what the hell is going on?’

She grinned. ‘You see that’s why you’re looking so confused. I’m not Carolyn. I’m her sister, Jenny.’ She held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘Jenny?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Her sister? Carolyn’s sister.’

‘Now you’re getting it.’

‘Her twin sister?’

‘See, there’s no flies on you.’ She pushed her hand towards him. ‘Nice to finally meet you.’

Richards reached out and shook her hand.

She laughed. ‘You don’t have much of a grip, do you, Warwick?’

He realised she had an Australian accent. And her hair was shorter than Carolyn’s. And lighter. But, other than that, she was an identical twin.

‘Carolyn never said she had a sister,’ said Richards.

‘I’m the black sheep of the family,’ said Jenny, running a hand through her hair. ‘So where is she?’

‘What?’

‘There you go again with the “what”. My sister, where the hell is she?’

Richards shrugged and shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘That’s why I came around.’

‘I didn’t hear you ring the bell.’

Richards feigned surprise. ‘I did. There was no answer so I was going to knock on the back door.’

‘At midnight?’

Richards stared at her, unable to think of anything to say.

‘Well you’d better come in,’ she said. She pointed at the cigar that he’d dropped. ‘Are you going to get that?’

Richards picked it up and followed her into the sitting room. ‘Are you going to smoke it or throw it away?’ she asked as she closed the French windows.

‘I’ve got plenty more,’ he said, dropping it into a wastepaper basket.

She walked past him and he followed her through the hallway and into the kitchen. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ she asked. ‘I was going to open a bottle of wine.’ She pulled open the fridge door and took out a bottle of Chardonnay. ‘You don’t know where she keeps her corkscrew, do you? I’m still finding my way around.’

‘This is the first time I’ve been here,’ he said.

‘Really? I got the impression you two were close.’

‘She said that?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’ She opened a drawer but it only contained cutlery. ‘You know, generally I get screw-tops so I don’t have this problem.’

Richards pointed at a rack of green-handled cooking utensils hanging from a rack to the left of the Aga. In the middle was a corkscrew.

‘Excellent,’ she said, reaching for it. ‘Now, why don’t you make yourself useful and find a couple of glasses while I open this.’

Richards started opening cupboards and at the third attempt he found the wine glasses. He put two down on the marble counter and Jenny poured wine into both.

‘What did she say about me?’

Jenny laughed. ‘I was teasing you,’ she said. ‘Your name was in her Filofax, that’s all. But I saw you’d seen her for lunch last Friday and that she was seeing you yesterday on your boat so I put two and two together.’ She nodded at the kitchen door. ‘Come on, let’s use the sofas while we play catch up.’

Richards picked up his glass and followed her back into the sitting room. There were two overstuffed blue and white striped sofas either side of the fireplace and Jenny dropped down onto one. She was an identical twin but Richards knew he would have no problem telling them apart. It wasn’t just the Australian accent, Jenny spoke faster than her sister and her body language was somehow bigger and more expressive. He sat down on the sofa opposite her and crossed his legs. ‘I’m surprised your sister didn’t mention you,’ he said, ‘not even to say you were the black sheep.’

‘I wasn’t that much of a black sheep, really,’ said Jenny. ‘And you don’t know where she is?’

Richards shook his head.

‘You saw her yesterday, right? On your boat?’

‘She told you that?’

‘It’s in her Filofax. I got in this morning and she was supposed to be meeting me at the airport.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not the first time my darling sister has let me down, so I got a black cab.’

‘Have you called the police?’

Jenny frowned. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘Well, she’s missing, isn’t she?’

‘I don’t know she’s missing. She comes and goes, does Carolyn. She’d hardly thank me for calling the police if she’s staying in the country with friends.’ She sipped her wine. ‘So how long have you known my sister?’

‘Not long,’ said Richards.

‘She was on your boat, right? Yesterday?’

‘Yeah we had drinks.’

‘You didn’t take her out to sea and drop her over the side did you?’

Richards frowned. ‘Why would you say something like that?’

‘Joke,’ she said. ‘But I know what my sister can be like. There have been plenty of times when I’ve wanted to throw her out of a moving car.’

‘Well, she was fine yesterday. We had a few drinks and then she left. I called her a few times today but there was no answer so I thought I’d pop around and check if she was okay.’

‘Have you slept with her?’

Richards felt his jaw drop and he closed his mouth and shook his head in amazement. ‘How can you ask something like that?’

‘She’s family,’ said Jenny. ‘God, you’re such a prude. It’s not as if I was going to ask you what positions you used or whether or not you used a condom.’

‘I suppose this is what passes for polite conversation in Australia, does it?’

She laughed. ‘We do tend to call a spade a spade,’ she said. ‘But seriously, are you her boyfriend?’

‘I went out with her a few times,’ said Richards.

‘And you like her?’

‘Yes, Jenny, I like her.’ He sipped his wine.

‘Well that’s good to know,’ she said. She sat back in the sofa. ‘Do you think I should call the police?’

‘I don’t know, you probably know her better than me,’ said Richards. The last thing he wanted was for her to call the cops but he could hardly tell her that. ‘Her mobile’s off, but I suppose that doesn’t mean anything.’

‘How was her drinking?’

‘Her what?’

‘Her drinking. She’s got a bit of a drink problem. You didn’t know?’

‘She seemed fine with me,’ said Richards.

Jenny drew her legs up underneath herself. ‘She’s good at hiding it. But she’s been in rehab a couple of times. She signs herself in for a week or two and that works, for a while at least.’

Richards nodded slowly. Carolyn had been a fairly heavy drinker when she was with him, that was certainly true. But she hadn’t seemed like an alcoholic and had certainly never been drunk in his company. ‘Like I said, she always seemed fine with me.’

‘Maybe you were a good influence,’ said Jenny. She held up her wine glass. ‘Hell, I’m not one to talk. I love my wine.’

‘Carolyn preferred red,’ said Richards.

Jenny frowned. ‘Preferred?’

‘Yeah, she always asked for red.’

‘You said preferred. Past tense.’

Richards stiffened as he realised his mistake. He forced himself to smile. ‘When we were out, that’s what she asked for. That’s what I meant.’

Jenny looked relieved. ‘Whew. I thought you were thinking that something had happened to her.’

‘Like an accident, you mean? That’s her car outside, isn’t it? The Audi?’ Jenny nodded. ‘I’m sure she’s okay. She’s well known. If she’d been involved in an accident it would be all over the TV, wouldn’t it?’

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Jenny.

‘If she was going to check herself into rehab, wouldn’t she have called you?’

‘Could have been short notice, and I was in the air for nigh on twenty four hours.’ She sipped her wine. ‘I plan to go around to the studio tomorrow and see if they know where she is.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Richards. His mobile phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket. It was Halpin. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to take this,’ he said and put the phone to his ear.

‘Boss, are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine. Hang on outside, I’ll be out in a while.’

‘You’re okay? You’ve been in there for ages.’

‘Everything’s okay, Just sit tight.’ Richards ended the call. ‘My driver, wanting to know how long I’m going to be.’

‘And how long are you going to be?’ asked Jenny, smiling over the top of her glass.

‘I’ll finish this and then I’ll be off,’ he said.

‘Well it’s been nice meeting you, anyway,’ said Jenny. ‘When Carolyn turns up we should have a night out, the three of us.’

‘I’d like that,’ said Richards. ‘I’d like that a lot.’

CHAPTER 68

Richards climbed into the Lexus and took out a cigar. ‘You are not going to believe this,’ he said. He opened the window, bit the end off the cigar and spat it onto the pavement. ‘I’m not sure I believe it myself.’ He lit the cigar.

‘Believe what, boss?’ asked Halpin.

Richards blew smoke out through the window. ‘It’s her sister.’

‘Her sister?’ repeated Halpin incredulously.

‘Her name’s Jenny.’

‘I didn’t know she had a sister.’

‘Neither did I,’ said Richards thoughtfully.

‘She didn’t mention it?’

‘It didn’t come up.’ He blew more smoke through the window. ‘She’s a twin.’

‘A twin?’

‘Like two peas in a pod,’ said Richards. ‘Jenny’s a bit blonder and a lot more Australian, but other than that they’re pretty much identical.’

‘Australian?’

‘She flew in this morning. Carolyn was supposed to be at the airport to meet her.’ He saw the curtains twitch at the front window. ‘We should move on, she’s watching us.’

Halpin indicated and pulled away from the kerb. ‘Is she a problem, this Jenny?’

Richards turned to look at Halpin, frowning. ‘In what way?’

‘She’s realised her sister’s gone missing. And you turn up at her house at midnight. If she tells the cops, they might put two and two together.’

‘No reason for them to,’ said Richards. ‘I said I knew her sister and was just passing by.’

‘At midnight?’

‘She seemed to buy it, I don’t know why the cops shouldn’t.’

‘I’m just saying. We don’t want to be on their radar, that’s all.’

‘What are you saying? You want to go back and do her as well?’

‘I’m not saying that at all, boss. If anything, I suppose you going around there makes you less of a suspect. I mean, why would you do that if you knew she was dead?’

‘Exactly,’ said Richards.

He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, then he looked across at Halpin. ‘You are one hundred percent sure that trunk’s at the bottom of the North Sea?’

Halpin looked offended, opened his mouth to reply, and then stopped himself. ‘You’re joking, right?’

Richards grinned. ‘Of course I am, you soft bastard.’

CHAPTER 69

Billy found a parking space about a hundred feet from Carolyn Castle’s front door. He took out his mobile phone and called her number but it went straight through to her voicemail. He put his phone back in his pocket and got out of the car and walked to the house. It was eight-thirty and they were supposed to be at the studio at nine-thirty. There was no filming to be done but all the cast and the senior crew members had to attend a read-through. He pressed the doorbell and waited for a minute or so and then pressed it again. He heard footsteps and then the door opened. He smiled and was about to wish her good morning when he was hit by a tirade of abuse. ‘What the fuck are you doing ringing the bell at this time of the morning? Do you have any fucking idea what time it is?’

Billy stepped back in surprise. ‘What?’

‘It’s hardly even light, what the hell are you doing?’

‘Miss Castle, are you okay?’

‘Miss Castle?’ She sighed. ‘I’m not Miss Castle. I’m Mrs Hall.’

‘Is this some sort of joke, Miss Castle? Because really, I don’t get it.’ He held up his hands. ‘If you want me to give you a few minutes to get yourself together, I’ll wait in the car.’

She sighed and folded her arms. She was wearing pale blue silk pyjamas and had a gold crucifix around her neck that Billy had never seen before. ‘You’re Carolyn’s driver, right?’

Billy narrowed his eyes. For the first time he noticed her hair was lighter and shorter than when he’d last seen her and she had an Australian accent. ‘I’m getting really confused here,’ he said. ‘You’re not Miss Castle?’

‘I’m her sister,’ she said.

‘I didn’t know she had a sister.’

‘What, did she tell you everything? Did she tell you we left home in our teens because our stepfather was a bastard?’

‘Actually, yes, she did,’ said Billy. ‘But she never mentioned a sister.’

‘Yeah, well, like I keep telling everyone, I was the black sheep.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Jenny.’

Billy shook her hand. ‘From Australia?’

‘What was the clue?’ she asked.

Billy laughed. ‘Yeah, I picked up the accent,’ he said. ‘So where is Miss Castle?’

‘Why do you call her Miss Castle?’

‘That’s our company’s policy,’ he said. ‘We never refer to clients by their first name.’

‘God, you English are so prim and proper,’ said Jenny. ‘No one would stand for that in Oz. Don’t tell me you tug your forelock as well?’

Billy didn’t say anything.

‘Now I’ve offended you,’ she said. She held the door open. ‘Why don’t you come in, I’ll let you know what’s happening.’

‘I’m just here to pick up Miss Castle,’ said Billy.

‘I won’t bite,’ said Jenny. She gestured with her thumb. ‘Come on in. If it makes you feel better you can call me Mrs Hall. Or Miss Hall. Mr Hall has been out of the picture for a few years.’

Billy hesitated but Jenny had already walked down the hall. He crossed the threshold and closed the door. Jenny was in the kitchen, switching on the kettle. ‘Coffee?’

‘We really need to be making a move,’ said Billy. ‘Is Miss Castle ready?’

‘She’s gone AWOL, Billy. Absent without leave.’

‘Since when?’

“I don’t know. I arrived on Saturday and she was supposed to pick me up at the airport.’

‘I brought her back here on Friday,’ said Billy. ‘Have you called the police?’

‘Not yet,’ said Jenny. ‘Her car’s parked outside and it’s not as if there were signs of a break-in or anything.’

‘But she’s missing, right?’

‘I don’t think the police will do anything unless they think a crime’s been committed. That’s how it works in Oz, anyway.’

‘I’ll have to call the studio, they’ll be expecting us.’

‘I tell you what, why don’t you make us coffee while I get ready and you can drive me to the studio. I was planning on going there today to see if they know where she is.’

Billy looked at his watch. ‘I’ll have to phone the director.’

Jenny breezed by him, heading for the stairs. ‘Whatever makes you happy, Billy. I’ll just pop into the shower.’

CHAPTER 70

Paul Day pushed open the door to the props department. ‘Terry? Are you there?’ One of Terry’s assistants, a pretty black girl called Sue, looked up from a computer. ‘He’s on the set, Paul.’

‘Thanks darling,’ said Day. He walked down the corridor to the main set area. The red light above the door was off, there was no filming planned for that day. He pushed the double doors open. ‘Terry?’

‘Over here,’ shouted Terry. He was in the main office, sitting at Diana’s desk and arranging a spreadsheet on her computer for a close-up that would be shot the next day.

‘Do you know a Jenny Hall?’ asked Day. ‘She’s at reception with some cock and bull story about being Carolyn’s sister.’

Terry looked up from the spreadsheet. ‘Sure. But she’s in Australia.’

‘Apparently not,’ said Day. ‘Okay, I’ll have her in. Any sign of Carolyn?’

‘No, and her phone’s still off.’

‘Is she upset about something?’ asked Day.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘She was asking me about storylines and I think she’s worried we might be writing her out.’

Terry shrugged. ‘You know how paranoid actors are.’

‘No arguments there,’ said Day. ‘I just hope she’s not gone AWOL just to teach me a lesson.’

Terry looked at his watch. ‘Aren’t we supposed to be doing the read-through?’

‘The network just called, Sally’s been delayed and we’re not to start without her.’

‘Because God forbid we should try to do our jobs without the network’s nanny watching over us,’ said Terry. ‘Still, it means I can have another coffee and get my caffeine levels up.’

Day went back to his office and asked Laura to phone security. Five minutes later, Laura showed Jenny Hall in. She was the spitting image of Carolyn, though her hair was shorter and fairer and in her baggy cargo pants and denim jacket she looked a few pounds heavier.

‘Paul, I’m so happy to meet you, Carolyn’s always talking about you,’ said Jenny, offering her hand. The Australian accent caught Day by surprise, as did her firm handshake. Carolyn always greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks.

He waved her to a seat and sat down himself. ‘So where is the lovely Carolyn?’ he asked.

‘I was hoping you’d tell me,’ she said. ‘She was supposed to meet me at the airport and there’s no sign of her at her house. She’s not answering her phone. I thought she might be here.’

Day shook his head. ‘She hasn’t turned up,’ he said. ‘But we only have a read-through today and we have a second unit filming on location and she’s not in any of those scenes.’

‘So you weren’t expecting her?’

Day shook his head. ‘No, she was supposed to be here, but it’s not the end of the world that she hasn’t turned up. If she’s not here tomorrow, though, we’re going to have problems.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because we’re shooting and we’re on a tight schedule. Look, if she does call you, tell her to call me straight away, would you, please?’

‘Of course,’ said Jenny.

The door opened and Laura apologised for interrupting. ‘The network people are here and being shown into the read-through room,’ she said.

‘Thanks. Can you round everyone up? And tell Phillippa. I think she’s in Editing.’

Laura left and Day sighed. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ he said.

‘Do you mind if I pop along and see Terry while I’m here?’

‘He’ll be at the read-through, why don’t you sit in?’ He pushed himself out of his chair with a grunt. ‘You can see what it’s like at the sharp-end of television production.’

‘I’d love to,’ said Jenny. ‘It’d be nice to see how Carolyn earns a crust.’

CHAPTER 71

Four long tables had been pushed together in a line down the middle of the meeting room with twelve chairs along either side and two at each end. There were another dozen or so chairs around the edge of the room. Sitting at the table were the sixteen actors who would be in the two episodes that were being read, Phillippa Lansdale who was directing them and her sound man, cameraman and Brian Cooper who would be editing the show. Sally Shaw, the network’s deputy head of drama was sitting at the end furthest from the door, next to Martin Waites. Lisa, Sally’s deputy, was sitting next to Phillippa. They all had scripts in front of them.

Three of the show’s writers were sitting with their backs to the wall while the head writer, Simon Hastings, was sitting at the table next to Seb.

Day walked in with Jenny and heads turned. ‘Carolyn!’ said Phillippa, standing up. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

‘This isn’t Carolyn,’ said Day. ‘It’s her sister, Jenny.’

Phillippa frowned in confusion. ‘Her sister?’

‘Twin sister,’ said Day. ‘Hot off the plane from Australia.’ Laura followed him into the room and closed the door. Day pointed at an empty chair next to the writers. ‘Jenny, why don’t you sit yourself down over there?’

Jenny thanked him and walked around the table. Terry got up and went over to her. ‘Terry,’ she said, and hugged him.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘Didn’t Carolyn tell you I was coming over?’

Terry shook his head. ‘Not a word,’ he said. ‘But you know what she’s like.’ He held up his script. ‘Come on, I’ll sit next to you and you can read over my shoulder.’

‘Paul, do we have any idea where Carolyn is?’ asked Phillippa. ‘There are some things I really need to go through with her before tomorrow.’

