Annie was nervous before she went into the room, unsure what to expect, but the questions at first didn’t seem to have any real edge to them. The two policemen spoke in quiet, polite voices and didn’t seem hostile.
‘Where were you two nights ago, Miss Lang? From eight o’clock onwards?’
‘At home. At my house.’
‘What time did you get there?’
‘I don’t remember. You could ask the friends who were with me, I had two of them to supper … Mr Halifax, the scriptwriter on the series, and the producer, Harriet York.’
‘They were there all evening?’
‘Yes. Harriet stayed all night.’
A long, searching stare from Inspector Chorley. ‘Why?’
Annie looked blankly back at him. ‘Why what?’
‘Why did she stay the night?’
Annie didn’t want to talk about why she had been so upset that particular night, there was no need for them to know about Roger Keats and the past, but she said flatly, ‘My home had been burgled and I felt rather nervous being alone at night.’
The two men sat up then. ‘Burgled? When was this? Did you report it to the police?’
‘Yes, I rang at once when I woke up and found that someone had broken in.’ She briefly explained about the Valentine’s card and the rose in her bedroom. ‘But nothing had been taken, there was no sign of damage. So the police decided it wasn’t worth visiting me.’
‘They what?’ Inspector Chorley’s eyebrows seemed to shoot up into his hair. ‘Decided it wasn’t worth visiting you?’
‘They seemed to think it was a practical joke by someone I knew, someone who had a key. They told me to ring again if I found anything missing.’
‘And did you?’
She shook her head.
‘Have you found out who broke into your home?’
‘No, but I had the locks changed so it won’t happen again. I told Sean Halifax about it, and he thought it would be a good idea for Harriet to stay with me for a night or two.’
‘So you didn’t go out again once you got home?’
She hesitated, half meant to lie, then couldn’t somehow. She would have felt too guilty about it if she had. ‘Well, I did go for a walk later.’
She felt the tension in the room jump up. Inspector Chorley leant forward, watching her intently. ‘Where did you go?’
‘Oh, just walked … I don’t remember. I ended up down by the river; I was tired, so I got a bus back.’
‘Were you alone? Did your friend go with you?’
She shook her head. ‘Harriet was asleep.’
The inspector’s voice was incredulous, coldly doubted her. ‘You went out alone, at night, on foot?’
‘I needed some exercise, I don’t get much, while we’re filming. I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk, but I went further than I’d intended and I tired myself out.’
‘But I thought you were nervous, after this supposed burglary?’
The company lawyer leaned forward. ‘Lots of people go for a walk before bedtime – I often do myself.’
‘My mind was working so fast I felt like a mouse in a wheel, going round and round. I needed to walk,’ said Annie, and the two policemen exchanged looks.
‘Did you go anywhere near the TV studio?’
‘Nowhere near it. I ended up on the Embankment below Charing Cross; a good half a mile away from the studio. I got the bus from there.’
‘What number bus?’
She told them and watched them write the number down.
‘And what time was that when you caught this bus?’
‘I’m not sure, I wasn’t watching the time – but it must have been close to eleven.’
‘You’re sure about that?’ Inspector Chorley asked sharply, and she nodded.
‘Certain – I told you, Sean had left, and Harriet and I had gone up to bed. It was well after ten o’clock when I went out, ‘and Harriet will tell you what time I got back. She was up when I came in – she’d discovered that I had gone out and was upset about it. Also the bus conductor stared at me all the way – he recognised me, I think, although he didn’t say anything. He was a Sikh, wearing a turban.’
The lawyer leaned back with a satisfied air. ‘I think that more or less clears my client, don’t you, Inspector?’
Inspector Chorley looked irritated. He ignored the interruption. ‘You knew Mr Fenn very well for years, didn’t you, Miss Lang?’
