Shooting Season: A DCI Harry Grimm Novel

by David J Gatward

  Gordy didn’t really have a question she wanted to ask. Not yet, anyway. So instead she just sat back and listened. At first, there were the obvious ones, covering all the usual bases, from when he knew that he wanted to be a writer and where did he get his ideas, to how many words he wrote in a day, was he a millionaire, would there ever be a television series or a movie, and did he ever get writer’s block. Then, amongst these, were the more unusual, covering everything from believing in aliens and favourite snacks to eat while writing, to whether or not Charlie had ever thought about writing a romantic novel set during one or both of the world wars—and if not, well the owner of the question had lots of ideas that he was willing to share should Charlie ever wanted to, and he’d give him a contact email at the end, if that was at all possible.

  With over twenty minutes of questions done, and more hands still in the air, the agent stood up and told the sitting guests that they had time for five more, and then they would move on to the book signing. At this, the young woman with the microphone turned to the excitedly waving hand of someone Gordy couldn’t quite see.

  ‘Yes, and what question do you have?’ Charlie asked. ‘But please don’t make me work too hard for an answer! This has been like a very friendly interrogation!’

  As a faint laugh rolled through the crowd, the hand took the microphone and Gordy saw a thin woman rise to her feet.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, her voice quiet.

  ‘Hi!’ Charlie said. ‘Lovely to see you here. So, what’s this question, then? And no, you can’t have the keys to my new Porsche!’

  More laughter, though it sounded rather strained, Gordy thought. Charlie had mentioned that car a few times already. It was clear that he very much enjoyed the status which his fame had brought him.

  ‘Your books,’ the woman said, ‘you’ve made an awful lot of money from them, and you have fans all over the world.’

  ‘I do,’ Charlie replied. ‘I’m very lucky.’

  ‘And I’m sure that you know better than anyone how much you owe your fans, because without them, you would be, well, nothing, yes?’

  That was an odd phrase, Gordy thought, and she saw a flicker of confusion cross Charlie’s face.

  ‘They’re everything to me,’ Charlie replied. ‘You, everyone here, like I said, I’m so lucky.’

  ‘Then how do you think they would feel to find out that you’ve lied to them all this time and betrayed their trust in you, in the stories you tell?’

  Gordy watched Charlie’s professional confidence fall from his face like ice from a glacier.

  ‘I’m sorry, what?’

  ‘You’re a liar!’ the woman said.

  ‘I am not!’ Charlie snapped back.

  The agent was on her feet, but Charlie stepped in front of her, his eyes on this new questioner.

  ‘You’re a fake!’ the woman roared. ‘You use a ghostwriter! I’m right, aren’t I? This book—’ She held up a copy of Charlie’s new novel ‘—you didn’t write it! Not any of them! Not a single word! It’s a lie! All of it! You are a lie! You are a liar!’

  ‘I bloody well did!’ Charlie yelled back. ‘How dare you! Who are you?’

  The woman hurled the book across the room. It flew over the heads of the gathered fans, narrowly missing Charlie, and instead, glanced past him and into a stack of his new novels. They slumped pathetically across the table.

  The young woman who Gordy had met at the door seemed to suddenly come to life, springing forward to wrestle the microphone away from the questioner. Meanwhile, Charlie was raging now, spitting fire at the woman for what she’d said, threatening all manner of legal and not so legal action and, Gordy noticed, flashing looks back at his agent.

  Gordy was on her feet before she even realised and was across to the woman in a heartbeat.

  ‘Excuse me . . .’

  ‘What?’ the woman snapped, whipping round on Gordy.

  ‘I think it would be best if you stepped outside for a moment,’ Gordy suggested.

  The woman slapped Gordy across the face with another book she had in her hand, an older paperback of Charlie’s novels.

  ‘I will do no such thing! This man is a liar! He’s lied to everyone for years, you hear? Lied! All of this is a lie! All of it! Lies!’

  Gordy’s face was stinging. She wasn’t in uniform, true, but that was assault and she wasn’t about to let it be ignored.

  ‘Madam, unless you wish for me to press charges for assault, I need to ask you to leave. Now.’