‘Soon as I know, you’ll know, darling,’ said Day, dropping down onto his chair and picking up the script. Laura sat down next to him.

Phillippa sighed and sat down, muttering to herself.

‘Right. We’re looking at shooting two episodes together,’ said Day. ‘We start tomorrow and we’re looking at eighteen days shooting in all so it’s very tight. We’ve got how many location days, Phillippa?’

‘Four in all,’ said Phillippa. ‘We’re at the football stadium for a night shoot, two days at the stud farm and various house shots, coming and going.’

‘Rick, we’re still okay for Brentford?’

Rick Townsend, the location manager, nodded. ‘They’re going to be billing us for the cost of the floodlighting and they’re insisting on six security guards that we’ll have to pay for but, yes, it’s ours from seven o’clock in the evening until seven the next day.’

‘Bloody writers,’ said Day. ‘Why couldn’t they make Seb a darts fan.’ He grinned over at the three writers. ‘Only joking, darlings, you know I love you.’ He looked around the table. ‘Everyone ready? We’ll do the first episode and then break for refreshments and smokes for those of you who can’t live without nicotine.’ Day had once been a heavy smoker but had given it up five years earlier.

Lisa raised a hand. ‘Paul?’

‘Yes, Lisa?’

‘I’m just wondering who’s going to read the part of Diana?’

‘Are you offering, darling? Are you hoping to be discovered?’

There was laughter from around the table and Lisa’s cheeks flushed. ‘I’m not sure I could take the drop in salary, darling,’ she said. Her chin jutted up and her voice had a shrill quality to it that had been missing before. ‘I just wanted to make sure we heard the dialogue as it was meant to be heard. That’s why we’re here…darling.’

Day’s smile hardened as he stared back at Lisa, and he nodded slowly. ‘Absolutely,’ he said. He looked around the table. ‘Any volunteers?’

‘What about Jenny?’ said Sally.

‘Oh, I’m not an actress,’ said Jenny. ‘I couldn’t.’

‘It’s easy,’ said Terry. ‘You just have to say the words. It’s not acting.’

‘You’d be doing us a great favour,’ said Sally. ‘It’s so much easier to picture the scene if someone appropriate is reading it. And you are the spitting image of Carolyn.’

‘That’s the thing about twins,’ said Jenny. She laughed and stood up. ‘What the hell, I’ll give it a go.’

‘There’s a seat next to Fiona,’ said Phillippa. ‘Andrea plays Fiona.’

‘Who has just slept with your husband,’ said Terry.

‘Bitch!’ joked Jenny. She walked around the table and sat down next to Andrea. ‘I never really loved him,’ said Jenny, patting Andrea on the arm.

‘Actually you did,’ said Phillippa. ‘Back when you first founded the company. But the relationship has cooled over the last couple of years. In fact it’s the ups and downs of the relationship that have been driving the storyline recently.’

‘Do you see the show in Australia?’ asked Sally.

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Jenny. Laura passed a script to her and she opened it. ‘I’m not a big one for TV, actually.’

Day laughed and slapped his hand down on the table. ‘Don’t tell the network that, darling, they’ll have your guts for garters.’ He held up his hands to quieten everyone down. ‘Right, now that we’re done with the audition, let’s get on with it. When you’re ready, Phillippa.’ He nodded at the director.

Phillippa nodded back, cleared her throat and took a deep breath. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Scene One. Day. Diana’s office. Diana and Simon are arguing.’ She pointed at Seb.

Seb looked over at Jenny. ‘Over my dead body,’ he said. ‘The only way you’re getting me out of this company is by putting a bullet in my head.’

Phillippa smiled encouragingly at Jenny. Jenny nodded. ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about that,’ she said. ‘But my lawyers don’t need guns to get rid of you. You’re out, Simon. You’re going to lose the company, the house, everything. You’ll be lucky if you get to keep the clothes you’re wearing.’

‘Why are you doing this, Diana?’ said Seb. ‘Is it because of Fiona? That was a one-off, a stupid mistake. I was drunk, I know that’s no excuse but you have to believe me, it meant nothing. She meant nothing.’

‘Which is exactly how I feel about you,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m not doing this because I’m angry, I’m doing it because…’

‘Jenny, sorry to interrupt,’ said Sally. ‘Is there any way you could do it with a more English accent?’

‘I’m sorry?’ said Jenny.

‘I’m just having trouble with the Australian accent. Can you tone it down a bit?’

Jenny put a hand over her mouth. ‘I’m really not an actress,’ she said.

‘I know, and I’m sorry to have to ask. If you can’t, you can’t.’

Jenny put down her script. ‘You mean talk as if I was walking down the apples and stairs to go down the rub-a-dub for a pint of pig’s ear?’ She said it in a mock cockney accent that had most of the table laughing out loud. ‘I’ll give it a go, mister, or blimey if I won’t!’

Waites was one of those laughing loudest but he stopped when Sally gave him a frosty look.

‘Let’s take it from the top again,’ said Phillippa. ‘Less of the cockney rebel, Jenny, but the more English you make it the better. Okay, off we go. Scene One. Day. Diana’s office.’

Jenny began to read her lines, this time in a very passable English accent. As the reading progressed and with his eyes on the script, Day found himself forgetting it wasn’t Carolyn reading.

CHAPTER 72

Richards heard the shower kick into life and he rolled out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. The woman in his shower turned to smile at him. It was Carolyn. ‘Good morning,’ she said, water cascading over her back.

Richards frowned but didn’t say anything. What the hell was she doing in his shower?

‘Why don’t you join me?’ she said, then turned away and reached for the soap.

Richards pulled off his boxer shorts, dropped them onto the tiled floor and pulled open the glass door to the shower. Steam billowed in it. She looked over her shoulder again and giggled, then took a half step backwards so that she was pressing against him. He ran his hands down her hips and she twisted around and put her arms around his neck. Her lips found his and they kissed as the water cascaded around them. Richards felt himself grow hard and he gripped her tightly. The water was blasting out of the shower heads, battering against his head with such force that it pushed him backwards. He fell against the glass wall of the shower but Carolyn kept her mouth against his.

He found it hard to move his legs and realised the shower stall was filling with water. It was already up to his groin. Carolyn lifted her right leg and entwined it around his, pulling him closer. He was finding it hard to breathe and tried to pull away but her lips stayed glued to his. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth and he tasted salt.

The water was up to his neck now and was so cold his body was growing numb and, still, her tongue probed between his teeth, the taste of salt so strong that his stomach began to heave. He pushed her but she stuck to him like a limpet and now the water was above his head and his eyes were stinging and he could hear the pounding of his heart.

Richards woke up with a gasp, bathed in sweat. He lay on his back for a minute or so, gasping, his heart racing. When his heart had returned to normal he rolled over and grabbed his mobile. He had Halpin’s number on speed dial.

‘Morning, boss,’ said Halpin.

‘Mick, mate, I need you to do something for me. Can you check out Jenny Castle for me?’

‘In what way?’

‘That she is who she says she is.’

‘You said she was Carolyn’s twin.’

‘She is. The spitting image. But I want you to dig up a birth certificate or something.’

‘That’s easy enough. Carolyn was forty-four, you said.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I should be able to get it done on line.’

‘I didn’t know you were a computer whizz?’

Halpin laughed. ‘I’m not, but I know a man who is. Do you still want me to take you to the club this evening?’

‘Sure. Pick me up at seven.’ Richards ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. He rolled over and stared at the bathroom door, half expecting to hear the shower kick into life.

CHAPTER 73

Paul Day tapped out the number of Peter Sessions, Carolyn’s agent, and swung his feet up onto his desk. He had the man’s mobile which meant he didn’t have to go through his secretary. Peter answered on the third ring. ‘Paul, are you calling to offer Carolyn more money now that she has that lifetime achievement award?’

‘I’m actually calling to see if you know where she is. She hasn’t turned up for work today.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘I’m afraid so. And she’s not answering her mobile. When was the last time you saw her?’

‘Last week. Monday. We had dinner.’

‘And she was okay, she didn’t say anything?’

‘About what?’

‘About not turning up for work this week,’ said Day.

‘Good God, of course not,’ said Peter. ‘Carolyn is a true professional. She wouldn’t just walk away.’

‘Well she’s not here,’ said Day. ‘We’ve just done the read-through and we are supposed to be shooting tomorrow.’

‘Let me see what I can do,’ said Peter.

‘Like I said she’s not answering her phone and she’s not at home. What are you planning to do, Peter, wave a magic wand?’

Peter didn’t reply.

‘Is Carolyn happy, Peter?’

‘Of course. She loves the show. She loves you.’

‘What was she talking about the last time you two got together?’

‘Come on now, Paul, you wouldn’t expect me to breach client confidentiality, would you?’

‘That would be your call. But if she doesn’t turn up sharpish she won’t have a job and you won’t have your fifteen percent. She’s been worried about the show, right? About her role?’

‘You know actors, Paul. They’re the most insecure people in the world. They count lines, they fret over the number of close-ups. Half my time is spent massaging egos.’

‘She’d heard there was a writers’ conference and I got the feeling she thinks its part of a plot to get her off the show.’

‘And is it?’ said Peter.

‘Over my dead body,’ said Day. ‘Carolyn’s a crucial part of Rags To Riches, always has and always will be.’

‘I think Carolyn worries it might not be your decision. The network is being pro-active and they seem to be wanting to chase a younger audience.’

Day nodded as he listened to the agent. ‘Peter, is it possible she’s playing some sort of negotiating ploy with us? Withdrawing her services?’

‘Striking, is that what you mean? Carolyn’s not like that. She certainly didn’t tell me she was going to walk out. And she’d have to know there’s no upside to her doing that. She’s a professional, Paul. Grease paint in her blood and all that.’

‘I know she is,’ said Day. ‘Which takes us back to the original question. Where the hell is she?’

‘Let me ring around,’ said Peter. ‘I’ll call you back.’

Day ended the call. As he put the handset down, his office door opened. It was Laura. ‘Sally and Phillippa want a word,’ she said.

Day stood up. ‘They’re not armed, are they?’

‘I frisked them, they’re clean,’ whispered Laura. She stepped to the side and ushered in Sally and Phillippa.

‘I’m sorry about this, Paul,’ said Sally, sitting down on the sofa at the corner of the office. ‘We really need to sort out the Carolyn situation.’ Phillippa sat down next to the TV executive.

‘Absolutely,’ said Day, pulling up a chair and sitting down opposite her. ‘I’m just off the phone to her agent but he doesn’t know where she is.’

‘There are two issues here, Paul,’ said Sally. ‘The first is she’s missing and do we need to inform anybody. And the second is, what are we going to do show-wise?’

‘We’re prepped for shooting her tomorrow,’ said Phillippa. ‘If she doesn’t turn up…’ She shrugged. ‘It’s a nightmare.’

Day held up his hands. ‘Let’s not get into a panic,’ he said. ‘She’s only a few hours late. For all we know, she might turn up after lunch.’

‘Or she might not,’ said Sally. ‘And I don’t want to be paying for a full unit tomorrow if they’ve no one to shoot.’

‘We can shoot around her,’ said Day. ‘It’s not the first time we’ve moved things around if an actor is sick.’

‘But as far as we know she’s not sick,’ said Sally. ‘I mean, do we start contacting hospitals. Do we call the police?’

‘If she’d been in an accident or taken ill, someone would have told the press,’ said Day. ‘And the police don’t worry about missing persons until they’ve been gone for forty-eight hours.’ He leaned forward. ‘To be honest, it’s not the first time this has happened. And she’s always turned up before.’

‘Then I’ll leave it in your hands,’ said Sally. ‘But be careful, Paul. This could easily end up costing a hell of a lot of money and that will be down to you.’

‘I hear what you’re saying,’ said Day.

‘And what about tomorrow?’ asked Phillippa.

‘Can we put back her scenes?’ asked Day. He looked over at Laura who was standing by the door. ‘Can you get me a shooting script?’ he asked.

Laura opened the door and went to her desk.

‘Some of them, maybe,’ said Phillippa. ‘And we can do all the close-ups, but she’s in all the major scenes. We can’t keep doing that.’ She looked across at Sally. Sally flashed her a smile and nodded encouragingly. ‘We did have a thought, however,’ Phillippa said. ‘What about Jenny?’

‘Jenny?’ Laura returned with a copy of the script and handed it to Day. He took it from her but kept his eyes on Sally. ‘Jenny?’ he repeated.

‘She’s the spitting image,’ said Sally. ‘You heard her at the read-through. She can lose most of her accent when she tries. And we can get a speech coach in to smooth off the rough edges.’

‘She’s not an actress,’ said Day.

‘Phillippa thinks she can handle her,’ said Sally.

Phillippa nodded. ‘Her voice is okay and we can work on the hair and the wardrobe. I’ll cut down the number of close-ups and we can get the writers to trim back her dialogue. I think it’ll work, Paul.’

The producer nodded thoughtfully. ‘Would we have a union problem?’ he asked Sally.

‘Nothing our legal department couldn’t fix,’ she said. ‘I’m not saying this is the perfect solution but, as a temporary stop-gap, I think it’ll work.’

‘Word will get out, you know that.’

‘And if it does, we’ll go public. Be a nice story for the tabloids,’ said Sally. ‘Twin sister steps in to save the day.’

‘It’s a great story, if Carolyn turns up safe and sound,’ said Day. ‘But what if she doesn’t? What then?’

‘Let’s not go counting chickens,’ said Sally. ‘Let’s deal with this one day at a time. And the most important thing now is to get tomorrow’s scenes shot.’

The door burst open and Jenny stormed in. ‘Who the hell is that shit in the grey suit?’ she shouted at Day.

‘Suit? What suit?’

‘Martin something or other.’ Jenny glared at Sally. ‘Does that little shit work for you?’

Sally looked flustered. ‘Yes. Sure. Martin Waites.’

‘Well, Martin bloody Waites just put his hand on my arse and offered me a line of coke in exchange for a blow job.’

‘What?’ said Sally, stunned.

Day grinned but stopped when Sally looked over at him.

‘I told him what to do with his bloody cocaine, but I’m telling you now if he comes near me again he’s getting my foot in his balls. Where does he get off thinking he can talk to me like that.’

‘It won’t happen again, darling,’ said Day. He went over and hugged her. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

‘I’ll speak to him,’ said Sally.

‘You’d better do more than speak to him,’ said Day. ‘I want him off the show and away from this studio. That’s sexual harassment.’

‘If he does it again, I’ll be the one doing the harassing,’ said Jenny.

‘I’ll take care of it,’ promised Day. ‘I’m so sorry, Jenny.’

Jenny nodded. ‘Make sure you do. I’ll bet I’m not the only one he tries it on with, the sleazy scumbag.’

CHAPTER 74

Day waved at Sally from his office window as she climbed into her 7 Series BMW. Lisa got into the front passenger seat. ‘Is it just me or do you get the feeling we’re in the middle of a coup d’etat here?’ he asked Laura, who was standing behind him. Martin Waites was standing by his Porsche 911, his face pale and his hands trembling. He seemed to be close to tears. Sally edged out of the car park as if she was unsure how to handle the large car.

‘She did seem a bit forceful,’ admitted Laura.

‘She damn near told me how to run my show,’ said Day. ‘These bloody women, they join as trainees and before they’ve even lost their milk teeth they’re running shows. What has that silly woman ever done? There isn’t a creative bone in her body. But she watches Lisa’s back and Lisa watches hers and together they’ve climbed the greasy pole.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not the business it was, Laura.’

‘That’s for sure.’

‘We might have to start looking for another show. Something with the BBC, maybe. Or Sky. They’ve still got that maverick mentality over at Sky.’ He turned away from the window and sighed. ‘This is my bloody show, where the hell does she get off sticking her oar in?’

‘She’s speaking for the network, that’s what it is. And the network is run by accountants. It’s all about the money.’

‘They’ve got enough to give her a 7 Series,’ said Day. ‘I was forty before I could afford a car like that, and what’s she, thirty-one, thirty-two?’

‘Twenty-nine, I think,’ said Laura.

‘Bitch.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Is Jenny still around or has she pushed off?’

‘She’s with Terry in props.’

Day nodded. ‘What do you think about Jenny?’

‘To play Diana, you mean?’ Laura pursed her lips as she considered her answer. ‘Yes, I think she could do it. She’s a bit heavier than her sister, don’t you think? Might have to put her in baggier clothes.’

‘Or we could put her on a diet.’

Laura frowned and then she realised he was joking. ‘Ha ha,’ she said.

‘But do you think she can act?’

‘Probably not, but this is a soap, not the Old Vic. If she screws up, Phillippa can reshoot. If necessary, we can lose most of the dialogue and she can just nod and smile. But I think she’ll be fine.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Day. ‘And I like the way she stood up to that little shit Waites. He had it coming to him. ‘ He nodded. ‘All right, then, I’ll go and talk to her.’

Day left the office and headed for the Props Department. He pushed open the door and Jenny and Terry looked up, startled as if he’d interrupted them in the middle of something. Terry was sitting in front of his computer and Jenny was leaning against his desk, her legs crossed at the ankles. ‘Hi, Paul, yes, something you want?’ asked Terry.

‘A chat with Jenny, actually,’ said Day.

‘Has Carolyn been in touch?’ asked Jenny.

‘No, sorry,’ said Day. He thought about asking her to go back to his office but realised there was nothing to stop him asking her in front of Terry. Terry headed the Property Department but he worked closely with Wardrobe and he’d be helping to turn Jenny into Diana. ‘This might seem a strange request, but we were wondering if you could possibly help us out?’

‘Sure,’ said Jenny.

‘Well, you’d best wait to hear what we want before you go agreeing to anything,’ said Day. ‘We’re shooting some scenes tomorrow and we’d like you to play the part of Diana.’

Jenny frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We really need to shoot the scenes and you’re Carolyn’s twin. You’re probably the only person that can take her place.’

Jenny laughed. ‘But I’m not an actress.’

