They shook their heads. All they could add was that Amanda seemed to depend on him a great deal.
When Anna mentioned a possible publishing deal, they looked blank. Nor did they remember her meeting Josh Lyons at the flat.
‘It must have been at a time when neither of you were at home. Josh Lyons remembers coming to this flat and seeing Amanda’s diary. A big thick five-year one with a pink cover.’
‘Well, if we weren’t here, we wouldn’t have met him,’ Felicity retorted. ‘She never said nothin’ to me about writin’ anything and I never saw her with a diary like that. Her BlackBerry, yeah, she was always texting and gettin’ messages and, to be honest, I can’t imagine what she could write about as she couldn’t remember what day it was, most of the time. Was he going to pay her a lot of money for it?’
‘A lot,’ nodded Anna.
‘Like how much?’
But Anna quickly changed the subject.
‘You’re now in Amanda’s room, aren’t you?’ She looked at Jeannie, whose expression became defensive.
‘Yeah, but I didn’t, like, dive in there the moment she was dead. I mean, she said it was OK, ’cos she had that new mews house and wouldn’t be living with us.’
‘Did she leave anything in there?’
‘Well, a lot of clothes and make-up, shoes – we wear the same size and that was all. She would buy all these clothes and never wear them. Some have still got the price-tags on them.’ Jeannie hesitated, then agreed to let Anna look over her room.
Something bothered Anna. It was the two girls’ lack of interest in the proposed book; she couldn’t make out if they were lying or not. She followed Jeannie down the dark hallway. There was a strong smell of mildew, mixed with incense and stale cigarettes.
‘This was Dan’s room.’ Jeannie punched a closed door open, pointing to the floor. ‘That’s where we found him.’
The room was dark, curtains drawn across a barred window. There was a small crumpled single bed with dirty sheets, and strewn around were old sneakers, magazines and books. Three full black binliners were stacked by the wall.
‘That’s his stuff but nobody wants it, so we’ll take it to the Salvation Army.’
‘What about family?’
‘He’s only got an aunt and she’s really old. Dunno if he got anyone else that would want them. His older brother is taking care of his funeral, but he said he didn’t want nothin’.’
Anna stared into the dank, dark room with its overflowing ashtrays and empty beer cans. It seemed strange that they would have packed up his clothes and yet not bothered to clean anything else.
‘We’ll rent it out soon. When we get our money we’ll get the place painted but it’s ever so damp and we got no central heating.’
Jeannie’s bedroom was larger than Dan’s, almost twice the size. On the bed, against the pillows, lay a row of dolls with big china faces and wearing lace dresses.
‘They’re all mine, I collect them.’
‘Amanda had a little toy rabbit, didn’t she?’
‘Yeah, but she always took it with her.’
Clothes lay in piles all over the room, and the dressing-table was stacked with make-up, mirrors and perfumes, hairpieces and wigs; hooked over the handles of the drawers were rows of pearls and chains.
‘You never saw this five-year diary?’ Anna asked again.
Jeannie shook her head, picking up a sweater and opening a drawer to stuff it in.
‘You didn’t think it was strange that she asked to use the flat when you were out?’
‘Nope, she often asked us to disappear for an afternoon when she brought one or other of her boyfriends here for a shag. We didn’t argue about it; she was often paying the rent, after all.’
‘And you’re sure she never mentioned anything about publishing a book?’
Jeannie walked out, not answering. By now loud music was coming from the lounge. Anna just wanted to get out of this room with its overpowering smell of sweet lilacs. She followed Jeannie into the hall.
‘Thank you for your time, Jeannie. I really appreciate it.’
‘That’s OK. Did you see the photograph of us in the paper?’
Anna nodded.
‘We had a lot of press outside, you know, trying to ask us about Amanda, but we never let them in and they kept on taking photographs of us. I wouldn’t mind getting some of them – costs a lot to keep my portfolio up to date.’
‘I’m sorry you didn’t get the part this afternoon.’
‘Yeah, well, they pay a pittance, and I’ll get more from modelling.’
