‘I’m told she’s accomplished.’
‘What do you mean by influential friends? Sir, I think you better level with me.’
‘I’m receiving instructions from my superior on this one.’
‘Are you telling me to keep looking for this woman?’ The respect between the two men, separated by nearly twenty years of age and rank allowed a little impertinence.
‘This is highly confidential. It must never come into your discussions with anyone. Don’t tell anyone in your office.’
‘Okay, give it to me straight.’
‘There is a very senior member of the government applying pressure to find this woman.’
‘Any names?’
None that I’ve been told, but it’s clear that this woman either knows something about someone or she’s important to someone influential for reasons unknown.’
‘Is that the best I’m going to get?’ Isaac asked.
‘That’s all I’ve got.’
‘I’ll ask no more questions,’ Isaac said.
‘It could be that she doesn’t want to be found,’ Richard Goddard said. Isaac thought his senior’s statement a little obscure. Another firm handshake and Isaac left the office.
Chapter 2
Isaac made his next visit out at the reclaimed plot of land that represented the fictional town of Bletherington. There were questions to be asked, the mood on the streets of the plywood town to be evaluated. He had been told that the series producer was the best person to talk to first.
‘Elizabeth Blythe, what can I say? Brilliant characterisation, excellent delivery, great timing ‒ undoubtedly the star of the show.’ A well-dressed, prim and proper woman in her mid-thirties, Jessica O’Neill, had come to the position of series producer through a torturous route. She had started some years earlier as a continuity editor on a period drama set in seventeenth century England. It had not been well-received in that the script writing lacked tension, and the intensity of the novel from which it had been adapted had lost impact. It lasted one season before the production company pulled the plug and absorbed their losses, substantial by all accounts.
Jessica, attractive, slim and articulate had found herself very quickly out of work after such a promising start. The one highlight of the programme according to Alexander Lewis, one of the directors of the production company had been the quality of the continuity.
Jeremy Lewis, Alexander Lewis’s eldest son, was only two years older than her. They had dated for a while, became lovers, moved in together only for her to move out two months later. No reason other than they both felt they were too young, and they still wanted to play the field. The one result of the coupling had been that she acquired a close friend, and he had guided her career since then.
He ensured that her career progressed in a succession of increasingly more important jobs, including a stint working with a news unit covering an outbreak of insurrection in the Middle East. She had been enamoured of the job when it was first offered - soon became disillusioned after she had become separated from her team during a demonstration.
She had found herself surrounded by a group of lecherous men who forgot what they were protesting and turned their attention to her. Quickly, they were pawing her and ripping her clothes off. It took a few soldiers and a lot of shots to separate her from them and to get her to the nearest hospital. She decided after the wounds had healed and the trauma had subsided that she was better off back in England.
The series producer’s job had come about as a result of the previous incumbent having a blazing row with one of the directors over editorial content and storming off the set.
She had been brought in at short notice on the recommendation of her ex-lover and most agreed, at least the senior production team, that the end result was good, but her dictatorial style was difficult to take. She had taken control of the Billy Blythe episode where he met his fate and done it well - even dealt with Charles Sutherland when he called her an arrogant little bitch. It was clear to her and senior management that she was going to stay, and a two-week stand-in had extended out to six months and looked to be continuing for the foreseeable future.
Isaac Cook’s previous question had received a glowing reference. His next question would be more telling. ‘The actor who portrays Elizabeth Blythe?’ he asked.
‘Call me Jess.’
‘Jess, of course. Marjorie Frobisher, the person not the actor?’
‘Marjorie Frobisher?’ Isaac assumed from the hesitant reply that it was not going to be such a glowing reference.
‘Until she’s confirmed dead, my comments are guarded.’ Her manner had changed. Isaac noticed that she had subtly pulled back from him. Before his earlier question, she had been close, personable. Now, she was professional and distant. The change interested him. He determined to persevere.
‘Jess, you’re right of course. At the present moment, we’re not dealing with a murder, only a missing person.’
‘But, you’re here from the Serious Crime Division.’
‘Why do you assume that?’ Isaac asked although he realised it had been on the card he had given her two minutes previous.
‘I can’t see why they would send a detective chief inspector purely to find a missing person. It seems incongruous to send someone as smart as you to look for her unless there’s something you’re not telling me.’
‘Orders from on high or I wouldn’t be here. I’ve got enough bodies out there looking for a culprit. Here is the last place I want to be at the present moment.’
‘Isaac, I’ll give it to you straight, in confidence.’ She assumed that using his Christian name was appropriate.
‘Sure, in confidence. This is not an official enquiry yet, so what you tell me doesn’t have to be reported. Of course, if it does become official, then what you say may become relevant and on the record.’
‘Marjorie Frobisher was not a nice person. In fact, she was not popular at all with anybody here. Always pushing her weight around, causing trouble, debating her lines, the camera angle, her profile. She saw herself as a prima donna, an A-List movie star, but what was she? Just an actor.’
