Silent Scream

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘Goodnight.’

  She was out of the car and slamming the door shut before he could say anything. She walked away and then retraced her steps, opening the car door and bending down to confront him.

  ‘I don’t want to play any games with you and I don’t want you thinking you have a priority over my feelings. You had that for too long and I have to get on with my life. I don’t want to know what you told Gordon about me and, to be honest, I don’t care.’

  ‘Goodnight, Anna,’ Langton replied, starting the engine and tossing his cigarette out of the window.

  By the time she had got into her flat, hurled her briefcase aside, Anna’s temper was really up. Listening to her phone messages made her even angrier. The fact that Gordon seemed to have got himself into a tailspin over Langton knowing about their night together irritated her. It was not until she had showered and was in bed that she calmed down. An odd feeling swept over her. The control Langton had over her was no longer something she was afraid of, emotionally or physically. It was, she knew now, really and truly something of the past. Tonight she had been able to confront him on an equal level. In some ways she felt sorry for him because she realised that, as much as she was over him, he was perhaps not over her.

  ‘Chalk one up for me!’ she said to herself. Just as she snuggled down under the duvet, her landline rang. She was in two minds as to whether to answer it when the answerphone clicked on.

  ‘It’s Gordon, just trying to touch base. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  She switched off her bedside lamp. She knew the buzz she had felt being with Gordon had gone as well. She didn’t know how much a part in that Langton had played, but her affair with Gordon was over before it had really begun.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mike Lewis headed up the press conference, requesting help from the public in tracing Jeannie Bale and Felicity Turner in connection with the murder of Amanda Delany. The safety of the girls was their overriding concern. If anyone knew the whereabouts of Lester James, he added, they should come forward as the police were anxious to speak to him. This was the first indication that the murder team were making progress in their investigation, and as a result they got front-page coverage. It was picked up on morning television, where repeated clips from Amanda Delany’s films were shown.

  But there were still gaping holes in their enquiry because they had no concrete evidence against Lester James. The officers assigned to the tedious detail of checking through the CCTV footage from the night of the murder were instructed to repeat their scanning from start to finish, in the hope that they had missed something. The statements from Helen Mitchell, Colin O’Dell and Scott Myers were to be checked and rechecked.

  Then news came through that the body of a young woman had been found washed up at Tower Bridge. It fitted the description of Felicity Turner. The label in her jacket bore the name of Amanda Delany and the police marine support unit had contacted the incident room immediately.

  The body was lying on a gurney in the unit’s mortuary, draped in a green tarpaulin; water was still seeping down onto the tiled floor. Judging by the bloating, it had been in the river for about two days.

  ‘If it is her …’ Anna said quietly.

  Barolli finished her sentence for her: ‘… God help Jeannie Bale. We’ve still got no information regarding her whereabouts.’

  He fell silent as Anna moved round to get a look at the girl’s face as the pathologist drew back the tarpaulin. She took her time, pushing the wet stinking hair away from the corpse’s face, which was a hideous greenish colour, the sunken eyes open wide.

  ‘Yes, it’s Felicity Turner.’

  At first glance, the pathologist said, she appeared to have no physical injuries. They had cut away her clothes and stacked them on a table, ready to be bagged and sent to forensics. Anna checked the collar of the sodden jacket. Amanda Delany’s name was written on a tag and below it, very blurred, was the name of a theatrical costumiers – Angels – and a phone number. Anna checked quickly with the costumiers and learned that Amanda Delany had purchased the jacket after the first film she had starred in, Rock Baby. Anna could only assume that this was one of the many garments Amanda had given to Felicity and Jeannie.

  The body had been discovered by a trawler, partly covered in mud and slime, wedged into a mud bank. As it was low tide, the girl was visible, but they found no weights tying the body down; it was possible she had been on one of the ferries or tourist boats travelling up and down the Thames. It was unlikely that she jumped from Tower Bridge as it was well-lit and no one had reported seeing her in the area. All ferry-and pleasureboat staff would have to be shown Felicity’s photograph and questioned.

