by Susan Lewis
‘But for God’s sake, how could she have been?’ Kirsten snapped. ‘We were all there, we were watching the monitors – the only one who had a chance to do anything was the actor, and since Anna didn’t die of strangulation . . .’
‘But how do you know she didn’t?’ Alison, who was sitting on the bed, interrupted.
‘OK, I’m assuming. But if she had they’d have established that by now and there’d be no question as to what kind of enquiry this is. Anyway, what kind of things were they asking you, Jane?’
Jane’s agitation seemed to increase and Kirsten turned away so that she wouldn’t see her irritation.
‘Well,’ Jane began hesitantly, ‘they were asking me about Laurence mainly and what his relationship was with Anna. No, first of all they wanted to know if I had any idea who might hate Anna enough to want to . . . um, how did they put it? Um, I think they said “harm her in any way”. That was when I thought that there might be more to it than they were saying.’
‘What did you tell them?’ Kirsten asked, feeling the muscles in her face starting to numb.
‘I said that I didn’t think anyone hated her that much. Then they wanted to know if I knew anything about how she got the part.’
‘What!’ Kirsten cried. ‘Why on earth were they asking you that question?’
Jane shrugged, her pale grey eyes moving from Kirsten to Alison and back again.
‘What else did they say?’ Alison prompted.
Apprehension leapt into Jane’s eyes as her gaze flickered uncertainly towards Alison before she said, ‘They asked me what I knew about Laurence’s relationship with you, Kirsten.’
‘But what the hell’s that got to do with anything?’ Kirsten cried.
‘I don’t know,’ Jane answered miserably.
‘So what did you say?’
‘I said that you had been his girlfriend once, a long time ago, but that now you were just friends – and colleagues.’
Suddenly there was a frantic knocking on the door. Kirsten yanked it open to find Helena in as bad a state as Jane.
‘They’ve just had me in there again,’ Helena cried, stalking into the room. ‘They were asking me about my fucking voodoo doll! Can you believe it? Someone told them that I’d made an effigy of Anna and they wanted to know if I’d used it!’
‘You can’t be serious,’ Kirsten laughed uneasily.
‘I’m deadly serious. They wanted to know why I made one.’
‘But you didn’t make one,’ Kirsten interrupted. ‘It was a joke . . .’
‘I know that, you know that, but try telling them that.’
The initial stirrings of dread were beginning to gnaw at Kirsten. ‘So did you tell them why you had made one – I mean joked about making one?’
‘Not really, no,’ Helena answered. ‘I just said that she was a pain in the ass and I’d talked about doing it . . .’
‘But they can’t seriously believe that Anna was killed by some kind of voodoo?’ Kirsten declared, then quickly moved to Helena as Helena covered her face with her hands.
‘If you ask me they still don’t know how she did die,’ Helena choked. ‘But they’re throwing up everything about my mother. Asking me when I last saw her; did I take lessons from her; all sorts of rubbish like you wouldn’t believe. Shit! This is some kind of nightmare. I mean we were all sitting there watching so it can’t be murder. It’s impossible! We’d have seen it happen.’
‘Unless it was something to do with voodoo,’ Jane said in a tremulous whisper.
Kirsten shot a daggered look at her, but they all fell silent as they looked at each other in appalled disbelief. It was clear that none of them wanted to believe it, but if the police had introduced the subject into their enquiries then they obviously weren’t ruling out the possibility.
‘Have they spoken to Ruby?’ Kirsten asked hoarsely.
‘She went in just after I came out,’ Helena answered. ‘She’s in a terrible state. Well, you’ve seen her. She can’t even speak she’s so horrified. She just keeps mumbling about that fucking coconut.’
Kirsten’s hand suddenly slammed down on the table. ‘This is ridiculous!’ she shouted. She started towards the door. ‘I’m going to see Laurence.’
‘He’s down in the production office with the accountants,’ Jane told her.
Kirsten pulled a face. ‘Yes, I’ll bet he is. Jesus Christ, this is going to finish us . . .’