‘We can work around that,’ said Day. ‘We can keep your lines short, cut back on close-ups, you’ll be surrounded by some of the best actors in the business and they’ll watch your back.’

Jenny folded her arms. ‘I don’t think I can,’ she said. ‘Carolyn was always the actress. I was the nerd.’

‘A nerd?’ said Terry. ‘You were a nerd?’

‘I always had my nose buried in a book,’ said Jenny. ‘We were twins but personality-wise we’re chalk and cheese. I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not.’

‘You did a great job reading the lines in there,’ said Day.

‘That’s true,’ said Terry. ‘There were times when you sounded just like her.’

‘And acting is just moving around while you say the lines,’ said Day.

‘God, don’t let the cast hear you say that,’ said Terry. ‘You’ll have a mutiny on your hands.’

‘You know what I mean,’ said Day. ‘In the right clothes, with the right hair, the right props, you could do it. And it wouldn’t be for long, just until Carolyn comes back.’

Jenny looked pained. ‘I just don’t think I can do it.’

Day walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I think you can, Jenny,’ he said. ‘In fact, I’m sure of it.’ He looked into her eyes, exuding confidence. ‘Just try it, that’s all I can ask of you. Give it a go and let’s see how you get on. Just try, please.’

She nodded slowly. ‘Okay, I’ll give it a go,’ she said.

Day kissed her softly on the forehead. ‘You’re a lifesaver,’ he said.

‘Wait until you see how I do,’ she said. ‘You might not be thanking me tomorrow.’

Day released his grip on her shoulders. ‘Where are you staying? I’ll get a car to pick you up.’

‘I’m at Carolyn’s house.’

‘Okay, I’ll sort that out. Now, we start shooting at eight-thirty but we’ll need you in make-up by seven so the car will pick you up at six.’

‘Wow, you believe in the early bird, don’t you?’

‘We work long days,’ said Day. ‘It’s the nature of the beast.’ He turned to look at Terry. ‘Can you work with Jenny this afternoon?’ he said. ‘Go through wardrobe with her and get her sorted. Watches, jewellery, bags, shoes, get her fixed up for the week. And we need to get her hair colour closer to Carolyn’s. We can’t do anything about the length but I’ll talk to the writers and see if we can get a scene in the hairdressers.’

‘I’m on it, Paul,’ said Terry.

‘I’ve got to dye my hair?’ asked Jenny.

‘Just a bit,’ said Terry. ‘It won’t be permanent.’

‘If I’m in the hairdressers, why can’t I keep the colour the same? Diana might have dyed her hair.’

Terry looked at Day. ‘Okay with you?’

Day nodded. ‘Sure, why not. But let’s tidy it up a bit, give it the Rags To Riches look.’

Terry winked at Jenny. ‘It’ll be a hoot,’ he said.

CHAPTER 75

Halpin picked Richards up at precisely seven o’clock. It had started to rain and the wipers flicked back and forth across the windscreen as they drove through the evening traffic. Richards lit a cigar and settled back in his seat. ‘Any joy with the birth certificate?’ he asked.

‘I’m on the case,’ said Halpin. ‘I tried to do it on line but didn’t get anywhere. I’ve got a pro on the case. It won’t cost more than a couple of hundred.’ He braked to allow a black cab to pull in front of them. ‘What’s your interest, boss?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m guessing it’s not because you want to buy her a birthday present.’

‘Spit it out, mate. What’s on your mind?’

Halpin sighed. ‘You’ll only bite my head off.’

‘If you carry on like this, I’ll rip it off with my bare hands,’ said Richards. ‘What’s bugging you?’

‘Okay, boss. It’s this. We’re in the clear. She’s at the bottom of the North Sea where no one will ever find her. We’re alibied up to the gills. Even if the cops do come sniffing around about Cohen, there’s no forensics and no witnesses.’

‘There’s still the truck driver.’

‘I’m on that case, too. Looks like he’ll be away on Wednesday, so I’ll do it then. I’ll let you know in advance, give you a chance to get your alibi set up. But once he’s gone that’s it. There’s nothing to tie us in with Cohen. And no one can tie us into the disappearance of the woman. We’re totally in the clear.’

‘So?’

‘So why go and spoil it by making waves around the sister? It’s bad enough you went around to her house. You don’t want to be doing anything that puts your name in the frame.’

‘She’s her sister. She wasn’t even in the country when we…’ He grimaced, unable to finish the sentence.

‘Exactly, boss,’ said Halpin. ‘So why are you talking to her? Why are you checking up on her? She shouldn’t even be on your radar.’

‘She’s the spitting image, it’s like she’s back from the dead.’

‘Yeah, well I can tell you for sure that’s not true. Boss, can’t you just leave it alone?’

Richards took a long pull on his cigar and then blew smoke out of the window.

‘Boss?’

Richards turned to look at him. His eyes had gone cold. ‘Time for you to shut the fuck up, mate,’ he said, his voice flat and emotionless. ‘You ever question me again like that and you and I are going to fall out, big-time. Got it?’

Halpin nodded as he stared through the windscreen. ‘Got it,’ he said.

CHAPTER 76

Billy was outside Carolyn Castle’s house at six o’clock on Tuesday morning and this time when he rang the bell, Jenny opened the door bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She grinned when she saw him. ‘Before we go any further, none of this Mrs Hall nonsense,’ she said. ‘Every time I hear that I think about my soon-to-be-ex husband and it gives me the heebie-jeebies.’

‘It’s company policy,’ said Billy.

‘The drivers wouldn’t stand for it in Oz.’

‘I understand that, Mrs Hall. But I have to do what the company says. If I don’t, I could lose my job.’

‘What does the union say?’

‘I’m not in a union,’ said Billy.

‘I tell you what, we’ll keep it as our little secret, shall we?’ said Jenny, closing the door. ‘Either that or I could tell them you tried to put your hand up my skirt. I’m sure that’s against company policy, too.’

Billy groaned. ‘Please, Mrs Hall…’

She walked past him to the Mercedes. She was wearing a Gucci suit that Billy had seen Carolyn wear several times, and carrying a Gucci shoulder bag. If it wasn’t for the hair and the accent, Billy would have sworn it was Carolyn getting into the front seat of his car. He hurried over and grabbed the handle before she could close the door.

‘You can’t sit in the front, Mrs Hall,’ he said. ‘We’re not insured for passengers in the front. You have to travel in the back.’

‘This is a joke,’ said Jenny.

‘It’s the way it is,’ said Billy. ‘I can’t drive you anywhere unless you’re in the back and strapped in.’

Jenny sighed. ‘This is like a fascist state, you realise that.’

‘I don’t make the rules, Mrs Hall.’ He held open the door.

‘Did my sister put up with this crap?’

‘She understood I had to follow the company’s rules, yes.’

‘And what did you call her?’

‘Miss Castle.’

‘Never Carolyn?’

‘Never.’

Jenny’s eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘I tell you what, Billy. How about this? When there’s no one else around, you call me Jenny. If there’s anyone else around you can call me …’ She shrugged. ‘I tell you what, you can call me Miss Castle. If I’m taking her place then we might as well go the whole hog.’

Billy nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Now, please, if you would get into the back, we can head off. I’ll be well bollocked if you’re late on your first day.’

Jenny smiled sweetly and did as she was asked. Billy closed the door, climbed into the front and started the car.

‘Actually there’s more room in the back,’ she said as Billy drove through Notting Hill.

‘It’s designed around the passenger,’ said Billy. ‘It’s a car for being driven around in.’

Jenny looked around. ‘I could get used to this,’ she said. ‘So how long have you been driving Carolyn?’

‘Three years, give or take.’

‘And what’s she like?’

Billy looked at her in the driving mirror. ‘You sound like you don’t know her.’

‘We’re not that close, to be honest,’ she said. ‘We both left home when we were teenagers, she came to London to seek fame and fortune. I went backpacking in India and traveled through Southeast Asia and, after a very long story, I ended up in Brisbane with a drug-taking husband who thought knocking me around was a great way to spend a Saturday night.’

‘Sorry to hear that,’ said Billy.

‘You make your own bed in this life, Billy, no one forces you to lie in it. Anyway, it’s behind me now. He left five years ago and if I could only find the bastard I’d divorce him.’ She grinned. ‘Or have him shot. I’m easy either way.’

‘Never understood anyone who’d want to hit a woman,’ said Billy.

‘That’s because you’re a gentleman, Billy. But believe me, there’s plenty of men out there happy to take a swing at a member of the fairer sex.’

‘You know, Carolyn never mentioned you, not once,’ said Billy, looking at her in the rear-view mirror.

‘As I said, we weren’t that close. I don’t think anyone in Oz would know she was my sister.’

‘Do they see the show down there?’

‘Not really. It’s on one of the cable channels, but it’s not like I ever got stopped in the street or anything.’

‘Well, that’s going to happen here, that’s for sure,’ he said. ‘Especially with you dressing like her. Your hair’s a bit different, but the resemblance is…’ He laughed. ‘Stupid thing to say,’ he said. ‘You’re twins. Of course you look the same.’

CHAPTER 77

Jenny sat in the chair as Tracey busied herself applying make-up. ‘You really do look like her,’ said the make-up artist. Jenny’s hair was covered in a clear plastic cap covering a dozen or so slips of silver paper to make it look as if her hair was being dyed.

‘That’s the thing about twins,’ said Jenny.

‘But even your skin. The texture. The colour. And this large freckle by your nose, Carolyn has one in pretty much the same place.’

‘It’s genetics,’ said Jenny. ‘But personality-wise we’re totally different. I tell you Tracey, I’m shitting myself here, I really don’t think I’m going to be able to do it. Does my sister get nervous?’

‘Carolyn? Never? She always joked she could do it in her sleep. She did stage work early on and that was difficult, she said, because there you don’t get to correct your mistakes, they’re out there for the audience to see. In TV–Land if you do anything wrong, the director shouts “cut” and you get to do it again. And even if the shoot doesn’t go well, they can fix most things in the edit.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Say you get your dialogue wrong. They can dub it. If you do something wrong, they can edit that bit out. And there’s all sorts of CGI tricks they can use. So, really, you don’t have to worry about a thing.’

Jenny took a deep breath. ‘I hope you’re right,’ she said.

Phillippa appeared at the door holding pale green sheets of paper. ‘Everything okay, Jenny?’ she asked.

‘I think so.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ said the director. She waved the sheets in the air. ‘I’ve had the writers put together a short scene in a hairdressers. It’ll explain the lighter hair and give us a chance to do a scene where it’s just you talking.’ She gave one of the sheets to Jenny. ‘Basically you’re sitting in a chair at the hairdressers. You’re given a cup of coffee but you ask for champagne.’

‘Champagne? In a hairdressers?’

‘That’s the way Diana lives. Then you talk to your stylist. Then your phone rings and you talk to your lawyer.’

Jenny looked at the sheet. ‘So no one else speaks?’

‘It’s cheaper that way,’ said Phillippa. ‘If they don’t speak, they’re classed as an extra. If they talk, then it’s a speaking part and we have to pay a lot more.’ She grinned, ‘One or two words is okay, but the absolute maximum is four. Generally it’s better if they don’t speak.’ She looked at the clock on the wall. ‘Ten minutes, okay?’

‘We’ll be ready,’ said Tracey.

Phillippa patted Jenny on the shoulder and left. Tracey continued to work on Jenny’s eyes and lips, chatting away about the actors she’d worked with over the years. The ten minutes was almost up when Terry appeared. ‘Good to go, darling?’ he asked.

‘As I’ll ever be,’ said Jenny.

Terry was holding a Prada shoulder bag and a BlackBerry. ‘Here’s the bag for this scene — you’ll find they change more than your outfits.’

Jenny took the bag. It was made of shiny black leather with silver fastenings. ‘It’s lovely, do I get to keep it?’

Terry laughed. ‘Not this one, but we’re getting some samples later in the week so I’ll let you have first pick.’ He handed her the phone. ‘This is the phone you use to make the call. It’s inert so it won’t interfere with the microphones but a light comes on as if it’s working.’

‘So I’m not making a call?’

‘Of course not.’

‘So how do I hear what the other person is saying?’

Terry laughed. ‘You don’t. You’re not talking to anyone. It’s just you.’

‘But how do I know what he’s supposed to be saying? What do I do?’

‘That’s what acting is,’ said Terry. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Come on.’

‘You’re good to go,’ said Tracey. She removed the tissue paper from around Jenny’s neck.

Terry took Jenny along the corridor to the main studio. He pushed open the double doors and she followed him into a cavernous space with bare concrete floors and a roof criss-crossed with metal beams. Facing them was a wall of cheap wooden panels. There were numbers written in red paint on some wooden supports holding them upright. It had the look of a shanty town, but when she followed Terry around to the right she found herself looking at a modern kitchen, full of stainless steel appliances and black marble worktops.

Around the next corner was a hairdressing salon. The camera had been set up facing a chair next to which stood a pretty blonde girl dressed all in black. Phillippa was sitting on a camp stool looking at two monitors and talking to an earnest young man who was making notes on a clipboard. Phillippa saw Jenny and hurried over. ‘Did you have a chance to look at the lines?’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ said Jenny.

‘I’m sorry it’s such short notice, but we can do a rehearsal first. And what we’ll do is try to shoot you from the side and back so if the worst comes to the worst we can redub the dialogue later.’

‘Okay,’ said Jenny. She took the bag and the phone from Terry.

‘Now, what we’ll do is have the bag on the counter there,’ said Phillippa, pointing to the mirror. ‘You do the dialogue with the coffee, then you talk to Rachel here.’ The blonde waved a hand and mouthed ‘Hi’.

‘Once we’ve got that out of the way, we’ll move the camera to the side and shoot the second part of the scene, when you’re on the phone to your lawyer.’

‘Okay,’ said Jenny, but Phillippa could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

‘You’ll be fine,’ said Phillippa. ‘Just don’t look at the camera. When the girl brings the coffee, look at her. When you talk to Rachel, look at her. Just speak as if it was actually happening. Don’t think of it as acting.’

Jenny nodded. ‘Okay. It’s just that there are so many people here.’ She gestured at the crew, more than a dozen people, mainly men, all standing looking at her.

‘Don’t worry about them, pretend they’re not here.’ She smiled. ‘And try not to look up at the microphone if it swings over your head.’

‘There’s so much to remember,’ said Jenny.

‘Relax and enjoy it,’ said Phillippa. ‘You’re exactly where thousands of actresses would give their right arms to be.’

Jenny sat down in the chair as Phillippa went over to her monitors. The sound man swung the large microphone about three feet above her head and she forced herself not to look up. She looked over at Andrea and Andrea winked. Jenny smiled and breathed out. ‘I’m really nervous,’ she said.

‘You look so like her, you really do,’ said Andrea.

‘Right, everyone, let’s get started,’ shouted Phillippa. ‘Dougie?’

‘Rolling,’ said Dougie.

‘And, action!’

A petite brunette appeared at Jenny’s right with a mug of coffee on a tray. Jenny looked at it and raised her eyebrows. ‘Coffee? Darling, coffee’s the last thing I need. Be a love and get me a glass of champagne.’

The girl turned to walk away.

‘Cut!’ shouted Phillippa. She got up off her folding chair and hurried over to Jenny. She put her hand on the back of the chair as she leaned in to whisper to Jenny. ‘You’re still sounding very Australian,’ she said. ‘Can you try to make it a bit more English.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Jenny.

‘No, you’re doing great. Your timing was spot on, your eye contact was perfect. I just need you to get the voice more in line with Carolyn’s. Don’t worry, we’ll get there.’

She went back to her chair and sat down. ‘Places again, everyone!’ she shouted. Jenny took a deep breath.

CHAPTER 78

Richards was pouring himself a coffee when the door entry phone buzzed. It caught him by surprise and the mug slipped from his fingers, spun through the air and shattered into a dozen pieces on the kitchen floor. Scalding hot coffee splattered across his bare feet and he jumped back, cursing, before hurrying over to the entry phone. It was Halpin. ‘What are you doing here at this time of the morning?’ asked Richards.

‘It’s nearly ten, boss.’

‘Yeah, well that’s sparrow’s fart for me, mate. What do you want?’

‘A quick word, boss. Didn’t want to do it over the phone.’

Richards buzzed him in and went over to the lift doors in his hallway. The lift only stopped on two floors — the flat and the ground floor. The lift door rattled open and Halpin walked out. ‘Do you want a coffee?’ asked Richards.

‘Cheers, boss.’

Halpin followed Richards back to the kitchen. Richards jerked a thumb at the broken mug and spilled coffee. ‘Do me a favour and clean that up, will you?’ he said. He went over to his Bosch coffeemaker and began making two cappuccinos while Halpin used pieces of kitchen roll to mop up the coffee.

‘So what’s so bloody important you’ve got to disturb my morning?’ growled Richards.

‘Two things, boss,’ said Halpin, gingerly picking up the bits of broken mug and putting them on the wet kitchen roll. ‘First, there’s no record of a Jenny Castle. Or a Carolyn Castle.’

‘You sure?’

‘Sure, I’m sure. The guy I’m using is a pro. At first he thought it was because Castle was one of her married names but he checked all her husbands and none of them were Castle.’

‘It could be an acting name,’ said Richards. ‘Lots of people change their name when they start acting. Michael Caine was Maurice Micklewhite. And Marilyn Monroe was Norma Jean something or other.’

‘I thought that, but we checked on the internet and she’s always been known as Carolyn Castle. There’s never been a suggestion of another name.’

‘That’s a bugger,’ said Richards.

‘Be handy if we could get a look at her passport,’ said Halpin, dropping the broken mug and wet kitchen towel into the rubbish bin.

‘Seeing as how she’s at the bottom of the North Sea, I don’t see that’s going to happen,’ said Richards.

‘I meant the sister. Jenny. If you can get her passport we’ll have her name and her date of birth. Even if the sister has changed her name we’ll have the date they were born and I can look for twin girls born on that day.’