  The Golden Arrow publishing company seemed to be on the move. Boxes filled the reception area, where Anna and Barolli were waiting to see Josh Lyons.

  ‘That’s him now.’ The receptionist pointed to a Porsche which was drawing up outside.

  Anna moved forward as Lyons came through the front door.

  ‘Mr Lyons? I am Detective Travis.’ He obviously recognised her. ‘Hi. Right yes, sorry.’ He turned to the receptionist. ‘Is my office cleared yet?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  He gestured for them to follow him into his office which was stripped of books and posters. His high-backed leather chair and desk were still there, however.

  ‘It’s a bloody nightmare. No matter how well you organise it, something always goes wrong. We’ve been preparing for this move for months. I’ve got publishing dates and Christ knows how many authors wantin’ a slice of me, banks making my life a fucking nightmare, but the lease is up here and the new premises have got plumbing problems. The water sprinklers came on and you can imagine what that means if you’re unpacking books. Thank God most of them were still crated up.’

  At last he calmed down, sitting behind his large desk.

  Barolli asked tersely if they could have his undivided attention; they were here to question him regarding something that had a connection to a murder enquiry.

  Josh Lyons loosened his tie.

  ‘Amanda Delany?’ he asked. ‘Only I told your colleague here’ – he nodded towards Anna – ‘as much as I knew and I’ve not really got anything else to add.’

  ‘Have you been contacted by anyone with regard to Amanda Delany’s memoirs?’

  Anna then showed him the picture of Jeannie Bale.

  ‘We’re interested to know if this girl has been to see you.’

  ‘Listen, I’ve not had a spare minute for a week.’

  ‘Look at the photograph, Mr Lyons.’

  He glanced at the picture and shook his head. ‘She hasn’t been here.’

  ‘It would have been in connection with Amanda Delany’s diary.’

  ‘I told you – I saw it, but I don’t have it.’

  ‘Would anyone else here have spoken to Jeannie Bale or met with her?’

  ‘I doubt it, but let me ask one of my editors.’ He shot out of his chair and opened his office door, bellowing for someone called Adrian.

  ‘This is another bloody waste of time,’ Barolli said, checking his watch.

  A few minutes later, Josh Lyons returned with a young guy, unshaven with straggly long hair and round wire-rimmed glasses.

  ‘This is Adrian Skidmore. He’s had two calls from someone,’ Lyons said. ‘What did she say her name was?’ He turned to Adrian.

  ‘Jeannie.’

  ‘Tell them what she wanted,’ Lyons prompted.

  Anna sat on the edge of the empty desk.

  ‘This is very important, Mr Skidmore. Can you tell us exactly what Jeannie said to you?’

  Adrian Skidmore gave a shrug of his skinny shoulders.

  ‘She said that she’d got the diary, and that she wanted to speak to Josh, but I said he wasn’t available. I wasn’t certain what she was talking about, so I asked her to tell me what it was she wanted.’

  ‘And?’ Barolli was so tense he looked as if he was about to put his hands round the you
ng man’s neck. ‘Mr Skidmore, what did this Jeannie say to you.’

  ‘I just told you, she said she had the diary and she wanted to speak to Josh.’

  ‘What about the second call?’ Barolli snapped.

  ‘That was the day after, so that’d be two days ago. Yeah, two days ago, she called again. Josh was out at lunch so I took the call.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She wanted to discuss selling the diary to Josh. She said she was an actress too and had known Miss Delany since drama school. She said something about once being up for the same part.’ He scratched his head. ‘To be honest, she sounded a bit crazy, going on about how she could tell us a lot of other things about Amanda Delany and that she wanted to make a deal.’

  ‘She definitely said that she had Amanda Delany’s diary?’ Anna asked.

  Adrian nodded and looked nervously at Lyons.

  ‘I couldn’t discuss any deal with her, so again I said she’d have to talk to Mr Lyons. She said that she’d call back and for me to make sure Josh knew she had the diary. I wrote Josh a note about it all.’

