As Anna continued, Langton stared at her, a strange expression on his face.
‘Both girls said that Dan had no money. They also said he was very distressed by Amanda’s death. Where did he get the cash to pay for the heroin? Also, where did he get the heroin from? All they knew was that he left a party early and by the time they returned home two hours later, he was dead.’
Again there was silence. Anna shifted her weight from one foot to the other. ‘Why did he inject himself on the floor – why not in his bed?’ she persisted. ‘I mean, if you were a junkie and had scored heroin, why lie on the floor?’
Both his trainers had been removed and he had only one sock on.
‘As an experienced addict, he may have been preparing to inject himself between his toes, but wouldn’t he still have been on his bed?’
Mike and Langton checked the photographs again and then looked at her, as if willing her to draw some conclusion.
‘Dan Hutchins adored Amanda Delany – they had been students together. She trusted him. All I’m suggesting is that he possibly knew something, something that warranted his death. We are missing a set of keys. You, sir, brought up the possibility of her owning a larger set than the single key found at her mews. Maybe whoever had them, used them to enter Dan’s flat and inject the boy with enough heroin to kill him.’
‘Christ, Anna, this is all supposition.’
‘I know, sir, but if Dan was killed to shut him up, what did he know? This also makes me deeply concerned about the two girls still living there.’
‘You think they know something?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know,’ Anna said.
‘Terrific,’ Mike muttered.
Anna excused herself and returned to her office to continue finishing her report. She had no idea if they believed her theory about Dan Hutchins’s death. She didn’t hear Langton give Mike the order to pick up Lester James for questioning and to get a search warrant for the girls’ flat.
Anna completed her reports and submitted them to the office manager; the details would be chalked up on the incident room board. Barbara indicated that she wanted to have a word.
‘This Lester James. We have an address, but he’s not—’
Anna was furious. She felt that they were moving too fast and without sufficient evidence. She walked away before Barbara could finish and went to confront Mike Lewis. In no uncertain terms she said that she felt they were jumping the gun.
‘Tell that to Langton – he’s the one who wants Lester James brought in. I agree with you, but right now James is the prime suspect.’
‘But you only have my suppositions. We don’t have enough to make an arrest!’
‘We’re just bringing him in for questioning.’
‘Why not put him under surveillance instead, while we do some more digging around?’
‘Too late, the wheels are already in motion. I repeat, this is Langton putting on the pressure, not me. Added to that, you said yourself that you were concerned for the safety of those two girls. We can’t take the risk if he is our killer, so we need to bring him in for questioning.’
‘Who’s bringing him in?’
‘Paul Barolli and two from the team.’
‘Fine. Well, at least get me in on the interview. I hope they keep a low profile because we don’t have enough to hold him.’
‘I am aware of that,’ snapped Mike.
‘Are they going in with a search warrant?’
‘Yes.’
‘Make sure they strip down his car.’
Anna walked out, seething, and returned to her office. She was still angry when Barbara came in with an update. Lester James was not at home and according to the woman who lived in the flat above his, he had not been there for a few weeks.
‘Check with his brother, Harry James. See if Lester is working on a movie.’
‘Right.’
Barbara closed the door and Anna sat, drumming her fingers on her desk. She sighed, then picked up her coat, making sure this time that the team were aware of where she was going and what she was doing.
Mrs Delany gave a resigned sigh as Anna apologised for not making an appointment; she needed only a few moments to ask her some questions. Their suitcases were packed and Mr Delany was due to return shortly. Mrs Delany was very tense.
‘I don’t know what else I can tell you. All I want to do is to go home to France and try and pick up my life. This has been a dreadful time.’
‘I’m sure it must be, to lose your daughter in such tragic circumstances. It can’t have been easy to deal with.’
‘No, it wasn’t.’
‘But you’ve had family troubles before this, haven’t you?’
Mrs Delany fingered the pearl necklace she was wearing.
‘I’m not sure I understand you. We have had nothing that I would describe as family troubles, quite the contrary.’
‘Your daughter’s pregnancy must have been very shocking.’
‘Any mother would be distressed by her only daughter’s misfortune, and believe you me, Amanda had not been an easy child.’
‘Did you ever discover why that was?’
Mrs Delany tugged at the necklace, but made no reply.
‘Did Amanda ever suggest to you that she was being abused? By that, I mean sexually abused – and quite possibly from an early age?’
Mrs Delany stood up, her face set in anger.
‘I don’t know how you dare make such a dreadful accusation. I categorically deny any such thing ever occurred in my family, and I am appalled that you, knowing I am still in mourning for my daughter, want to further my anguish! If you have got this from someone, then I want to know exactly who is spreading such a rumour.’
‘It comes from someone Amanda knew for many years.’
‘They are lying.’
‘Did she ever tell you who the father of her child was?’
‘No, she did not. All she wanted was money and in the past we had been more than generous. She didn’t get a scholarship to RADA, so my husband had to pay for the tuition fees for her course, pay for her accommodation, give her an allowance. Amanda had run up considerable debts and we had to deal with them. We didn’t believe her when she told us she was pregnant. We felt it was just another trick to get more money out of us.’