‘Let me see what I can do,’ said Richards. He finished making the coffees and handed one to Halpin.

‘And the other thing was the truck driver. He’s up in Scotland tomorrow. I’ll go up and do it myself.’

‘You’re not planning to use me as an alibi, are you?’

Halpin shook his head. ‘Sorted on that front. I’ll be playing poker with four other guys.’

‘Be lucky,’ said Richards.

‘I always am. Just make sure you’re in the club all tomorrow night, early until late.’

Richards raised an eyebrow. ‘You wouldn’t be trying to teach your grandmother to suck eggs, would you?’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, boss.’

CHAPTER 79

Day ambled into the studio, his hands in his pockets. He found Phillippa on the set that was used as Seb’s office, deep in conversation with the lighting director. She looked up as he walked over. ‘How’s it going?’ asked Day.

‘We’re on schedule,’ said Phillippa.

‘And Jenny? How’s she holding up?’

‘She’s fine.’

‘You’re sure? I’ve had the network on and they’re asking for rushes. Is there anything we can send them?’

‘Paul, really, she’s fine.’

Day looked at his watch. ‘Where is she?’

‘Make-up. We’ve shot the hairdressing scene and we’ve got to tidy the hair up. We’ll be ready to go in about twenty minutes.’

‘Can you show me what you shot?’

‘Sure.’

‘No pressure, I just need to reassure Sally and Lisa.’

‘Paul, it’s fine.’

‘I just don’t want you to think I’m second-guessing you.’

‘Thought hadn’t even crossed my mind,’ she said as she walked with him over to her monitors. Her script editor, Jamie, was in one of the seats, checking timings. ‘Sorry, Jamie, can we sit down?’ asked Phillippa.

Jamie scuttled away and Day and Phillippa dropped down into the canvas seats. Phillippa hit the playback button and the black and white screen flickered into life.

Day groaned when he heard Jenny’s Australian accent. ‘Don’t worry, that was the first take,’ said Phillippa. She fast-forwarded the video and pressed play again. It was one of the takes of the final part of the scene where Diana was on the phone to her lawyer. Jenny was sitting in the chair and the camera was behind her and to the side giving a double shot of her in the mirror. Day nodded his approval. It was a clever bit of camerawork.

Jenny was looking off-screen as she spoke. ‘I’m not going to pay a penny more than twenty-grand,’ she said, her voice virtually indistinguishable from Carolyn’s. ‘And I don’t care what their lawyer says.’ Jenny frowned and nodded as if she was listening to someone on the other end of the line. ‘Well, I’m the one paying your extortionate bills, Ronnie, and if you want that state of affairs to continue then I suggest you go back to them and tell them that twenty-five grand is our final offer.’ Jenny ended the call, shook her head and tossed her mobile into her bag. ‘What was it Shakespeare said? First kill all the lawyers? He knew what he was talking about.’ She sat back in the chair and looked at her reflection, then tilted her head to one side. ‘Maybe I should go blonde? I might have more fun.’

Day laughed as the scene came to an end. ‘Brilliant,’ he said. ‘Lighting could have been a bit more subtle but she hit it just right.’ He sat back in the chair and stretched out his legs. ‘Get me a copy of that by this afternoon, will you. I’ll courier it over to the network.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘It’s going to work, isn’t it?’

Phillippa nodded enthusiastically. ‘I think it is. She learns quickly.’ She switched off the recorder. ‘What about Carolyn? Any news?’

Day shook his head. ‘I’ve been on to her agent again and he hasn’t heard from her. Laura’s ringing around the Priory and the usual suspects.’

‘You think she booked herself into a clinic?’

‘She’s done it before,’ said Day, standing up. ‘Or she might be playing some negotiating game with the network.’

‘She’d do that?’

‘Who knows? But if that is her game, it’s backfired now that Jenny has turned up. It’s a bit hard to argue you’re invaluable when your twin sister can do the same job.’ He flashed her a thumbs-up. ‘You’re doing great, Phillippa. Just make sure you keep it up.’

CHAPTER 80

Terry’s mobile rang and he reached for it. The caller was withholding his number, which Terry always hated. So far as Terry was concerned, getting a call with the ID blocked was akin to opening your front door and finding someone there wearing a ski mask. It was just plain rude. He considered ignoring the call but curiosity got the better of him and he answered. ‘Terry?’

Terry didn’t recognise the voice. ‘Yeah?’

‘It’s Warwick, Warwick Richards.’

Terry frowned. ‘Yes?’ he said cautiously.

‘I’m just calling to see if Carolyn’s turned up.’

The door opened and a runner appeared. He was a young man in his twenties in an Arran sweater and green corduroy pants. Terry wasn’t sure what qualities the lad had shown to get hired but dress sense clearly wasn’t on the list. Terry put his hand over the phone. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

‘The director wants a briefcase, anything will do,’ he said.

‘Who’ll be carrying it?’

‘One of the extras.’

‘Male? Female? Young? Old?’

‘A man. In a suit.’

Terry pointed at a rack to the runner’s left. ‘Take the brown leather one.’ The runner grabbed the briefcase and dashed out. Terry took his hand away from the phone. ‘Sorry, Warwick, you were asking about Carolyn? No, she’s still not turned up.’

‘And no one has any idea where she is?’

‘The word is she might be holed up in a rehab somewhere, but no one knows for sure. She was okay when you saw her, right? On Saturday? She was seeing you on the boat, wasn’t she?’

‘Yeah, she turned up and had a couple of glasses of wine. I dropped her home early evening.’

‘And she was okay then?’

‘She was fine. Does anyone have any idea what might have happened?’

‘She’s gone AWOL before, Warwick. She’s had a bit of a drink problem and she’s booked herself into clinics. We usually find out a few days later.’

‘She wasn’t drinking heavily with me.’

‘She keeps it well hidden,’ said Terry.

‘I hope she’s all right.’

‘I’m sure she is,’ said Terry. ‘Like I said, it’s not the first time. She’ll be in the Priory or some other dry-out clinic with her feet up. During the first few days, they cut off all contact with the outside but we’ll get a call from her agent eventually. Anyway, I’ll tell her you called.’

‘Cheers, Terry. Oh, how’s Jenny getting on?’

‘You met Jenny?’

‘I went around to Carolyn’s house on Sunday night. ‘

‘Yeah? She didn’t mention it. She’s actually in the studio as we speak.’

‘Yeah?’

‘The producer decided to let her fill in for Carolyn.’

‘How’s that working out?’

‘Surprisingly well,’ said Terry. ‘She has to lose the Australian accent, obviously, and we’ve had to play around with her hair. But she’s doing a good job. I think the network execs are half hoping Carolyn doesn’t come back and they can sign Jenny up for half the money.’

‘Are you serious?’

Terry laughed. ‘Nah, Carolyn’s a star and Jenny’s just filling in for her.’

‘Well, if you do hear from her, get her to give me a call. And tell Jenny I was asking after her. She can give me a call, too, if she gets a chance. And it’d be good to see you in the club some time, Terry. I’ll leave your name on the VIP list.’

‘Thanks for that,’ said Terry, but Richards had already ended the call.

CHAPTER 81

Peter Sessions jumped as his phone rang. He had been deep in thought, halfway through the Daily Telegraph crossword. He had just got back from lunch with a client, an up and coming young actor on Emmerdale, during which they had consumed two bottles of a very good Burgundy. He picked up the receiver. It was Paul Day.

‘Peter, just checking in to see if you’d heard from Carolyn.’

‘Afraid not, old boy,’ said Sessions, leaning back in his chair.

‘And, hand on heart, you’ve no idea what’s going on?’ asked Day.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because if this turns out to be a negotiating ploy, I’ll have your guts for garters.’

‘That’s not an expression you hear a lot these days,’ said Sessions.

‘I’m old school,’ said Day.

‘What’s happened on the shooting front?’ asked Sessions. ‘Are you shooting around her?’

‘Her sister’s filling in for the time being,’ said Day.

‘Her sister?’

‘Jenny.’

‘I didn’t know Carolyn had a sister.’

‘They’re twins,’ said Day. ‘She’s Australian but we’re working around the accent. She’s doing a great job holding the fort, but we need Carolyn back, Peter.’

‘As soon as she contacts me, I’ll let you know,’ said Sessions. ‘It’s not the first time she’s been walkabout and it’s only been three days.’

‘You need to keep a closer eye on your clients, Peter. If we stop paying her, you stop earning your fifteen percent.’

‘You know what Carolyn’s like, old boy. She’s a law unto herself.’

‘I’m serious, Peter. If this goes on much longer there won’t be a role for her when she eventually decides to put in an appearance.’

‘I hear you, Paul, loud and clear.’

The producer ended the call. Sessions put down the receiver and went back to his crossword.

CHAPTER 82

Reg McKenzie walked out of the Indian restaurant whistling softly. He’d bought a chicken korma and a lamb vindaloo with a pilau rice and added a bottle of Cobra lager even though the company rule was that drivers weren’t to drink at any time, even on overnight jobs when they were parked. He was on the outskirts of Glasgow with a delivery that had to be made first thing the next morning. The takeaway restaurant was a short walk from the truck park, which was one of the reasons he’d chosen to overnight there.

As he reached the truck park, his mobile rang and he fished it out of his jacket. It was his wife. He smiled and took the call. ‘Just going back to the truck,’ he said.

‘You didn’t get a curry, did you? You know what the doctor said about your ulcer.’

‘What do doctors know?’ said McKenzie. ‘Anyway, I got a korma and that’s as mild as you can get.’ He figured it best not to tell her about the vindaloo and the Cobra.

‘When will you be back?’ she asked.

‘Tomorrow, late evening,’ he said. ‘The traffic was fine today and I’ll be done here by nine-thirty in the morning.’

‘I’ll put a shepherd’s pie on,’ she said.

‘Lovely,’ said McKenzie.

‘And you drive carefully,’ she said.

‘You know I always do, Debs.’

‘Because I care.’

McKenzie smiled. ‘I know you do, honey,’ he said. ‘You sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.’

‘And you. You’re sleeping in the cab?’

‘It’s the cheapest option, you know that.’

‘But that mattress is doing your back no favours,’ she said. ‘You should insist the company pays for a decent hotel room.’

‘Debs, the way the economy is right now I’m lucky to have a job. Now don’t fuss, I’ll be just fine.’ McKenzie put the phone back in his pocket.

He reached his truck and grunted as he pulled himself up one-handed.

‘Reg?’ said a voice from behind him.

McKenzie dropped back to the ground and turned, wondering if a fellow truck driver had recognised him.

He frowned when he saw the big man in the black coat and his frown deepened when he saw the gun in the man’s hand. He was still frowning when the man pulled the trigger and the bullet slammed into the middle of his forehead, splattering bone, brains and blood over the door of his truck.

CHAPTER 83

Richards sipped his champagne as he studied the bank of CCTV monitors. From his high-backed seat in his office, he could see the queue of people outside waiting to be allowed into the lift and a dozen views of various parts of the club, restaurant and terrace. The only area that wasn’t covered were the toilets and even they had cameras covering the doors. There were three bouncers standing outside the entrance and another half dozen scattered around the club. Not that there was ever any trouble. Troublemakers were stopped at the door. Most of the people allowed in were known to the bouncers and the only newcomers allowed in had to satisfy a number of criteria including dress, appearance and manner.

There was a large clock on the wall above the monitors. It was just after midnight and Richards figured the truck driver was probably already dead. He wasn’t expecting Halpin to call because phone traffic could be traced. Whatever had happened, Halpin would wait until he could tell Richards face to face.

He sipped his champagne again. With Carolyn and Cohen at the bottom of the North Sea and the truck driver dead, Richards was in the clear. With no bodies, no forensics and near-perfect alibis, there was no way the cops could put a case together.

A black man in a sharp suit and a woman in a short black dress walked to the front of the queue and spoke to Jerry O’Hara, the bouncer in charge of the VIP list. Richards recognised the new arrivals — Terry and Jenny. He cursed under his breath as he realised he’d forgotten to add their names to the VIP list. He reached for a transceiver on his desk and pressed the ‘transmit’ button. ‘Jerry, It’s Warwick. Let them in, I know them.’

O’Hara’s hand had instinctively gone up to the earpiece in his right ear as Richards had spoken and he nodded and said something to Terry. Terry and Jenny stepped into the lift. Richards looked at the monitor covering the lift. The camera was up in a top corner and he was able to get a good look down the front of Jenny’s dress. She didn’t seem to be wearing a bra. He sipped his champagne. Jenny looked up and smiled at the camera. It was as if she was looking right at him. Richards felt his stomach lurch. She was the spitting image of Carolyn.

He held the transceiver to his face and pressed the transmit button again. ‘Anita, there’s a couple coming up in the lift. Terry and Jenny. Take them to the VIP section, whatever they want, on me.’

The transceiver crackled. ‘On my way,’ said Anita.

Richards watched Anita walk to the lift doors and greet Terry and Jenny. He followed their progress on the monitors as she escorted them to the VIP area, guarded by two more black-suited bouncers. Anita seated them in a secluded corner and spoke to a waitress. A few minutes later a bottle of Cristal arrived in an ice bucket. Richards raised his glass to the monitor and toasted them.

He waited fifteen minutes before heading out of his office. He walked down a narrow corridor and tapped a four-digit code on a keypad that opened the door to the rear of the club. The door opened at the side of the main bar. A pretty red-haired waitress flashed him a smile as he appeared. She was a recent hiring and Richards couldn’t remember her name but he smiled and nodded as he let himself out of the bar and walked to the VIP area.

Two of his best bouncers were at the entrance to the VIP section, Brank and Stevan, big Serbian lads who spent hours in the gym every day and were keen kick-boxers. They stepped to the side and Richards walked over to Terry and Jenny’s table. ‘Guys, I’m really glad you came,’ he said.

Terry stood up and Richards hugged him and patted him on the back. He shook hands with Jenny. ‘I hope they’re looking after you,’ he said.

Jenny held up her glass. ‘Cristal champagne,’ she said. ‘What’s not to like?’

‘Well, your sister wouldn’t touch it,’ he said.

‘Yeah, Carolyn’s big on red wines,’ said Terry, sitting down. He leaned back and stretched his arms along the sofa. ‘This is the business, Warwick.’

‘It’s select, that’s what makes it work,’ said Richards. ‘We’re careful about who we let in. It means you can let your hair down without worrying some dickhead is going to snap you on his iPhone and sell it to The Sun.’

‘Yeah, Seb says it’s one of the few places he feels safe,’ said Terry.

‘I don’t know why he just doesn’t tell the world,’ said Warwick. ‘There’s no sin in being gay these days.’

‘Seb’s gay?” said Jenny. Her jaw dropped. ‘No bloody way he’s a pillow-biter.’

Terry laughed and slapped his knee. ‘Darling, you can’t go around using words like that.’

‘I’m Australian,’ said Jenny. ‘We speak our minds.’

‘Yes, well, this is England and here you can end up in court for speaking ill of the gay.’ He looked over at Richards. ‘The thing is, the TV world is funny like that. You can be over the top gay like Graham Norton or Alan Carr but if you’re an actor, especially one playing a soap opera leading man, being gay can be the kiss of death, career-wise.’ He shrugged. ‘I know, it doesn’t make sense, but that’s the way it is.’

Richards grinned. ‘What, all those moist housewives would switch off if they knew that Seb preferred the dance of the chocolate chutney?’

Jenny was drinking and she almost choked on her champagne. She pointed at him accusingly. ‘Terry, are you going to let him say that?’

Richards grinned. ‘I was joking,’ he said.

Anita came over with a glass and he poured Cristal into it. He topped up their glasses and then waved the empty bottle at Anita. ‘Get me another, darling. The 2004 if we’ve got any left.’

‘It’s actually a real problem for guys like Seb,’ said Terry as Anita went over to the bar. ‘I kid you not. If the tabloids were to get a picture of him in a clinch with one of his young boyfriends, the network would probably let him go. They wouldn’t admit the real reason, of course. They’d say his character had completed its arc or some bollocks like that.’

‘You are serious, Seb’s gay?’ asked Jenny.

‘As a nine-bob note,’ said Terry.

‘He kept looking at my tits,’ said Jenny.

‘He likes to look,’ said Terry. ‘And he loves to flirt. But, trust me, his interests lie elsewhere.’

Richards sipped his champagne as he looked over at Jenny. ‘I can’t get over how much you look like Carolyn,’ he said.

‘That’s the thing about twins,’ laughed Jenny.

‘No, it’s not just the physical thing. It’s the way you sit, the way you hold yourself. If it wasn’t for the accent, you’d be identical.’

Terry shook his head. ‘Nah, I’d be able to tell them apart, no matter what,’ he said.

‘How?’ asked Jenny.

Terry shook his head. ‘You’ll get offended.’

‘Nonsense.’

‘You will. Trust me.’

Jenny grinned. ‘Now I’m intrigued,’ she said. ‘Come on, I won’t get mad, cross my legs and hope to die.’

Terry leaned forward. ‘Carolyn is a star. And stars have a quality about them. Something that sets them apart from other people. An aura, if you like. A presence. When Carolyn walks into a room, everyone looks at her. People are drawn to her, like moths to a flame. It’s not because she’s on TV. She had that quality long before she was on the show. It’s the star quality that made her a star, not the other way around.’

‘And I don’t have it? I don’t have star quality?’

‘You see, you’re offended.’

Jenny sat back and pouted.

‘I think you’ve got star quality,’ said Richards.

‘I don’t need patronizing,’ said Jenny, crossing her legs.

‘I’m serious,’ said Richards. ‘I was watching on the CCTV as you walked through the club. Heads were turning.’

‘Because they thought I was Carolyn.’

‘Maybe. But they didn’t look at you and look away. You’ve got the same quality that she had.’

‘Had?’ said Jenny, frowning. ‘Past tense.’

