Gallo was in grey track bottoms and a tight sleeveless pale blue T-shirt that left his impressive biceps to be admired. When he moved his arms, the muscles shifted under the skin like boulders trying to pass each other in an earthquake. He looked as though he could have snapped skinny LaSalle in two like a twig, but Rang, as his friends called him, had a rare psychological condition, useful in a copper, of being incapable of fear. He was just never at home to Mr Coldfeet.
So he sat for a while studying Gallo and hoping to get him shifting nervously in his seat. And eventually it was Gallo who broke the silence. ‘So what is it you want? I suppose you’ve come to ask me more questions. I don’t know what else I can tell you.’
‘You and Erik Lingoss,’ LaSalle said.
Gallo sighed. ‘Look – I’ve told you lot till I’m blue in the face—’
‘You were pretty angry with him over your sister.’
‘Yeah, I was. I’ve admitted it. I mean, I’d introduced him to my family, we treated him like one of us. I’d always felt a bit sorry for him, tell the truth, because his mum and dad were shit to him and he didn’t have any brothers or sisters. I mean, that sucked. When you come from a big family … So we took him in. We were like the family he never had. And then … But it was just Erik, all right? It was just how he was. I should’ve known better’n to let him get anywhere near my sister. Yeah, I wanted to break his neck. Doesn’t mean I’d ever do it.’ He met LaSalle’s eyes somewhat wearily. ‘Look, people say all the time, “I could kill you!” You don’t take it literally.’
‘Except when the person actually does get killed.’
Gallo muttered, ‘Oh for God’s sake!’ but said no more.
‘You knew he was having sex with his clients at the same time as he was seeing your sister,’ LaSalle said. Gallo shrugged. ‘One in particular. The one he dumped her for. That was getting a bit close to home, wasn’t it?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘How well do you know Gilda Steenkamp?’
‘Who?’
‘You heard me. Lucy’s boss’s wife. How did you meet her?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Lucy’s boss is called Seagram, not … what you said.’
‘Did you meet her in the shop, was that it?’
‘What, Lucy’s shop? The antiques shop? I’ve never even been in there.’ He was getting irritated now.
‘Or did Leon Greyling introduce you to her?’
‘I tell you, I don’t know her.’ He surged to his feet.
LaSalle rose simultaneously. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet. Sit down, please.’
For a moment, Gallo stood scowling, his hands clenching and unclenching, before he subsided. ‘Look, I’ve had a long day, I’m tired, I haven’t showered, I haven’t eaten since lunchtime. So will you stop asking me about people I don’t know and leave me alone?’ he growled.
LaSalle produced the photo of Greyling in his skins. ‘You know Leon Greyling,’ he said. Actually, he had started to think Gallo was telling the truth about not knowing Steenkamp – he had sounded genuine – and if he didn’t know her, there was no reason to suppose he knew Greyling. If Gallo had killed Lingoss, the whole Steenkamp-Greyling thread was redundant anyway; maybe she had gone over to Lingoss for sex and left him alive, and Gallo had gone in afterwards.
But to his surprise, Gallo took the photo impatiently, paused, and then said, ‘I do know this bloke. I’ve seen him a few times at Shapes. Last year, I think it was – he trained there for a bit. Don’t think I knew his name though. What did you say it was?’
‘Leon Greyling.’
‘Yeah, it sounds familiar. He was an actor, or he said he was. Erik seemed quite friendly with him.’
‘Erik Lingoss knew Leon Greyling?’
‘Well, Erik had this private client that was an actor – he got him in shape for a telly part. It paid really well, so he’d’ve liked more work like that. I think he was a bit star-struck, actually – kept talking about “my client on telly” and the special requirements he’d had. So I suppose this Greyling being an actor made him more interesting. They seemed to have things to talk about, anyway.’
‘So did Greyling take him on as a trainer?’
‘I suppose that’s what he hoped for, but I don’t think anything came of it. I think he’d have told me if it did.’
‘So Leon Greyling – are you telling me you haven’t seen him recently?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘Despite the fact that he lives just round the corner from you.’