  ‘Who do you think you are, the police?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gordy replied. ‘Exactly that.’

  The woman stared hard at Gordy, who saw a sudden flicker of fear behind her eyes. Then she glanced back up to where Charlie and his agent were standing before turning back to Gordy.

  ‘Please,’ Gordy said and gestured to the front of the shop.

  ‘He’s a liar!’ the woman cried, her voice loud and clear. ‘He’s lied to us all! He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it! It’s wrong! LIAR!’

  She then pushed past Gordy to make her way to the front of the shop. As she made to leave, she stared back at Charlie. ‘How could you?’ she yelled, with the dramatic poise of a professional actor on the stage, and then she was gone.

  Chapter Six

  From the day that Chris had decided she was going to do everything in her power to work for the great Charlie Baker, she’d known that doing so was going to be interesting, and the bookshop event had certainly been that, hadn’t it? A car crash was how Anna had described it, though not in front of Charlie because his mood had not calmed down in the least and he was still pretty much close to going critical.

  During her last year at university, she’d done her research, learned everything she could about him, every book he’d written, every place he’d been, his habits and interests, likes and dislikes, and her in-depth knowledge of his background, well, that was second to none, wasn’t it? But nothing could have prepared her for the reality, the person behind the name. And she was really rather pleased that her mum wasn’t around anymore to know just what her employer was like. She would have been livid.

  Charlie, Chris had soon realised, was an enigma, but not in a particularly good way. At the job interview, just over a year ago now, the man had been charming, delightful, and personable. And Chris’ research had paid off and she’d scored the job easily. But within the first few hours of her first day as his personal assistant, she’d quickly realised that keeping hold of the job wasn’t going to have so much to do with whether the man would think her work adequate, but more to do with whether or not she could actually stand to be around him long enough to keep it.

  Charlie Baker could be charming one moment and then in a heartbeat turn into a complete and utter bastard. Then a few hours later it would all be forgotten again. It was impossible to ever know which Charlie you were actually going to be dealing with. Yes, she had her own reasons for wanting to work for him, which was why she put up with it, but she was pretty sure that anyone else, anyone sensible and sane, would have happily told him where to shove his stupid job. Today, though? Well, she was fairly sure that no other day could even match it for sheer lunacy.

  The event at the bookshop, the launch event for Charlie’s new book, the most important date in the diary for the past six months at least, had turned quite unexpectedly into a bloodbath. From the moment that strange woman had screamed her accusations at Charlie about his books the world had gone into meltdown, and it had been all she, Anna, and Adam could do to calm everyone down and finish the event off with the promised signing. Charlie had done his best to chase after his accuser, but Anna had managed to keep him in the shop. Thankfully, there had also been that friendly off-duty police officer, with the wonderful Scottish accent, and she had helped hugely to bring a little order to things.

  Then, with the event done and the fans satisfied, but also deeply confused despite many reassurances from Anna, they’d left the bookshop and headed back to the lodge. And now
, here they were, up a dirt track, in the middle of nowhere, and the evening, which should’ve been one of fun and celebration, was anything but. She really hoped the surprise guests turned up soon, because if this was how it was going to be, then unbearable didn’t even come close to describing what lay ahead for the rest of the evening. And as to the secret she held inside, the real reason she had worked so hard to get the job and stick with it? Well, she really wasn’t so sure it was worth it anymore.

  ‘Bollocks to it all!’ Charlie shouted. ‘And I mean it! I’ve had it with doing author events! Do you really think I’m going to put up with this, with that kind of nonsense?’ He jabbed a finger at the air as though the event had happened just the other side of the wall. ‘Well, I won’t! Absolutely not! And where were you all? Where? Why didn’t you stop her? Why was that woman, that insane creature, even allowed in? Dear God!’

  It was early evening and Charlie was already throwing wine down his gullet like a marathon runner would down water at the end of a race. They were all downstairs in the high-ceilinged lounge and standing at the vintage Art Deco bar situated in the far left corner of the room. The whole place reminded Chris of the kind of house she’d seen in old movies, almost as though it should all be in black and white. The furniture, the lamps, even the artwork, it was all so old, so period, that she half wished she was in fancy dress in a nice fun flapper dress.