‘I meant when I saw her with other people, heads turned. Terry’s right, there is such a thing as star quality and you’ve got it.’ He held her look, smiling, knowing that he had made a big mistake referring to Carolyn in the past tense but hoping that he’d covered for it. He raised his glass to her. ‘Here’s to star quality,’ he said.

‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Terry, holding up his glass.

‘I’ll drink to anything,’ said Jenny, laughing. She leaned over and clinked her glass against theirs.

CHAPTER 84

The Porsche pulled up in front of Carolyn’s house. Anita from the VIP room had driven Richards and Jenny from the club. Jenny looked over at the darkened windows. ‘Every time I get here I expect to see her,’ she said. ‘I wonder where the hell she is?’

‘Have you spoken to the police?’ asked Richards.

‘The TV people say not to,’ said Jenny. ‘They don’t want the bad publicity.’ She sighed. ‘Fancy a nightcap?’

‘I’d go for a coffee,’ said Richards.

‘I can do that,’ she said.

‘What about you, Anita? Coffee?’

Anita looked over her shoulder at Richards, trying to work out if it was okay with him. ‘Come on Anita, it’ll perk you up.’ He said.

‘It is four in the morning, boss.’

‘Oh bloody hell,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ve got to be up at half six.’

‘You might as well stay up,’ said Richards. ‘That’s what Seb usually does.’

‘I suppose they can cover the dark patches with make-up,’ said Jenny. She opened the door. ‘Come on, then.’

She walked unsteadily down the path to the front door.

‘Are you sure about this, boss?’ whispered Anita.

‘Sure about what?’

‘I don’t want to queer your pitch,’ said Anita. ‘Don’t want to be a third wheel.’

‘I’m not going to hit on the girl when she’s in that condition,’ said Richards. ‘She’s as high as a kite. And, anyway, I don’t think there’s any pitch to be queered. I think coffee is all she has in mind.’

They got out of the car and followed Jenny along the path. It took her several attempts to get her key in the lock and then she had trouble working out which way to turn it.

‘Let me,’ said Richards. She stepped to the side and he opened the door. He gave her a mock bow and grinned. ‘After you, my lady.’

They followed Jenny down the hallway to the kitchen. Anita closed the front door behind them. ‘I can offer you espresso, cappuccino, or latte,’ said Jenny.

‘I’m impressed,’ said Richards.

‘No need to be,’ laughed Jenny. ‘Carolyn has one of those hi-tech gizmos that uses capsules. You just pop in the right capsule and press a button.’

‘Espresso for me,’ said Richards. ‘Is there a loo I can use?’

‘Down the hall on the left,’ said Jenny, opening a cupboard.

Richards left Jenny and Anita in the kitchen and headed down the hallway. Jenny had left her bag on a table under a large mirror. He stopped and turned. He heard voices in the kitchen but couldn’t tell who was talking. He unzipped the bag and looked inside. He saw a blue passport and pulled it out. He opened it and turned to the page with the photograph. It was Jenny, all right. Jenny Hall. He put the passport on the table, took out his phone and tapped in her date of birth so he wouldn’t forget it. He put the passport back in the bag and took out a Louis Vitton purse. He rifled through it. There were three credit cards, one was American Express and the other two were from Australian banks. There was an Australian driving licence. It had the same date of birth as the driving licence and an address in Brisbane. He tapped the address into his phone then put the driving licence into the purse and the purse into the bag.

‘Are you okay, Warwick?’

Richards jumped and his hands jerked away from the bag as if he’d been stung. He looked around and then relaxed as he saw it was Anita.

‘Just making sure I look good,’ said Richards, tidying his hair in the mirror.

‘Always,’ said Anita. She walked up to him and lowered her voice. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to push off?’ she whispered. ‘She definitely likes you.’

‘You think?’

‘I can see it in the way she looks at you. I could say there’s a problem back at the club and leave you here.’

Richards chuckled. ‘I’m not a teenager, I don’t need to run scams like that,’ he said. ‘We’re here for coffee, and when we’ve had that you can drive me home. But this time I’ll put myself to bed.’

Anita grinned. ‘Yeah, you were well gone that night,’ she said. ‘We’d never seen you so drunk.’

‘Happens to the best of us. Come on, let’s go get our coffees.’

‘I thought you were using the loo?’

‘The moment passed,’ he said.

‘Well, I need to use it,’ said Anita, and she headed for the toilet as Richards went back to the kitchen.

Jenny had already made three coffees and was sitting at the kitchen table. Richards sat down opposite her, wondering if what Anita had said was true and that Jenny really was attracted to him. ‘You’re serious about working tomorrow?’ he said.

‘Yeah, I have to be in make-up first thing.’ She laughed. ‘I should have followed Terry’s advice and left when he did.’

‘He’s a lightweight,’ laughed Richards.

‘And I’m what? A professional alcoholic?’

‘An enthusiastic amateur,’ joked Richards. ‘I can’t get over your accent.’

‘I’m not the one who talks funny,’ said Jenny. She sipped her coffee. ‘I might just stay awake,’ she said.

‘A cat nap wouldn’t hurt,’ he said. ‘Just make sure you set your alarm. But, seriously, I’m glad you came to the club tonight.’

‘Yeah, me, too.’

‘You should come one weekend, then you’ll be less worried about an early start the next day.’

‘What time do you normally get up?’

‘Me? I’m a real night owl. Usually mid-day.’

‘I’m the opposite. I love the mornings. I love to watch the sun coming up, if I can.’

‘Yeah, well, you don’t have long to wait,’ he said and laughed. ‘How are you enjoying filling in for Carolyn?’

‘It’s easier than I thought,’ she said. ‘The British accent catches me out sometimes.’

‘But you were born here, right?’

‘Sure. But I’ve lived most of my life in Australia and, trust me, you don’t want to have a British accent in Oz.’

‘The whinging Pom thing?’

Jenny laughed. ‘It’s more than a thing, Warwick, it’s a way of life.’

‘And where do you live?’

‘Brisbane. On the east coast. By the ocean. Two million people, just about. I love it.’

‘And what took you to Australia?’

‘Carolyn didn’t tell you about our childhood?’

Richards shook his head.

‘Yeah, well, there’s a reason neither of us hung around,’ she said. ‘It’s just she ran to London and I kept on running. Ended up in Brisbane and married a guy I thought was the one. Turns out that was a mistake, too.’

Anita returned from the bathroom. ‘I know I’m a pain, but my husband always give me an earful when I get home after the sun rises.’ She grinned. ‘I’d like to say it’s a vampire thing but, really, it’s because he doesn’t trust me.’

‘No problem,’ said Richards. He drained his cup. ‘We’d better let Jenny get ready for her close-ups.’ He stood up. ‘It’s been a great evening, we should do it again.’

‘Definitely’. She stood up and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘I had a great time.’

Richards wrinkled his nose. ‘You and Carolyn wear the same perfume,’ he said.

Jenny laughed. ‘I stole it from her dressing table,’ she said.

‘Coco Mademoiselle,’ said Richards.

‘You know your perfumes.’

Richards grinned and shook his head. ‘Just that one,’ he said. ‘Okay, we’ll be off.’ He noticed a red light flashing on the answer machine next to the fridge. ‘You know you’ve got a message.’

Jenny frowned. ‘Message?’

Richards pointed at the flashing light. ‘It’ll be for Carolyn, no one knows I’m here,’ she said. Then she gasped. ‘Oh my God, maybe it’s her.’ She walked over to it and pressed the play button.

‘Hello, I’m trying to get hold of Jenny Castle,’ said a man’s voice. ‘This is Peter Sessions, I’m Carolyn’s agent. I gather you’ve stepped in for her and I really think we should talk. Please call me back when you get the chance.’ The agent gave his phone number, twice, then ended the call.

‘He smells a commission,’ said Richards.

‘Do you think so?’ asked Jenny.

‘He’s circling like a vulture.’

‘That would make me, what, a dead antelope?’

Richards laughed. ‘He wants his fifteen percent, that’s all. But you should give him a call. You do need somebody representing you. Show business is just that, a business.’

‘I will,’ promised Jenny. She took him and Anita down the hallway and showed them out. ‘Drive carefully,’ she said as she closed the door.

Richards and Anita walked over to the Porsche and climbed in. ‘She’s nice,’ said Anita as she started the engine.

‘Yeah, she is that.’

‘Not like you’d think a TV star would be. Really down to earth.’

‘She not really the star,’ said Richards. ‘She’s the star’s sister. But Carolyn was the same.’

‘She definitely likes you.’

‘So you keep saying.’

‘She’s at the window, boss,’ said Anita.

Richards looked across at the house. A light had gone on in one of the upstairs windows and Jenny was standing there, watching him. As Anita started the engine, Richards waved.

Jenny waved back.

Richards blew her a kiss and she did the same back.

As the Porsche pulled away from the kerb, Richards saw a small red dot move across the window and he frowned. Was that a cigarette? Was Jenny smoking? His frown deepened. Jenny didn’t smoke. Carolyn was the smoker.

‘You okay, boss?’ asked Anita.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Richards quietly. He forced himself to smile. ‘Of course I am,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Home, James, and don’t spare the horses.’

CHAPTER 85

The house was in the middle of a long terrace with white-painted brick walls, the window frames painted black and a black front door with a brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. A graffiti artist with delusions of grandeur had sprayed something across the wall under the main window but it had been painted over and was now barely visible. ‘I hope she’s okay,’ said Sergeant Marriott.

‘Her husband was murdered two days ago,’ said Inspector Biddulph. ‘I doubt she’s in any way okay.’

‘I meant I hope she’s not too emotional,’ said Marriott. ‘It upsets me when they cry.’

‘She’s probably still in shock,’ said Biddulph. They were sitting in their car outside the house. It was in Queen’s Park, a run-down area that had once been middle-class but was now occupied mainly by families on benefits and drug dealers. A group of young hoodies stood watching them on the other side of the road, making no effort to conceal the hand-rolled cigarette they were passing around. The sweet smell of marijuana wafted across the street. Biddulph gave them a long stare with the unspoken message that they should move on. They stared back with blank looks that said they didn’t care and would move on when they felt like it. ‘How old is she?’ asked Biddulph.

Marriott flicked through her notebook. ‘Sixty three,’ she said. ‘Four years older than her husband.’

‘Probably not a suspect,’ said Biddulph. ‘Which is a pity.’

‘A pity?’

‘It’s always so much easier when the spouse does it. Or a neighbour.’

‘He was shot three hundred miles away, so doubtful that it was a neighbour.’

‘That’s the thing, isn’t it?’ said Biddulph. ‘That far away, has to be random, right? Wrong time, wrong place.’

‘The Scottish cops say his wallet and his watch were taken,’ said Marriott. ‘But what sort of mugger shoots a guy for a wallet and a watch? That’s the sort of thing that happens in the States, not here. I don’t know, maybe he had something on him we don’t know about? Drugs? Or a lot of cash?’

Biddulph nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s possible,’ he said. He nodded at the house. ‘But it doesn’t look as if he was living beyond his means, does it?’

‘We could check his bank accounts?’

‘If it’s drugs money, it’ll likely be cash. What do you think, Kim? Think he was moving drugs around the country?’

‘It’d be a good cover.’

‘Except he works for a company that decides where he goes, usually at short notice. I don’t see how that would help with drug distribution.’

‘Unless the trucking company is behind it.’

Biddulph laughed. ‘You’re working up a whole conspiracy here, aren’t you?’

‘What’s the alternative?’ she asked. ‘A totally random killing? Because if it was, without any forensic evidence we’ll never solve it.’

‘We don’t have to solve it,’ said Biddulph. ‘It’s not our case. We’re just doing a favour for the Jocks, save them the hassle of coming down here themselves. All we need to do is ask her the usual questions and send the notes up to Glasgow.’

They got out of the car. ‘We’re not going to play good cop, bad cop, are we?’ asked Marriott.

‘Best not,’ said Biddulph. ‘Let’s go for good cop, stupid cop.’

‘Which one am I?’

Biddulph grinned. ‘If you have to ask, sergeant…’ He locked the car and headed towards the house. ‘I want you to do the talking,’ said Biddulph.

‘Because I’m a woman?’

‘Because you’re better at empathising with people than I am and because she’s a sixty-three-year old woman who’s just lost her husband.’

Marriott pressed the doorbell and stood back. They heard shuffling steps coming down the hallway, then the front door opened on a security chain. Marriott already had her warrant card out and she held it up so the woman could see it. ‘I’m Sergeant Kimberley Marriott,’ she said. ‘This is my colleague Inspector Biddulph. We’re so sorry about your loss, Mrs McKenzie. Could we have a wee chat with you about your husband.’

Mrs McKenzie was grey haired and overweight with flabby forearms and rolls of fat around her waist that strained at a flowered dress that ended above a pair of chunky knees. Her eyes were red and bleary and there were dark patches under them. She had no make-up on and her face had a washed-out look as if all the life had been drained from it. She frowned as if she’d been asked to solve a complicated equation. ‘My husband?’ she said.

‘Just a wee chat,’ said Marriott. ‘We won’t take up too much of your time.’

Mrs McKenzie nodded and walked back down the hall.

The two detectives looked at each other. ‘A wee chat?’ mouthed Biddulph.

Marriott shrugged. ‘I was empathizing.’

‘You’re not Scottish,’ whispered Biddulph. ‘And by the sound of it, she isn’t either.’

‘Next time I’ll tell her we want a quick word, would that be better?’

Biddulph waved for Marriott to follow Mrs McKenzie, then closed the door behind them. They found her sitting on a sofa, another flower pattern but this one made up of roses, pink and red. Mrs McKenzie was staring into the middle distance, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

Marriott realised that Mrs McKenzie was playing with her wedding ring, twisting it around and around.

‘Mrs McKenzie, we are so very sorry about what happened to your husband. Do you mind if I sit down?’

Mrs McKenzie looked up in surprise as if seeing her for the first time. ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

‘We’re the police, Mrs McKenzie. ‘I’m Sergeant Kimberley Marriott and this is my colleague Inspector Biddulph. Can we sit down?’

The woman nodded. Marriott sat down on the sofa next to Mrs McKenzie while Biddulph dropped down into an armchair. It was a small room with a gas fire that flickered and hissed and, above it, was a framed portrait of Jesus with eyes that seemed to be looking into Biddulph’s soul. There was a large wooden clock on the mantelpiece that ticked loudly, counting off the seconds. Either side of it were framed photographs. One of them was a much younger Mrs McKenzie on her wedding day, standing next to her proud husband. Biddulph realised with a jolt what a stunningly pretty woman she had been in her twenties — bright eyes, sensuous lips, high cheekbones and long curly blonde hair. She had the legs of a catwalk model and the breasts of a lingerie model and it was clear from the look in her husband’s eyes how much he adored her. It was hard to reconcile the beautiful girl in the picture with the grey-haired, plump lady with the tear-stained face and gnarled hands sitting on the sofa next to Marriott.

‘Mrs McKenzie, do you know if Reg was worried about anything?’ asked Marriott. ‘Was he having problems with anyone?’

Mrs McKenzie frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt your husband?’

Her frown deepened. ‘Why would anyone want to hurt Reg?’

Marriott looked across at Biddulph and he could see from the helpless look in her eyes that she was struggling.

‘We think your husband was killed during a robbery,’ said Biddulph. ‘We’re fairly sure it was a random thing, that your husband was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. But just in case, we have to check to see if there were any reasons why someone might want to kill him.’

‘He was shot,’ said Mrs McKenzie. She pulled a lace handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Why would anyone shoot my Reg?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ said Biddulph. ‘Did he owe anyone money?’

‘Just the bank. For the mortgage.’

‘And no one threatened him? Or was arguing with him?’

Mrs McKenzie shook her head and sniffed. ‘Everyone loved Reg,’ she said. ‘He didn’t have a bad bone in his body.’ She began to cry.

Marriott reached over and held the woman’s hand. ‘Mrs McKenzie, do you have any relatives who can come and sit with you?’

‘My daughter was here this morning.’ She looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘She’ll be back in half an hour.’

Marriott looked over at the mantelpiece and pointed at one of the photographs. ‘That’s Carolyn Castle, isn’t it?’ she asked.

Mrs McKenzie looked across at the photograph. It was in a garish red frame. ‘Yes, Reg got it for me.’

‘What, he bought it, you mean?’

Mrs McKenzie shook her head. ‘No, he got her to sign it for me.’ She pushed herself out of her armchair and waddled over to the framed photograph. She smiled at it. ‘To Debs, with love,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that nice, calling me Debs like that. It’s like she’s a real friend.’ She handed the framed photograph to Marriott.

‘We met her, last week,’ said Marriott, looking at the signature. ‘I never thought of it but I should have asked her for her autograph then.’

‘Are you a fan?’ asked Mrs McKenzie, waddling back to her chair and sitting down.

‘Very much so,’ said Marriott. ‘I watch Rags To Riches whenever I can, but I’m on shifts so it’s not easy.’ She held up the picture. ‘So how did Reg get this for you? Was he at the studio?’

‘No, she posted it a couple of days after he met her. She said she’d send me a signed picture and she was as good as her word.’

‘And how did he meet her?’ asked Marriott. She looked over at Biddulph. The inspector gave her an almost imperceptible nod, letting her know he was happy with her questioning.

‘It was the strangest thing,’ said Mrs McKenzie. ‘He gave her a lift. She was in the middle of nowhere. With no shoes. Can you believe that?’

‘That does sound strange. Where did he pick her up?’

‘Somewhere in Surrey. It was Friday night and he was on his way back to London. He ended up taking her right to her door. Notting Hill, I think. One of those posh mansions, she has.’

Marriot stood up and put the picture back on the shelf. ‘It’s a lovely thing to have.’

‘It was so nice of Reg to do it for me.’ She sighed deeply. ‘He was always doing little things like that for me. Flowers. Ferrero Rocher chocolates. Little presents.’ Tears welled up in her eyes again and she reached for her box of tissues. ‘Why would anyone kill my Reg? He wouldn’t hurt a fly, would Reg. You couldn’t meet a lovelier man.’ She burst into tears as Marriott and Biddulph looked on helplessly.

