Zak made no apology for the state of his room. Geraldine wasn’t sure he even noticed how untidy the place was. For a student of design, she thought it was a poor show, but she refrained from commenting. She wasn’t his landlady, or his mother.
‘Zak, your father tells us you have a key to his van?’
‘What’s the old tosser gone and done now?’ he asked irreverently.
Geraldine resisted the temptation to remind him that ‘the old tosser’ was paying for Zak’s expensive flat.
‘Just answer the question, please.’
He took a step forward, his expression suddenly apprehensive.
‘If my father’s in any trouble –’
‘Nothing that you need to be concerned about.’
‘It’s not just that I’m relying on him for the rent and all that, you know. I mean, I’m half way through my course, and – well, I’m under enough pressure, without having to worry about money on top of everything else. You probably think it’s a doss, studying set design, but you’ve no idea how stressful it is. But the point is, well, he is my dad, and if he’s in trouble, I mean, if there’s anything I can do… ’ He paused and passed his hand over his mouth, seeming embarrassed at having displayed his feelings. ‘Not that he ever needs my help. So, what was it you wanted to know?’
Geraldine asked him about the van.
‘My dad’s van? With all his money, you’d think he’d just give it to me, wouldn’t you? It’s not as if I’ve got a car. He says I don’t need one, living in London. Like he would know. We have to travel to Pimlico next week. And sometimes we’re out rehearsing until quite late.’
He raised his fine eyebrows. Geraldine wondered if he plucked them, they were so neat. Sam had been right about one thing. Zak was spoiled. He was possibly the most spoiled youngster she had ever met. Yet for all that, he was somehow likeable. She could understand his father indulging him and wanting to look after him, especially if he felt he had to compensate his son for his mother’s death. Although he was so young, she was conscious that Zak might also be a suspect. Beautiful people could be psychopaths, like anyone else, and narcissists were frequently callous.
‘Your father told us you have a key to his van?’
‘That’s right. Dad gave it to me ages ago but he hardly ever lets me use it, so I don’t know why he bothered.’ He gave a sulky scowl.
He didn’t seem particularly curious about why Geraldine had come to his flat on a Sunday morning to question him about his father’s van.
‘Where were you on Friday night?’
‘Friday night? What? You mean the Friday that’s just gone?’
‘Yes.’
He frowned, thinking.
‘I was out, in London.’
‘What time?’
‘What time are you talking about?’
‘Where were you between one and two in the morning.’
‘I was with Jackie and Ron on Friday.’
‘Who are Jackie and Ron?’
‘They’re on the set design course with me. We spent the night together.’
‘Here?’
‘Hardly.’ He giggled. ‘Why on earth would we want to stay here all night? No, we went up town.’
‘Where?’
He named a club in Leicester Square.
‘What time was that?’
‘I suppose we got there just before midnight, and it must have been about three when we left, maybe three thirty. It was after four when I got back here. Oh, it’s all right,’ he added with a grin, ‘I wasn’t needed on set yesterday.’
Geraldine wrote down the details of Zak’s fellow students, Jackie and Ron, before she left. Zak showed her to the door without even asking the reason for her visit. One thing was sure, if he was guilty, he hid it well.
Chapter 11
‘THAT’S ALL WELL AND good, but that’s just my point,’ Geraldine protested.
She was standing in Reg’s office, frowning at him across his desk.
‘You think he’s innocent because he’s so obviously a suspect?’ The detective chief inspector frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Geraldine, but you’ve lost me. The man is obviously guilty –’
‘No. We can’t go jumping to conclusions like that.’
‘Give me one good reason why you think he’s innocent. And please don’t tell me again it’s because everything points to him. I’m not sure on what level that makes sense.’
Geraldine took a deep breath and tried to explain that it was precisely because Piers was so obviously in the frame that she didn’t believe he had been driving the van when it crashed into Anna’s Porsche.
‘There are so many reasons why this doesn’t feel right.’
‘Doesn’t feel right? Oh, Jesus. All right, Geraldine, give me just one of the reasons for this “feeling” because they seem to have escaped my notice while I’ve been busy studying the facts.’
Ignoring her senior officer’s jibes, she continued.
‘For a start, Piers would have been injured if he’d been driving the van on Friday night. He was given a thorough medical examination and the doctor found no sign of any injury.’
‘He could have been lucky.’
‘No sir, it’s impossible.’
The detective chief inspector growled at her formal term of address, but she didn’t stop to apologise. The habits she had acquired while working in Kent still crept up on her when she wasn’t careful. Instead, she ploughed on with her argument.
‘Secondly, there’s no credible motive. Piers was the one with all the power in this relationship. He went from one young woman to another, picking them up, screwing them for a while, helping them with their careers, before discarding them and moving on to the next rising starlet.’
Reg was listening now.
‘If she’d rejected him, or threatened to leave him, he might have reacted violently,’ he suggested.
Geraldine nodded. The thought had crossed her mind. A man like Piers wouldn’t have taken kindly to rejection. He was accustomed to being adulated. He certainly had a colourful history with women.
