She was still stuffing the money back into the envelope as Spencer headed up the stairs. The two receptionists, Rita and Angela, greeted him like a long-lost friend and went straight into gossip mode.
‘You aren’t gonna believe what happened here. She comes in and goes ballistic, screaming and shouting! It was very unpleasant, wasn’t it, Rita?’
Rita nodded. ‘We couldn’t believe it when the same day we saw the Standard with her picture at his funeral. She must have come straight here. We couldn’t believe that anyone would do something like that.’
Spencer shook his head sympathetically. ‘Is Emma Ransom available?’
‘She’s over on the other side talking to Mr. Nathan,’ Rita told him. She leaned over the reception desk conspiratorially. ‘Bit of a feeding frenzy going on here . . . Not too sure what it’s about, but it’s connected to the black widow.’
Spencer crossed the landing to the other offices. John Nathan’s door was firmly closed but Spencer could hear Daniel Bergman’s voice, so walked over to his open door.
‘It has nothing to do with me. I am having no part of it. If you want the truth, nobody in this agency can be bothered running after poxy models that don’t have a hope in hell of making a career. That part of the business is running on empty.’
Spencer then heard the high-pitched, whining voice of Simon Quinn.
‘But I’m contracted for another six months and we owe three girls. Without Mr. Foxley, I don’t know who to ask to tell me what to do.’
‘I am not a fucking agent for fucking underage bimbo models! Right, now I’ve got better things to be doing than listening to you blubber all over my desk. Fuck off.’
A tearful Simon Quinn scuttled out of Bergman’s office. He looked up at Spencer.
‘I don’t know what I have to do. I’ve asked him, and I even asked Emma. I’ve got all these girls on my books and I’ve got no petty cash to pay them. Now I don’t even know if I’m going to be paid. They are all complete bitches on the other side.’
Spencer followed the agitated young man to his small cubicle office, which was lined with photographs of all the young models. Quinn grabbed some tissues from a box, blowing his nose.
‘I don’t know if the premiere is going ahead or not. No one is telling me anything. I just don’t know what to do.’
At that moment Emma Ransom came in behind Spencer.
‘I’ve been told you want to speak to me?’
Spencer turned and smiled. ‘Yes, if I can just have a few minutes of your time.’
‘We’d better go over to the other side,’ Emma said, moving ahead of him.
Unlike Charles Foxley’s office, Emma’s was remarkably clear. There were already two step ladders placed against the wall closest to Foxley’s vacated office.
‘There’s been a lot of discussion going on about who will get Charles’s old office. It’s the biggest space and James says he should have it. Daniel said he should have it, but neither Laura nor I really care. I’m quite happy here and so is Laura. The agents can get so vicious! To be honest, I can’t even go in there.’
She sat in her swivel desk chair, turning slowly from side to side as Spencer sat in a leather and chrome chair opposite.
‘We’ve been discussing a memorial service but no one really knows what to do. We haven’t been told if anyone has been arrested.’
She cocked her head to one side and he noticed she was wearing the same clothes she had on the previous occasion – a grey sweater with black trousers. Her face was still devoid of make-up.
‘We have made no arrest as yet,’ Spencer said.
‘Dear God, it’s been a week, hasn’t it?’ she said, continuing to swivel around in her chair.
Spencer nodded. ‘Tell me about Justine Harris’s visit to the office.’
‘No one was expecting her. She marched in unannounced and demanded we all meet in James’s office. He was exceedingly put out because she went and sat behind his desk. We all had to gather in front of her like school children.’ Emma did two more swivels before she sat still, folding her arms. ‘She wants us to buy her out as Charles owned the majority of shares in the company. She said that unless we buy her out, she will consider selling Charles’s shares to another theatrical agent. Our fear is if James doesn’t step up to the plate, we all might have to go and hawk our clients to other agents.’
‘Must be quite a nerve-racking time for everyone,’ Spencer said, nodding sympathetically. ‘One more question, Miss Ransom. I don’t want to name names, but we have been told that you were privy to Mr. Foxley’s drug abuse.’