  ‘I never saw it,’ Lyons said.

  Anna folded her arms. ‘But would you have been interested?’ she demanded. ‘Would the diary of a murdered movie star be something you would negotiate money for?’

  ‘Hard to say,’ Lyons replied. ‘Depends on the contents, but then it could be a minefield of legal problems.’

  ‘Didn’t Amanda suggest to you though, that it contained a lot of explosive information regarding her sex life?’

  ‘Yes, she did – but again, without reading it, I wouldn’t know what we could or couldn’t do with it. Even if this girl owns it, it would be questionable. Does she?’

  Anna glanced at Barolli. To their knowledge, the diary would be the property of Miss Delany’s estate. They needed to recover it urgently, as it might contain information that they could act on.

  Barolli had picked up on Anna’s quiet, authoritative manner. He took out his card, saying that if Jeannie Bale contacted Golden Arrow they should get in touch with the incident room immediately, and ask for either himself or DI Travis. If Jeannie put in an appearance, they should call the police and try to detain her until they got there.

  ‘Did she leave a number for you to call?’ Barolli asked Skidmore.

  ‘No. I’m sorry, if I’d had any indication it was important I would have asked for it. But, like I said, she did sound a bit crazy.’

  When they left the building they had the exact time of the calls; they had come in the day after Anna had interviewed the two girls. She realised that the diary had to have been in the flat that day and was angry that Mike Lewis had not had a search warrant issued, as she had requested. So, wherever Jeannie Bale was, she must have the damned diary. They decided that, once Felicity was formally identified, they would go to press with news of her death, hoping it might jolt Jeannie into coming forward.

  Josh Lyons was blazing and Adrian Skidmore was taking the brunt of his anger.

  ‘We could have had that fucking diary in our hands and you let it go walkabout!’

  ‘But I was never told anything about it,’ Adrian responded. ‘Would we have published it?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it has to have something in it if the cops are after it. If Jeannie Bale calls, make sure I know about it. I’ll take charge of it personally.’

  ‘Have they arrested anyone for Delany’s murder?’

  ‘I don’t fucking know.’

  Adrian could almost see the wheels turning in his boss’s brain.

  ‘If the police wanted the diary, they must think it contains information, maybe even named her killer. If we get our hands on that diary, it might get us out of the financial shit we’re in.’

  Lyons took a slug of brandy and gasped as it hit him on an empty stomach.

  The post-mortem report for Felicity Turner came in late afternoon. She had drowned. Both lungs and stomach contained substantial amounts of water, and she also had a very high alcohol content, eight times over the limit. The toxicology department was running tests on her hair for possible cocaine residue. They found no other wounds apart from a bruise to her lower back; it was possible that she had fallen against some railings and then into the river.

  Anna was depressed as she read the report – such a waste of a young life. They put out a press release; it would feature on the six o’clock news. Meanwhile, officers were still questioning the ferry-and pleasureboat staff, but as yet no one could identify her as having been a passenger. Sitting alone in her office, the sound of the forever-persistent phones ringing, Anna felt the sadness like a weight around her shoulders. She jolted when Barbara tapped on the door and entered.

  ‘Line two,’ she said. ‘We have Mr Delany for you!’

  ‘You’re kidding me?’ She had been trying to get hold of him since the discovery of Felicity’s body.

  ‘Nope.’

  Anna took a deep breath and picked up the phone. ‘Mr Delany, this is Detective Anna Travis.’

  ‘I received a message that you wanted to talk to me.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I did. Could I ask you where you are speaking from?’

  ‘Paris. My wife and I are here for a short stay, to try and get some semblance of peace.’

  ‘I’ll not keep you longer than necessary. We see from your phone records at the hotel that two calls were—’

  ‘My phone records?’ he said coldly, interrupting her.

  ‘… were made to your daughter’s old flat in Maida Vale,’ Anna continued. ‘Can you tell me what they were about?’

  ‘This is unbelievable!’