Jeannie stood watching Anna as she headed up the basement steps, lugging the binliners filled with fan mail. She hadn’t offered to help her carry them out. She shut the door and threw a bolt across it, hurrying back into the lounge.
‘You stupid cow, what you light up for? She was a fucking policewoman.’
Felicity giggled and said she’d forgotten. Then she rolled off the cushion, delving beneath it.
‘I’ve got it. I thought she might have even seen it on the fucking bookshelf
She held up the pink diary. Jeannie snatched it from her.
‘How much you think it’s worth? She said it was a lot, didn’t she?’
Felicity shrugged, watching as Jeannie flicked through the pages. ‘You remember the name of that publishing firm?’
Jeannie nodded, still intent on the diary. Then she kissed it.
‘Golden Arrow … but we gotta wait a while, let all the fuss die down, and then we go to … shit, what was that bloke’s name?’
She knew it was pointless asking Felicity who was now spreadeagled over the cushions, puffing on the joint. Jeannie didn’t feel guilty; on the contrary, the resentment she had felt all those years about losing the film part to Amanda had always been close to the surface. She didn’t even bother really reading the diary’s scrawled handwritten pages; all she cared about was whether it was worth money – money she felt was owed to her. She had always believed that if she hadn’t mentioned the film role she was up for, Amanda would never have auditioned for it. The fact that she was neither as beautiful nor as talented never came into the equation. She, Jeannie Bale, had been robbed of stardom.
She nudged Felicity with her foot.
‘Don’t mention this to anybody, you understand me? We gotta wait for the right time to sell it.’
‘OK.’
‘I know how to handle the business side and we’ll split the profits, but you gotta keep your mouth shut.’
‘OK.’
Jeannie went into her bedroom. She opened the diary and sifted through the last few pages until she found the name of Josh Lyons. She would keep it from Felicity. She knelt beside her bed, about to hide the diary underneath the mattress, then changed her mind and instead took one of her china-faced dolls and, lifting her lace dress, pushed the diary inside and pulled down the doll’s vest. It was bulky, but the frilly dress covered it, and when she set it back alongside the other dolls, she was certain no one would ever suspect anything was hidden there.
Felicity had actually been in the flat on the afternoon Amanda had arranged the meeting with Josh Lyons. She had intended to be out as Amanda had asked, but she had got so stoned the night before that she had crashed out in her bedroom and slept through most of the afternoon. She had only woken when she heard voices. Then she heard the front door slam shut and Amanda go into the kitchen, but she didn’t dare move. Only when it was quiet had she peeked out to see Amanda in her bedroom opposite on her hands and knees, lifting the corner of the carpet by her wardrobe. It seemed an age before Amanda left the flat, and not until the front door closed, did Felicity emerge from her bedroom. She went into Amanda’s room, straight to the same spot where she had seen her kneeling, thinking that maybe she had been hiding cash. Instead she found a five-year diary; it still had the small leather flap and the lock intact. She didn’t dare open it, but put it back under the carpet.
That was the last time Amanda was in the
flat; now the diary was hidden away again and was likely to make them a lot of money one day.
Chapter Fifteen
Anna slapped the steering-wheel with the flat of her hand; she was in big trouble and she knew it. She had switched on her mobile phone to check her messages. All of them were from the station, asking her to call in as soon as she could. As she drove away from the flat in Maida Vale, she was put through to Mike Lewis who tore a strip off her. While she had been ‘gallivanting around doing her own investigation’, Andrea Lesser and Andrew Smith-Barker had been brought in for questioning, and they had the result they wanted. Langton was even asking if Anna was now part-time. Mike ended the call by warning her that her disappearing acts could have severe consequences.
Joan gave her more details about the twosome.
‘Fraud. They’ve been robbing our victim and we’ve got the evidence. It’s pretty conclusive and the Guv thinks it’s a big motive for them to …’ There was a gasp, then Joan whispered that she had to go. A briefing was about to start.
