The Darkest Deed: A Gripping Detective Crime Mystery (The DI Hogarth Darkest series Book 3)

by Solomon Carter

  “Sure, Harry. Will do.”

  The woman hung up and leaned back in King’s office chair.

  “Harry has agreed to see you.”

  “Very good of him, I’m sure,” said Hogarth with a hint of sarcasm. “Where is he then?”

  “Downstairs in studio one. He’s filming.”

  “But he’ll see me?” said Hogarth, frowning.

  “He says you can interview him during the break. You’ll get five minutes if you go down now.”

  Hogarth nodded and turned for the door. Lana Aubrey’s voice called him back.

  “You’re not a prude, are you, inspector?”

  Hogarth shook his head. “A prude? I worked in the Met for twenty years, Miss Aubrey. The last thing I am is a prude.”

  But something in Hogarth’s demeanour betrayed him because Lana Aubrey’s smile turned into a grin.

  “Good, Inspector. Then I’m sure your interview will go very well.”

  Hogarth shook his head and opened the door.

  “Oh, and we’ll be interviewing you before long too, Miss Aubrey. During which I’ll need you to stop messing with that phone. Forearmed is forewarned, and all that,” said Hogarth. He exited the door with a wink and shut it hard before the woman had a chance to reply.

  Hogarth ignored the red light and walked into Studio One. The studio was far smaller and much more basic than he’d been expecting. He saw the bright white lights on stands ranged around the room, with two black movie cameras – one mounted on a tripod, and another handheld by a hairy guy crouching on the floor. In the centre of the room he saw the moody looking brunette with the short brown hair, the one who disparaged Aimee Gillen in the washrooms. The cameras were fixed on her and the man standing at her side. The man was the one with the long neck and the curly hair. The woman sat at a grand piano and the man with the curly hair was standing behind her. The guy with the handheld camera moved towards them, seemingly aiming for a close up on their faces. The brunette’s hands moved around the keys but didn’t touch them. Hogarth guessed they would dub the music over the pictures.

  From the clothes, to the props, Hogarth could already tell what an appalling movie this was to become. The male lead was dressed more like a disco dancer than a fan of classical piano, and the brunette had the resentful face best suited to sitting behind a supermarket till. But the dialogue was even worse. The man spoke slowly, as if he was reading the words from a book he didn’t understand.

  “To play the piano well, you need to be in tune with it, you have to relax. Here, let me help you…”

  Hogarth shook his head as the ‘teacher’ began to massage the brunette’s shoulders. He’d seen enough. He turned his eyes away and eyed the others around the main action. Sitting to one side of the room, his eyes flicking between the scene and a notebook clutched in his hand, was Harry King. King saw Hogarth edging towards him and stood up.

  “Is she a trained pianist, Mr King?”

  “Of course she is. We got her trained by Richard Clayderman just for this picture.”

  A loud sigh of pleasure came from the centre of the room. Hogarth looked around at the actors as the brunette reached up for the ‘teacher’s’ hand on her shoulder.

  “I think I know how this one ends,” said Hogarth, eyeing them dubiously. His eyes on the actors felt strangely awkward, but he didn’t want to lose face. “I thought you did soft-core?” said Hogarth. Harry King smiled at him.

  “This is soft. But not too soft. If you want to check, I can send you the show reel. You can tell me if it fits the criteria.”

  “Hmmm. I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Mr King.”

  “No?” whispered the little old man, with a bitter grin. “Are you sure you don’t want to check?”

  “One hundred per cent, Mr King,” said Hogarth, firmly.

  “Shame. I thought we might have another customer.”

  “Then you thought wrong.” There was another theatrical sigh from behind the centre of the room.

  “You don’t seriously want me to interview you in here?”

  “Time is money, Inspector. But maybe you won’t understand that.”

  “I’d need to talk to you about Miss Gillen. And about others. Maybe you’d prefer to speak in private.”

  Harry King blinked and looked at the actors by the grand piano.

  “Dave,” he said, leaning towards the camera man. “Keep it rolling. I’ll be back in two shakes.”