‘I didn’t know he did,’ Gallo said.
‘In Adam and Eve Mews – halfway between your local pub and your flat.’
Gallo scowled. ‘A lot of people live in Kensington. Are you saying I’m supposed to know them all?’
‘Seems a bit of a coincidence, doesn’t it?’
‘And that’s all it is. If you’ve got nothing else, can you go, please? I want a shower, and my supper.’
LaSalle got up. ‘If you remember anything else about Leon Greyling, or anything about him and Erik, you’ll let me know, won’t you?’
Jack Gallo snorted, which wasn’t saying he would and wasn’t saying he wouldn’t.
SIXTEEN
Only Connect
As soon as LaSalle arrived in the morning, Slider called him in, with the tautness of one who came in to work early towards one who is not technically late and therefore cannot be castigated.
‘I’ve just had a phone call from Jack Gallo.’
‘Yeah, guv, I went to see him last night. I was just about to write it up.’
‘Give me the gist,’ said Slider.
LaSalle looked a bit rumpled first thing in the morning, but he was a good copper and his mind was freshly ironed and neatly folded. ‘So what did chummy want?’ he asked when he’d concluded his report.
‘He said he’d just remembered that Lingoss told him Leon Greyling had the same agent as his actor client. He didn’t know if it was important but you’d told him if he remembered anything else to let you know. He rang on the way to work and you weren’t here.’
LaSalle managed not to look guilty. ‘Lingoss’s actor client – that was that Gavin Spalding bloke that Funky went to interview,’ he said. ‘It was in his report, apparently Spalding said it was this agent that found him Lingoss when he needed a trainer.’
‘So now we have a connection between Lingoss and Greyling,’ said Slider, ‘but still not between Steenkamp and Greyling.’
‘Well, guv, Lingoss is a link between them.’
‘But where is that taking us?’ LaSalle was silent. ‘What’s the agent’s name? Gallo didn’t know it, only that Lingoss had said it was the same person.’
‘It’s in the report. Wait a minute, I’ll remember.’ He screwed up his face in thought. ‘Heinz, that was it. Like the beans. Marjorie Heinz.’
‘Look her up,’ Slider said. ‘I suppose it’s not out of the question that Steenkamp knew her. Two of her books were made into TV, so she might have bumped into a theatrical agent at some point.’
The area of London called Soho had first been converted from farmland into a hunting park by Henry VIII, but had been sold off piecemeal for building in the seventeenth century. So while the façades lining its streets were largely Georgian and Victorian, many of the buildings behind them were much older, and some still retained the small rooms, heavy panelling and dark, narrow stairs that added so much to romance and so little to utility. As Jerome K. Jerome noted, oak panelling might be thrilling to the tourist, but can be somewhat depressing to live with, which accounted for how often it got boarded over and wallpapered.
Perhaps a theatrical agent had to take a more historic view, for having conquered the north face of the steep and narrow staircase, Slider and Atherton emerged into an unapologetically oak-panelled room, and were directed by the secretary working there into another beyond. Its low ceiling sported elaborate decorative plasterwork, and the scene was dominated
by a fabulously carved fireplace that would have had an architectural salvage merchant drooling. The grate sported only a single-bar electric fire, but it glowed welcomingly in the overall ligneous gloom.
The agent, who rose from her massively cluttered desk to greet them, also glowed, her face being almost unnaturally white and surrounded by a wild frizz of hair dyed a shade of ginger that was almost orange.
‘Marjorie Heinz?’ Slider enquired courteously.
‘Marjie, please. From childhood I hated my name. If people call me Marjorie I think they’re about to tell me off. So it’s Marjie, OK?’
Standing up, she was not much higher off the ground than she had been when sitting. She was about five feet two, and almost as broad as she was high, and was dressed in layers of floaty, silky garments swirlingly patterned in shades of green. From her sleeves and a rattle of bracelets her wrists and hands emerged slim and dainty; her face was round and white with red painted lips, and green eyeshadow and mascara surrounding hazel eyes as bright as a cat’s, and as watchful. The whole eccentric appearance, Slider judged, was her mise en scene. You would notice, you would remember. Underneath the flamboyance, she would be – indeed, if successful must be – a hard businesswoman.
