Miller shrugged. ‘More legwork. I, for one, still don’t believe a word she says. Now, about this knife . . . did she threaten you with it?’
‘No, she used it to open a letter. I think it’s sharp, though.’
Miller turned as the dogs got out of their baskets. McDermott had entered the kitchen.
‘I think we should both go and talk to her now. She has explained to me that she was distressed due to the letter from her mother and wanted me to apologise to Detective Sergeant Tennison if she behaved erratically.’
Jane and Spencer left together in the patrol car. On the way back to the station, he told her he had already been reprimanded by DI Miller for driving to Justine’s and that more than likely they would be presented with a bill for damages to the door. Jane told him not to worry about it: if there was any query, she would emphasise the fact that she had been genuinely fearful and was relieved when he came to her rescue.
She smiled at him. ‘It did feel like a rescue, Spence, and I really appreciate the fact that you drove over here. I’m sorry if I was a bit terse with you earlier.’
He patted her knee. ‘You were right about KatWalk. I think we might have a development on that front.’
During the rest of the drive back to the station, Spencer filled Jane in on the interaction with Simon Quinn and the fact that he had been unable to identify the model he had seen on the steps of the agency with an envelope full of money.
‘I got the girls’ contact details form the back of the photos. I’m telling you, Jane, I was shocked how young some of them were. But the person we need to question about the girls is Julia Summers. I think she knows all about it. I reckon these so-called models were being exploited for underage sex.’
*
When they got back to the station, Jane typed up the report of her meeting with Justine, underlining that there should have been measures to ensure her safety when there were concerns about Justine’s mental state.
It was coming up to 5.30 p.m. and Spencer decided to contact Michael Langton, Mandy Pilkington’s disabled client and the only one they felt could give a timeframe regarding the afternoon of Foxley’s murder. Spencer spoke to a Mr Alistair Jones, the caretaker at the care home. He was told that Mr Langton was not available until the next day as he was undergoing treatment. Spencer clocked the time and wondered if his treatment was at Mandy Pilkington’s. Alistair Jones said he would be available at ten the following morning.
After he finished his report he went over to Jane’s desk and said he was going home, suggesting that she should do the same. Although she had dismissed the whole incident with Justine as being nothing serious, he knew that she had been shaken by it.
‘Thanks, Spence, but I’m fine. I just need to finish my report.’
Twenty minutes later, as she was about to leave, Gary Dors came over.
He explained that he’d contacted the forensic laboratory with regard to removing the Tippex and had been told their equipment had been taken to check a fault so they wouldn’t be able to examine the Tippex-covered pages until the following day.
‘But,’ he said, looking pleased with himself, ‘I’ve figured out how to lift Tippex off a page. You use a wet cloth and just keep dabbing gently until it’s almost gone and then if you hold the page up to the light, you can sometimes see what’s written underneath.’
‘Thanks, Gary, but I’d rather let the lab examine it,’ Jane said.
‘That’s OK,’ he said. ‘I just feel bad about being the one who was supposed to contact you with the time change. What I should’ve done is radio the driver, but I didn’t think of it.’
‘Never mind, Gary, what’s done is done.’
He said goodnight and left the incident room, which was now ominously quiet. The noticeboard would be filling up tomorrow with all the new information from the visit to Justine’s.
Jane couldn’t resist going to the property lock-up and taking out Charles Foxley’s diary. Frustrated that she wouldn’t get the lab results until tomorrow, she decided not to waste any more time, and put in a call to the agency to find out Julia Summers’ home phone number.
Rita answered the phone. ‘She doesn’t work here no more, I’m afraid. She’s now working for her father. I’ve got an office number there and also a home number if you want it.’ There was a pause. ‘Look, I’m sorry about the mix-up earlier. I told the policeman who called that you and the other detective had left but I didn’t see he’d come back.’
Jane told Rita not to worry, then called Julia Summers’ father’s office. She was told, rather curtly, that Julia was only working a few hours a day in the postal section and was not available until the following morning.
Jane tried Julia’s home number, which was answered almost straightaway.
‘Is that Julia?’ Jane said. ‘My name’s DS Tennison. My colleague and I talked to you at the agency? We have a few more questions for you, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, I see. I suppose you could come this evening, if you like,’ Julia replied, without sounding very enthusiastic. She gave her home address as a mews in Queen’s Gate. ‘I’ll only be there until seven, though, because I’m going to the theatre.’
‘Thank you, Julia,’ Jane said. ‘I’ll be with you shortly.’
Jane put a note on Spencer’s desk to say she had gone to see Julia Summers, and also made a note in the station diary.
As she left the station, she passed Tyler in the corridor.
‘I heard about your problems with Justine this afternoon. If you want to talk, I’ll be in the office early.’ He nodded to her and went back to his office.
It didn’t take long for Jane to drive from the station to Julia Summers’ house. The mews was directly behind Queen’s Gate. Jane reckoned at one time they had been stables or staff quarters for the elegant houses. Julia’s address was at the end of the mews, where there were two bicycles chained up against a railing, beside a notice saying: No bicycles.