At forty he had married an eighteen-year-old starlet, Nicci Norman. He had left her after two years for another eighteen-year-old wannabe. Three years later he had married yet another young actress, Ella May Cooper. Their son Zak was born a year later, and it looked as though Piers might have settled down, but Ella had tragically drowned when they had been together for four years. By then in his early fifties, Piers had a series of young girlfriends, until he had remarried when he was fifty-five. His relationship with his third wife, Susan Pollander, another young actress, had lasted three years. At fifty-eight he had divorced for the second time, and after yet more brief relationships had been living with Anna for nearly a year, until her death.
‘If he’d wanted to get rid of Anna, surely he would have just thrown her out, like all the others before her,’ Geraldine said.
‘Perhaps she wanted to leave him?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘She was making a name for herself in this TV series, and might have thought she could make it without him. A man like Piers, used to being in control, might not have liked to have his position challenged, especially by a younger woman.’
Geraldine wondered if Reg was talking about himself.
‘But she was on a short term contract, which gave him some control over her career. If she wanted to dump him, no doubt he would have wanted revenge, but think about it. He was influential enough to make sure she never worked again. He could finish her career with one phone call. She might have been idiotic enough to think she could be a success without his support, but he would have known better. He’s not young, Reg. He’s in his sixties. He knows the game and how to work it. Believe me, in this relationship he held all the cards. He might be a subtle and a cruel man, but I just don’t believe he would have done something so crass as kill her.’
‘You feel this, you don’t believe that, he was holding the cards – this is mere speculation, Gerald
ine. Anna was brutally murdered by someone driving Piers’ van. The man has no alibi, for Christ’s sake.’
‘That’s another thing,’ Geraldine jumped in. ‘He’s a clever man. He would never have done something so stupid and clumsy. Leaving his own van smashed up at the scene is tantamount to advertising the fact that he was responsible. Basically, someone drove into Anna’s car. Why use Piers’ van? It’s almost irrelevant to the actual murder. Unless it was a double bluff.’
‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Geraldine. Clever men can behave stupidly. But this isn’t a poker game. We’re investigating a murder.’
Geraldine shook her head.
‘All I’m saying is, why would Piers use his own van? Do you really think he would leave it like a calling card, putting himself in the frame? No one with any sense would do that, and he’s intelligent. If he had wanted to kill her, he could have found a thousand ways to do it, without incriminating himself so blatantly.’
‘You’re right about one thing, Geraldine. He’s incriminated himself. So go and arrest him before he has a chance to slip away.’
‘But –’
Reg nodded at her.
‘I think we’ve reached a decision here. Don’t be blinded by this man’s attractions,’ he added sharply.
Geraldine turned on her heel and left without another word.
On her way back to her office, Geraldine checked with the team who had been contacting hospitals and doctors’ surgeries. There was no sign of a patient showing injuries consistent with a recent car crash.
‘Keep looking,’ she snapped and the two constables looked up at her in surprise.
They didn’t know she was still fuming about the detective chief inspector’s insulting attitude. He was so keen to wrap up the case quickly, to further his own reputation, he had lost sight of what mattered.
‘The driver of the van must have gone somewhere,’ she told the constables crossly.
Her mood didn’t improve when she reached her own door and heard Sam’s voice raised in annoyance. Geraldine knew that the sergeant didn’t get on with Nick Williams, the detective inspector who shared Geraldine’s office. But Sam had to be careful. Nick was higher in rank than Sam. If she spoke out of turn, she could get herself in trouble for insolence towards a superior officer. Geraldine hadn’t known Sam for long, but she trusted her and would be gutted to lose the sergeant over something so pointless as a clash with another inspector.
‘Come on, Sam,’ she announced loudly as she entered, as though she hadn’t heard anything of the heated exchange that had been going on before she arrived. ‘We’re going to arrest Piers Trevelyan.’
Nick leaned back in his chair, placed his elbows on his desk and pressed the tips of his fingers together. He watched the two women with a faint smile on his face. He was clean shaven and his light brown hair was brushed straight back, accentuating his wide forehead. His right eye was permanently slightly closed, so that he looked as though he was winking, which reflected his general air of good humour. While she accepted that his occasional sexist comments could be interpreted as offensive rather than amusing, Geraldine still didn’t understand why Sam was quite so antagonistic towards him. He was amiable enough, if a bit irritating, like an annoying older brother who cracked embarrassing jokes that weren’t funny.
‘Sam’s been desperate to find you,’ he drawled. ‘She wouldn’t tell me why.’
‘It’s not your case,’ Sam muttered. ‘I don’t have to tell you anything about it. I came here to talk to Geraldine.’
She sounded like a sulky teenager. Geraldine suppressed a smile at her pettiness.
‘Come on, then, we can discuss it on the way,’ she said.
With a quick grin at Nick she left, with Sam at her heels.
Sam cheered up as soon as they left Geraldine’s office.
‘Where are we off to, did you say?’
‘We’re going to arrest Piers.’
‘I thought that’s what you said. But you didn’t think he was guilty –’
‘I still don’t.’
‘Then why –’
‘Orders from above.’