‘My secretary said you wanted to talk to me about Leon Greyling,’ she said when Slider had performed the introductions. ‘What’s the silly boy got up to now? It’s not coke again, is it? I can’t believe the full might of the law would be deployed for the sake of a little bit of victimless charlie. I’ve told him to knock it off, but there’s a lot of temptation in their world, and I can’t be with him all the time.’
‘It’s nothing like that,’ Slider said. ‘We want some information about him, that’s all.’
‘He must have done something,’ she said, the bright eyes steady. ‘A chief inspector and a sergeant?’
Atherton gave her one of his rueful, conspiratorial and still somehow flirtatious smiles. ‘Our lives are so dull. The chance of taking a glimpse inside the magical world of theatre – having a little of the fairy dust brush off on us—’
‘If you’re auditioning, I can get you something for next Tuesday,’ she said sharply; but her expression had softened. She looked at Atherton now, not Slider, and Slider was content to leave it that way.
‘Have I got a chance?’ Atherton asked winsomely.
‘As much of a chance as most of the poor saps I see. What d’you want to know about Leon? He’s a pretty boy, moves well, nice voice. Potentially he’s got talent, but he’s lazy. Won’t put the work in. He’s not hungry enough, is my evaluation. I told him last time, come back and see me when the arse is hanging out of your pants.’
‘Why did you take him on?’ Atherton asked.
‘As a favour to his mother. We were at drama school together. We both wanted to go on the stage, but it never happened. Well, I went into agenting, and that’s a much better living, I can promise you. Geraldine was a photographic model. Used to model cosmetics, mainly – you never saw such skin! It was a crime to put make-up on it. Then marriage got in the way. So she sublimated.’
‘Worked out her ambitions on her son?’ Atherton suggested.
‘You’re quick,’ she said approvingly. ‘Yes, Leon had to be the star she never was. Not happening yet.’
‘You also agent Gavin Spalding.’
‘Yes, he’s a treasure. A real trouper. I could do with twenty like him on my books. I’ve just got him a very nice little gig on Walking With the Dead IV, and he deserves it. Character actors – they don’t call them that any more, but they’re what keeps the whole business going. OK, everyone wants to be Daniel Craig, but he’d be one lonely boy on the set without the half dozen Gavins to bounce off.’
‘You look after your people well,’ Atherton said.
‘It’s what I’m here for,’ she said, but sensed a line being taken and there was a wariness in her now.
‘You got Gavin Spalding a personal trainer when he needed to bulk up for a part.’
‘Where are you going with this? I wouldn’t go to that much trouble for everyone, but like I said, Gavin’s a treasure. He did the work, he hit that part right out of the park. What’s wrong with that?’
Slider took over. ‘Nothing at all. The personal trainer – Erik Lingoss, wasn’t it? How did you find him?’ She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Was it Leon Greyling who introduced him to you, by any chance?’
‘Yes, it was,’ she said, ‘but that was for me, not for Gavin. I was having a lot of neck and shoulder pain, it was getting me down, I was complaining about it one time when Leon was hanging around the office. He said he knew this guy who did proper sports massage, genius fingers he said he had. Well, he was right.’ She looked at Slider, and then at Atherton, as if daring them to contradict. ‘Two sessions and he had the whole thing released. He really knew his stuff.’
‘You didn’t go on seeing him then – Erik Lingoss?’ Atherton asked. ‘It was just the massage?’
She reddened slightly. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I wondered if you used him for personal training as well, that’s all.’
‘Are you making fun of me, sonny?’ She spread her hands, indicating her general shape. ‘Do I look as if I do training?’
Slider took it back. The line of question was irritating her, which suggested she knew more about Erik’s proclivities than she was letting on. ‘He impressed you enough with his professionalism for you to recommend him to Gavin Spalding, at any rate.’
‘Yes, and he did a boffo job with Gavin. I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend him again if the situation arose. But I thought you were here to ask me about Leon, not Erik.’
