Fatal Act

by Leigh Russell

  Sam caught up with Geraldine in the canteen at lunch time.

  ‘Mind if I sit here, or is this seat taken?’

  Geraldine gave a wary smile and gestured to her colleague to join her.

  ‘You went out with him?’ Sam hissed, leaning over the table so Geraldine could catch her whispered question.

  ‘It was just a drink.’

  ‘That’s not what he said.’

  ‘We were in a pub, we were hungry, and we ordered some crap bar food, as if it’s any of your business. What the hell’s got into you?’

  ‘Be careful, Geraldine.’

  ‘What?’

  Sam hesitated for a second. ‘You know he’s married.’

  ‘He and his wife have separated. And we didn’t go on a date. We went for a drink and discussed the case.’

  ‘Separated? Is that what he told you? Listen, Geraldine, he’s a lowlife. He’s slept his way round half the station – it’s a standing joke. He’s always sniffing round the new recruits. He’s married and he’s a –’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Geraldine interrupted gently. ‘You know you’re raising your voice? I don’t want to hear you gossiping about your superiors, or about any of your fellow officers if it comes to that. If you get a name for being indiscreet it could affect your chances of promotion. Seriously.’

  Telling herself she was concerned for Sam’s reputation, Geraldine tried not to feel disappointed at what she had heard. After all, Nick’s affairs had nothing to do with her. She wasn’t interested in him romantically. He was simply a colleague who had given her a helpful insight into the investigation, that was all.

  Sam suspected that wasn’t the whole picture, and was still talking.

  ‘He leads his wife a dog’s life by all accounts.’

  ‘Whose accounts?’

  ‘Everyone says it. He’s always chasing after someone or other, and now it’s your turn. I don’t get what women see in him. I mean, he’s OK, but he’s no pin up, is he?’

  ‘I said that’s enough.’

  ‘This isn’t just gossip, Geraldine. Ask any of the female officers. And as for telling you he’s separated from his wife, that’s a barefaced lie. I’m not telling you all this to be mean about him, Geraldine. You went out with him –’

  ‘For a drink after work –’

  ‘And you ought to know what he’s like. What sort of a friend would I be if I sat back and watched you make a fool of yourself, and maybe get hurt into the bargain, without trying to warn you what he’s like? He’s bad news.’

  Sam looked so earnest, Geraldine couldn’t resent her interference. Instead, she thanked Sam for the caution and promised to keep Nick at arm’s length.

  ‘It’s not as if I fancy him,’ she lied. ‘You’ve got it all wrong if that’s what you think.’

  She wasn’t exactly lying, because she wasn’t sure herself how she felt about Nick. But in any case, her feelings were not Sam’s business, however well intentioned the sergeant’s concern might be.

  Chapter 47

  GERALDINE WASN’T SURE why she had been asked to interview a young woman who had come to the station to report an assault, but she responded to the summons promptly. It would be a welcome distraction from the monotony of filling in time, waiting for something to advance the investigation into the deaths of Anna and Bethany. The girl didn’t stop crying when Geraldine entered the room. Geraldine watched her narrow shoulders shuddering as she sobbed. The female constable introduced her as Cheryl. Geraldine waited another moment and then called the girl’s name. Cheryl looked up, dabbing at her eyes with a damp tissue. Her pale complexion formed a stark contrast to her jet black hair which Geraldine guessed had been dyed, because the girl’s large eyes were blue.

  ‘Cheryl, I’m DI Geraldine Steel.’

  The girl nodded and reached for another tissue from the box someone had thoughtfully placed on the table. She blew her nose very loudly.

  ‘Let’s start from the beginning,’ Geraldine coaxed her. ‘What happened?’

  Cheryl sat up straight. As she moved her head she flicked her hair back off her face, exposing a large bruise on her left temple. Geraldine waited but the girl just stared, wide-eyed, like a frightened mouse. Now that Geraldine could see her face, she realised she had seen the girl before, quite recently, although she couldn’t remember where. She had encountered a number of pretty young women in the course of the investigation so far.

