Someone was sailing pretty close to getting a slap, Jim thought, fighting very hard to maintain some level of professionalism. But it wasn’t easy.
‘Again,’ he said, ‘I need to ask you to leave. If and when there is a statement to be made, I’m sure you’ll be communicated with through the right channels.’
With a final shove, Jim managed to get the man on the other side of the door. Shutting it, he locked it for good measure. They still thought it was suicide, Jim pondered, so that was something at least. He didn’t want to think about what would happen once word got out that it wasn’t.
He then walked over to Fly and sat in a chair closest to the dog, before pulling out his phone and punching in a call.
‘Boss?’
‘Jim? What is it?’
‘It’s about the press,’ Jim replied. ‘Someone’s leaked the Charlie Baker thing. They were here.’
‘Funny you should say that,’ Harry replied.
‘Why?’
‘Because they’re here as well.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Harry had managed to get all the way to the top of the stairs and was just about to enter the first bedroom when a shout from Matt had come from the hallway below.
‘Bollocks,’ he harrumphed. ‘What’s that about, then?’
‘No idea,’ Liz said. ‘I’ll go check.’
‘No, you stay here,’ Harry said, stepping around her and back over to the stairs. ‘Have a look around the rooms, yourself. I’m not expecting us to find much, but you never know.’
‘Anything you want me to look out for in particular?’
Harry shrugged. ‘Anything that seems out of place. Think about what we know, that they were up here when Charlie left, that two of them saw him drive off. That’s all we’ve got really. See how you do.’
Harry made his way down the stairs to find Matt waiting for him and wearing a face which didn’t quite suit him.
‘You look angry,’ Harry said. ‘Not a look I’m used to seeing on you, if I’m honest.’
‘It’s the press,’ Matt said.
‘What is?’
Matt pointed at the closed front door.
‘They’re here, or they will be in about thirty seconds, once they’ve sorted out their cameras and wires and lack of humanity.’
‘Who the hell called them, then?’ Harry hissed, teeth clenched, as he walked over to the front door. He eased it open a crack to see the parking area filling up with cars and a van or two. ‘I want those bastards off! I want them away from here, do you understand?’
Harry was very aware that he was shouting now, and at a colleague who he didn’t just respect, he actually liked—which was a rare thing indeed—but if there was ever anything that could anger him more than the press, he wasn’t aware of it.
‘You and me both, Boss,’ Matt replied. ‘Shall we do this together or do you want me to just stand back and hold your jacket?’
‘Together, I think,’ Harry said. ‘We can do more damage that way.’
Harry opened the door at exactly the same time as a scrawny looking man with the face of an angry wasp made to knock on it. He had a digital recorder in Harry’s face immediately. Harry, ignoring the recorder, pushed forwards, forcing the man to back off. Matt followed him and stood at his side.
‘Can I help?’ he asked, and with those words forced his face into the worst of smiles, even managing to show his teeth a little. The effect was exactly as he’d wanted it to be, wasp man backing off even more quickly, and those racing up behind him skidding to a halt. In many ways, thought Harry, the scars on his face had actually turned out to be rather useful, all things considered.
The weather had eased up a little, but it was still a rough old day, Harry thought. And long may it continue, he smiled to himself, staring at the already drenched group of journalists in front of him.
‘Charlie Baker,’ the man said.
‘You don’t look like him. Does he, Detective Sergeant?’
Matt leaned in for a closer look. ‘Nothing like, Boss.’
‘No, we’re here about Charlie Baker.’
The other journalists started to edge closer again, a team of two, comprising of a man with a camera and a woman with a microphone, pushing to the front.
‘We need to ask you some questions,’ the woman said.
‘No, I don’t think you do,’ Harry replied. ‘I think you actually need to get back into your vehicles, and . . .’ He paused, turned to Matt. ‘What is it they need to do, Detective Sergeant?’
‘Bugger off, I think,’ Matt said.