An hour later Laurence, Kirsten and the production managers were in Laurence’s room when Jane opened the door and ushered Ruby in. She was badly shaken, her fleshy face so pinched with distress that Laurence set her down and poured her a stiff drink as the production managers left.
‘They think I did it,’ Ruby mumbled. ‘They think I killed the stupid bitch.’
Kirsten and Laurence looked at each other. ‘Nobody killed her,’ Laurence said going to sit with Ruby. ‘OK, we don’t know how she died, but that doesn’t mean someone killed her.’ Again he glanced at Kirsten, then putting an arm about Ruby he said, ‘Start at the beginning. Exactly what did they say to you?’
‘They reckon I killed her,’ Ruby mumbled again. ‘They reckon I did it. I know they do.’ It was evident from the dazed look in her eyes that she could barely think.
‘Oh, God,’ Kirsten sighed. ‘Until we know how Anna died this is just going to get worse. Haven’t they told you anything, Laurence?’
He shook his head as the telephone started to ring. ‘They haven’t spoken to me at all today. Get that, will you?’ he said to Jane.
‘Kirsten, it’s for you,’ Jane said, holding out the receiver.
It was Helena, could Kirsten come to her room quick?
‘What is it?’ Kirsten asked as she closed Helena’s door behind her.
‘I’ve got to warn you about this,’ Helena said. ‘The crew are gossiping . . .’ She put a hand to her head. ‘Oh shit, Kirstie, I hardly know how to tell you this. Dermott’s with the police now, he told everyone what he was going to say before he went in.’
‘What do you mean?’ Kirsten said, the colour draining from her face.
‘He’s going to tell them everything he knows about you and Laurence.’
‘Oh God!’ Kirsten cried, clasping her hands to her head. She started to pace the room, so caught in the rapid tangling of her thoughts that not one of them seemed to make sense. ‘You don’t suppose,’ she began, then groaned as she covered her face with her hands. ‘Campbell couldn’t have fixed this to make it look like it was me, could he?’ she said. ‘You don’t think . . .’
‘I don’t know,’ Helena said, going to put an arm around her. ‘He was out at the set . . .’
‘I didn’t see him,’ Kirsten snapped.
‘Neither did I. But he was there, apparently. At least for some of the time. But look, we don’t know it was murder yet, and besides how the hell could he have done it?’
‘God knows, but it’s one hell of a coincidence, isn’t it, that Anna should die while he’s here? And it’s well and truly fucked up the film, hasn’t it? That’s what Dyllis Fisher wanted.’ Her eyes came up to Helena’s and suddenly she couldn’t believe how dense she was being. ‘Helena,’ she said softly. ‘Helena, please tell me that you had nothing to do with this. Tell me that this isn’t what he asked you to fix . . .’
‘No! I swear it!’ Helena cried. ‘I told you what he was talking about and it was the truth, Kirsten. Please, believe me, it was the truth. I know it doesn’t look too good, and I understand you thinking the way you are, but I swear on my mother’s life he never once even mentioned anything like this. Jesus Christ, if he had I’d have told you straight away.’
‘But let’s face it, Helena, I’ve got as good a motive as anyone to want to be rid of Anna and he knows it.’
‘Yes,’ Helena muttered. ‘And if Dermott’s telling the police what he said he was going to then I’m afraid they’ll know that by now.’ She bowed her head and Kirsten saw her nails dig painful weals into her palms.
Helena nodded. ‘They had me back in there, just before Dermott went in. I had to tell them exactly why I was joking around about the voodoo doll. I’m sorry, Kirstie, but I had to tell them that it was because of you. And then . . .’ she faltered. ‘Then they asked me if I knew that you had once threatened to kill Laurence’s wife?’
Panic suddenly flared in Kirsten’s chest. But no, she wouldn’t give into it. She’d done nothing. She had no reason to be afraid. She just had to remain calm. She hadn’t liked Anna it was true, and yes she was in love with Laurence, but neither of those facts was enough to prove that she had killed anyone. For God’s sake, how could anyone prove it when she hadn’t? ‘I have to speak to Laurence,’ she said and getting up from the chair she all but ran out into the corridor.
However, when she reached Laurence’s room it was to discover that the police had sent for him ten minutes before.