  The camera man nodded.

  Harry King led them out of the studio into a small side production room with a glass window which overlooked the film set. King sighed and sat down on a cheap office chair, and Hogarth did the same.

  “So, did you find anything yet? To prove your dumb murder theory, I mean.”

  “Not yet, Mr King,” said Hogarth

  “That’s because there was no murder. And from what I hear, the police commissioner doesn’t think so either.”

  “With due respect, Mr King, I’m not interested in the view of the commissioner. And I never thought a man like you would have been, either.”

  King grinned at him. “Isn’t he your boss?”

  “No, Mr King. He’s not. As for the murder, we’ll let our forensics team handle that, Mr King. Now, I have some questions for you. What I want to know is why you sacked Miss Gillen. Whether you believe she was murdered or not, I’m told Miss Gillen’s status was of great concern to her in the days and weeks before her death.”

  “Concern?” said King.

  King shifted in his seat and pointed at Hogarth.

  “Listen. Aimee’s status here was of concern to me too. Aimee was receiving a retainer like the main actresses here. They get paid a retainer, and they get paid a larger fee for every picture we shoot with them in it. The trouble with Aimee was she wasn’t putting herself in the frame anymore. The last picture we did with Aimee was supposed to be her chance to get back in the game. She had a decent fanbase out there, loyal fans who liked what she offered We used to get emails asking us when we’d release another picture with her in it. Those emails represent money, Inspector. I would have loved to have shot another picture with Aimee in it, but the girl was off the rails, and no one could save her. Not even me.”

  “Can you tell me what happened from your point of view, Mr King?”

  “Yeah. We were filming a teacher’s pet picture. You probably know the type of thing. Aimee was getting on so we put her as the teacher, and stuck a couple of our new guys as the students. It was a good set up. It would have made money. But by halfway through the first morning, I saw Aimee was out of it. She argued with the guys on set, she argued with me. She disappeared off set, and I followed her. I was angry and I was going to tell her off. But when I found her she was crying, crying like a baby. She was crying about how I’d let her down, how the studio had let her down, and all the while she was the one sticking that powder up her nose.”

  “What do think she was accusing you of, Mr King?”

  “How the hell do I know? All I’d ever done was look after her. Tell me, what would you have done?”

  Hogarth shrugged. “But I’m interested in what you did, Mr King.”

  “I liked Aimee, but I have to be a businessman. Fifteen years back Aimee helped me make a killing. She was the making of Harry King Studios. But I couldn’t risk putting her in another movie. She was freaking out. I knew she was making waves in the building. She just caused too much trouble.”

  “Do you know what caused her to change?”

  “Aside from the cocaine, and the booze? What else did she need? I’ve seen plenty of people implode because of that stuff.”

  Hogarth’s eyes fixed on King, but the little man gazed at him with defiance. He was inscrutable.

  “How did you leave things with Aimee, Mr King?”

  “I told her to take a break from filming,” said King. “I told her to take a break and to go and get herself clean so we could see the old Aimee again. But you know what she said to me then? She told me we
’d never ever see the old Aimee Gillen again. It sounded like a threat. I assumed that was just the drugs talking, so I ignored it. I let her go.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “This was weeks back, remember. I know her co-stars tried to calm her down. Chrissie Heaton went after her, but by then I didn’t want Aimee back on set. I had to use Annabelle Marks for the rest of the shoot. She was too young for the part really and she costs me a bomb, but she’s such a pro, we pulled it off in no time.”

  Hogarth’s eyes roved across the production room window, and then flicked quickly away. The brunette was receiving a deep shoulder massage and by now her blouse was halfway open. Hogarth fixed his attention rigidly to Harry King, who met his eyes with a knowing smile.

  “How did you leave things with Aimee, Mr King?”

  “Exactly as I just said. I had already told Aimee what to do – to go and get herself fixed. Clean. If she did that, the door was still open. If she didn’t, well, one day she was going to have to leave.”

  “But you didn’t give her a timeframe?” said Hogarth. “An ultimatum? You didn’t add any more pressure?”