‘Yes, that’s about the long and the short of it,’ said Harry.
The woman with the microphone wasn’t giving up.
‘Are you saying that you’re refusing to speak to us? Why is that? What are you hiding? Charlie Baker was a public figure. People will want to know what happened. He had millions of fans around the world.’
‘That he did,’ Harry said. ‘But right now, I don’t think I want to be spending my time talking to them all. So, like I said, if you could all hurry along now, that would be great, thank you.’
Harry turned to leave.
‘Do you have any suspects?’
Harry stopped, turned back.
‘Pardon?’
The woman with the microphone was staring hard, eyes clear.
‘I understand that this was originally being investigated as a suicide. However, I also understand that evidence has come to light that has made it a murder investigation, yes?’
Harry stepped forward, only to feel a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Matt looking at him. It was enough to give him pause and to lock down his urge to turn the air black and blue.
‘An official statement will be given at an appropriate time,’ he said. ‘Until then, I must insist that you all leave the premises.’
Harry was impressed with his self-control.
‘You don’t deny, then, that this is a murder investigation? Someone killed Charlie Baker?’
She was pushing it though, he thought.
‘As I just stated, a statement will be made at the appropriate time.’
Harry turned on his heels. ‘Come on, Detective Sergeant, we have proper work to do.’
‘Following on behind,’ Matt said, then paused and looked at the journalists gathered together on the gravel. He held his hands out, the rain still tumbling from the sky splattering in his palms. ‘Wouldn’t want to be out in this much longer now, might catch my death.’
Harry was almost to the door when it burst open and from it dashed the figure of Anna James. He tried to stop her but was too late, and she was in amongst the journalists as though born to it.
‘Ah, crap,’ Harry muttered and made to go back to fetch her. The last thing he wanted right now was to have anyone telling the press anything, not least because he himself didn’t know enough about what had happened. And if the rumour mill started to do what it did best, then carrying this investigation out quietly, professionally, and out of the public’s gaze was going to be impossible.
‘It’s all right, Boss,’ Matt said, stepping forward. ‘I’ll go sort this out.’
‘Thanks,’ Harry said. ‘Just make sure she doesn’t do or say anything stupid.’
‘On it.’
‘You know what this means, don’t you?’
‘That someone leaked this?’
‘Exactly that,’ Harry said. ‘And that just gets me to wondering why . . .’
Harry watched as Matt strode over to stand with Anna, quickly placing himself between her and the gaggle of press around them, taking charge of the situation with more ease and confidence than Harry would have expected. But then, Matt, like the rest of the team, was full of surprises, wasn’t he?
Back inside the house, Liz was just making her way back down the stairs.
‘All good?’
‘I wouldn’t say good, no,’ Harry replied. ‘But Matt’s on it. Dealing with it better than I would.’
; ‘Patience of a saint, he has,’ Liz said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen him riled up, you know, like properly angry, anything like that.’
She had a point, Harry thought.
‘So, anything from upstairs?’
‘Lots of bedrooms, lots of suitcases, a few wine glasses laying about here and there, but nothing really standing out as odd or out of place.’
‘You checked every room?’
Liz gave a nod, then lifted something from one of the stairs behind her.
‘Only thing I found was this.’
Harry saw that it was a stylised statue of a woman in a flapper dress, probably no more than a foot in height. It had that art deco vibe to it, he thought, and judging by the house and the rest of its contents, it was probably original and valuable. Well, it would’ve been if it wasn’t missing something rather obvious.
‘Where’s its head?’
Liz pulled a little evidence bag from her pocket, inside of which was the missing head.
‘It’s probably nowt,’ she said, ‘but worth getting it checked.’
‘And which room was it in?’
‘Charlie’s,’ Liz replied. ‘And I know that, because his luggage is labelled. And by that, I mean all of it, even his washbag. It’s also clearly the most expensive. Right posh.’