  ‘I remembered your name,’ Cheryl said, giving Geraldine a weak smile. ‘You came to arrest him, didn’t you?’

  Geraldine nodded as she recalled where they had met before. Cheryl had been keeping Piers company after Anna’s death.

  ‘You shouldn’t have let him go,’ Cheryl cried out suddenly. She glared accusingly at Geraldine. ‘Why didn’t you lock him up when you had the chance? Look what he did to me.’ Angrily she pointed at her bruised face. ‘He nearly killed me.’

  Geraldine nodded to indicate she was listening.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ she said gently.

  ‘I never did anything. He just flipped. He’s a fucking head case. He went mental and started yelling at me. I hadn’t done anything.’

  ‘Did something cause him to lose his temper like that? What set him off?’

  The girl shrugged and looked away.

  ‘Cheryl, unless you’re going to be honest with me, you might as well not bother talking to me at all. You’re just wasting time for both of us.’

  Geraldine stood up signalling that the interview was over.

  Cheryl looked crushed.

  ‘Don’t go,’ she muttered, very quietly. ‘I’ll tell you what happened. He was drinking whisky when I got there. I’m not supposed to tell anyone. I don’t suppose it matters now.’

  ‘So he was drinking whisky. Was he drunk?’

  ‘I don’t know. Yes. He was completely plastered and he just went for me. He was like a wild animal. First of all he was just shouting at me, then he forced me to drink his stinking whisky.’ Her eyes flicked nervously to Geraldine and slid away again. ‘Then he threw the bottle at me and did this.’ She pointed to her bruises. ‘If I hadn’t ducked he could’ve killed me. He nearly did.’

  Geraldine had been making notes. When Cheryl stopped talking, she looked up.

  ‘Do you want to press charges?’

  ‘I want him locked up. Lock him up and throw away the key!’

  When Geraldine didn’t respond, the girl continued.

  ‘Yes, I want to do that thing you said. He’s dangerous. He’s going to kill someone if he carries on like that.’

  Geraldine wondered if he already had.

  An hour later, Geraldine was back in the same chair. This time Piers faced her across the table.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you,’ he announced pompously.

  He spoke like a man used to giving commands, leaning back, arms crossed, his face a mask of contempt.

  ‘We’ve received a complaint against you,’ Geraldine said. She tried to hide her satisfaction.

  ‘What sort of complaint?’

  ‘Cheryl’s been talking to us.’

  Hearing the name he abandoned his sneer and lowered his eyelids until his eyes were barely open. Although he made no comment, Geraldine was sure she had his full attention. She didn’t speak again straight away, and they sat watching each other in silence for a few minutes. He kept very still but she had the impression he was nervous. His narrowed eyes were glued to hers, waiting.

  Geraldine broke first, but only because she didn’t want to spend any more time on the interview than was necessary.

  ‘Cheryl came here to complain about you,’ she said at last. ‘She’s filed a formal complaint against you.’

  ‘Complaining about what, exactly?’

  ‘A violent physical assault.’

  ‘That’s bollocks.’

  ‘Do you deny attacking her in your home a week ago?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  Piers’ account of the
incident was simple. Cheryl had drunk too much.

  ‘So you don’t deny that you invited a twenty-year-old girl to your flat, with the purpose of getting her drunk?’

  ‘On the contrary, I absolutely deny it. First off, I never invited her round, she came of her own accord. The whole thing was her idea. I didn’t want her in my house at all, but she turned up anyway. And secondly, how was I to know she can’t hold her drink? What was she doing drinking whisky if she can’t take it? It didn’t take much, I can tell you. She was completely off her trolley.’

  Geraldine sniffed sceptically. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why did she come to visit you at home?’

  ‘She wanted to consult me.’

  ‘Consult how?’

  ‘Anna had asked me to advise Cheryl about her career, tell her which agents to trust, how to set about finding the right one for her, that sort of thing. Anyway, she got horribly drunk and threw herself at me. When I rejected her advances she went for me and then rushed off, walking slap bang into the door on her way out, no doubt giving herself a really nasty bruise.’