Kirsten was waiting outside when Laurence finally left the investigation room. She’d received a telephone call only minutes before to ask her to report to the police officer stationed outside.
‘How did it go?’ she whispered as Laurence closed the door behind him.
Laurence’s face was drawn with tension. ‘They still won’t admit this is a murder investigation,’ he said, ‘but it sure as hell seems like one to me. The strange thing is though they still seem to be considering suicide as an option. They wanted to know everything about my relationship with Anna – and was it true that I’d ended it the evening she died.’
‘And did you?’ Kirsten asked.
‘Miss Meredith?’
Kirsten looked up to see a policewoman standing at the open door.
‘Could you come in now, please?’ she said.
Feeling as though she were moving through some kind of nightmare Kirsten walked into the dingy room. Seated behind the file- and ash-strewn desk were the two homicide detectives, Greengage and Kowski, who had interviewed her the night Anna died. The policewoman who had come to the door held out a chair for her to sit down then went to position herself on the window ledge.
The balding, long-faced man, Kowski, who Kirsten knew to be the more senior of the detectives, was engrossed in whatever it was he was reading, the other offered Kirsten a cigarette.
She shook her head and inwardly willed herself to contain her fear and not be intimidated by the air of antagonism she could already feel closing in around her.
‘OK,’ Kowski drawled in his pronounced Kentucky accent. He lifted his head and bared his yellow teeth in a grin that was so carnivorous Kirsten almost shuddered. ‘I just been going over your statement here, ma’am,’ he said. ‘It’s all pretty straightforward, but our further enquiries mean that there are a couple more things we need to ask y’all. They’re kind of personal, but I’m sure you’re keen to tell us all we need to know.’
Kirsten watched him, saying nothing.
His eyes flicked towards the other detective, then leaning back in his chair he stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘Is it true that you once threatened to kill Mr McAllister’s wife, ma’am?’
Kirsten felt almost dizzied by the smooth matter-of-factness of the question. ‘Not quite,’ she answered sounding far steadier than she felt. ‘They weren’t married at the time, so it was his girlfriend I threatened to kill.’
‘And why was that?’
‘Because I was in love with Mr McAllister.’
‘Did you ever do anything about this here threat? I mean, did you try to carry it out’n’all? Before you answer that, ma’am, I gotta tell you these things are real easy to check out.’
‘Please go right ahead and check,’ Kirsten said tightly. ‘I did nothing to endanger Pippa’s life and nor would I.’
‘But you did threaten her life?’
‘I was mentally unstable at the time,’ Kirsten said bluntly and knew immediately she shouldn’t have. However, it was too late now, and, she kept reminding herself, she had nothing to hide.
‘Would you be considering yourself mentally stable now?’ Kowski enquired.
‘Yes, I would.’
‘Even though Mr McAllister has recently been engaged in an affair with the deceased?’
Kirsten merely looked at him, her insides churning with fear and resentment.
‘You did know about Mr McAllister’s relationship with the deceased, didn’t you, ma’am?’
‘Yes, I knew about it.’
‘Were you jealous, ma’am? Jealous enough to want her dead?’
Kirsten flinched as the words hit her.
‘Would I be right in thinking that you didn’t want Miss Sage on your movie?’ Kowski said. ‘That you opposed her casting because of her resemblance to Mr McAllister’s wife?’
‘It had nothing to do with her looking like Pippa,’ Kirsten said. ‘I just didn’t think she was old enough for the part, but I was wrong. She’s worked out very well.’
Kowski pursed his lips and let his chin fall onto his chest. ‘I would be right in thinking, ma’am, wouldn’t I, that you still have feelings for Mr McAllister?’ he said eventually.
‘You would,’ Kirsten answered.
‘And would Mr McAllister be returning those feelings?’
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to ask him that question.’
‘But in your opinion . . .’
‘Not any more, no. I thought he might, but it seems I was wrong.’
‘Mmm. I guess it’s kind of difficult to swallow that, him dumping on you twice the way he did.’
‘Yes, it is difficult, but not so difficult I’d kill because of it,’ Kirsten almost shouted as Kowski made to interrupt her.