The front door opened and in walked Anna, with Matt behind.
‘They’re not moving on,’ Matt said. ‘Looking at the weather, I’m happy for them to stay. You never know, they might all get really ill.’
Harry looked to Anna.
‘The only reason they’re here is because someone told them,’ he said.
‘Well, I don’t know who,’ Anna said. ‘The last thing I want is the press all over this. I wanted it contained, controlled, so that I could manage what they were told. Not this! Not at all!’
‘Is that why you went out?’ Matt asked.
‘Of course,’ Anna said. ‘With the press, if you tell them nothing, they think they have everything and will just go ahead and decide the truth based on their assumptions and need to grab a headline. However, if you tell them something, just enough to give them something to gnaw on, then they’ll usually at least quieten down a bit.’
‘And what did you tell them?’ Harry asked.
‘Bugger all,’ Matt said.
Anna smiled. ‘If I want to talk, if I have something to say, then no one is going to stop me saying it. So, I told them about what a sad loss it is, how Charlie will be missed, how I fully expect them, the press, to give us and all those who knew him, time to process what has happened, to mourn. I also managed to mention his new book.’
‘That was PR?’ Harry said.
‘Darling, anything and everything is PR,’ Anna replied, then leant in close and added, ‘If you want it to be.’
‘Even Charlie’s death?’ Liz asked.
‘Sometimes you just have to make the best of what you’ve got,’ Anna said, and with that, she left the conversation and walked back into the lounge.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
With the upstairs checked, and the press still waiting out in the rain—drenched vultures keeping watch for bones to pick clean—Harry decided to leave having a walk around the house till later in the day. He didn’t know what he was looking for, if anything, but it was always good to be thorough. He’d had a walk around the front on Saturday, when he and Gordy had been over to find out what they could about Charlie’s disappearance, and something had bothered him then, but he still wasn’t sure what. Yet it was there, niggling at the back of his mind, and he thought that another look around might help. But until then, they had their little chats to conduct, so they split the interviews up, with Matt and Jenny using the room downstairs, and Harry and Liz using the dining room, which could also be closed off from the rest of the house.
Matt and Jen were on with Abigail, then Mark, so Harry was able to interview the person he was really interested in hearing more from, after what Anna had told him and Matt, and that was Chris.
‘You want a drink or anything?’ Harry asked, hoping to relax her, because right now she had the look in her eye of a frightened deer.
‘No, I’m fine,’ Chris said, sitting down on the opposite side of the blue Formica-top table in one of the two extra chairs.
Harry explained that Liz would be taking notes and that at the end Chris would be free to check them over for accuracy.
‘Can I ask you to just run through everything again for me, please?’ Harry asked. He didn’t want to go in straight away, asking about the revelation from Anna. Chris needed to feel comfortable just talking. ‘I know you may feel like you’re repeating things, but you may have seen or noticed things that the others didn’t.’
Chris began to speak, her voice quiet, and she took them through the events at the bookshop once again, then the evening which followed. And through it all, Harry noticed how she kept reaching up to rub the tricep of her right arm. And he remembered then how Jenny had mentioned this.
‘And then I went to bed,’ Chris said. ‘I was tired, everyone was getting drunk. Well, everyone except me and Eric, and I just wanted to get away from it all. It had been a very stressful day.’
‘Can I ask about your arm?’ Harry said.
‘What about it?’
‘You keep rubbing it,’ Harry said. ‘If you want, we can have a look at it. Us police folk aren’t just pretty faces, you know. We do a good turn in first aid, too.’
‘No, it’s fine, honestly,’ Chris said. ‘I fell into something.’
Harry saw this as an open door and pushed.
‘Was this when Charlie came to talk to you in your room?’
Chris’ eyes went wide.
‘What? Who told you? It was nothing! He was just drunk!’
‘Did he get violent?’ Liz asked. ‘Did he grab you? Is that why your arm hurts?’