Annie stared at him dumbly for a few seconds, remembering the first time she’d ever seen Derek, the night she played Ophelia at her drama school, remembering the next time she’d seen him, at her home, when he’d came to offer her her first part. It was all so long ago, yet the memory was as clear as crystal. Derek had had an important influence on her life and she was appalled by the way he’d died.
Tired of waiting for an answer, the inspector pressed her. ‘You knew him very well.’
And Annie nodded.
‘Were you lovers?’
She flushed, frowned, shaking her head angrily. ‘No, we were not!’
‘We’ve heard a rumour that you had his baby – is that true?’
‘NO!’ she said explosively, her voice shaking.
‘Did you see him that night, Miss Lang?’ the inspector threw at her.
The lawyer answered for her. ‘She has already told you – she did not leave the house until gone ten o’clock, that means she could not be involved in the death of Mr Fenn.’
Annie added huskily, ‘I did not see Derek that night.’
‘You may not have met him in the pub, but you might have visited him at home.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘I’ve been told that Mr Fenn was jealous because you were seeing Mr Halifax – is that true? Did he turn violent? Attack you? If you killed him in self-defence your best chance is to be frank with us.’
‘I didn’t see him that night! There was nothing between me and Derek!’ Annie was close to the edge, her voice shaking with hysteria. ‘It’s lies, all of it – who told you this stuff about me and Derek? It’s all lies.’
‘Inspector, I don’t like the tone of this interview,’ the lawyer said angrily. ‘Miss Lang is leaving.’
A phone began to buzz inside the inspector’s jacket. Irritably, he reached into an inner pocket. ‘One moment,’ he said to the lawyer, pulled up the aerial of his phone and spoke into it. ‘Yes? Chorley here.’
He listened, his face changing, then said, ‘I’m coming back at once. Keep her there.’ Getting to his feet, he told Annie, ‘Thank you, Miss Lang. I’ll let you get back to work now, we must be on our way, but we may need to talk to you again later.’
Mike Waterford didn’t show up until after lunch; he had been besieged by the press after the TV appearance and had had a great time parrying questions and posing for the cameras. He was smilingly indifferent to the angry complaints of Harriet and Sean as soon as they set eyes on him.
‘What did I do? Told the truth, that’s all. What did you want me to do? Lie?’ He gave them a reproachful glance. ‘Is that what you wanted me to do?’
Sean wanted to throttle him and his murderous impulse showed in his voice. ‘Every other word you say is a lie, you bastard! Annie didn’t have an affair with Derek, and she didn’t have his baby.’
‘That’s what I said,’ Mike assured him soulfully, opening his eyes wide in innocence. ‘I told them … it’s a lie, I said … all the rumours about her and Derek are a lie. That’s what I said. Get a playback of the tape and see!’
‘But you deliberately meant them to think the opposite!’
Mike gazed at him, blinking. ‘Oh, come on – you’re too tortuous for me. I’m just a simple actor, I’m not into playing these elaborate games.’
‘I’ll kill him,’ Sean told Harriet. ‘I’ll throttle the life out of the bastard.’
‘Like Derek?’ Mike softly reminded. ‘You didn’t like him, either, did you, Halifax?’
Sean’s eyes glowed with rage. �
��Watch yourself, Waterford!’
Harriet looked at him uncertainly. Oh, of course she didn’t believe for a second that Sean was capable of murder, but sometimes he alarmed her – there was always that dark capacity for violence buried somewhere inside him. But haven’t all men got that? she thought wryly. However civilised they might seem on the surface, there was some part of them that flared into dangerous fury if their ego was threatened. And Sean was a bit of a control freak. He showed that where his writing was concerned; he had an obsession with patterning that she had noticed again and again. Maybe most viewers would miss it, because all they took on board was the storyline each episode. But because she had to interpret his work she saw it as clearly as you saw the dome of St Paul’s floodlight by night.
Sean had a way of looking at life, at the world, that was very individual. He liked to be in control, too, and resented anyone who tried to argue with him – or even, at times, suggest alternatives. But she liked him. A lot. She wished she didn’t. Because it was as clear as crystal that he was in love with Annie.