Glimpsing Geraldine’s irritated expression, Sam held her tongue and they drove in silence to Piers’ house in Highgate.
Just as Geraldine was on the point of giving up, the door was opened by a raven-haired young woman dressed in a silk kimono.
‘Is Mr Trevelyan in? I’m Detective Inspector Geraldine Steel.’ As she was reaching into her pocket for her warrant card, Piers appeared in the hall behind the girl. He was wearing jeans and an open-necked shirt, which was untucked, and his feet were bare.
‘What the hell is it with you people?’ he growled.
‘May we come in?’
‘No you may not. Come on, Cheryl. Shut the door.’
He sounded sloshed. Ignoring his rebuff, Geraldine stepped inside. The woman looked as though she might burst into tears.
‘What shall I do, Piers?’
‘Aren’t you going to introduce us to your new friend?’ Sam asked.
‘This is my sister,’ he said, laughing very loudly and waving one hand in the air.
The woman’s eyes widened in annoyance, but she didn’t say anything.
Geraldine had heard enough. She still didn’t believe Piers was guilty of murder, but she enjoyed asking him to accompany them to the police station once more. His girlfriend had been dead for two days and he was already consoling himself with her replacement. He stared levelly at her, suddenly sober.
‘I’d like to phone my solicitor,’ he said coldly.
‘I’m sure you would. All in good time. But first things first, you’re coming with us. You can make a call from the station. Unless you want it recorded that you resisted our invitation to come in for further questioning? Now I suggest you get some shoes on and come quietly.’
She turned to the shocked young woman who was staring desperately at Piers. Clearly neither of them was used to hearing him addressed in such peremptory tones.
‘Get some clothes on and take yourself home. Mr Trevelyan won’t be back for a while.’
‘What’s going on? Where are you taking him?’
‘Oh, do shut up, Cheryl. Do what you’re told – that’s never been a problem before, has it? Just bugger off, there’s a good girl.’ He turned to Geraldine, his composure restored. ‘I don’t want to leave her running riot in my house while I’m away.’
‘Nice to see you trust your sister,’ Geraldine said.
Chapter 12
BETHANY STUDIED HER FACE critically in the bathroom mirror. Not only was the surface of the mirror pitted and cloudy, but the light bulb above it had gone that morning so her face was only dimly lit from behind. It wasn’t good enough, not today. She took her free standing mirror through to the living room and resumed her self-scrutiny in the daylight. Her older sister, who was only twenty-eight, already had a few grey hairs. The thought gave Bethany goose bumps. So far she’d had no problems, not on that score at least.
‘I’m so going to dye my hair if I ever go grey,’ she had told her sister. ‘The very first grey hair I spot, that’ll be it.’
‘It’s different for you. You have to take care of your appearance. You can’t afford to look past it, not yet anyway.’
What her sister had said was true. Bethany wasn’t naïve enough to believe that talent alone had got her this far. It had been a long struggle to get herself noticed as an actress, but at last she was through to the final audition for a role that would change her life – if she was cast.
‘Next time I see you,’ she whispered to her reflection, ‘I’ll be a star. A household name.’
Fluttering her eyelashes, she gave an alluring pout. She had always had faith in herself and it had worked so far – at least in her professional life. She had chosen her outfit with care: smart tight fitting black jeans and a short tailored jacket that showed off her trim figure. At her throat she wore a neat glass pendant suspended on a leather thon
g that Piers had given her. It had to be lucky, wearing a gift from a prominent casting director to an audition. With a final touch of eye make-up, she grabbed her coat and left.
As the gate swung closed behind her, she noticed a figure in a grey hood and sunglasses standing perfectly still on the opposite pavement. She wondered fleetingly why anyone would be wearing sunglasses on an overcast winter’s day, as she worked out that she would arrive at least an hour early. All the same, she hurried along the street to the station and trotted down the stairs to the platform. It was as well to allow plenty of time for the journey. The trains could be unreliable. It was possible to work around planned engineering work, but there might be a points failure or an unexplained hold up, sometimes a person on the track. Bethany had once gone out with a train driver. Even after three months paid leave and counselling, he had never fully recovered from seeing a woman throw herself in front of his train. Bethany had agreed it was selfish to commit suicide in front of a stranger. Privately she thought that, in the unlikely event of her ever deciding to kill herself, she would definitely want an audience.
There were quite a few people waiting on the platform. Faces stared gloomily at the track, as if everyone was contemplating hurling themselves in front of the next train. Glancing round, Bethany was surprised to recognise the grey-hooded figure she had spotted on the pavement opposite her flat. Closer to the figure now, she could see the stranger was a woman. Beneath her hood she had blonde hair. Although she stood with hunched shoulders, the woman was still taller than many of her fellow travellers. As a drama graduate Bethany had been trained to be observant. She was almost positive it was the same person, in a grey hoodie and sunglasses. It was difficult to be sure behind the dark lenses, but again she had the impression the stranger was watching her. She cast the thought aside. It was just the audition making her jittery. Why on earth would anyone be interested in her? It was going to be different when she was famous. Right now, no one even knew who she was.
Fatal Act Page 6