Jane rang the doorbell and waited. After three attempts the front door was eventually opened and Julia Summers, with her hair in giant rollers and wearing a towelling robe, appeared, looking surprised.
‘Good heavens! I didn’t think you would be here so quickly.’
‘I’m sorry, but as you mentioned you were going out to the theatre, I thought the sooner the better.’
‘Oh, absolutely . . . do come in.’
The two-storey mews house had a small narrow staircase. There was one large combined drawing and dining room, and a neat, compact kitchen. The interior was well decorated and furnished, but the place was a tip. There were old newspapers and food cartons everywhere, and clothes strewn on all the furniture. There were also a number of dead plants, and Jane could see dirty dishes stacked on all the surfaces in the kitchen.
‘Do you want a cup of tea or anything?’ Julia asked.
Jane shook her head and removed a large bundle of underwear from a chair to sit down.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ Julia said, waving her hand vaguely around the room. ‘I don’t have a cleaner anymore. She left without saying a word. I’m going to advertise for someone else but my roomie is just a student and hasn’t got much cash. She always accuses me of being untidy but a lot of this is hers. My father would have a fit if he came in. But I don’t see why I have to clean it if it’s not all mine.’
Jane nodded, trying not to look as appalled as she felt. ‘Absolutely.’
Julia perched on the edge of a cluttered sofa, slowly removing one large roller after another and shaking her silky blonde hair loose. Jane opened her briefcase and took out her notebook with copies of the pages that she had taken of the desk diary before she left.
‘I wonder if you could help me with this, Julia. There are a number of pages that have a lot of Tippex covering what was written underneath. I’ve listed the dates and I wonder if you could tell me what was originally there and explain why it was blocked out.’
‘Oh gosh, I can’t remember. I mean, I know why I u
se Tippex but I can’t really recall exactly what was written before, just that I was told not to put it in the agent’s diary.’
‘What were you told not to put in?’ Jane asked.
‘Well, when I’d been told there was a film premiere, you know, a first-night party for cast and crew, I was told by Mr Foxley they would like four models, or sometimes two or six. So I had begun to write it down in the diary because I had been told to let Simon Quinn know what was needed and the location of the event.’
‘So, when did you use Tippex to block these out?’
‘Ummm . . .’ Julia looked up to the ceiling. Jane felt she could almost hear the little wheels turning in her head. ‘Do you mean when was I told not to put them in the diary anymore?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I suppose it was when I used the Tippex.’
Jane was beginning to lose her patience. ‘When were you told to Tippex out what you had written in the diary?’
Julia began to chew a fingernail. ‘I can’t remember the exact date, but I think it would be a few weeks before that terrible thing happened.’
‘You mean the murder of Mr Foxley?’
‘Yes, that’s right, but it might have been a month or so before. He was quite hard to work for, you know. He did most of everything in his head, and Emma oversaw his appointments and made sure he was where he should be. But he was always late and had to be reminded of everything. She would call him before all his meetings to remind him and—’
Jane held up her hand. ‘Yes, yes . . . Could you just tell me when Mr Foxley instructed you to Tippex out any reference to the number of models required for premieres?’
‘Oh, gosh . . . ummmm . . . he was horrible to me about it and he made me cry. I keep trying to remember the exact time, because as I just said, he rarely made any reference to the diary. He would come in and tell me to tell Simon he needed four girls for three nights at The Dorchester for the cast and the crew, and—’
Jane closed her eyes. ‘When did Mr Foxley tell you to delete all the references to the models hired to go to these first nights?’
‘It might be eight weeks ago? Maybe less. He had come in very early, for some reason. As I just said, he hardly looked at the diary, because it was Emma who always reminded him. But on this occasion he was standing by my desk, flicking through the pages, and he said to me, “Who told you to put these bookings in?” and I said to him, “No one, Mr Foxley, but when you tell me to organise it with Simon Quinn, I write them in the diary. I thought that is what I was supposed to do!” He swore at me; in fact, he did more than swear. He threw things around the room and told me I was to get some Tippex and block out every reference I had made to models in the diary. That KatWalk and the sports agency had nothing to do with the main Foxley & Myers agency, and as such there was never to be any reference in the diary.’
Julia dug into the pocket of the towelling robe and took out a tissue. She began sniffing.
‘He was so horrible to me; I didn’t know what to do. He told me I only got the job because of Daddy and if I messed up again he would throw me out. My father can be equally nasty to me, but I was happy working with Mr Foxley . . . until then.’ She blew her nose. ‘That’s why I used almost two bottles of Tippex.’
‘But Simon Quinn always had a record of how many girls were needed?’
‘Well, he was supposed to, yes.’
‘I understand that you also introduced some of your friends to the model agency. Is that correct?’
She nodded.
‘How did your friends find working for KatWalk?’
‘Well, they didn’t really work as proper models, you know. They didn’t have any experience. Lots of them went to have photographs done, but they really all agreed to do it because they wanted to go to the premieres.’
‘How did they find mixing with all the movie actors and directors?’
Julia shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think they lasted very long. They didn’t really have to work, so they did it as a one-off, you know.’
Jane wrote a few things down in her notebook and, without looking up at Julia, she quietly asked, ‘Can you tell me about the situation which became very difficult with the model agency?’