Emma plucked at a bobble on her cashmere sweater. ‘I don’t know where you got that from.’
‘Look, we’re not interested in your personal drug use, but if you supplied Charles Foxley with cocaine, we will require you to disclose the dealer.’
‘Are you inferring that I supplied Charles with drugs?’
‘I simply need to know who Mr. Foxley scored his drugs from.’
‘Oh my God.’ She opened a drawer and took out a small packet of tissues. ‘This is terrible; I think I should have a lawyer present. I assure you that, beyond Charles offering me a line or two, I have never physically scored drugs in my entire life.’
‘Where did he get them from?’ Spencer asked.
She took another tissue from the little packet and blew her nose. Spencer waited.
‘I don’t want to get you into trouble, Miss Ransom, but if we discover that Mr. Foxley was killed due to his association with a drug dealer and you’ve withheld information from us, it could have severe repercussions for you.’
Emma burst into tears. ‘This is just terrible.’ She dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. ‘Of course I knew he was doing cocaine; everyone here knew that. But I swear to God, I have no idea where he got it from.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I know who said something to you – it was Daniel, wasn’t it?’
Spencer stood up. ‘Thank you for your time. I’d appreciate it if you would contact us if you recall any information that would be helpful.’
He walked out of her office and headed back down the corridor. Bergman was in reception, complaining loudly as Rita handed over a bundle of scripts.
‘Nobody has told us anything, Mr. Bergman. Julia Summers isn’t in and she would be the one to know.’
Bergman looked at Spencer. ‘It’s beyond belief what’s going on here. We’ve had a movie premiere cancelled, and Ivor Summers is flying in, and no one seems to know what’s going on. This business is enough to drive you insane!’
Spencer decided there was no point in asking further questions of Daniel Bergman.
As he left the building, Emma Ransom was tipping the contents of a small plastic container into the toilet and flushing it away. As she came out of the cubicle, Laura Queen walked in.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
Emma shook her head. ‘That policeman has just asked me if I knew who was supplying drugs to Charles. I know it was Daniel who said something. He is such a slimebag. How the hell would I know where Charles scored from?’
Laura shrugged. ‘I doubt if he would be using street dealers. With his money and his contacts he wouldn’t need to take the risks; you know how paranoid he could be.’ She put her hand on the cubicle door and hesitated. ‘I doubt very much if anyone he scored from would want to murder him. You know how he could straighten himself out when he needed to. Right now we all need to get our acts together because that bitch of an ex-wife could ruin us all. I don’t know about you, but I’ve lost a few clients already, and now they’ve put his latest movie on hold and it might not even get a premiere here.’
Laura went into the cubicle and shut the door. Emma looked at herself in the mirror, suddenly wishing she hadn’t flushed it all down the toilet.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Darren McDermott and DCI Tyler had been closeted in his office for over an hour.
While the team waited to see what was going to happen next, Jane was
told to remove all of Justine’s coffee cups from interview room one and went up to the canteen to get a tray, shaking her head in irritation. There was a probationary officer on duty outside the interview room and she gave him a brief nod of acknowledgement, tapped on the door and walked in. A second uniformed officer, who had spent half the morning on duty, raised an eyebrow as Jane placed the tray onto the cluttered table. Justine was sitting crossed-legged, smoking a cigarette, her chair pushed away from the table.
‘I’ve just come to clear the coffee cups, Ms. Harris.’
Justine looked up but made no effort to acknowledge her; she behaved as if she had never seen Jane before.
Stacking the array of canteen mugs and plastic beakers, Jane picked up the ashtray full of cigarette stubs. As Justine was still smoking, Jane tipped the stubs into one of the coffee mugs and placed the ashtray back in front of Justine, who immediately flicked the ash from her cigarette onto the floor.
When Jane returned to her desk, McDermott was being ushered out of Tyler’s office and into the interview room so he could confer with Justine. Tyler was looking ragged. He walked over to Jane’s desk.