‘But it wasn’t, was it?’
‘We know that now, of course. As soon as we knew how ill she was, due to the abortion, my husband came straight to London. He paid for the hospital, paid for her to go to the Drury Clinic, and in the end he decided that enough was enough.’
‘By this time she was earning a lot of money herself as an actress,’ Anna remarked.
‘She never told us what she was earning. In fact, after the wretched business of the abortion, we barely saw her again.’
‘How did that make you feel?’
‘Feel? I don’t understand?’
‘Well, Amanda was very successful, a star.’
Mrs Delany gripped hold of her chair.
‘She was a constant source of embarrassment. The media coverage of her sexual exploits made our life a misery. You know that. Why she did what she did, I will never understand. She was given everything a young girl could want, and to flaunt herself, drunk, and wearing these dreadful clothes …’
Anna turned. Mr Delany had entered the suite. He closed the door behind him with the heel of his shoe.
‘Thank God you’re here,’ Mrs Delany gasped.
‘I know why I am here, but I’d like to know why you are.’ He stared coldly at Anna.
‘She is asking about Amanda – someone has told her that she was sexually abused as a child. I just can’t believe we are being subjected to this.’
‘Nor can I.’ Mr Delany removed his coat, folding it over the back of a chair. ‘I’d like the name of this person so I can sue them. As if we haven’t had enough heartbreak. This is an invasion of our privacy and I would like you to leave.’
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Anna stood up. He was a daunting man; his face was impassive, but his eyes were cold and bore into her. She noticed that his fists were clenched, the knuckles white as he fought to control himself.
‘I’m sorry, but in our investigation we need to cover every possible avenue.’
‘How could it have any bearing on your investigation? The fact is that it is a total lie.’
‘It could also be a motive, sir.’
‘Motive?’ he snarled.
‘Yes. You see, we know that Amanda was about to sign a publishing deal to write her memoirs.’
‘She told us that,’ Mrs Delany said. Her husband turned on her, gesturing with his hand for her to be silent.
‘It was more than likely yet another of her lies. We dismissed it as nonsense. Who could write their memoirs at twenty-four? It’s ridiculous!’
‘It wasn’t a lie, sir. I have met with the publisher.’
He shrugged.
‘You see, if Amanda had been subjected to sexual abuse as a child, she would probably have intended writing about it.’
‘She wasn’t.’
‘But you must understand why I have to ask these questions. As I said, it is a possible motive.’
‘What do you mean?’ He stepped closer to Anna.
‘I think you understand, sir. You and your wife would have featured very prominently in your daughter’s—’
‘Get out.’ Delany gripped Anna by her arm and drew her towards the door. ‘I have heard enough. I will make a complaint to your superiors so out – get the hell out of this suite!’
Anna jerked her arm free. She was almost knocked off her feet as he opened the door and pushed her out, slamming it behind her.
Anna returned to the patrol car, shaken but certain of a few more facts. In reality she doubted that Mr Delany had any part in the murder of his daughter, nor had his wife. She was sure, however, that there had been some kind of abuse inside the family, but it would be almost impossible to prove. Unless they found the diary and the diary contained any details of what Amanda had suffered.
Mrs Delany was retouching her make-up in the bathroom, her hands shaking as she heard her husband ordering a taxi to take them to St Pancras. They had decided to stay at The Grand in Paris before returning to their villa in the South of France.
She physically jumped when he opened the bathroom door.
‘We’ve got about half an hour. Do you want coffee and sandwiches sent up?’
‘No, nothing, thank you.’ She stared at him from the mirror as he came towards her, gently rubbing her shoulders.
‘Everything will be all right as soon as we get home.’
She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘She loved that little rabbit, didn’t she?’
He nodded. ‘Why bring that up?’
‘It’s missing – they think the killer took it. I remember her cuddling it. She’d have been no more than six, never would go to sleep without it.’
‘I know.’
Slowly she turned to face him, but then couldn’t meet his eyes. He reached out and gripped her face in his hands.
‘He’s dead now, Carmen. We have to get on with our lives – we must put it all behind us.’
‘It’s just hard for me sometimes,’ she whispered.
‘I know, but you can’t blame yourself
‘Yes, I can,’ she breathed.
He sighed, and turned to leave.
‘We should have protected her,’ his wife cried out. ‘I should have, but I didn’t honestly believe he would … How many times when we went on holiday did we leave her with him, how many times …?’ She broke down in tears.
‘Shush,’ he said, walking out.
Mrs Delany looked back to the mirror. She had not come to London when Amanda was almost dying because she was attending her father’s funeral. They had lived close by him for most of their married life. Christian de Wolf was a very wealthy, handsome widower, a wine importer with a string of polo ponies, and she, his only child, had been molested by him from an early age. When she had admitted it to her husband, he had used a riding crop on his father-in-law, until the latter begged forgiveness. He had never touched his daughter again, and moved into a small lodge attached to the villa, having arranged for a massive annual allowance to be settled on his daughter.