The two men were glaring at each other like rutting stags, locked antler to antler.
Harriet looked at them with sudden amusement.
‘Shall we get some work done? That is what we’re here for, remember? And nothing matters in the last resort except getting this series on to the screen each week.’
Sean looked round at her, a red spark in his eyes. ‘Is that really what you believe?’
She didn’t answer, just looked at Mike and said, ‘I hope you know your lines and moves, Waterford, or I’ll flay you alive and hang your skin out to dry.’
He walked away and Sean shook his head at her. ‘You let him off the hook! You should have let me kill the bastard.’
‘Not if it ruins my series, you don’t!’ Harriet met his angry stare with cool composure.
‘It’s my series, too, you know!’
‘Then don’t let your personal feelings about Annie make you forget how important it is!’
‘At least I have personal feelings!’ Sean threw at her and walked away, leaving her hurt and angry. She felt like going after him and telling him just how personal her feelings for him had been at one time, but what was the point? Long ago she had faced the fact that Sean wasn’t interested in her. She was fast realising that Annie mattered to him more than he cared to admit, and the last thing she wanted to do now was let Sean guess how much she had liked him when they first met.
Later that afternoon, Sean discovered that Marty Keats was not back at work; she had rung the head of wardrobe to tell her that she was at the police station and would be there for some time, and when Sean went looking for Marty he got the news.
He went back to Harriet at once to tell her. ‘Apparently she kept insisting that she wasn’t under suspicion, she was only helping the police with their inquiries. She said her ex-husband had rung her yesterday …’
Harriet’s eyes widened. ‘So he is around, after all?’
‘Not only around,’ Sean said grimly. ‘He said on the phone that he had killed Derek.’
Harriet gasped. ‘He admitted it?’
‘Boasted, according to Marty. And he warned her that he’d kill her if she started an affair with anybody else.’
‘So he killed Derek out of jealousy?’ Harriet gave a quivering sigh. ‘What a relief – Annie was never involved at all!’
Sean did not look convinced of that. ‘Roger Keats has an obsession with Annie, a dangerous obsession. If he is capable of killing Derek, God knows what he may do next. He certainly put the fear of God into Marty. She rang the police at once, and they asked her to help them track Roger down; they ransacked her house, looking for photos of Roger. She’d thought she’d thrown them all away, but they came on one or two she’d overlooked, although they were mostly taken years ago, when he was very young. According to her boss, Marty sounded scared stiff when she rang. And from what Annie’s told us about Roger Keats, Marty’s right to be worried. The man’s obviously crazy. Not just because he killed – but the way he did it, the way he dressed the scene. Thinking about it, I should have guessed he was in the theatre. And when you’ve just killed someone and go to those lengths, well …’
‘He isn’t normal,’ Harriet said shakily, and Sean gave a hard, unamused laugh.
‘You can say that again! Anyway, Marty has sent her kids to stay with her sister, just in case Roger goes to their house looking for her, and she’s asked for a few days off work, to join them.’
‘But presumably he knows where her sister lives?’
‘It seems she’s moved since Roger disappeared. He won’t know her new address – she left London and went north. Marty and her kids should be safe there.’
Harriet chewed her lip anxiously. ‘Do we tell Annie? What if he comes after her next?’
Sean frowned. ‘Oh, we have to tell her. She has to be warned. She mustn’t be left alone for a second.’
The final scene of the day was shot just before four-thirty and Annie was only in it briefly. She went back to her dressing-room after she had finished to change back into her own clothes and take off the make-up which she found too heavy off set.
Harriet put her head round the door just as Annie was about to leave. ‘I want to go home to get some clothes,’ Annie told her, and Harriet nodded.
‘Wait for me, we’ll go together. I just have a few phone calls to make. Sean has already left. He’ll see us back at his place.’