‘Can you organize some coffee and sandwiches for myself and DI Miller, Tennison? Oh, and you will not be required in the interview of Ms. Harris.’
Jane now really felt she was being punished for her mistake over the camel-hair coat.
A uniformed officer came into the incident room to say that McDermott and Justine Harris were now ready to be interviewed.
The young DC Gary Dors looked over to Jane and spoke in a whisper. ‘He’s got everybody running after him, it’s beyond belief. You’d never get this if it was just the station brief handling the interview. Just shows you what money can do.’
He quickly returned to typing up a report about a handbag snatch as DI Miller and Tyler left the room to begin the interrogation.
A few moments later DCI Collins walked into the incident room, asking to speak to Tyler, but when told he was not available, he crossed over to Jane’s desk. He looked slightly sunburnt as he had white sunglass marks around his eyes.
‘Is there any update on Max and Ivor Summers?’ he asked.
Spencer wandered over. ‘I heard from one of the agents that a film that was due to be released in the UK has been withdrawn. I believe Ivor has flown in from New York.’
Collins smiled. ‘Well, that’s good. I can catch two birds with one stone. Although I quite fancied a quick trip to New York.’
*
In the interview room the atmosphere was tense. DI Miller had his notebook open and his fountain pen placed in the middle of an empty page. DCI Tyler was sitting slightly back from the table, his tie loosened. Justine had taken her trench coat off and was sitting with her head bowed, her hair partly covering her face and her hands clasped together in her lap.
Darren McDermott was the only one who looked comfortable. He had removed his fashionable overcoat to reveal a Savile Row suit that probably cost a large part of the annual wages of the detectives sitting opposite him. He wore a chunky gold Rolex watch, a prominent signet ring and heavy gold cufflinks.
When he spoke, his voice oozed confidence. ‘Your so-called evidence implicating my client in the murder of her ex-husband seems to amount to the fact that she inherits his shares in the theatrical agency. This is nonsense. She is already a wealthy woman. In addition, she was receiving substantial alimony payments from Mr. Foxley, which depended on the continued health of the business, which in turn was dependent on his expertise. The suggestion of her gaining financially from Mr. Foxley’s death is patently absurd.’
Miller picked up his fountain pen. ‘Mr. McDermott, we have been told by your client herself that she fully intends on selling her late ex-husband’s flat. We are also aware she has every intention of selling his shares in the agency. Whether or not you agree that she will benefit from his death is neither here nor there.’
McDermott had very deep-set, dark eyes with heavy eyebrows. This made it difficult to read his expression, but it was as if Miller had not spoken. He looked at Tyler.
‘We can also dismiss the fact that you have a shoeprint left at Mr. Foxley’s flat that forensics have now matched to my client’s trainer. At no point did my client attempt to hide anything. On the contrary, the left trainer was found in her wardrobe, in plain sight, while the right had been removed by one of the dogs and buried in the garden. Surely if it was her intention to hide what you believe to be crucial evidence, she would have done so more effectively. And in any case, the shoeprint was obviously made when she appeared at Mr. Foxley’s flat and she saw her ex-husband’s body.’
He gave Tyler a half smile, as if he found it all rather amusing.
‘The same goes for the bloodstains on my client’s coat and any fingerprints that were found at the scene, given that she was a frequent visitor. It has also been inferred that my client was in a sexual relationship with George Henson, and they were involved in this horrific act together.’ He chuckled, as if at the absurdity of the idea. ‘This is preposterous, and equally preposterous is the suggestion that Mr. Henson is the father of my client’s daughter, Clara.’
Justine turned towards McDermott, who gave her an encouraging nod. Justine kept her eyes fixed on her hands folded in her lap.
‘I first met George around twenty-five years ago. I was eighteen. He was an actor, like me, and we did a production of Miss Julie together.’ She laughed nervously. ‘George was not a very good actor, so eventually he turned to scriptwriting but it was many years before his first film script was accepted . . . ’ She trailed off and McDermott took over.