‘No!’ Chris shouted, her voice breaking on her words. ‘He just wanted me to go back to the party and I refused. That’s all!’
Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
‘Chris, we know,’ he said.
‘Know what? What are you talking about?’
‘We know that Eric sent Charlie on his way. And we know that you’re Charlie’s daughter.’
Harry watched the colour drain from Chris’ face.
‘How? Who told you? I didn’t kill him! Why would I kill him? He’s my dad! I didn’t kill him!’
‘But you kept your identity secret, didn’t you?’ Liz pressed. ‘Why is that? Why did you get a job with him and then not tell him who you are?’
Chris sniffed, sat back, shook her head. ‘God, this is all such a mess, isn’t it?’
‘You just need to tell us what happened,’ Liz continued. ‘That’s all.’
‘I didn’t kill him! I didn’t! I wouldn’t!’
Harry said, ‘Please, Chris, just tell us what happened on Friday night.’
Chris asked for a glass of water and Liz duly obliged.
‘Yes, we argued,’ Chris began. ‘But that’s what people do with Charlie, or did. I mean Anna argued with him at the event, then Mark.’
‘Mark?’ Harry asked, remembering something Abigail had mentioned on Saturday.
‘I think it was about money,’ Chris explained. ‘Mark has a problem with gambling. Not just that he can’t stop, but that he’s not very good at it. I think he was hoping Charlie would give him a loan.’
‘And did he?’
‘Not a chance!’ Chris said.
‘We’ll need to check with Mark about that,’ Harry said to Liz.
‘I’ll do that once we’re finished here,’ Liz said.
‘Back to you,’ Harry continued. ‘You and Charlie were arguing?’
‘Yes, and then Eric sent him on his way. Eric and I, we talked about Charlie, because he’d guessed who I was right at the beginning, when I started the job. Just never told me.’
‘Really?’ Harry asked. ‘How?’
‘Appare
ntly, we have the same eyes.’ Chris smiled, though the expression was one of sorrow. ‘Had, I mean. And from things I had asked, about Charlie, his past. Eric pretty much put two and two together and got me.’
‘So, why didn’t you tell Charlie who you were?’ Harry asked.
‘I took the job to get to know him,’ Chris explained. ‘Mum died when I was fourteen. Car accident. She’d barely mentioned him at all, and to be honest, I always thought she was making it up, trying to make it sound like my non-existent dad was a somebody. Mum was like that, she’d make stuff up, usually to try and protect me.’
‘What did you know about him?’ Liz asked. ‘Did you have any proof that he was your dad?’
‘None,’ Chris admitted. ‘Mum had no proof. DNA would be the only way I suppose. That’s why I kept quiet about it. Thought I’d get to know him first.’ She laughed, the sound bleak and empty. ‘I always had this mad dream that we’d get on and it would be wonderful and when I eventually told him he would welcome me with open arms. But that was never going to happen, I knew that pretty soon, for sure.’
‘But you stuck with the job?’ Harry asked.
‘It was a job.’ Chris shrugged. ‘Not easy to come by, are they? So, yes, I stuck with it. But after Friday? Well, I’d had enough.’
‘How do you mean?’ Liz asked.
‘I mean,’ Chris said, ‘I didn’t care that he was my dad. The man was a complete arsehole and I’d had enough!’
Harry knew there was more to come, so he just sat and waited.
‘After our argument, after I’d spoken with Eric, I couldn’t get to sleep. It was noisy, everyone drinking and talking. They eventually all came to bed and I was still awake. I was so angry. With Charlie, with myself. I’d had enough. Like, properly, you know?’
‘What did you do?’ Harry asked.
‘I went over to his room and I bloody well told him, that’s what I did!’ Chris snapped back. ‘I marched right in there, into his room, and just told him. He was really drunk, half asleep, but I didn’t care. I’d had enough.’
‘How did he respond?’ Liz asked.
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