Kowski’s head tilted to one side as he smirked, then getting up he walked around the desk and came to perch in front of her. Kirsten could smell the musky odour of his stale cologne and the tobacco on his breath. ‘Did you ask Miss Johnson to make an effigy of Miss Sage, ma’am?’ Kowski smiled benignly.
‘No.’
He nodded thoughtfully, but as his eyes met Greengage’s Kirsten could sense the malicious humour passing between the two men. ‘Do you know anything about poison, Miss Meredith?’ Kowski asked. ‘I mean in the context of your job you’ve got to have come across a lot of things the average person don’t ever see. Would poison be one of them?’
Kirsten felt her skin starting to prickle. ‘No,’ she answered. Then lifting her head to look him right in the face, she said, ‘Are you saying that Anna was poisoned?’
Kowski turned to look at the policewoman. ‘Was the deceased poisoned?’ he repeated, as though mulling the question over to himself. His strangely elongated face came round to look at Kirsten again. ‘Is there any reason you can think of as to why Miss Sage might have taken her own life, ma’am?’ he asked.
Kirsten shook her head. ‘None that I know of.’
‘Do you recall where Mr McAllister was at the moment of death?’
‘I’m not sure at what moment Anna died,’ Kirsten answered. ‘But during the scene Laurence was at his monitor, just in front of me, and afterwards we were both in the house.’
‘Was Miss Collins with you?’
‘In body, yes. She passed out drunk just as we were going for a take.’
Kowski’s bottom lip jutted forward. ‘Is Miss Collins usually as drunk as all that?’ he wondered.
‘Sometimes, yes.’
‘You know that Miss Collins believes there is some kind of curse on her?’ his voice was so imbued with sarcasm Kirsten almost felt herself blush.
She nodded. ‘Yes, I know, but I’ve never taken it seriously.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t believe in that sort of thing.’
‘No,’ Kowski sighed, getting to his feet, ‘neither do we. But someone around here sure wants us to believe it. And you got to admit, ma’am, there’s something of a mystery here.’
‘Yes, there is. But I don’t believe that anyone killed Anna. I ha
ve no idea how she died, I assume you don’t either or you’d have told us by now.’
‘She didn’t die from no voodoo curse, Miss Meredith,’ Kowski said.
‘Then how did she die?’
‘Now that’s what we’re still trying to find out. But me, I reckon there was some kind of poison at work here . . .’
‘Then it would have been self-inflicted,’ Kirsten said hotly.
Kowski’s eyebrows lazily arched his surprise. ‘Yet you said earlier that you knew of no reason why she would kill herself.’
‘I don’t. But she might have.’
‘There’s no suicide note.’
‘Is there any poison?’
Kowski laughed, lifted a foot on to the corner of her chair and rested an elbow on his knee. ‘Let’s go back to the beginning, shall we? Just how did you come to be working on this movie?’
The interrogation went on, hour after hour, so many questions, so many suppositions and so many oblique accusations that Kirsten’s head was spinning so hard she was losing the ability to think straight. They gave her water, offered her cigarettes, shouted at her, consoled her, threatened her, sympathized with her, did everything they could to wear her down. It was as though their mocking Southern accents were tangible things wrapping themselves around her hauling in every word, then twisting it, bending it, stretching it, enmeshing her in so much doubt that she could barely even be sure of her own name. Over and over she reminded herself that she just had to keep to the truth, but Kowski was running her round in such circles she finally started to lose track of even that.
At last one clear thought erupted through the chaos in her mind. ‘I want a lawyer,’ she cried. ‘You shouldn’t be questioning me like this without a lawyer present.’
‘Do you need a lawyer, Miss Meredith?’
Kirsten was so exhausted she could feel herself brinking on frightened tears. ‘Yes, when you’re accusing me of murder, I do.’
‘But no one’s accused you.’
‘Not directly, but you’re insinuating it.’
‘Was there a murder?’
‘No! I don’t know.’
‘Is there anything you want to tell us?’
‘I’ve told you everything. You know my movements from the very start of the shoot, you know I was there when she died . . .’