Mrs Delany suspected her father was becoming overly fond of his young granddaughter, but when she confronted him, he denied it and threatened to halt the allowance they lived on and force them out of the villa. She couldn’t stop the tears now. Had her father made Amanda terrified to tell anyone, just as he had done with his own daughter? Terrified that she would be taken away and given up for adoption? Was that why she had kept the secret for so long?
Mr Delany couldn’t go to her even when he heard her crying in the hotel room. He couldn’t face any more problems, any more anguish. During one of her final trips home, when Amanda had claimed that her grandfather had raped her, he refused to believe her, as did his wife. When she returned to London, he confronted the man he detested; de Wolf had sworn on his knees that he had never touched their precious child. Two weeks later he died from a heart-attack, leaving the rest of his fortune to his only daughter. Mr Delany sat staring at the matching Gucci suitcases stacked up by the door. He had failed to protect Amanda; he knew it, but until now had denied it.
He recalled taking the toy to her bedroom. She looked like a princess, in her bedroom with its pink carpet and pink drapes. He had put the rabbit in her arms and whispered that he loved her and would never let any harm come to her. She had reached up to put her arms around his neck, asking if he would promise, and he had kissed her.
‘I promise, Princess. This little rabbit will always look after you.’
‘I’ll call him Promise,’ she had said.
He knew he had broken that promise, he had broken it for money, and he was ashamed. He had lived in total denial, watched helplessly as his Princess became a little monster, hellbent with her string of sexual conquests on making them ashamed of her.
Mrs Delany had regained her composure as she joined her husband, slipping her mink-lined cashmere coat around her shoulders.
‘Did you have any success?’ she asked him.
‘No. There was no one in and I didn’t want to stay around in case I was seen.’
‘We have probably been over-reacting. Without Amanda, I’d say they couldn’t publish anything anyway.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’
‘How much would you have been prepared to pay for it?’
Delany shrugged, knowing he would have paid a good price to get his hands on his daughter’s diary. He looked at his elegant, beautiful wife, with her make-up and immaculate hair, and he reached for her hand.
‘It’s over, darling.’
‘Not yet. Not until they find who killed her.’
He doubted that they ever would; it had already been too long. She threaded her fingers through his, her diamond rings glinting, her nails perfectly manicured. She had soft hands, delicate. She was a delicate creature and one he had protected, but he should have taken her away before she confronted her father. For him, having been overprotective of his beloved wife, his daughter had paid the price.
‘Shall I call for the porter?’ she asked.
‘Yes, we should be on our way.’
‘You have the passports and tickets?’
He patted his pocket and nodded. Soon they would be able to create yet another protective shell to hide the guilt that was inside them both. For his part, he reasoned that he would not have been able to provide for his wife on his own in the manner to which she was accustomed. She, for her part, had lived in luxury like a caged exotic bird, never making any decisions for herself and never being a good mother. She was too damaged; the threat her own father had whispered to her, that he could take everything from her and leave her with nothing, was a persistent nightmare. There had been a time when she had often woken up screaming, just like her daughter. But w
hile she had been protected by her doting husband, Amanda had had only the warmth of a cuddly toy rabbit.
Chapter Eighteen
Lester James had been working on a TV series in Manchester when his brother Harry called to say that the police were sniffing around in connection with the Amanda Delany case. He drove straight to Manchester airport and boarded a flight to Amsterdam, and although he had told his brother that he was not in any kind of trouble, his disappearing act was highly suspicious. Tony was very edgy when he met up with Harry, asking if there could be any link between their youngest brother and the murder.
‘No way, but you know, if he has any more trouble he’ll get nicked and it’ll be prison for him. Is he still dealing shit?’
‘He swore he wasn’t, but he gave me a wrap to pass over to that Colin O’Dell at the fucking funeral. He told me he wasn’t doin’ that any more – we’ve had enough problems with him in the past. So what do we do, apart from keeping him at arm’s length for a while?’
Harry had always been a father figure to both his brothers; now he said he would see to it that Lester would be looked after. He left Tony sitting in a small café. He didn’t believe his kid brother would have anything to do with the murder, but at the same time, he knew that Lester had been scoring and dealing drugs. Even when they had warned him to cut it out, he still beefed up his legitimate salary, mostly dealing in small amounts to the cast and crew of the films he was working on. It was those dealings that made both brothers wary of having the police question Lester.
Armed with a search warrant, Barolli and his team brought in two Scene of Crime Officers to search Lester James’s flat in Esher. They found an array of sharp suits and shoes and multi-coloured shirts, and shaving equipment and bottles of cheap aftershave lined up in the bathroom cabinet. In the small box room were his karate medals and cups, and his Gi in pristine condition. The single bed was covered in a dark green candlewick bedspread; the blinds on the window were drawn. Barolli stared around the living room with its hideous couch and two matching easy chairs. There was a large plasma screen in the corner and numerous karate championship videos and DVDs piled next to it. Stacked on a bookshelf were boxes of vitamins and karate magazines. Caught between two pages was a torn piece of paper listing plane times to Amsterdam. In the fridge in the kitchen were butter and eggs, all well past their sell-by date, and open cartons of rice and noodles, along with four cans of Red Bull.
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