CHAPTER 86

Peter Sessions was on his way out of his office to meet a client at one of his favourite restaurants when his phone rang. He hesitated at the door. He’d been looking forward to his Ivy lunch all day and really didn’t want to be late. What was left of his professionalism kicked in and he walked over to his desk, determined to keep the call short. He picked up the receiver. ‘Yes?’ he said. If it was someone offering to sue his bank for mortgage insurance, he was quite prepared to curse.

‘Is that Peter Sessions?’

It was a woman, Australian by the sound of it. He realised a fraction of a second before she said her name that it was Carolyn’s sister.

‘This is Jenny Hall, I’m Carolyn’s sister.’

‘Yes, my dear,’ he said. ‘I’ve been your sister’s agent for many years. I was talking to Paul Day, he said you’d stepped in to save the day on Rags To Riches.’

‘Just until she turns up, yes.’

‘She hasn’t been in touch?’

‘No.’

Sessions sucked air between his teeth. ‘That’s a problem.’

‘You’re telling me. She was supposed to pick me up at the airport.’

‘The thing is, my dear, has Paul given you a contract?’

‘A contract? No?’

‘Well you really do need a contract. How much is he paying you?’

‘We haven’t discussed that,’ said Jenny.

Sessions laughed. ‘Well, really, that’s not good enough,’ he said. ‘There are fees that have to be paid and Paul knows that. It sounds to me as if he’s taking advantage of you.’

‘Oh, no, he’s being really sweet.’

‘Paul is sweet. But he’s also one of the toughest producers in London. You need someone fighting in your corner.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘I know so, my dear. Now, why don’t you let me represent you? I’ll do for you exactly what I do for Carolyn.’

‘That’s probably a good idea,’ said Jenny.

‘Excellent. I’ll get a contract sent over and once you’ve signed it I’ll talk to Paul. And there’s something else I wanted to ask you. I’ve had a supermarket on to me asking if Carolyn could do an opening for them on Saturday. Would you be up for that?’

‘You mean pretend to be her?’

‘Well, you’re already doing that,’ said Sessions. ‘They want you in character. It’s Diana Bourne they want, and from what Paul tells me, at the moment you are Diana Bourne.’

‘I’m really not sure I’m up for it, Peter. I’m finding the acting bit stressful enough. I don’t think I’d be comfortable opening a supermarket.’

‘They’ll pay six thousand pounds.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Very much so. And all you have to do is turn up, cut a ribbon and pose for a few photographs. As Diana Bourne. It’s just another acting job.’

‘Six thousand pounds?’ repeated Jenny.

Peter smiled to himself. ‘Minus my commission, of course,’ he said.

‘I suppose I could do it,’ she said.

‘Excellent. I’ll bike a contract and details to you at the studio this afternoon,’ he said. ‘The supermarket company will send a car, obviously.’

‘That’s okay, I’m make my own way there,’ said Jenny. ‘Look, Peter, do I tell them I’m not Carolyn?’

‘’To be honest, my dear, it would be simpler if you didn’t. They want Diana Bourne and that’s what they’re getting. No reason to make things more complicated than they already are.’

CHAPTER 87

The two detectives stood next to their Vauxhall Vectra. ‘So what do you think?’ asked Marriott. ‘It is a coincidence? Two men that Carolyn Castle comes into contact with are both murdered?’

Biddulph shrugged. ‘Everyone is six steps removed from everyone else in the world.’ Three more hoodies had joined the group across the road and now two joints were being passed around.

‘You believe that? Can you get to the president of the United States in six steps?’

‘Easy,’ said Biddulph. ‘In less than that. I met the Commissioner once. He’s met the Prime Minister. The Prime Minister has met the President. So I get to the President of the United States in three moves. You get there in four because you know me. Through the President you get to pretty much anyone who matters in the world. So yeah, I think it’s probably true. But the big question is, what connects Carolyn Castle to Maxwell Dunbar and Reg McKenzie?’

‘Dunbar worked for her and McKenzie picked her up in the middle of nowhere. Without her shoes.’

‘That’s the interesting thing, isn’t it?’ agreed Biddulph. ‘Can you think of a reason why a woman would ditch her shoes?’

‘If she was running,’ said Marriott.

‘That’s what I was thinking.’ He looked at his watch. It was just after six o’clock. ‘Do you feel like paying her a visit, strike while the iron’s hot?’

Marriott grinned. ‘I’m fine, but inspectors don’t get overtime so it’s your call.’

‘Let’s do it,’ said Biddulph. ‘I’ll drive while you see if you can get a home address for her.’ He unlocked the door and climbed in to the driver’s seat.

Marriott had no trouble getting Carolyn Castle’s address as she had a number of speeding tickets so her details were on the Police National Computer. The traffic was heavy and it took the best part of an hour to drive to Notting Hill Gate. They managed to park a short distance from her front door. As they walked towards the house, a large Mercedes stopped in front and Carolyn Castle got out.

She waved at the driver and the Mercedes drove off. Biddulph was sure she had seen them but she turned away and walked up to her front door. ‘Miss Castle!’ he called, but there was no reaction. She took her keys out of her bag and opened the front door. ‘Miss Castle!’ Biddulph called again.

As she stepped inside the house, Biddulph ran up to the front door. ‘Miss Castle!’ he said.

She frowned at him, the door half closed. ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

‘Inspector Mark Biddulph. I spoke to you last week.’

She shook her head. ‘Not me you didn’t.’

‘Is there something wrong, Miss Castle?’ asked Biddulph. Sergeant Marriott joined him on the doorstep. ‘And what’s with the Australian accent?’

‘I’m not Carolyn,’ she said. ‘But I am Australian.’

‘Miss Castle, are you okay?’ asked Marriott.

‘I’m Carolyn’s sister. Jenny Hall.’

‘Her sister?’ said Biddulph.

‘Twin sister,’ said Jenny.

‘Would you mind showing me some identification, Miss Hall?’ asked Biddulph.

Jenny fished her wallet out of her bag and flicked through it until she found a driving licence. She held it out and Biddulph took it from her. It was an Australian licence with her photograph and the name Jenny Hall.

‘I’m sorry about the confusion,’ he said, handing the licence back to her. ‘Miss Castle didn’t mention she had a sister.’

‘I’m the black sheep of the family,’ she said.

‘Can we talk to her?’ asked Biddulph.

‘She’s not here right now,’ said Jenny.

‘Do you know where she is?’

‘Not really, no.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Biddulph. ‘You mean she’s missing?’

‘I’ve just got here, and she hasn’t been around for a few days.’

‘Has someone reported her missing?’

‘I spoke to her bosses at the production company and they said not to worry, that she sometimes checks herself into a clinic.’

‘Why?’ asked Biddulph.

‘To dry out,’ said Jenny. She made a drinking motion with her hand. ‘My sister has a bit of a drinking problem. Not like me. I drink too much, I fall over. No problem.’ She laughed. ‘Sorry. Old joke.’

‘So you’re saying she’s in a clinic somewhere?’

‘I don’t know. She’s only missed two days at work and they say she’s done it before. Plus they’ve been having arguments over the show. You should talk to the producer, Paul Day.’

‘What sort of arguments?’ asked Biddulph.

‘I’m really not sure. About her role, I think. Stuff like that. But like I said, you need to talk to Paul Day.’

Biddulph looked up at the house. ‘And you’re staying here now?’

Jenny nodded. ‘I told Carolyn I was coming over a couple of weeks ago. She was supposed to collect me at the airport but she didn’t turn up.’

‘So how did you get into the house?’ asked Biddulph.

‘She left a set of keys for me and I knew the burglar alarm code.’

‘Who did she leave the keys with?’ asked Biddulph.

‘She left them under a rock,’ said Jenny.

‘A rock?’

Jenny smiled. ‘In the back garden. A plastic rock. She always leaves a set there, has done for as long as she’s had the house. I can show you if you want.’

‘No, that’s okay,’ said Biddulph. ‘I have to say, Miss Hall, you seem very relaxed about your sister’s disappearance.’

‘I was a lot less relaxed when I first got here, but no one else seems to be worried so I thought I’d wait a few days and see if she turns up. Can I ask you why you want to talk to her?’

‘It’s part of an on-going investigation. When she does turn up could you ask her to call me?’ Biddulph took a business card from his wallet and gave it to her.

Jenny studied the card and nodded. ‘Absolutely,’ she said.

CHAPTER 88

The entry phone buzzed and Richards jumped. Every time it sounded he expected to see Carolyn on the screen, soaking wet and back to haunt him. He walked over to the unit, his heart pounding, but it was only Halpin. ‘Can I come up, boss?’ he asked.

Richards buzzed him in and fetched a bottle of brandy from his drinks cabinet. He poured himself a slug and another for Halpin. He tossed in ice cubes and had Halpin’s drink ready for him when the lift doors opened.

‘Cheers, boss,’ said Halpin, taking the glass.

‘How did it go?’

‘All good,’ said Halpin. ‘Bit messy but then guns always are. Took his wallet and his watch. The cops’ll think it was a robbery.’ He took a gulp of brandy.

‘And your alibi’s rock solid?’

‘Played poker, lost a monkey, serves me right. You?’

‘I was in the club all night. Terry, that black guy who’s pally with Carolyn, was there and Jenny was with him.’

Halpin’s eyes hardened as he looked at Richards over the top of his glass.

‘Don’t give me that look,’ said Richards.

‘What look?’

‘You know what look. We just had a few drinks.’

Halpin shrugged. ‘None of my business, boss,’ he said.

‘Actually it worked out well. We went back to her place afterwards. Well, Carolyn’s place. And I managed to get a look at her passport and driving licence.’

‘You’re serious?’

‘Damn right.’ He reached into his pocket and took out a piece of paper. He’d copied Jenny’s date of birth and address from his phone. ‘And don’t worry, Anita from the club was there as chaperone.’

Halpin took the piece of paper and looked at it. ‘Both the passport and the driving licence were Australian?’

Richards nodded. ‘Yeah, and both in the name of Jenny Hall.’

‘I don’t get the Aussie passport,’ said Halpin. ‘She was born in Britain, right?’

‘Yeah, but she married an Australian so she got citizenship.’

‘Date of birth was the same?’

‘Yeah.’

Halpin put the piece of paper into his wallet. ‘I’ll get my guy to look for a birth certificate for her and Carolyn. I’ll feel happier knowing who she really is.’

‘She’s Jenny Hall. I don’t think there’s any doubt about that,’ said Richards.

Halpin shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She seems to have come from nowhere. And she appeared the day after we killed her sister.’

‘So?’

Halpin sighed. ‘I don’t know, boss. I can’t work it out, but something doesn’t feel right.’

‘Check away then,’ said Richards, putting down his glass. ‘But she seems just fine to me.’

‘I know I’m talking out of order, boss, but can I say something?’

‘Can I stop you?’

‘Sure. Just tell me to shut my mouth and I’ll do it. But this girl, I think she’s trouble. I think you should keep away from her. As things stand, we’re in the clear. I want it to stay that way.’

‘You think I want to go to prison?’

‘Of course not. But I can see you like her, and that spells trouble.’

‘By her you mean Jenny?’

‘Jenny, Carolyn, they’re the bloody same, boss. That’s what you don’t seem to get. We killed Carolyn and you cozying up to her twin sister doesn’t change that.’

Richards nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said.

‘Okay?’ repeated Halpin.

‘Okay, now you can shut your mouth,’ said Richards. ‘You’ve said your piece but what I do or don’t do with Jenny Hall is nobody’s business but mine.’ His mobile phone rang and he continued to glare at Halpin as he took the call. ‘Yeah?’

‘Warwick? It’s Jenny.’

Richards turned his back on Halpin. ‘Hey, good to hear from you. Everything okay?’

‘Everything is fine and dandy. I’m calling to ask a favour.’

‘Anything.’

‘I’ve been asked to open a supermarket tomorrow and I could do with some moral support. And a ride.’

Richards laughed. ‘Sure. What time do you need picking up?’

CHAPTER 89

Richards arrived at Carolyn’s house just before mid-day. Jenny let him in and made coffee for him in the kitchen. ‘You’ll never guess what I found last night,’ said Jenny as she slotted a pod into the coffee maker.

‘Amaze me,’ said Richards.

‘An old photo album,’ she said. ‘It’s in the sitting room. Bring it in, will you?’

Richards went through to the sitting room. There was a large leather-bound photo album on the coffee table. He picked it up and took it back to the kitchen. Jenny put two cups of cappuccino on the table and sat down. Richards joined her and opened the album.

‘I had no idea Carolyn had this,’ said Jenny.

The first photograph was of a pretty brunette in a hospital bed holding two babies swathed in white cotton.

‘I think our father must have taken that.’

There were dozens of snapshots of the babies with the mother but only a couple with the father, a tall man with a piercing stare. In one picture had had the two babies clutched to his chest and there was a look of confusion on his face as if he was unsure how he should be holding them.

‘Carolyn never talked about your father,’ said Richards.

‘He wasn’t a good dad,’ said Jenny. ‘Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t abusive, he never hurt us or anything, but he was cold.’ She shrugged. ‘If it had been more of a family, I probably wouldn’t have run away to Australia.’

‘Is that what you were doing? Running away?’

‘Pretty much.’

Richards turned the page. There was a photograph of the two girls in school uniform, black skirts and grey blazers and matching satchels. ‘You were good-looking kids,’ he said.

‘We got that from our mum.’

‘She’s still around?’

Jenny shook her head. ‘She died a few years after that picture was taken.’ She looked at her watch. ‘We ought to be going,’ she said.

She let them out of the house, setting the burglar alarm before they left.

‘How did you know the code?’ asked Richards, as they walked towards the Porsche.

Jenny frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The burglar alarm code. When you went into the house the first time, why didn’t the alarm go off?’

Jenny laughed. ‘She uses her date of birth. So it’s not a number I can ever forget.’

‘When is your birthday?’

‘She uses the year,’ said Jenny. She wagged a finger at him. ‘And no, I’m not telling you the year I was born. We girls have to keep something to ourselves.’

Richards unlocked the doors to the Porsche and they climbed in.

The supermarket was in South London, about a forty-five minute drive from Carolyn’s house. Richards still thought of it as Carolyn’s house, even though she was dead and it was Jenny who now lived there. When they arrived, there were several hundred people — mainly women and children — standing at the entrance. ‘Oh my God,’ said Jenny. ‘They’re not all here to see me, are they?’

‘I think so,’ said Richards. The car park was pretty much full but he managed to find a space eventually and walked with her towards the entrance.

‘What do we do?’ asked Jenny.

Richards chuckled. ‘I’m a virgin at this, too,’ he said.

A middle-aged man in a dark suit hurried over, accompanied by two young women. ‘Miss Castle, I’m so pleased to see you,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘Bob Harris.’

Jenny shook it and didn’t correct him over the name. ‘I see you’ve got a mob,’ she said.

‘We’ve never had a turnout like this,’ said Harris. ‘I’m the regional manager and I do these all over and this is the best I’ve seen.’

‘Shows you how popular the show is,’ said Richards.

The man looked at Richards, obviously wondering who he was.

‘I’m sorry, this is Warwick, a friend of mine,’ said Jenny.

The manager smiled dismissively and then turned his attention back to Jenny. ‘We’ve got a tape set up and a pair of scissors.’ He waved at one of the girls and she produced a pair of shears from behind her back. ‘If you could just say a few words about how pleased you are to see the new supermarket here, how it’ll be an asset to the community, and perhaps mention that ten percent of today’s receipts will be going to charity.’

‘No worries,’ said Jenny.

Richards realised she’d slipped back into her Australian accent and he coughed pointedly. She looked over at him and he mouthed ‘accent’ at her.

She bit down on her lower lip and nodded, then smiled at the regional manager. ‘That’s a nice idea, giving money to charity,’ she said. The Australian accent had gone.

‘Then we’d like you to pose for photographs with a dozen of our shoppers. We ran a competition on our website and the prize was to be photographed with you.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Jenny.

‘And then if you’d like to sign a few autographs, that would also be fine. I gather we have you for two hours, so as soon as you want to go just give me a wave and I’ll bring the proceedings to a close.’

‘I’m in no hurry,’ said Jenny. ‘I never forget it’s the fans who make the show what it is.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Right, let’s go.’

The regional manager put his arm protectively around her shoulder and led her towards the crowd, which began to buzz with anticipation.

CHAPTER 90

Jenny ended up staying at the supermarket for three hours. Richards remained on the edge of the crowd, watching as she performed the opening, paused for photographs and signed autographs for well over a hundred housewives, most of whom were wearing tracksuits, had their dyed hair pulled back into tight ponytails and were pushing toddlers in McLaren pushchairs. He was amazed at her patience and the way she kept smiling and listening patiently to whatever they had to say to her.

The area manager stayed at her shoulder throughout, trying to maintain order. He made a determined effort to get people to line up but, at times, there was a sea of housewives around her like sharks around a wounded fish.

Every now and again she would look over at Richards, pen poised, and either smile or wink. Richards had to struggle to remember it was Jenny signing the autographs and not Carolyn. The housewives seemed to love her and would hang on her every word. Most wanted to touch her, on the arm or the shoulder, as if trying to reassure themselves that she was real.

Gradually the crowd got smaller and eventually Richards saw her say something to the area manager and he raised his hands and announced that Miss Castle had to leave. He brought her over to Richards, his two female assistants in tow.

‘I can’t thank you enough, Miss Castle,’ he said. ‘That really went well. You’re an absolute star, literally and metaphorically.’

‘It was a pleasure,’ said Jenny. Richards unlocked the Porsche.

‘Miss Castle, I’m sorry to be a bother, but could you sign this for my mum?’ asked one of the girls. ‘She’s a huge fan.’ She held out a DVD cover and a pen.