Julia crossed her legs and began to kick one foot up and down. ‘I don’t know about that.’
‘I think you do,’ Jane said, looking at her.
‘OK, I don’t honestly know who it was or what happened, but there was a situation that was complicated. All I do know is something happened in one of the hotel bedrooms and Mr Foxley was in a fury about it. The reason I know that much is because my father also seemed to know something, but I was not told what had happened. I even asked one of my friends if she knew anything.’
‘What’s her name?’ Jane asked quickly.
‘I don’t see any point in me telling you her name as she doesn’t work for the agency. She’s just a friend.’
‘All right then, just tell me what your friend told you.’
‘Um, it was a while ago; in fact, a long time ago. She had hired a dress and was told to mingle. She didn’t actually have to hire a dress as her family are very rich. Anyway, she had too much champagne and she thought she was just being very friendly to one of the producers; he told her that if she came up to his room at the hotel and was very nice to him, he could give her a part in his next movie.’
Jane leant forward. ‘Go on.’
Julia began to shift in her seat, flushed with embarrassment. ‘He wanted her to do something to him.’
‘Julia, we’re both grown-ups. Tell me exactly what he wanted her to do.’
‘He wanted to have sex with her and do dirty things. When she refused, he threw her out. She just left.’
‘Then what happened?’ Jane asked, her patience almost at breaking point.
‘Mr Foxley gave her a lot of money and apologised and said he was appalled at what happened and hoped she would never talk about it.’
Jane sighed. ‘So that’s one incident you know about. What else do you know about that you haven’t told me?’
Julia shook her head. ‘I don’t know any more than what I just told you. I hadn’t worked there very long and I don’t think I should have told you about Annalise anyway. Oh God, now I’ve told you her name. I need to call my father about this. I’m really worried now because I don’t think I should be talking to you.’
Jane snapped her notebook closed. ‘Thank you very much for your time, Julia. You have been very helpful. Don’t be concerned about your friend Annalise. I won’t be contacting her.’
As Jane left, Julia slammed the front door behind her. She was certain Julia would be on the phone to her father in seconds but she didn’t care. She had a feeling the case was about to take a new turn.
*
Jane was at her desk, typing up her report on her visit to Julia Summers, when a thought struck her. She called Spencer at home and his wife answered.
‘Oh, sorry if I’ve interrupted dinner, it’s Jane Tennison. Could I have a word with Spence?’
Spencer came to the phone. ‘My God, what is it now? We just had a takeaway delivered and I’m halfway through a bottle of wine. Don’t say I have to come in?’
‘No,’ Jane said quickly. ‘I spoke to Julia Summers and I just wanted to ask you something about the models in Simon Quinn’s office.’
‘What about them?’
‘You took down a lot of names, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, I don’t know how many. The girls’ particulars were printed on the back of the photographs but I haven’t typed up my report yet.’
‘Can you recall if you saw the name Annalise?’
‘Anna who?’
‘Annalise. I’m not sure how it’s spelt.’
Spencer sighed. ‘I honestly can’t remember. To start off with I was looking through a stack of girls they were no longer booking, so I then started on another stack. I remember there was a Yasmin in the obsolete file, but I was
really looking for the redhead I saw with the envelope of money, and I didn’t find her.’
‘OK, thanks. Sorry to bother you. Enjoy your takeaway.’
‘You do know we have a seven a.m. briefing tomorrow? I’ll come in early to bash out my report. Did you get anything from Julia Summers?’
Jane was hesitant. ‘Maybe . . . maybe not. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
As she replaced the phone, Tyler came out of his office and looked at her, shaking his head. ‘You’re becoming a permanent fixture here, Tennison. I have you down as off-duty.’
Jane packed up her bag. ‘Yes, sir. I just wanted to finish a report.’
Tyler folded his arms. ‘Anything I should know about?’
‘I’m not sure, sir. I need to do more work tomorrow.’
He nodded. ‘Well, you get off home. There’s a briefing at seven a.m. That’s for all the team.’
Jane filed her report and left the station. By the time she got home, it was after 10 p.m. She made herself some cheese on toast and finished a half bottle of wine from the fridge. She had one message blinking on her answer phone. It was Dexter. ‘Hi, I was just passing by and wondered if you fancied a bite to eat?’
Jane replayed the message and realised it had been made earlier in the evening. It was too late to return his call. She felt quite pleased about it, though, and promised herself that the following evening she would call him back. She went into the bathroom and was just reaching to turn on the bath and empty some relaxing bath salts into it when her phone rang. She rushed to pick it up, thinking it must be Dexter.
‘Hello?’
‘Jane, it’s Dabs. Just checking in. Sorry if it’s a bit late. But Joan said you called a couple of times and I was just a bit concerned that something was wrong.’
‘No, nothing wrong. I was actually just going to tell you . . .’ She hesitated to mention that her relationship with Elliott had really moved on. Instead, she told Dabs that she had received her membership card for the rifle club.
‘That’s good. You probably won’t get the main door code until the next time you go.’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘You have to memorise the number and if you write it down you have to eat the paper. Security, you know.’
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