‘Shortly after meeting Mr. Henson, my client became very successful, starring in a long-running television series. This made her financially secure and she was able to support Mr. Henson. In return, he ensured that Ms. Harris was offered the leading role in a major film. They have maintained a close friendship ever since.’
Miller felt they were losing control of the interview, and tried to switch tack. ‘How did you feel about your ex-husband?’
‘I had been very happily married to him. But the pressures of his success began to change him.’
Miller persisted. ‘But you still allowed your ex-husband to take up residence in the property you had been awarded in your divorce settlement?’
McDermott decided to intervene. ‘I’m sure you’re aware that Charles Foxley and my client had joint custody of their daughter, Clara.’
Miller tapped the table with his pen. ‘I am sure that was a very amicable arrangement, but their daughter was away at boarding school much of the time. The weekends we know Mr. Foxley spent at the previous marital home were frequent and often when their daughter was not there. Whether or not your client’ – Miller glanced towards Justine, who no longer had her head bowed meekly, but was staring at him with a look of fury – ‘continued, as we believe, to have a sexual relationship with her ex-husband after the divorce—’
‘That is not true!’ Justine snapped.
‘Ms. Harris, we have forensic evidence taken from your ex-husband’s bed in your home: a long, blonde hair, which matches yours. We also have possible semen stains on his sheets.’
Justine looked apoplectic. McDermott reached out and clasped her forearm, but she pulled away from him. Before she could say anything, Miller flipped over his notebook.
‘When did you last see your ex-husband, Ms. Harris?’ He placed his hand over a plastic wallet to ensure that neither of them sitting opposite could see what it contained.
‘My client has clearly stated that she had not seen Charles Foxley for a considerable time, at least a week and a half before his death,’ McDermott said evenly.
Miller was starting to enjoy himself as he leaned back in his chair. ‘I would just like Ms. Harris to clarify exactly when she last saw her ex-husband alive.’
Justine clenched her hands. ‘I had not seen him for at least a week, maybe more. And I have also told you’ – she jerked her head disdain
fully towards Miller – ‘that the reason I went to the flat that awful day, and I had to witness the horror of it all, was because I had received a concerned call from his dog walker—’
‘So, just to clarify,’ Miller interrupted, ‘you are claiming that you had not seen your ex-husband for over a week before you arrived at his flat on the Tuesday, just as the police were cordoning off the scene of crime?’
‘Yes!’ she snapped.
Miller slowly passed the plastic wallet across the table so they could both see the parking ticket inside.
For the first time, McDermott looked nonplussed, while Justine looked equally bewildered.
‘Mr. McDermott,’ Miller began. ‘That is a parking ticket issued at 5:15 p.m. on the Monday. It shows Ms. Harris’s vehicle registration number and gives the parking meter location as being twenty yards from Mr. Foxley’s flat. We traced the parking meter attendant. He was unable to determine how long Ms. Harris’s vehicle had been parked there, but when he came to the meter the time had expired, so he issued a ticket. He was also unable to confirm when the vehicle was driven away.’
A muscle twitched on the side of McDermott’s jaw, as though he was gritting his teeth. ‘I asked for full disclosure of the evidence you’ve gathered, and there was no mention of this parking ticket.’
Miller smiled. ‘I’m sorry, I was not privy to the meeting as I was still making inquiries regarding this ticket. As you must realize, Mr. McDermott, this parking ticket proves without doubt that your client has lied to us.’
There was a moment of silence while McDermott considered how to respond, then Justine suddenly let out a guttural scream of rage as she hurled her body across the table and started clawing at DI Miller’s face. She managed to grab hold of his tie, dragging him towards her so he fell face-down onto the table. Still holding tightly to his tie with her left hand, she began to punch his head with her right hand, all the while screaming, ‘No! No! NO!’
Completely unnerved, McDermott was slow to react. But Tyler managed to get hold of Justine’s arm and haul her away. She attempted to bite his hand, then fell to the floor, frothing at the mouth as her legs kicked out in some sort of fit.
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