‘Just do one thing for me, Joan. Run the name Anthony James through the Police National Computer. He’s a unit driver, could be—’
‘I’ve got to go.’ The phone went dead.
Anna felt her whole body tense. She was barely concentrating and before she knew it, she had gone into the back of the van in front, which had braked suddenly.
‘Oh shit!’
Shaken, she got out of her car. The right headlight was smashed and her bumper badly dented. The van appeared to have no damage, but both she and the driver had to pull over to exchange insurance details. Seeing the steam coming out of her grill, she knew it was going to take some time for her to get to the station.
It was an hour before the AA came to tow her car away and Anna had to take a taxi the rest of the way to the station. As the cab drew up, she saw Andrea Lesser being taken from a patrol car escorted by two uniformed officers, Barolli walking alongside her. Anna waited, making sure they were some way ahead of her before she followed, dragging the plastic binliners of letters from Amanda’s flat with her. As she sneaked into her office, she could see Barolli across the incident room talking to Mike Lewis; she felt like a naughty schoolgirl who had been playing truant. Mike moved off, not even glancing towards her. Barolli gathered up a set of files, then looked over at her office.
‘Been on a sabbatical, have we?’
She ignored him.
‘You had better do some catching up. We’ve built up a really strong stack of evidence against both—’
‘Yes, I know, you’ve brought in Andrea Lesser and Andrew Smith-Barker.’
‘He’s not here yet and she’s waiting for her brief. In the meantime, I suggest you get tooled up in case you’re wanted in the interviews.’
‘Thank you.’
‘If it’s not a rude question, where’ve you been all day?’
‘Mind your own fucking business,’ Anna snapped.
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, I can mind mine. Reality is, whilst you were doing your own thing, we’ve cracked the case.’ He tapped the file with a finger. ‘There’s your motive.’
‘Really?’
‘I’d put money on it, they hired someone to—’ He turned as Barbara appeared at the door to say that Andrew Smith-Barker was being brought into the reception.
Barolli grinned, gave a pat to Barbara’s bottom as she walked out, then turned to Anna.
‘It’s the two of them.’
He waltzed off, full of himself, as Anna opened the file. Barbara returned with a beaker of coffee.
‘You look as if you needed this.’
‘Thank you.’
‘If he taps my bum one more time I’m going to swipe his nasty little paw from here to that wall.’
Anna smiled and sipped the coffee. She did really need it and hadn’t eaten all day.
‘You all right?’ Barbara asked. ‘Only you had a prang in your car, right?’
‘Yes, nothing serious, entirely my fault and no one got hurt except my little Mini.’
‘Ah, never mind, eh? Good news they got a big development in the Amanda Delany case. The Boss man is coming in to congratulate the boys.’
‘Langton?’
‘Yes. I gotta go. See you in a minute.’
‘Is Joan free?’
‘No, she went off for an early dinner-break. Mike wants us here until late tonight.’
Anna remained in her office reading up on the files. Her head was throbbing and she took two aspirin. She could barely concentrate on the mass of conflicting information and accounting lists, and her headache grew worse. She took her coat, rolled it into a ball and lay down behind her desk, closing her eyes.
Andrea Lesser had been waiting in the interview room for half an hour. She sat like a coiled spring with her legs entwined around each other. Her solicitor was held up in rush-hour traffic. It was just after six o’clock. Seated in the interview room next door was Andrew Smith-Barker. As yet no charges had been brought against him, but he was in deep conversation with his solicitor, Barnaby Treesom, who was making copious notes. Unlike his client, Treesom seemed uncomfortable and constantly shifted his weight as if he was restricted in the chair provided. He was wearing a tracksuit as he had been about to play squash when he was summoned; his client however looked immaculate, adjusting his shirt-cuffs with heavy gold cufflinks.
‘Let me run this by you, Andrew,’ said Treesom, ‘so you know exactly how serious this is. You have been arrested on suspicion of fraud and murder, right?’
Andrew nodded.
‘Now I’ve been given disclosure and the officers have verbal and documentary evidence that you were stealing from Amanda Delany. It is alleged that she had found out and to stop her revealing the theft, you either killed or conspired with others to have her killed.’