  ‘You need to slow down with that,’ Adam said, interrupting Chris’ thoughts. He was nodding at Charlie’s wine glass while at the same time topping it up with more red liquid. ‘We’ve got the whole night ahead of us, you know. And getting upset isn’t going to change anything, is it?’

  ‘I’ll drink what I want how I want,’ Charlie snapped back, gulping another mouthful. ‘And what is this shit, anyway?’ He grabbed the bottle from Adam and stared at the label. ‘Malbec? Well, it doesn’t taste like Malbec to me! And I should know!’

  Chris sipped her own wine and did her best to look relaxed, despite feeling anything but. She checked her phone. There was a message: Be there in five! Thank God . . .

  ‘People say things,’ Adam said. ‘Part of being famous and successful is accepting that not everything they say is going to be nice.’

  ‘We need to find her and make her pay!’ Charlie spat.

  ‘No, we do not,’ said Adam. ‘That would only make it worse. It would be like pouring petrol on a fire. Right now, it’s just one person shouting. You draw attention to it, then lots of other people might decide to join in.’

  ‘I don’t care!’ Charlie said. ‘I don’t care at all!’

  His ranting continued, but Chris tuned him out. He really did do getting upset better than anyone she’d ever known.

  ‘And how are you doing?’

  Chris looked round to see Anna come to stand beside her.

  ‘Oh, you know.’ Chris shrugged, sipped, smiled, doing her best to hide what she was actually feeling and thinking.

  ‘Look, about earlier today,’ Anna said, resting a hand gently on Anna’s forearm. ‘These things do happen sometimes. It’s all part of the fun. Try to not let it bother you. You couldn’t have done anything about it.’

  ‘I could have taken the microphone out of her hand a bit quicker.’

  ‘So could we all,’ Anna replied. ‘Like I said, don’t let it bother you.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not. It’s fine, honestly,’ Chris said, though she knew that the tone of her voice said more than her words.

  ‘Fans are always a bit of an odd bunch,’ Anna continued, toying with an open packet of cigarettes. ‘Fan, being short for fanatic, pretty much says it all, don’t you think? They’re always a little bit on the completely crazy side. Well, not all of them, but definitely some.’

  She laughed then, and Chris thought how the sound of it was a little forced.

  ‘But what she said though,’ Chris said, her voice low, aware that she didn’t want Charlie to hear them discussing him, ‘about him having a ghostwriter. Where would she get something like that? Why say it at all?’

  ‘Oh, it’s quite common.’ Anna smiled, and Chris noticed there was something else behind her eyes, something knowing. Surely she didn’t think there was any truth in it? She was Charlie’s agent!

  ‘Now, are you looking forward to the week ahead?’ Anna asked, the look in her eyes quickly gone, dissolved, Chris suspected, in the large gin and tonic the woman was sipping. ‘I’ve never shot anything before, have you? I’m sure it will be a blast!’

  Anna laughed at her joke. Chris did her best to make her own laugh sound sufficiently convincing.

  ‘But Charlie doesn’t want to do any of it,’ Chris said, looking over at her employer, who was still ranting and raving about the afternoon.

  ‘Well, it’s not really up to him, is it?’ Anna replied. ‘The press will be here tomorrow, and at other events throughout the week. It’s all arranged. He’ll be fine. We just need to make sure that he doesn’t do anything stupid.’

  Chris kept her eyes on Charlie. The bottle he and Adam had been drinking from was already empty and he was now in the process of loudly opening another. She really wasn’t sure that he was the kind of person who should ever be given the chance to use a shotgun, particularly not in the state of mind he was in right now. But perhaps, by tomorrow, he would be fine.

  A buzzing in her pocket caught Chris’ attention.

  ‘I best take this,’ she said, pulling out her phone.

  ‘Well, don’t be long,’ Anna said. ‘Dinner smells divine, don’t you think? And you don’t want to miss it!’