  He had hardly finished speaking when Geraldine asked if that was the first time Cheryl had turned up at his house. Piers stared at her, his penetrating eyes still half-closed. She hoped he had forgotten that Geraldine and Sam had seen Cheryl at his house.

  ‘No,’ he replied carefully. ‘She’s been to my house before. She was friends with Anna,’ he added.

  Geraldine did her best to conceal her disappointment. If she had caught him out in such an awkward lie, she could have put pressure on him to tell the truth. But he was too wily for that.

  ‘So she continued to visit you after Anna was dead?’

  ‘Once or twice, just to see if I was all right.’

  Geraldine sat forward suddenly.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘I’m not sure I care for your good opinion,’ he replied with studied nonchalance.

  Once again Geraldine was reminded that she was dealing with a suspect accustomed to acting roles.

  ‘Cheryl claims you beat her, and caused her an injury by throwing an empty whisky bottle at her head.’

  ‘If you want to believe the twisted lies of a disappointed girl rather than me, there’s nothing I can do about it, is there?’

  He must have known she had no proof, only Cheryl’s word against his.

  ‘In what way disappointed?’

  ‘Rejected, disappointed, she thought she could persuade me to cast her in Anna’s part by throwing herself at me. It didn’t work so she’s seeking some sort of petty revenge by accusing me of hitting her. It’s a lie, a damned lie.’

  ‘You seem very relaxed about being accused of assault, given your recent history.’

  ‘My history?’ He knew very well what she meant but he put on a transparent act of being perplexed, all wide-eyed innocence and raised eyebrows.

  ‘First your live-in girlfriend, Anna, was murdered, then another of your girlfriends, Bethany. Was Cheryl next on your list of unfortunate girlfriends? ’

  ‘I wondered how long it would be before you brought all that up. Well, you can’t pin any of that on me. And Bethany wasn’t my girlfriend, Anna was. It’s malicious, unsubstantiated lies trying to link my name with Bethany. You don’t have a shred of evidence, or you would have locked me up by now. So, if that’s all, I’d like to go home now.’

  ‘Bethany said –’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m afraid Bethany was a silly deluded girl.’

  ‘Like Cheryl?’

  Piers heaved an exaggerated sigh.

  ‘Inspector, you wouldn’t believe how many young actresses try to get their names linked with men like me. It’s just another stupid lie the media love to get hold of. I daresay Bethany was paid a fat fee for spinning a yarn. No one even cares if these stories are true or not. No one takes them seriously. Cheryl was probably playing the same game.’

  He stood up, clearly agitated. Some part of what she had said had upset him. She wished she knew what it was.

  Chapter 48

  ZAK HAD ONLY A hazy memory of his mother’s face: large dark eyes, like his own, framed by short dark hair, peering down at him. He wasn’t sure if he was recalling a dream, or an old photograph, or a false memory based on scraps of information he had heard. After he had been cared for by a succession of women, when he was nine his father had remarried, only to get divorced after three years. At least between the ages of nine and twelve Zak had enjoyed the benefits of a relatively stable home, despite the constant bickering between his father and his stepmother. She had made little effort to befriend Zak once she had married his father, and he had been relieved when she had finally moved out. When his father had asked him how he felt about her leaving, Zak had just shrugged. He didn’t really care. He soon grew accustomed to his father bringing a succession of different women home with him. Sometimes Zak recognised their faces from television but most of them were just starting out on their careers. He still remembered his recent shock on discovering that one of his father’s girlfriends was the same age as him. He wondered if she knew how old his father was, and guessed that his father probably didn’t care if she did.

  The next time they met, Darius asked if he remembered his mother. Zak wasn’t sure what to say. He thought about the photograph that his uncle had shown him.

  ‘I think so,’ he mumbled.

  ‘You know she really loved you.’

  Privately Zak thought that was fair enough. After all, she was his mother. It was a pity his father never wanted to talk about her.