Andrew Smith-Barker lost none of his composure. In fact, he was smiling.
‘It’s farcical and totally untrue. There was no fraud, and there is no way I had anything whatsoever to do with her death.’
Barnaby Treesom didn’t doubt his client for a moment. He checked his watch, and said he hoped the interview wouldn’t take long.
‘Maybe I’ll get back to my squash game,’ he joked.
By the time Andrea Lesser’s solicitor arrived it was almost seven o’clock. Anna woke with a start as someone rapped hard on her office door. She had only just got to her feet when Mike Lewis appeared.
‘I want you in with Andrea Lesser.’
She tried to straighten her skirt and hoped he hadn’t caught her asleep.
‘Mike, can I explain about this afternoon?’
‘No, you’ll have plenty of time later. It could be a long night.’
‘Have you charged them?’
‘Not yet … Interview Room One.’ He walked off.
Anna combed her hair and drank the cold remains of her coffee. The sleep had worked; her headache had gone. She had another swift glance over the file, then went to Joan to ask her a favour.
‘There’s some binliners in my office – Amanda Delany’s fanmail. Could you have a quick look over them, see if there’s anything useful?’
Joan rolled her eyes. ‘Will do … how many?’
Anna grinned and held up three fingers.
Barolli and Barbara sat in front of Andrew Smith-Barker and his solicitor. Barolli sat stiffly in his chair; without doubt, he explained to Barnaby Treesom, Amanda Delany’s investments had been obtained by illegal means.
‘What exactly do you mean by “illegal means”? Why has my client been brought here to explain business transactions between him and Miss Andrea Lesser that to his knowledge were made with Miss Delany’s approval?’
‘Miss Delany was found brutally murdered,’ Barolli said. ‘Her death coincides with discrepancies in her financial interaction with Mr Andrew Smith-Barker – which makes your client a viable suspect. We need to know his whereabouts around the time Miss Delany was killed.’
‘Let me get this straigh
t.’ Treesom cleared his throat. ‘You are now not only questioning my client regarding financial transactions between himself and Miss Lesser on behalf of Amanda Delany, but you are also attempting to determine if he had any connection to her death.’
‘That’s it,’ Barolli said. ‘He has given a detailed alibi for the time of the murder, but we will be checking his past phone calls. Although he may not have been in the vicinity of Miss Delany’s home when she was murdered, the discovery of the fraud may have proved so detrimental to his business that he hired someone to—’
‘This is preposterous,’ Smith-Barker said angrily. ‘I acted at all times with the full cooperation of Miss Lesser and her client, Miss Delany.’
It was clear what Andrew Smith-Barker was doing: extricating himself and placing the entire fraud on Andrea Lesser’s shoulders.
Barolli, unruffled, took a moment before he continued.
‘We need to know from your client, Mr Treesom, when and where he invested the monies. If no documents can be produced
Smith-Barker lifted his hand, interrupting him again.
‘My solicitor has all the documents to this effect,’ he said.
Barnaby Treesom put a file on the table and leaned back in his chair. He was fully aware that it would take considerable time to trace movements of monies and be even more time-consuming to disprove anything his client had submitted.
Langton sat with a coffee and a sandwich in the small room adjoining the interview sections, watching the interview with Smith-Barker on a screen. His foot tapped constantly as he listened. He knew they had jumped the gun. They should not have brought this pompous man in until they had further evidence of his possible connection to the murder. He admitted there was a motive and a strong one, but he felt the team had not done enough digging into Smith-Barker’s private life, nor had they assessed his home and office phone calls. Then again, would a man like Smith-Barker make any compromising calls from his office? Langton didn’t think so. He was certain they were looking at a sophisticated conman.
Langton then turned his attention to the interview coming up on screen two. He saw Anna and Mike Lewis take their seats. Mike was explaining to Andrea Lesser that she had not been charged with anything; she was there to answer questions regarding the financial arrangements she had instigated on Miss Delany’s behalf.
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