‘Now then, Kelly, we shouldn’t be taking up any more of Miss Castle’s time,’ admonished the area manager.

‘No, that’s okay,’ said Jenny. She took the DVD cover and the pen.

‘Can you make it “To Pat” please?’ said the girl.

Jenny signed the DVD cover with a flourish and handed it and the pen back to the girl.

The supermarket team walked off as Jenny and Richards climbed into the Porsche. ‘I could do with a cigarette,’ she sighed.

‘I thought you didn’t smoke?’

Jenny laughed. ‘I don’t. But playing at being Carolyn always makes me feel like having a cigarette.’ She put a hand on his arm. ‘Does that sound crazy?’

‘I guess not,’ said Richards. ‘I don’t have any cigarettes, but I do have cigars.’

She laughed again and squeezed his arm. ‘Now that would be crazy.’ She took her mobile phone out of her handbag. ‘I suppose I’d better see who that was.’

‘Somebody called you?’

‘I had the phone on vibrate,’ she said. ‘They called three times. Almost gave me an orgasm the third time.’ She laughed at the look of astonishment on his face. ‘Joke,’ she said. ‘But chance would be a fine thing.’ She tapped on the screen and then held the phone to her ear. ‘At least they left a message,’ she said. She frowned as she listened, then her mouth opened wide and she waved at Richards. ‘It was Carolyn,’ she mouthed.

Richards stared at her, his mind whirling. Carolyn? That was impossible. He forced himself to stay calm as he watched her listen intently to the message.

‘I can’t believe I missed her,’ she said eventually.

‘Call her back,’ said Richards.

Jenny shook her head. ‘She withheld the number.’

‘Can I hear her what she said?’

‘Sure,’ said Jenny. She tapped on the screen and held out the phone.

Richards put it to his ear and listened. ‘Hi, Jenny, this is Carolyn. Yeah, I’m sorry I wasn’t at the airport to pick you up. I’ve had a pretty rough few weeks and I just need some me time. I’ve booked myself into a clinic — they don’t want to say which one — and I’ll be incognito for another week. I’m already feeling a lot better. Anyway, I’ve got to go. You be good, okay?’ There was a beep and the message ended.

‘Well at least we know that she’s okay,’ said Jenny, taking back the phone and slipping it into her handbag.

‘Absolutely,’ said Richards. He took a deep breath and tried to fight the panic that was threatening to overwhelm him. Carolyn wasn’t okay. She was in a trunk at the bottom of the North Sea. So how the hell had she made the phone call.

‘Are you okay, Warwick?’ asked Jenny. ‘You look as white as a sheet.’

Richards grimaced and rubbed his stomach. ‘Feeling a bit queasy,’ he said. ‘Too much Cristal last night.’

‘You need to watch that,’ she said. ‘Too much bubbly can be bad for you.’ She smiled brightly. ‘Right, are you going to run me home? I feel like I need a shower after mingling with the great unwashed.’

CHAPTER 91

Biddulph and Marriott showed their warrant cards to the security guard at the entrance to the studio car park and he told them where to leave their car. ‘What’s the plan this time?’ asked Marriott as Biddulph parked the car. ‘Do we do good cop, bad cop again?’ It was Monday morning, a cold day with grey skies threatening rain.

‘No problem, I’ve brought my Taser,’ said Biddulph as he parked and switched off the engine. ‘If she doesn’t come clean, I’ll Taser her.’ He flashed her a tight smile to show he was joking.

They went through to reception and asked to speak to Jenny Hall. The receptionist made a call and a few minutes later Paul Day appeared. He shook their hands and asked them why they needed to talk to Jenny.

‘It’s part of our ongoing investigation,’ said Biddulph.

‘To do with Carolyn?’ asked Day.

‘Connected with Miss Castle, yes,’ said Biddulph. ‘She hasn’t contacted you then?’

Day shook his head. ‘No. It’s been a week and we’re starting to get worried.’

‘Has she been missing for a week before?’

‘No, never more than a few days.’

‘Have you reported her as officially missing?’

‘The thing is, sometimes when you go into rehab the first thing they do is cut off all contact with the outside world. We’d look pretty stupid if we said she was missing and then she turns up at the Priory. And it’s not as if there are any suspicious circumstances.’

‘Some people might say a sudden disappearance is suspicious,’ said the inspector.

‘I know. ‘ Day rubbed his chin. ‘I’ll talk to Carolyn’s agent and see what he has to say. ‘Now you want Jenny, right?’

‘Just a few words, yes.’

‘She’s in make-up, between scenes,’ said the producer. ‘I’ll take you through.’

He went with them through the double doors and down a corridor and pushed open a door. Jenny was sitting in a chair while Tracey, the make-up artist, was applying mascara.

‘Jenny, darling, there are two police officers here want a word,’ said Day. ‘They were in to see your sister a while back.’

Jenny smiled at the two detectives in the mirror. ‘Inspector Biddulph and Sergeant Marriott, nice to see you,’ she said.

‘You know them?’ asked Day.

‘We went around to Carolyn’s house last week,’ said Marriott.

‘I don’t want to be a pain, but do you have any idea how long this is going to take?’ asked the producer. ‘We’re about to start a new scene.’

‘It’s as long as a piece of string, I’m afraid,’ said Biddulph.

‘I was hoping for something more specific actually,’ said Day. He patted Jenny on the shoulder. ‘We can shoot Seb’s close-ups and a few cutaways, so I can give you an hour. But try to cut it as short as you can.’ He nodded at the detectives and left the room.

Biddulph looked at the make-up artist. ‘We’d actually prefer to talk to Miss Castle privately,’ he said.

‘I’ll grab a coffee,’ she said.

‘Can you get me one, Tracey? Cappuccino? Two sugars.’

‘Sure,’ said Tracey. She put down her brush and mascara and left the room.

‘So how can I help you?’ Jenny asked the detectives.

‘I gather Miss Castle hasn’t been in touch,’ said Biddulph.

‘Actually she has,’ said Jenny. ‘She phoned me over the weekend.’

Biddulph frowned. ‘Mr Day doesn’t seem to be aware of that.’

Jenny bit down on her lower lip. ‘God, I completely forgot,’ she said. ‘How stupid of me.’

‘Did she say where she was?’

‘In rehab, but she didn’t say where. I didn’t actually speak to her, she left a message on my mobile.’

‘I don’t suppose you still have the message?’ asked the inspector.

‘Actually, I have. I didn’t delete it,’ said Jenny. She leaned over to the shelf in front of her chair and rifled through her handbag. She took out her phone, scrolled through the menu and handed the phone to the inspector.

Biddulph pressed the play button and listened to the message. ‘Well that’s interesting,’ he said when it had finished. He handed the phone back to her. ‘Very interesting indeed.’

‘I should have told Paul,’ said Jenny. ‘It just slipped my mind, being so busy and all.’

Biddulph nodded. ‘It would put his mind at rest.’

‘So why did you want to see me?’ asked Jenny.

‘We’ve been making some enquiries in Australia,’ said Biddulph. ‘And we’ve run into a bit of a problem.’ He looked at Jenny expectantly but Jenny shrugged, nonplussed. ‘Is there something you’d like to tell us, before this goes any further, Miss Hall?’

CHAPTER 92

Paul was reading a copy of Broadcast magazine with his feet up on the desk when the door opened. It was Laura. ‘Carolyn’s here for a word,’ she said.

Day jolted as if he’d been stung. ‘Carolyn?’

Laura grimaced. ‘Sorry. Jenny, I mean. Jenny’s here.’

Day swung his legs off his desk as Jenny walked in to his office. ‘Darling, everything okay with the boys in blue?’

‘Grey more than blue,’ said Jenny. ‘They were asking about Carolyn, obviously. It reminded me that she’d left me a message over the weekend.’ She handed him her phone. ‘Have a listen for yourself.’

Day listened to the message on Jenny’s phone, and then gave it back to her. ‘At least we know she’s okay,’ he said. ‘But it would be nice if she’d told us where she was.’

Jenny sighed. ‘You haven’t got a cigarette, have you?’

‘I gave up years ago.’

‘I’m betting you’ve got a pack in your desk drawer though,’ said Jenny.

Day laughed and opened the top drawer, took out a pack of Rothmans and a cheap disposable lighter and gave them to her.

‘Told you.’ She laughed and lit one.

‘You know you can’t smoke inside,’ said Day. ‘I don’t know what the law is Down Under but in these parts it’s a hanging offence.’

‘I’ll plead ignorance,’ she said, and took a long pull on the cigarette.

‘Anyway, when did you start smoking?’ asked Day.

Jenny blew a tight plume of smoke up at the ceiling. ‘Since you made me a soap opera star,’ she said.

‘You’re becoming more and more like your sister, you know that?’

‘You say that like it’s a bad thing,’ laughed Jenny.

‘Just be careful,’ said Day. ‘I don’t want you going missing, not until we’ve wrapped up this episode, anyway.’

‘Then what?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Day.

‘What happens to Diana Bourne? Will she be written out?’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Day. ‘The network loves the character.’

‘Even when I’m playing Diana?’

Day laughed. ‘To be honest. I think they prefer it with you playing the part.’

‘Well I’m only temporary, you know that,’ said Jenny. ‘As soon as she’s back, I’m off.’

One of the runners popped her head around the door. ‘They need Miss Castle on set, right now,’ she said.

‘You’ve been summoned,’ said Day. ‘I’ll see you at lunch. They’ve got Chicken Kiev on the menu, always one of my favorites.’

‘Thanks, Paul,’ said Jenny.

‘For what?’

‘For everything.’ She blew him a kiss as she headed out after the runner.

CHAPTER 93

Richards was woken from a dreamless sleep by the sound of his mobile ringing. He rolled over and grabbed for it. It was Halpin. ‘Yeah, what do you want?’ growled Richards.

‘I’m outside, boss. Okay to come up?’

Richards groaned and squinted at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It was just after ten o’clock in the morning. ‘Yeah, okay. Give me two minutes and I’ll buzz you up.’ Richards rolled out of bed and padded over to his bathroom to pee and drink from the tap. He grabbed a white toweling bathrobe and went over to his entry phone. It buzzed and he pressed the button allowing Halpin in before going into the kitchen to switch on the kettle.

Halpin stepped out of the lift holding two cups of Costa coffee. He gave one to Richards. ‘We’ve got a problem, boss,’ he said.

‘I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.’

Halpin dropped down onto a sofa and put his feet up on the coffee table. Richards glared at him and Halpin swung his feet off. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

‘You’d be a bit more careful if you knew how much that table cost,’ said Richards. ‘It’s imported from Italy and cost more than your bloody car. Now what’s so important you get to wake me up from my beauty sleep?’

‘They ain’t twins,’ said Halpin.

‘Mate, I’ve seen photographs of Carolyn and Jenny when they were kids. A whole album of them. When they were born, when they went to school, with their parents.’

Halpin frowned. ‘Are you sure?’

‘What do you mean, am I sure? I’m not soft in the head.’

‘I didn’t mean that, boss. But there were no twins called Carolyn and Jenny born on that date you gave. Or on the day either side. My guy says we can start checking every day for a year either side but that’s going to take time.’

‘How many bloody twins are there? There can’t be that many.’

‘My guy says there are about two thousand kids a day born in the UK, give or take,’ said Halpin. About three percent are twins. So that’s about sixty twins a day. My guy checked on that day and there were no twins called Jenny and Carolyn.’ He took a piece of paper from his pocket and looked at it. ‘There were sixteen pairs of female twins. Two of those pairs were in Northern Ireland. Three were in Scotland. There was a Jennifer, born in Edinburgh, but no Carolyn.’ He gave the piece of paper to Halpin. ‘And my guy checked a week either side, just to be on the safe side. No Jenny and Carolyn.’

Richards studied the names on the piece of paper. ‘This doesn’t make any sense, does it?’

‘Unless Jenny used the wrong birth date to get her passport and driving licence in Australia. And I can’t see that happening because, at some point, she would surely have had to show a birth certificate.’

‘Maybe, maybe not. She was married to an Australian. Maybe she lied on her marriage certificate.’ He looked up at Halpin. ‘What about checking up on her in Australia? If nothing else you should be able to check the address that was on the driving licence?’

‘I’m ahead of you, boss. I’ve already asked my guy here to get in touch with someone Down Under. He just got back to me with the info.’ He took a deep breath as if trying to steady himself. ‘Here’s the thing, boss. That address you got, her place in Brisbane, Jenny Hall’s never lived there.’

‘You sure?’

‘My guy says there’s a Vietnamese family at that address and they’ve been there for the last six years. He had someone go around and knock on the door and they’ve never heard of her.’

‘Shit,’ said Richards. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

‘It gets worse,’ said Halpin. ‘There’s no record of any Australian called Hall marrying a Jenny, not in the last twenty years anyway.’

Richards closed his eyes and cursed under his breath.

‘Sorry, boss.’

‘What are you apologising for?’ hissed Richards.

Halpin shrugged but said nothing.

‘What the hell is going on?’ asked Richards. ‘Who the hell is she?’

‘There’s only one person she can be,’ said Halpin. ‘It’s Carolyn Castle.’

‘Pretending to be her twin sister?’

‘There’s no other explanation,’ said Halpin. I know it sounds crazy but that’s the only thing it can be. Jenny Hall doesn’t exist, not in Australia and not here. There are no twins called Carolyn and Jenny. There’s just Carolyn. And she’s fucking with you.’

‘Why?’ said Richards. Halpin didn’t reply but he stared at Richards as he sipped his coffee. ‘I’ve been checking up on that friend of hers, that Terry, the one that’s always sniffing around her,’ Halpin said eventually.

‘Terry Carter? He’s gay.’

‘Gay or straight isn’t the point, boss. He’s what they call a prop-master.’

‘So?’

‘So part of his job is making props. Props like documents and passport and ID cards, anything they might use on the TV show.’

Richards nodded thoughtfully. ‘You think he faked the passport?’

‘I think he can fake anything. He’s got this props business based in Kilburn. He lives there, too. Look boss, maybe this Terry guy is helping her pretend to be Jenny.’

‘Why would she do that? Why pretend to be a non-existent sister?’

‘I don’t know, boss. But I’ve got an address for him and I want to give his place the going over.’

‘Looking for what?’

‘I don’t know, boss. I’ve just got a feeling about him. If Jenny isn’t Jenny, if she actually is Carolyn, then he’d know, right? He’s close to her. And if he hasn’t said anything, then maybe it’s because he’s helping her.’

Richards nodded slowly. ‘You might be right.’

‘Thought I’d go around this afternoon. He works all day so the place should be empty.’

‘How does that help us?’

‘We need to know who she’s spoken to,’ said Halpin. ‘She hasn’t gone to the cops obviously or they’d have pulled us in. But she might have told this Terry. And he might be helping her.’

‘This is a bloody nightmare,’ said Richards.

‘We’ll get it sorted,’ said Halpin. ‘But we’re going to have move quickly.’

Richards nodded. ‘You’re right.’

‘Today. Now.’

Richards nodded again. ‘Okay.’

‘You need to get the boat ready, boss.’

Richards closed his eyes and sighed. ‘I know,’ he said. He opened his eyes. ‘Sod it. I’m coming with you.’

‘You sure, boss?’

‘I’m sure.’

CHAPTER 94

They drove to Kilburn in the Porsche. Richards parked around the corner from Terry Carter’s house after they’d driven by twice giving the place the once over. It had once been an industrial building; it was two stories high with small windows and a flat roof. There was parking for six cars in front and for another dozen at the back where a metal fire escape zig-zagged to the upper floor.

‘There’s an alarm,’ said Richards.

‘Yeah. They use the place to store props for movies and that. The insurance people probably insist on it. I’ll call Bunny.’

Andy ‘Bunny’ Warren was an old friend of Halpin’s. As a teenager, he’d been a prolific housebreaker but in his twenties he’d moved into home security and now had a thriving business installing alarms and safes. He wasn’t a poacher turned gamekeeper though; Warren wasn’t above doing a bit of housebreaking now and again, partly for the money but mainly because he just wanted to keep his hand in.

‘You sure there’s no one inside?’ asked Richards.

‘Carter runs the business from his mobile, pretty much. He doesn’t have any staff. He’s got a live-in boyfriend but he works so he’s not home either. Place is empty during the day.’

‘Call Bunny then,’ said Richards.

Halpin made the call and an hour later Warren turned up in a works van.

‘Mick, Warwick, how the hell are they hanging?’ asked Warren. He was a portly man in his fifties with an ill-fitting toupe that was several shades darker than his sideburns.

‘All good,’ said Halpin. ‘Got a place we’d like to get into. Worth a monkey to us.’

‘A monkey’s good,’ said Warren. Halpin pulled a roll of fifty-pound notes from his pocket and gave them to Warren.

‘Pleasure doing business with you,’ he said. He went back to his van, pulled out a blue metal toolbox, and walked off. He came back fifteen minutes later, whistling cheerfully. ‘Right, Bob’s your mother’s brother,’ he said. ‘I’ve left the front door on the latch. The alarm panel is on the left as you go in. I’ve programmed it with 6789 for when you want to leave. That way the owner will never known you’ve been inside. It’s a perimeter alarm so the only sensors are on the doors and windows. There are no movement sensors so if you want you can reset the alarm as soon as you go inside.’ He winked. ‘Be lucky.’

Richards and Halpin climbed out of the Porsche as Warren went back to his van. ‘You’re carrying, right?’ asked Richards as he locked the car.

Halpin nodded and patted his coat pocket.

They walked over to the front door. Richards took a quick look around and pushed it open. They stepped inside and Richards closed the door and locked it.

‘What the hell is this place?’ asked Richards. ‘It’s like some lost and found warehouse.’

‘He rents stuff out to film and TV companies,’ said Halpin. ‘Say a film needs an old record player. The don’t want to be bothered buying one so they rent one from companies like this. It’s quite an earner, if you’ve got the right contacts.’