  “Look, Inspector. I’m not the reason Aimee Gillen is dead. I tried to help her. I gave her a roof and a bed and a wage way past her time. Most people in my situation would have given her the boot a long time ago. I’m too soft on them – all of them – but especially her.”

  Hogarth nodded and narrowed his eyes. He changed tack.

  “Do you know anything about Aimee’s private life? Where she got the drugs? What problems she had? Who was close to her…? Any lovers. Boyfriends…?”

  Harry King shrugged and looked away. “Hey. I wasn’t her father, I was her employer. The drugs were her business. It was nothing to do with me.

  “Funny. Lana Aubrey uses the exact same line, Mr King. But the fact remains the drugs were on your property. That makes it your business.”

  “Don’t pull that threatening crap with me. Every senior school in this country has what, a hundred or so young junkies holding a bag of weed or pills. But do you prosecute the headteacher for what those kids do in the playground? No. So don’t pull that crap with me.”

  “Mr King, Miss Gillen is dead. Drugs likely formed a part of the reason she died. She died here in very mysterious circumstances. I’d say you should be very concerned about all of these things. Now. Is there is anything else you know…?”

  King shrugged and stood up.

  “I don’t know about the drugs and I don’t want to know. I think it’s all bad shit and nothing to do with me,” he sighed and looked Hogarth in the eye. “But you want something from me, right? So here is what I know. I noticed she got friendly with Chrissie Heaton a little while after Chrissie joined. Maybe it was some kind of sisterhood thing. Maybe she took Chrissie under her wing. You know. I stuff about them getting a little friendly, but I don’t do tittle tattle. If I got involved with all the tittle tattle I heard over the last twenty years, I’d be in therapy by now.”

  Hogarth chewed on the man’s words…

  “Do you mean the girl was taken under Miss Gillen’s wing…”

  “You’re a man of the world, Inspector. You figure it out. You want to know any more, you’ll have to ask Chrissie. She is new here. Sounds like she broke the rules.”

  “Rules?” said Hogarth.

  “Yeah. The code of conduct. It’s like this. Our actors and actresses are from an age range of between eighteen years old up to forty, right? They all live together in a dorm environment. The rule I give them when they sign up is don’t get too close to anyone here. Don’t share your personal secrets. Don’t get involved with them full stop. Sure, be friendly, but be careful.”

  “I heard about that,” said Hogarth. “But why?”

  “Because it’s risky. Think about it.”

  “Risky,” said Hogarth. “Do you mean risky for you, or risky for them?”

  “For them, of course. They can upset each other if they get involved. No one needs that. Least of all me. I’m here to make movies. This isn’t a match-making service. They screw each other and fall out it could ruin a picture.”

  “And Chrissie Heaton got too close…? To Aimee?”

  “Like I said, I’m not interested in tittle tattle. I’ve got a business to run. Are we done here?”

  “Almost,” said Hogarth.

  Harry King stood up.

  Hogarth’s eyes scanned toward the production room window. They lingered a moment too long before he realised exactly what he was looking at. His eyes turned wide before they flicked away. There was a lot more skin on view than the last time he’d looked.

  Harry King let loose a wheezy laugh. “I’ll post you a DVD, Inspector. On the house.”

  “Don’t waste the price of a stamp, Mr King,” said Hogarth. “It’ll go straight in the bin. One more thing, Mr King,” said Hogarth, as the little old man moved to the door. He stopped and turned to face Hogarth with an impatient look on his face.

  “Where were you on the night Aimee Gillen died?”

  “That night?”

  “Yes. Sunday night.”

  “I was at home. All night.”

  “And where is that? Do you live here, with the others?”

  “Are you crazy? Forget that. No way. I have a house in Leigh.”

  “And you were with your wife?”

  “I don’t have a wife, Inspector. I have a life instead.”

  Hogarth ignored the cheesy line. “You were alone, then?”

  Harry King’s eyes twinkled. “No. Amanda O’Dell stayed with me that night.”

  “Amanda O’Dell?”