  Chris left the group and walked outside, the trees behind the lodge making the evening seem even darker than it already was. As she raised the phone to her ear a car pulled in and before it had even stopped the doors were already opening.

  ‘Chris, darling!’ cooed a woman from the rear of the car, running over to her and smothering Chris in air kisses. ‘We made it, you see? But where the hell are we? Goodness, how quaint!’

  Chris killed the call to deal with the new arrivals. She wasn’t exactly a massive fan of Abigail Edwards, in the main because it seemed to her that the woman was a leech. Whatever she did for employment, Chris hadn’t the faintest idea, but it seemed to involve wearing expensive clothes, going to parties, and generally being on the scrounge. Which she did very well around Charlie.

  Another figure joined her, this time from the front passenger seat, a man wearing a crumpled linen suit and carrying a bottle of champagne. When it came to wearing the badge of the dishevelled aristocracy, Mark Stirling did it better than anyone. Not that Chris knew anyone else supposedly from the ruling classes with whom to draw such a comparison. He was another friend of Charlie’s, one from childhood apparently, which said a lot about her employer’s upbringing, she thought.

  ‘God, that was a drive and a half!’ he said. ‘And the music! If I didn’t like jazz before, well, let me tell you, I absolutely fucking hate it now! Right, where is the old bastard, then? Can’t drink this alone, can I?’

  Finally, the driver climbed out, locked the car, and strolled over. And of the three new faces, this one Chris actually liked.

  ‘Hello, Chris,’ he said, hugging her warmly. ‘So, you’re surviving okay, then, hanging around with this bunch of pretentious idiots? Or have you already had enough and are about to beg me to whisk you away from it all?’

  As accountants went, Eric Jones was warm, friendly, and actually interesting. He was also a few years past retiring, bald as a cue ball, and had quickly taken on a grandfatherly role with Chris. When she’d met him during her first week on the job, she’d taken to him immediately and easily. ‘I’m an accountant I’m afraid,’ he had said. ‘I’m also a lawyer, so really, I have a lot to be ashamed about. I try to keep quiet about it all, so please keep it to yourself if you can. I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘I’m still alive, so that’s something.’ Chris smiled, easing herself out of Eric’s warm embrace.

  ‘And so am I,’ said Eric.
‘Which, after sharing a journey with those two, is nothing short of a miracle.’

  ‘That bad?’

  Eric laughed. ‘All they seem to talk about is money and the people they know who have lots of it.’

  ‘Why did you drive?’ Chris asked.

  ‘Because at least then I would have something to think about,’ Eric replied. ‘And I could choose the music. Which annoyed them both enormously.’ He coughed, bringing out a handkerchief to cover it. ‘And how has today been?’

  ‘Eventful,’ Chris said. ‘I’m sure Charlie will fill you in.’

  ‘See you inside?’

  ‘Yes,’ Chris said and watched as the old man wandered off towards the lodge. Then she went back to her phone.

  ‘Hi Gran,’ she said. ‘Yes, everything’s going fine. I promise . . .’

  With the call to her gran over, Chris headed back towards the house. Most of the conversation to her only living relative had focused on reassuring her that yes, everything was fine and that yes, of course, she was being careful, though about what exactly was never truly established.

  As Chris came to the front door, she heard voices on the other side. It was Mark and Charlie, talking in hushed tones. She went to open the door but then the voices became sharp and angry so she held back a moment, not wishing to just barge through.

  ‘You’ve a cheek,’ Charlie hissed. ‘I bet that’s the only reason you’ve come here at all, isn’t it? Nothing to do with me, just my pockets, which you seem to think are bottomless.’

  ‘No, I promise,’ Mark replied. ‘It’s not like that.’

  ‘Well, it certainly seems to be.’

  ‘I paid you back the last time, remember?’ Mark said.

  ‘Only after I threatened you with legal action,’ Charlie replied.

  ‘There was no need for that,’ Mark said. ‘I still can’t believe you did.’

  Chris was about to creep away, not wishing to listen in, when she heard footsteps and, out of the darkness sitting behind the vast entrance to the house, Abigail crept. She looked at Chris and put a finger to her lips.