‘But you said she was brilliant in the part?’
‘Brilliant, of course, but this is hardly Gone with the Wind or Casablanca.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She was at the pinnacle of her career. I know she believed she was destined for greatness in a major movie in America, but that was never going to happen.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Isaac struggled with her answer. She had once again relaxed and moved closer to him, disarmingly close. It was always an occupational hazard. Start interviewing a female witness and they were invariably charmed by his good manners, his lilting Jamaican accent, subdued but appealing and his black complexion. He knew that even she was seeing him as more than a policeman.
He was not a vain man who regarded himself as automatically attractive to the opposite sex, but he was not impervious to the reality. He remained single, not out of any great desire for bachelorhood, but because a succession of attractive women were constantly heading in his direction and his bed. He did not want Jess O’Neill to be one, not yet at least, especially if a body was found and the missing person’s case became a murder investigation.
Conflict of interest would have been an issue if one of the witnesses, possibly one of the suspects, possibly the murderer was sharing his bed as well. He felt it appropriate to regain control of the situation.
She continued. ‘She was ideal for a television drama. For a woman in her late fifties, she was certainly attractive, but not attractive enough for a major movie, or at least not as one of the leading ladies.’
‘That’s a broad statement.’
‘I worked on a major movie here in England. Just one of the script writers, but I interfaced with some big names in the business, Oscar winners.’
‘And?’
‘There’s something about them. They had a presence, magnetism, a “je ne sais q
uoi.” Marjorie Frobisher didn’t have it.’
‘Is that because they are major movie stars?’
‘In part, I would agree, but that definable quality is I believe with the person regardless of their star status.’
‘Are you saying that Marjorie Frobisher was at the peak of her career, and it was downhill from here?’
‘Yes, that is what I am saying.’
‘Does she know this?’
‘In the strictest confidence. Please don’t use it and certainly don’t let the gossip magazines hear of it.’
‘I’ll agree, but if it becomes a murder enquiry.’ He couldn’t help noticing that she was coming closer again.
‘She’s becoming older, maybe too old for the programme. There’s a decision to reinvigorate the programme. Bring in some younger characters; get rid of some of the older ones.’
‘I thought you had record ratings?’
‘Record ratings, but they only drop and very quickly if you don’t give them something new.’
‘Older characters. Is Elizabeth Blythe one of them?’
‘She’s out in three to six months at the latest. They’ll honour her contract, but she’s going. We killed off Billy Blythe, her brother, now it’s time for her. Mind you, Billy Blythe generated record ratings and substantial revenue. What do you think will happen when we kill her off?’
‘This is your game. You tell me.’
‘We had over eight million viewers alone in England for his death. She should generate somewhere close to nine if it’s promoted correctly.’
‘No doubt it will be.’ It was odd that he had barely heard of the programme. He had watched an earlier episode on the internet three hours earlier. It did not impress him.
‘Don’t worry, they’ll get the numbers. The increased revenue will cover the cost of paying out her contract.’
Isaac prepared to leave. The conversation had ranged from stand-offish to amenable, then to professional and eventually back to very amenable. He was feeling a little uncomfortable with the situation and a little concerned that he did find Jess O’ Neill an attractive woman. Any other time he would not have hesitated to make a play.
As he stood up to leave, more prematurely that he would have preferred. ‘Just one question before I leave.’
‘Yes, what is it?’ She had made a point to shake his hand and move forward as if she was going to give him a hug.
‘Did Marjorie Frobisher know that she was going to be written out of the series?’
‘I told her in confidence.’
‘How did she take it?’
‘She hit the roof, gave me a diatribe about how she was the programme and that once she left the ratings would plummet through the floor, and we’d all be out on the street looking for a job.’
‘How did you react?’
‘I stood my ground and told her the facts.’
‘So when did she go missing?’
‘She never came in the next day.’
‘So you believe it was you telling her that prompted her to leave?’
‘I’m not sure. She may have been angry, but for all her faults, she was a professional. I can’t see that it was the reason, although it may have been.’
‘Just one other question, maybe two: was it your responsibility to tell her and whose idea was it to write her out of the script?’
She became professional again, although still maintained a grip on his hand. She withdrew her hand before answering.
‘I told her on a directive from the executive producer. My timing was not great; I should have waited until we finished shooting Billy Blythe’s death, but she had asked me a direct question about script development moving forward. Not really for me to answer, but it was a question, and I told her the truth. It seemed the only professional approach that I could take.’
‘The second question. Whose idea was it to write her out?’
‘I had put forward the idea some weeks earlier at a production meeting, and there had been unanimous support. It was only a suggestion during a brain-storming session, but it appeared to hit a resonant nerve, and from then on, it was accepted. The date when she leaves is not certain. There may still be a change, even at this late date.’
‘Does she know the suggestion came from you?’