‘Am I right in thinking Leon doesn’t get a lot of work?’
She shrugged. ‘I keep him on my books more as a favour to Geraldine. I’ve got him the odd bit of modelling and demo work.’
‘You did get him a part in Lockhart – that’s big stuff, isn’t it?’
‘He must have been thrilled about it,’ Atherton said. ‘How did it happen?’
‘I’m a bloody good agent – that’s how it happened,’ she said, giving him a stare that could have taken barnacles off a hull. He stared right back, and finally she relented. ‘Tony McNally – the producer? – is an old friend of mine.’
‘You asked for a favour?’ Slider said sympathetically. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t like doing that.’
She gave a bark of laughter. ‘You got that wrong! I’m an agent. I’d ask Old Nick a favour if I was likely to get it. Anyway, it was quid pro quo. I did Tony a solid, he did me one back. He needed a particular location for this episode of Lockhart. Most of it’s shot in the studio, but there was one sequence that needed an actual antique shop in a town location, certain other requirements as well – corner site, wide pavements, access and so on. Leon was in my room when I was talking on the phone with Tony about it, and he suggested this particular shop he knew. It turned out to be perfect. Tony was grateful – his researcher would have found somewhere sooner or later, but time was tight. So Leon, cheeky boy, asked me to ask Tony for a part in the episode in return. Always with the shortcuts! Always looking for the easy way, you see.’
‘But he got the part,’ said Slider.
‘Tony gave him a walk-on. Chances like that don’t come every day. Leon could have made something of it. He knew Tony would be looking at him, it could have been his breakthrough. But like I said, he’s lazy. He did just enough to get by. Tony wasn’t impressed. So I told him, no more favours.’
‘The antique shop concerned – was it in Kensington High Street, by any chance? Heneage and Seagram?’
‘That’s the one. You know it?’
‘How did Leon know about it?’
‘He said it was right opposite the gym he went to.’
‘Did Erik ever mention it to you?’
She frowned. ‘Erik? Why would he?’
‘He worked at that gym. Isn’t that where he met Leon?’
She shook her head indiff
erently. ‘I suppose it probably was. But the subject didn’t come up on the two occasions I had massage from him. Why are we back on Erik again?’
Slider glanced at Atherton, and let him be the one to say, ‘He’s dead, Marjie. Somebody killed him.’
She turned her head away, and the colour came briefly to her cheeks again. She said, ‘What …?’ But that was all.
Slider said gently, ‘Did he offer you more than massage?’ No answer. ‘Did he make a pass at you?’ Now she looked at him, her eyes over-bright. She was holding her lips tight until she was sure she was in control. He said, ‘You refused him. Were you angry?’ Still no answer. ‘He overstepped the mark. It was sleazy. But then, why did you recommend him to Spalding when he’d—’
‘It wasn’t sleazy,’ she said. It burst out of her. She swallowed, and then spoke calmly, but without quite meeting Slider’s eyes. ‘I thought he was making fun of me, you see. Just at first. At the end of the massage, he kissed the back of my neck, and said I had beautiful skin. Then he kissed my ear, and asked if I’d like to make love. Then I knew it was no joke – he meant it. And I was tempted. When you’re relaxed like that, after a really good massage – and the pain was gone, you don’t know what that’s like, the pain gone after months of putting up with it. All your endorphins are released – you’re in the mood.’
‘I understand. But you still refused.’
Now she met his gaze, and gave a rueful, downturned quirk of the mouth. ‘One of my more heroic moments. Should have been a medal in it. He was gorgeous, you know? But I knew I mustn’t. You have to learn to recognize things you’ll regret afterwards. Still …’ She shook herself. ‘Why would anyone kill him? Who did it?’ Her eyebrows shot up. ‘You don’t think Leon …?’
‘We’re just gathering evidence,’ Slider said.
‘Leon’s too lazy to kill anyone,’ she said, but he could see her mind working. When it came to it, a person with sufficient motive – a person in a rage – a person under the influence …
‘When did you last see Leon, or speak to him?’ Atherton asked.
Cruel as the Grave Page 21