‘Looks like a load of old junk to me,’ said Richards. He gestured at the metal stairs that led to the upper floor. ‘That must be where he lives.’

They went upstairs and into the main sitting room. ‘Talk about living above the shop,’ said Halpin. ‘It would give me the creeps living in a place like this.’

‘I dunno, there’s plenty of space,’ said Richards. ‘No noisy neighbours, plenty of privacy.’

Halpin went over to a table. There was a computer there and a phone. Next to the phone was a small Sony digital tape recorder. He picked it up and pressed the button. ‘Hi Jenny, this is Carolyn.’ Halpin’s eyes widened. ‘Yeah, I’m sorry I wasn’t at the airport to pick you up. I’ve had a pretty rough few weeks and I just need some me time. I’ve booked myself into a clinic — they don’t want to say which one — and I’ll be incognito for another week. I’m already feeling a lot better. Anyway, I’ve got to go. You be good, okay?’ Halpin switched off the voice recorder and looked over at Richards. ‘Is that enough for you, boss?’ he said,

Richards was staring at him open-mouthed. ‘The devious bitch,’ he said. ‘She faked it. Carter must have called her when she was at the supermarket and played the message.’ He shook his head. ‘Un-bloody-believable.’

‘This whole thing has been planned,’ said Halpin. ‘She’s setting us up.’

‘But for what? Why didn’t she just go to the cops?’ Richards pulled up a leather captain’s chair and sat down at the table and switched on the computer. It was a MacBook and it booted up in a few seconds. Richards wasn’t good with computers but this one wasn’t password protected and he rubbed his chin as he studied the file. One was marked JENNY DOCS and he clicked on it. The file opened to reveal a number of files, PDFs and photographs. He clicked on one of the photographs. It was a head and shoulders shot of Jenny. Or Carolyn. He clicked on one of the PDFs and grinned as it filled the screen. It was an Australian passport, with Carolyn’s photograph. He clicked on another PDF. It was an Australian driving licence, again with Carolyn’s photograph.

Halpin looked over his shoulder. ‘Bloody hell. What is he, a master forger?’

‘He works in TV, they’re always making fake documents,’ said Richards. ‘Besides, who knows what a real Aussie driving licence or passport looks like? Anything with a bloody kangaroo on it will do.’

Richard’s chair was on wheels and he pushed himself backwards. The wheels rattled over the wooden boards.

He glared at Halpin. ‘Mate, if Carolyn is Jenny or Jenny is Carolyn, then what the hell did you do with that bloody trunk?’

‘It went over the side, boss, like I said.’

‘I do not fucking believe this,’ said Richards.

Halpin pulled up a chair and sat down opposite him. ‘She’s been playing us from the start, boss.’

‘But you said she was dead,’ said Richards. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Right?’

Halpin nodded.

‘But she can’t be, can she?’ Richards pointed at the digital recorder. ‘That’s her voice. That Terry faked the Jenny Hall documents. So she can’t be dead.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘You suppose so?’

‘What do you want me to say, boss?’

‘I want an explanation, that’s what I want. I want you to explain this to me, mate, because you’ve been swearing blind that you pushed her over the side.’ He narrowed his eyes as he stared at Halpin. ‘You said she was at the bottom of the North Sea.’

‘She is,’ said Halpin. ‘I mean, the trunk is. She must have got out of the trunk and put something else in to make up the weight.’

‘Now you tell me,’ said Richards. ‘Didn’t you check?’

‘Check what? You said you’d drugged her and that she was in the trunk. We went out to sea and chucked the trunk over the side. Don’t try to blame this on me, boss.’

Richards pointed a finger at Halpin’s face. ‘Don’t you get fucking lippy with me, Mick!’ he shouted.

Halpin held up his hands but didn’t say anything.

‘So she’s not dead and instead of going to the cops she’s playing silly buggers and pretending to be a non-existent twin sister.’ Richards rubbed the back of his neck. The tendons there had gone as taut as steel wires. ‘This is fucking ridiculous.’

‘We’ve got to take care of it, boss, and we’ve got to do it quickly. Today. Tomorrow.’

‘I thought we had taken care of it,’ said Richards.

‘Boss, I dumped that trunk over the side. And it went down fast. Really fast.’

‘Then she can’t have been in it, can she?’

‘It was locked boss. You locked her in there.’

‘Damn right I locked her in there. I locked her in the trunk and you threw the trunk into the North Sea and yet here she is fixing up fake passports with Terry bloody Carter. Explain that to me, Mick.’

‘I can’t,’ said Halpin.

‘You didn’t let her out, did you? You didn’t do some sort of deal with her? Is that what’s going on here? Are you and her setting me up?’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous, boss. Ask Sonny. He helped me pitch it over the side. Call him. Ask him.’

‘Maybe you’re both lying.’

‘Why, boss? Ask yourself that. I was there in the house when you topped Cohen. She saw me there. I ran after her, remember, and shot at her. Then I took care of that weasel, Dunbar, and Reg, the truck driver. Why would I do that if I was in cahoots with her?’

Richards nodded slowly, knowing that what Halpin had said made sense. But what didn’t make sense was the way Carolyn Castle had come back from the dead. That was a better trick than anything Harry Houdini had ever pulled.

‘We need to get this sorted, boss,’ said Halpin. ‘And quick. We need to take care of her and this guy, Terry. We need to take care of them and dump them out at sea.’

‘Five people? We’ve got to kill five people? Just because that shit Cohen stole from me. How the hell did this happen?’

‘Two,’ said Halpin. ‘Two more. Then it’s over.’

Richards ran his hands through his hair. ‘I don’t understand why she didn’t just go to the cops in the first place, when she saw me kill Cohen.’

‘Maybe she wasn’t sure, boss.’

‘Okay, but if she managed to get out of the bloody trunk, why didn’t she go to the cops then? Why pretend to be a non-existent sister?’

Halpin shrugged, lost for words.

‘What if she’s told the cops already?’

‘If she had we’d be behind bars already,’ said Halpin. ‘She’s up to something.’

‘Up to what? It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Maybe she thinks if you believe Carolyn is dead you’ll leave her alone.’

‘But why didn’t she go to the cops?’

‘Maybe she’s scared of you, boss.’

‘So why come back as Jenny?’

‘Because she has to work. If she hides, she loses her job.’ A slow smile spread across his face. ‘That’s what she’s doing, boss. She’s hiding in plain sight. She pretends to be dead and her so-called twin carries on working. You leave her alone, she gets on with her life.’

Richards looked at Halpin and nodded slowly. ‘She saw me kill Cohen and figured if she told the cops then I’d kill her.’ He tilted his head on one side and smiled slyly. ‘That’s it, mate. She’s scared. She thinks if she gives evidence against me I’ll have her killed. She’s right, too.’

‘So we’ll do it, boss?’

Richards nodded. ‘I don’t see we’ve any choice.’

‘So where do we do it?’

‘We’ll start with Carter. We’ll wait here until he gets back. We can ask him a few questions then we’ll go over and pick up Carolyn.’ He took his phone out of his coat pocket. ‘I’ll call Sonny and tell him to get the boat ready, you go down and reset the alarm.’

CHAPTER 95

It was just after nine when they heard a key in the lock downstairs. Richards looked over at Halpin and nodded. Halpin smiled thinly and pulled a gun from his coat pocket. They heard the front door open and the alarm console began to beep. They heard the front door close, footsteps walking across the floor and then the beeping stopped.

Halpin grinned as they heard footsteps coming up the stairs. It was Terry Carter, holding a Nike backpack. His eyes widened when he saw Halpin. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he said.

Halpin grinned. ‘I’m the guy with the gun aimed at your nuts,’ he said.

‘What are you doing in my house?’ He saw Richards for the first time and frowned in confusion. ‘Warwick? What the hell’s going on?’

Richards stood up and held out his hand. ‘Give me your phone, Terry.’

‘What?’

‘Give me your phone.’

Carter dropped his backpack and it hit the floor with a dull thud. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘What’s this about?’

‘Just give me your bloody phone.’

Carter reached into his pocket and took out a white iPhone. Richards took it from him. ‘I need you to call Jenny and get her over here,’ said Richards.

‘Fuck you,’ said Carter.

Richards shrugged. ‘If you don’t, Mick here’ll put a bullet in your head and we’ll drive around and see her at her place. Frankly I’m easy either way.’

‘Me, too,’ said Halpin, pointing his gun at Carter’s face. His finger tightened on the trigger.

Carter put up his hands. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said.

Richards smiled. ‘He scrolled through the phone menu and found Jenny’s number. ‘Terry, mate, we just want to talk to her, that’s all,’ he said. ‘Straighten a few things out.’

‘Okay,’ he said.

‘Just talk to her nice and calmly, ask her over for a drink, tell her there’s something you need to talk to her about, okay?’

Carter nodded again.

‘And just to be clear, you say one wrong thing and you get a bullet in your nuts,’ said Halpin.

‘Okay, okay, I get it,’ said Carter.

‘Good man,’ said Richards. He scrolled through the phone menu and called Jenny’s number. When it started to ring out, he handed it to Carter.

CHAPTER 96

It took Carolyn an hour to get to Carter’s place because she had been about to get into the shower when he called. She rang the doorbell and Carter opened the door. ‘I come bearing gifts,’ she said, holding up a bottle of claret. Carter took it from her as she stepped inside. Richards kicked the door closed and Halpin stepped out from behind a shelving unit packed with electrical equipment.

Carolyn’s mouth dropped open. ‘Warwick? What’s going on?’

‘You can drop the Australian accent, honey, we’re way beyond that,’ said Richards.

‘What are you talking about?’ She looked at the gun in Halpin’s hand. ‘Is that loaded?’

‘Of course it’s loaded,’ said Halpin. ‘What sort of question is that?’

Carolyn looked at Richards. ‘Warwick, why’s he pointing a gun at me?’

‘We know what’s going on, Carolyn,’ said Richards. ‘Now please, drop that stupid Australian accent. Jenny doesn’t exist. Carter here helped you create her. We’ve seen the passport stuff on the laptop, and we’ve heard the message you made on the recorder, the one he sent to you when I was with you at the supermarket.’

Carolyn looked over at Carter and he shrugged.

‘Shit,’ said Carolyn.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Carter.

‘It’s not your fault, Terry,’ said Carolyn. ‘It’s my fault for getting you involved.’ She looked over at Richards. ‘Please don’t do this.’

‘Do what?’

‘What you’re thinking about doing. I won’t tell anyone what I saw. I swear.’

‘I wish I could believe you, Carolyn. Seriously.’

‘I haven’t told anyone. Just Terry.’

‘But you saw what I did to Cohen, didn’t you?’

Carolyn nodded.

‘Why didn’t you go to the cops then?’

Carolyn tried to smile but her lower lip was trembling and it turned into a grimace. ‘I was scared,’ she said. ‘I still am.’

‘Too scared to go to the cops?’

‘I wasn’t sure what I’d seen. And I wasn’t sure if you’d seen me. I thought if I just kept quiet, it would all go away.’ She swallowed nervously. ‘Please, Warwick, we won’t say anything. Will we, Terry?’

Carter nodded. ‘I don’t care what you did, Warwick. It’s nothing to do with me. Carolyn said she wanted my help and I helped her. I saw nothing.’

Richards shook his head. ‘That’s not true though, is it? You helped her out of the trunk, didn’t you? It couldn’t have been anyone else.’

‘Just leave us alone, Warwick. We won’t say anything,’ said Carolyn. ‘And we don’t have any proof anyway. There’s no body, is there?’

‘The body’s at the bottom of the North Sea, which is where it should be,’ said Halpin. He waved the gun at her face. ‘How did you get out of that bloody trunk?’

‘Terry got me out,’ said Carolyn. ‘I asked him to go to the marina with me and to keep an eye on things.’

‘When I saw you leave the boat I went on board and found her,’ said Carter. ‘I got her off the boat and into my car before your goon here arrived.’

‘What did you put in the trunk?’ asked Richards.

‘A couple of scuba tanks. I wrapped them in a quilt from one of the cabins. The weight felt about right. I watched the boat head down the river and got Carolyn home.’

‘But why didn’t you go to the cops then?’

‘And tell them what?’ said Carolyn. ‘You’d drugged me and put me in a trunk? Would they have believed me? You’d be out on bail and then…’ She shrugged.

‘You figured I’d come after you and finish the job?’

‘That’s what you do, isn’t it?’ said Carolyn. ‘You killed Max Dunbar, right?’

Richards gestured at Halpin. ‘Mick here took care of him.’

‘And the truck driver.’

Halpin grinned. ‘Guilty as charged,’ he said.

‘You killed them both?’ asked Carolyn.

‘It had to be done,’ said Halpin. ‘But don’t dump that on me, little lady. You killed Reg when you climbed into his truck that night, and you signed Dunbar’s death warrant when you asked him to investigate Warwick.’

‘I think we’ve done enough talking,’ said Richards.

‘Warwick, please, we won’t say anything,’ said Carolyn. There were tears in her eyes and she brushed them away with the back of her hand.

‘Damn right you won’t,’ said Halpin.

‘Are you going to let him kill us, Warwick?’ said Carolyn, her voice trembling.

‘I’m afraid so, yes. I don’t have any choice. If you tell the cops I killed Cohen and Dunbar and Reg whatever-his-name-is, then I go away for ever.’

Carolyn nodded slowly. Then she smiled. ‘Then there’s something you need to know,’ she said. Her voice was firmer and more assertive.

‘What?’ said Richards.

‘The cops know everything. Or at least they do now.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They’ve heard your confession. So it’s all over.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Richards.

‘The cops know everything,’ said Carolyn.

‘Like fuck they do,’ snarled Halpin.

‘They’ve heard every word,’ said Carter.

‘They’re bloody well wired, is that it?’ said Richards. He stepped forward, grabbed Carter’s shirt and ripped it open. Buttons burst off and clattered on the wooden floor. Richards stared at Carter’s muscular chest.

‘Darling, you’re so butch,’ Carter said and laughed. ‘Do you want to feel around in my shorts?’

Richards pushed Carter backwards and he tripped and fell heavily onto the floor. He was still laughing, even when Halpin pointed the gun at him.

Richards stepped towards Carolyn but she pointed a warning finger at his face. ‘Don’t you bloody well touch me, Warwick,’ she said. ‘I’m not wired. But the whole building is.’

‘Smile,’ said Carter, pointing up at the ceiling. ‘You’re on camera. Are you ready for your close-up?’

Richards looked around at the walls and ceiling. He didn’t see any cameras. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The whole place is wired for sound and vision, Warwick. Has been since the weekend. The cops have you on film from the moment you walked in. The cameras are state-of-the-art. They’re tiny but they see everything.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Richards.

‘And every single thing you’ve said since you walked in here has been heard and recorded,’ said Carolyn. ‘It’s over.’

‘She’s full of shit, boss,’ said Halpin. ‘If it’s over, why aren’t the cops in here already?’

‘They are,’ said Carolyn. ‘They were here before you broke in. And if you look down, you’ll see a little red dot on your chest that shows just how close they are.’

Halpin looked down and cursed when he saw the laser dot hovering over his heart. He looked up at Richards. A similar dot was centered on his chest. ‘Boss?’

‘It’s over, mate,’ said Richards wearily. He raised his hands.

Two armed police officers in black coveralls and black Kevlar vests appeared from behind a shelving unit at the far end of the building. They were holding black carbines with laser sights on the top. ‘Armed police, drop your weapon!’ shouted one.

‘Do it, Mick,’ said Richards.

Halpin tossed the gun on the floor.

The door opened and Biddulph and Marriott walked in holding police radios. Biddulph smiled at Carolyn. ‘Nice work, Miss Castle,’ said the inspector. ‘We got it all, loud and clear.’

‘I like to think my supporting role helped,’ said Carter, getting up off the floor.

Half a dozen uniformed officers poured in through the door. Two of them pushed Halpin against a wall and handcuffed his hands behind his back.

Richards held out his hands to be cuffed. Biddulph waved for him to turn around. ‘I know this is a bit late, but I am sorry,’ Richards said to Carolyn.

‘Sorry for what?’ said Carolyn. ‘For killing Cohen? Max? Reg? For trying to kill me?’

‘For all of it, but mainly for you.’ Biddulph snapped on handcuffs. Two uniformed officers grabbed Richards by the arms.

‘Sorry doesn’t cut it,’ said Carolyn. ‘You’ll be an old man when you get out of prison. If you do ever get out.’

‘You could bring me a cake with a file in it.’

Carolyn laughed harshly and shook her head. ‘You think this is funny? You killed Cohen and you killed Reg and Max and you were sure as hell going to kill me and Terry so let’s not pretend you’re anything other than what you are. A scumbag gangster who’s finally going to get what’s coming to him.’

‘You know, I was sure Jenny had feelings for me.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘You’re one hell of an actress, Carolyn.’

‘I don’t need your approval, Warwick,’ said Carolyn. She brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. ‘I just need you to spend the rest of your life behind bars. You do that and I’ll be satisfied.’

Content

Stephen Leather
Take Two

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 59

CHAPTER 60

CHAPTER 61

CHAPTER 62

CHAPTER 63

CHAPTER 64

CHAPTER 65

CHAPTER 66

CHAPTER 67

CHAPTER 68

CHAPTER 69

CHAPTER 70

CHAPTER 71

CHAPTER 72

CHAPTER 73

CHAPTER 74

CHAPTER 75

CHAPTER 76

CHAPTER 77

CHAPTER 78

CHAPTER 79

CHAPTER 80

CHAPTER 82

CHAPTER 83

CHAPTER 84

CHAPTER 85

CHAPTER 86

CHAPTER 87

CHAPTER 88

CHAPTER 89

CHAPTER 90

CHAPTER 91

CHAPTER 92

CHAPTER 93

CHAPTER 94

CHAPTER 95

CHAPTER 96