  ‘She’s dead,’ was all Piers ever said, ‘let sleeping dogs lie.’

  Darius, on the other hand, seemed to like talking about his dead sister. He encouraged Zak to question him freely about her.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  Zak hesitated. He really wasn’t bothered.

  It was different for his uncle. He had grown up with her.

  ‘Anything you want to tell me. I mean, I don’t know, do I? I never met her.’

  ‘But there must be lots of things about her you want to know.’

  Zak shook his head and then wished he hadn’t. After drinking too much far too quickly, he felt as though he might be sick.

  ‘How did you feel when you saw her picture?’ Darius pressed him. ‘Don’t you think she was beautiful?’

  Zak thought about it. He wasn’t sure what his uncle expected him to say.

  ‘I didn’t feel anything really.’

  He could tell Darius was disappointed. A faint frown creased his uncle’s face. He had the same high cheekbones as his nephew, and the same very dark eyes. But where Zak looked physically delicate, his uncle was wiry and muscular, without being bulky, like Zak might look in thirty years’ time if he worked out every day.

  ‘I tried to feel something, some sort of connection,’ Zak blundered on, aware that he had let his uncle down. ‘I know she was my mother. But I never really met her, not so I can remember,’ he concluded lamely, ‘so I don’t feel anything about her. How can I?’

  Darius stared coldly at him.

  ‘You’re her flesh and blood,’ he exclaimed loudly.

  A woman at the next table looked round.

  Zak was mortified. ‘It’s not my fault. I never asked her to die, did I?’

  His uncle looked shocked.

  ‘I mean, I’m the one who lost his mother.’

  ‘I lost my sister,’ Darius reminded him softly. ‘But let’s not dwell on the past right now. Tell me how it’s all going with this new production you’re designing.’

  Zak was relieved to be back on a safe topic. He knocked back the rest of his glass of wine and refilled it himself. It was nice being taken out for a good meal. His uncle knew how to select a decent wine, not like the rubbish his father offered his guests, at least when Zak was there. He was always pleading poverty, but Zak didn’t believe a word of it. He just put on a show of being short to make the point that he wasn’
t going to bankroll his son forever. As though Zak wanted to have to rely on his old man for support. But even given the excellent food and wine, once he was over the novelty of meeting his dead mother’s brother, Zak found his uncle quite boring.

  ‘There’s nothing very interesting to tell,’ he replied, when Zak asked his uncle about his own life. ‘Not like you, Zak. You’ve got everything to look forward to. I’m retired and all I do these days is potter about.’

  ‘Retired? Already? What did you do?’

  ‘I was in films.’

  Zak sat forward. This promised to be more interesting than he had expected. He wondered if his uncle might still have any contacts in the industry who could be useful. An up and coming theatre designer couldn’t have too many contacts.

  ‘I don’t know anyone in theatre,’ his uncle said apologetically. ‘I’d help you if I could.’

  When Zak said he would jump at the chance to get some experience in films, his uncle insisted he knew no one who might possibly be able to help his nephew.

  ‘It’s not that I want to pump you for contacts,’ Zak lied. ‘Nothing like that. But I’m really interested to hear about you. What did you do? I really want to know. Were you a cameraman or something?’

  Darius smiled. ‘No, I was in front of the camera. You’ve probably seen me in lots of films, though you wouldn’t know it.’

  ‘An extra?’

  His uncle laughed. ‘Yes, something like that. It really isn’t very interesting.’

  He refused to say anything else, however hard Zak tried to wheedle more information out of him.

  The evening was turning out to be more fun than Zak had anticipated.

  ‘I’m on form tonight,’ he said more than once as he told another joke. He was dimly aware that he was repeating the same jokes, but it didn’t matter because they grew more amusing with each retelling. His uncle kept laughing with him. Zak hadn’t appreciated what a brilliant comedian he was. Only when his companion insisted they leave did he realise that he couldn’t walk straight, and that was funny too.

  ‘I’ve had a great time,’ he told Darius.