  Anna waited; all she could hear from the other end of the phone was heavy breathing. It went on for a while too long.

  ‘Mr Delany, I don’t know if you have seen the late-night papers, but Felicity Turner’s body has been recovered from the Thames.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You are aware too that Dan Hutchins is also dead. We now have great concern regarding the whereabouts of the actress Jeannie Bale.’

  ‘I don’t understand what on earth this has to do with me!’

  ‘Your daughter’s diary, we believe, is with Miss Bale. This could be of importance to our investigation, but we won’t know until we have read what it contains … Mr Delany?’

  She heard the heavy breathing again, but this time she didn’t pause.

  ‘If you know anything, Mr Delany, if these calls to their flat were about the diary, I am asking you to please be honest with me. It’s possible this girl’s life could be in danger.’

  ‘I still don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s very simple, Mr Delany. The diary may contain details about your daughter’s killer. It is therefore of the utmost importance that we gain access to it.’

  ‘I don’t have it.’

  Anna sighed. After their dealings with Josh Lyons she believed Delany, but she nevertheless wanted to be certain. Then he murmured something she didn’t hear.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Oh, you may as well know. I was called by this girl. She wanted to meet with me. She said she had my daughter’s diary, but she wanted money.’

  Delany had agreed to pay her five thousand pounds, he said. He cashed a cheque at the hotel and gave the money to Felicity Turner, who had arrived at the hotel. Jeannie Bale was at the flat and was to hand over the diary to him. He had taken a taxi there, but no one was in. He returned to the hotel to find that Jeannie Bale had called again. She wanted a lot more money and when he refused, she hung up. He went back to the flat, but it was still empty. By this time he was worried he would miss his Eurostar trip to Paris.

  ‘This was when I was with your wife at your hotel?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Yes. I felt that it was a rather pointless exercise and decided against taking it any further.’

  ‘So you’ve had no further contact from Jeannie Bale?’

  ‘No. If she attempts to blackmail any more money out of me, I’ll have her arrested.�
��

  ‘Blackmail?’

  The heavy rasping breathing returned.

  ‘So you believe that the diary contains inflammatory material that involved you?’

  ‘I suspect it contains more filth about my daughter’s lifestyle. I simply wish for it to be destroyed so she cannot create any further heartbreak for my wife and me.’

  ‘Was there anything in your past involving your daughter that would also, if it became known, cause distress for you both?’

  The heavy breathing was replaced by a cold anger. He told her he had nothing else to add.

  ‘If Miss Bale does contact you again, I would be grateful if you could let us know. As I said, we are concerned about her and we want to find out where she is.’

  ‘I doubt she will try and contact me again, Detective Travis, but if she does, I will tell you.’

  He ended the call. Anna held the receiver in her hand, hearing the dead tone and she slowly hung up.

  It had been Anna’s idea, to contact Jeannie Bale’s theatrical agent and ask her to pull a fast one on Jeannie, tell her that she was up for a big part and that the producer wanted to meet her. She and Felicity must have done a runner, taking Delany’s five thousand in cash. Two of the flatmates were dead. Jeannie could be the next.

  It was almost 6 p.m. that evening when Anna met with Sylvia Brandon and her assistant Kevin. Their office was in Chiswick, one room cluttered with posters and files and hundreds of photographs stacked in bunches on the floor. Sylvia Brandon was a plump, blonde woman in her late fifties, wearing heavy make-up and a flowing black wool dress. Her assistant, Kevin, wore bright red trainers that almost matched the extraordinary colour of his gelled hair.

  ‘We’ve been shocked about Amanda Delany and we know they used to live together, but we’ve not heard from Jeannie for a week or so.’ Kevin had a Newcastle accent and a lisp while Sylvia’s voice was deep, loud and theatrical.

  ‘Do you have Jeannie’s mobile phone number?’ Anna asked. ‘She calls in on a regular basis, doesn’t she?’

  Kevin opened a thick file and started to thumb through it. ‘Yes, but she hasn’t for a while as things have been very slow.’