‘After she stormed out of here, she drove out to Richard Williams’ office, the executive producer, and confronted him. Apparently, he acknowledged the fact that I had been the catalyst, and she left soon after.’
‘Any idea what was said?’
‘You’ll need to ask him. I only know what I was told. I’m told the conversation was acrimonious, lots of shouting, some bad language.’
‘Who told you those details?’
‘The fact that she had confronted him and that there had been a flaming row, lots of shouting and anger? The executive producer’s personal assistant; she’ll corroborate my statement, but don’t let on that I told you.’
‘Marjorie Frobisher would see you as being responsible for her removal.’
‘Clearly, and I don’t think she’s a person who forgives easily.’ Jess O’Neill said.
***
Isaac Cook’s dependable colleague, Farhan Ahmed focussed on trying to find the missing woman ‒ the standard approach; visit the nearest relative. He found Robert Avers, Marjorie Frobisher’s husband, an avuncular man who warmed to the young policeman immediately.
‘Come in, please.’ The house, in a better part of Belgravia was obviously expensive and exquisitely decorated. Farhan was ushered into the main reception room. A maid went off to make tea: no milk for the policemen, milk and two sugars for his host.
‘We’ve been asked to assist in finding your wife.’ Farhan wasn’t sure if his questioning would be appreciated. Typically it would have been assumed that it would be the nearest relative who would have opened a missing file case, not somebody of ‘influence’ as had been explained by Isaac.
The reply allayed his fears. ‘Detective Inspector, I don’t know what the fuss is about. She’s become a pain in the arse recently with her celebrity status. She sees herself as better than the likes of me.’
‘Does that indicate any marital issues? Would that explain her disappearance?’
‘Not at all. I just ignore her; she gets over it soon enough. Give her a few weeks and she’ll reappear.’
The maid entered, poured the tea and left some chocolate biscuits on a plate. The conversation temporarily halted while she was present. Farhan took one of the biscuits.
‘Has she done this before? Disappeared like this?’
‘When we’ve had a blazing row, she puts on this, “you never appreciated me. I’m going to find someone who will”, and then two days later she is back.’
‘So the marriage was strained?’
Roberts Avers laughed out loud, a raucous bellow. ‘Not at all, although this is longer than usual. Mind you, it’s not aimed at me, is it?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘They’re going to dump her from that soap opera she holds up as a beacon of art.’
‘Does she hold it up?’
‘I’d say so, but she doesn’t believe it, though. It’s an inane insult to the intelligence. A wonderful medium such as television should be uplifting people, educating them.’
Farhan, increasingly comfortable with the man explained his situation. ‘My wife is addicted to it.’
Robert Avers adopted a serious tone. ‘Apologies if I offended you.’
‘Apologies not needed.’
‘Mind you, it paid for all this.’ Robert Avers waved his arms around the room indicating the house in general.
‘Then it seems that you’ve both done well out of it.’
‘Sure have. Let’s be honest, Marjorie can be a bitch especially with the people she works with, and then if we walk out the door, it’s the photographers and the drooling fans. It’s bound to make anyone a bit difficult.’
‘Difficult for you?’
‘Not really.
I just let her have her tantrums, and then it’s fine.’ The young detective inspector thought Aver’s comment unusual. He decided to make a note of it for future reference.
‘So where is she now?’
‘She sends me the occasional SMS.’
‘We’re anxious to talk to her, check she’s okay.
‘I don’t follow up on her, although I suppose you could check the location from her phone. You can do that, can’t you?’
‘Yes, that can be arranged, but for a missing person, it may not be so easy: rules and regulations, protection of privacy, that sort of thing.’
‘I’ll leave it up to you. Just let me know she’s okay, but I don’t need to know where she is or when she is coming back.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘She’s an affectionate woman. They’ll be plenty of making up when she’s gets back,’ Marjorie Frobisher’s husband let out another raucous laughter. ‘You know what I mean.’
***
Isaac and Farhan met later that day to compare notes, plan strategy. Detective Superintendent Goddard stuck his head briefly around the door for an update. He was off, apparently to another conference which seemed to occupy a lot of his non-working time. He was a man destined for greatness, which was how he saw it. Any opportunity to press the flesh with the shakers and the movers, government or otherwise and he was bound to be there.
‘It’s irritating, Sir,’ Isaac said when asked for an update. He had just made himself a coffee and was seated at his desk, Farhan on the other side, a cup of tea in hand.
‘What’s irritating?’ The Detective Superintendent realised where the conversation was heading.
‘We’ve got a murder of a ten-year girl, a grisly death down by the docks, and here we are traipsing around the countryside to try and find a corpse or if not dead, so vain and silly woman with air and graces.’
‘Understood, but this woman is important. I don’t know why, but I’m bound to be grilled by at least a couple of people tonight, and some of them are very influential. And besides, we have a Murder Investigation Team dealing with them.’
Murder is a Tricky Business (DCI Cook Thriller Series Book 1) Page 2