She vanished and Annie put on her coat, checked in her handbag that she had her key, sipped a little of the iced water which was always put in her dressing-room freshly each day.
Ten minutes passed very slowly. Annie impatiently looked at her watch every few minutes until the phone rang, making her jump.
‘Hello?’
Jason’s voice asked hopefully, ‘I’m sitting outside, Miss Lang – do you want me tonight, or not?’
She made up her mind in a flash. ‘I’m just on my way out, Jason. Sorry to keep you waiting so long.’
‘No problem,’ he said, his voice brightening.
Annie smiled and hung up. She scribbled a note to Harriet. ‘Gone home alone. I’ll take a taxi to Sean’s, see you later.’
Harriet rang her dressing-room five minutes later, but didn’t get a reply. She sent her assistant along to look for Annie while she made another transatlantic phone call. Harriet had just been invited to go to Los Angeles for three months on a swap with an American TV producer who wanted experience of working in London.
Billy had set it up on one of his frequent visits to the States and Harriet was torn between being excited about it and being worried about leaving someone else in charge of The Force. Billy had arranged for the swap to begin as soon as they finished shooting the present series, but Harriet wouldn’t be back in time to start working with Sean on the new scripts for the next series. She would have to leave that to whoever Billy put into her job during her absence.
When she had finished her call, she didn’t get up to go, she sat staring out of the window, chewing her pencil, scowling. Was Billy using the idea of three months in Los Angeles learning about American TV as a trap for her? What if his real objective was to detach her from The Force for good?
He had this crazy theory that it was bad news for a producer or writer to spend too long on one programme. Billy liked them to move on; he had kept trying to persuade Sean to move, and had hinted that Harriet should start a new series and let someone else take over The Force. She might come back to find she was off the series, and her temporary replacement had become permanent.
If that is what he’s up to, I’ll hand in my notice and get another job!
Her mind was in confusion; she was angry and hurt and puzzled all at once. I thought he really liked me. Was I imagining it? Why is he sending me away? Three months looked like a lifetime to her, and she couldn’t be certain if it was the series, her friends, or Billy himself she was going to miss.
Her assistant came back and said,
‘She’s gone.’
Harriet did a double-take. ‘What? Gone where?’
Her assistant handed her the note she had found in Annie’s dressing-room.
Harriet read it and swore. She dialled Sean’s number, but only got his answerphone, brisk and impersonal.
‘Annie went off home without me, Sean,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I’m still at the studio. Should I follow her to her place, or come to your flat and wait for her there? If you haven’t rung back in fifteen minutes I’ll come to your place. Annie may well be there by then.’
On her way home Annie called at the hospital to see her mother. She found Trudie still lethargic, saying very little, but looking better than she had. The police were no longer by her bedside, and she was back on the general ward. Annie held her hand and smiled at her, kissed her cheeks, which looked in this dry, overheated atmosphere like a petal from a dying rose, faded and crinkled, and had the same soft, powdery scent.
‘I want to come home,’ Trudie whispered.
‘I wish you could. I miss you. I’ve had Harriet for company, but it isn’t the same.’
‘Why can’t I come home, then? You don’t want me, that’s it, isn’t it? You’ve stuck me in here and you’re leaving me here.’ Trudie pulled her hand away and turned her head on the pillow, closed her eyes. ‘Go away, leave me alone.’
‘Of course I want you home, Mum, I’d take you home now if they’d let me! But you’re ill, very ill.’
Trudie ignored her.
‘Oh, Mum,’ Annie said hopelessly, on the point of tears. Her mother had always been so strong, always there for her – and now, just when she needed her most, Annie felt her mother had abandoned her.
She bent to kiss Trudie and got shoved away violently. Her mother looked at her with hatred. ‘You leave me alone! Go on, get out! You’re not my Annie … I don’t know you, who are you? It’s you, isn’t it? You, you’re trying to kill me!’
In the Still of the Night Page 26