  “Yeah. Look back through the glass, if you dare. Amanda is the topless brunette playing the piano. The one you can’t help looking at,” said King.

  Hogarth grimaced at King. “She’s not my type, Mr King.”

  “Yeah, right,” said King.

  “So, your code of conduct doesn’t apply to the management then?”

  “Oh, yes it does, Inspector. It applies to all the staff here.” said King. “Just not to the owner, that’s all.”

  Laughing hard, the old man shook his head and walked out of the room. Hogarth followed suit quickly, keeping his eyes well away from the piano massage scene.

  He walked out of the studio, passing King as the little tyrant returned to his director’s chair.

  “Okay, guys. Show me what you got,” said King with a clap of his hands.

  Hogarth found Simmons outside sitting at the bottom of a staircase, with a steaming vending machine coffee in his hand. Hogarth let out a deep breath of relief and shook his head.

  “So, guv… what was it like in there?” said Simmons.

  “Just as classy as you’d expect, DC Simmons. And not as much fun,” said Hogarth.

  “And what did you see?”

  “Enough to make your eyes water, my boy. But King said a few things, and I can’t help wondering…” said Hogarth, his words drifting off.

  “What, guv?”

  “King closed off one avenue of questioning and opened up another. I can’t help wondering if Mr King is trying to help or trying to hide something.”

  “What did he say?” said Simmons.

  “He just gave me a pointer. The name of an actress. He has an alibi for the night of the murder, but a pretty flimsy one by my reckoning.”

  Hogarth’s phone buzzed in his blazer. He pulled it free of his pocket and saw Melford’s name on the centre of the screen.

  Hogarth grimaced and put the phone to his ear.

  “Sir?”

  Thirteen

  In the X-L car park, DCI Melford stood leaning against his Vauxhall Omega. Melford’s car was top of the range. Naturally. Hogarth walked across the empty car park towards Melford while a budget airline passenger plane roared up and away from the nearby runway of Southend Airport.

  “Yes, sir,” said Hogarth. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Pleasure, eh? Well, seeing as you’re avoiding the
station at all costs, I thought I’d make the effort to come to you, instead,” said Melford. Melford nodded towards the X-L. “This place must hold some sort of attraction for you. I can’t think why.”

  “No, sir. It’s a murder case.”

  “So you say,” said Melford. The man’s solid dark eyes bored down on him, but away from his antique clock, the power of those dark eyes wasn’t nearly so strong.

  “Sir, you really didn’t need to waste your time by coming down here. I’d have updated you soon enough.”

  “Not good enough, DI Hogarth,” said Melford. “I need you to reassure me that this investigation is not becoming the half-arsed, cack-handed wild goose chase that it seems to be from the outside. The last two cases you wrapped up well. And they looked strong enough from the start, but this one looks leaky to me. I haven’t got a clue what you think you’re doing, and Roger Johnson is getting a bird’s eye view. It’s probably an accidental death, just as Quentin has it. Or a suicide. But murder? Come on, Hogarth! How in the blazes did you end up with that?!”

  “Has Marris said anything to you yet? Or Dickens?”

  “Not yet,” said the DCI. Hogarth couldn’t hide a flood of relief.

  “I’ve had the Police and Crime Commissioner in my office again this very morning,” said Melford. “And I happen to know that he’s had meetings with the Chief Superintendent. He’s bad mouthing the whole operation here, which means he’s also been bad mouthing me. I don’t mind sticking my neck out against the top brass providing the case is strong enough. But this is more like putting it on a chopping block. For crying out loud, give me some confidence in what you’re doing here.”

  Hogarth sighed. “Sir,” said Hogarth. “Aimee Gillen’s body didn’t show any signs of any sedative which could have induced sleep over heavy cocaine intake. That’s a fact. There’s nothing on the toxicology. The girl had been on cocaine the whole night before she went in that sauna, yet somehow. she managed to fall asleep long enough to die from the heat! That doesn’t add up. The pathology shows no sign of any sedative, and no health complications which could have caused her to faint or fall unconscious. Quentin does suggest she has traces of other substances in her body.”