Closer by Morning (18 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Jamie did not waste any time. When Matt came out of the morning meeting, the phone in his office was ringing.

“DC Dench is here to see you,” the receptionist told him.

“Thank you, Monica. Send him up.”

He should have known it would be Jamie. Seconded to the murder team, he would not pass up the chance to dig the knife into Dale and hinder their relationship.

Through the open door, he saw Jamie come up the stairs. Annabel did a double take at the sight of him. He saw her greet him. Jamie returned the gesture with a non-committal nod and headed for his office. He closed the door behind him.

“Is this really appropriate?” Matt asked. “Couldn't they send someone else to take my statement?”

“How do you know what I'm here for?”

“Oh come on. Don't waste my time. You're here to check on Dale's alibi. Can we just get on with it?”

He looked rough. Sallow-skinned, with eyes even darker than usual, as if he wasn't looking after himself. Though Matt didn't buy it entirely. Jamie was the master of emotional blackmail. There was a message behind his appearance. It said, ‘Look what your new relationship is doing to me.'

He took the seat across the desk.

“Dale Zachary. What can you tell me about him?”

“Besides what you can find out on Wikipedia? We've been seeing each other for a couple of weeks. But you know that much already, don't you?”

“A couple of weeks?” he sighed. “So that night I came round your house and you wouldn't see me…?”

Matt nodded curtly. “Yes. I was meeting Dale. It was our first date, if you really want to know. Does that make you feel better?”

Jamie tutted. “You let me make a fool of myself.”

Matt shook his head. This was typical of Jamie. He'd always had selective memory and a flair for painting himself as the wronged man. “You did that without any help from me. In case you don't remember, I tried to stop you but you wouldn't listen. You insisted on making a scene.”

“I didn't know I'd been thrown over for a movie star. Shit, it's pretty hard for a regular guy to compete with that.”

“Except you weren't thrown over for him. We were finished months before I met Dale. You came round under your own steam that night. I didn't invite you. Why would I? I've moved on, Jamie, it's time you got that through your head. Now, I've got a busy day ahead, can we please get on with this. I know it's just another false pretense for you to come here, but I'm sure you want to rule Dale out of your inquiry.”

His brows came together angrily and he pulled his notebook from his jacket pocket. “What do you even know about this guy?”

Matt banged his fist on the desk. “That's not police business. So ask me a relevant fucking question.”

“Was Dale Zachary with you on Monday night?”

“Yes.”

“From when?”

“He came round after ten. When he got finished with the reception at the hotel. And he stayed until the following morning. He was with me all night. Okay?”

Jamie didn't look at him. “He's been staying over a lot.”

“Is that a question or a statement? Not that it has any relevance to your case, but yes he has.”

Matt wanted him to go. He was sick of the anger that resurfaced whenever they were near each other. Jamie got off on provoking him. Matt had done his best to let him down gently and support him after their split, but he saw now what a mistake that had been. Jamie wasn't the kind of ex-boyfriend you could remain friends with. He took every sign of friendship as a hint to try again, and every rejection of that led to a personal attack.

“You know your movie star was involved with one of the victims? Sexually involved with him.”

“Yes, I know that.”

Jamie's eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes. He told me all about it last night.”

“Last night? Don't you think that's strange?”

“No.”

“He never mentioned him before?”

“Why would he? I haven't told him about
you
either. I don't care who he knew before me or vice versa. He told me about Aaron because of what has happened to him.”

“Matt,” Jamie spoke very slowly, as if he were talking to a child. “Did he ask you to cover for him? To say you were with him on Monday night when you weren't?”

“No. And I think you know me better than that. Like I'm going to make myself an accessory to murder for anyone. Dale was with me on Monday, all night. Now if you expect me to give you a minute-by-minute account of the time we were together, you're badly mistaken.” Matt stood up. “I think we're done here, Jamie. If your boss wants more information than I've given he can send another police officer to interview me. And when he asks why it's inappropriate for me to talk to you, I'll tell him exactly why.”

Jamie put away his book but made no attempt to leave.

“I'm only looking out for you,” he said softly. “I wish you would realize that. You're at risk. Don't you see? You're exactly the killer's type. Do you really think it's a good time to invite strange men into your home? Especially one who was the lover of the latest victim.”

He was like a damn terrier. He didn't give up. “I'm not inviting men into my home. Just one man. And, as I've clearly proved, he is not the one throttling these boys and throwing them in the river.” Matt came out from behind the desk, crossed the room and opened the door. “Your time is up. I've got work to do.”

Jamie rose angrily. “You can be a real bitch, you know that?”

Matt closed his eyes and took several deep breaths before saying. “Goodbye, Jamie. Don't come back. If you try to question me again I will speak to your inspector. You'll find yourself off the investigation pretty quickly.”

With his eyes still closed, he felt the draught as Jamie thundered out.

He hadn't made it back to his desk when Annabel hurried into the office. “What did he want?” she said excitedly. “More to the point, what did you say to him? I've never seen him look so angry. I thought he was going to punch the wall as he went out.”

“Long story,” Matt sighed. “He overstepped the mark.”

“I don't have to be in court until eleven.” She grinned, slipping into the chair Jamie had just vacated. “So give me the slightly condensed version of that story.”

****

Keeley Rank snapped impatiently at her lighter until the cigarette caught and she paced the pavement in front of her hotel, sucking in smoke. It was downright ridiculous that you couldn't smoke inside, not even in the privacy of her own room. She'd been tempted to open the bathroom window and light up there, but they had installed bloody detectors in the toilet too. There were signs all over the hotel stating smoking would not be tolerated. She considered doing it anyway, just to see what would happen, but it wasn't worth the hassle. There was too much going on right now without trying to find another place to stay.

In a royal-blue trouser suit, with her customary nest of lacquered hair, she was a striking sight as she stalked back and forth, frequently checking the time on her chunky gold watch.

Her mobile phone rang. She threw her cigatette butt into the gutter and answered with a curt, “Keeley Rank.”

Pressing the phone tight against her ear, Keeley listened carefully. Her heavy scowl began to relax. Her eyes softened and very slowly the corners of her mouth curled into a smile. When she finished the call she was beaming.

Yes
. Brilliant. Fucking brilliant.

She knew she'd made the right call, listening to her instincts and hanging in there, waiting for the story to emerge.

And what a story it was turning out to be.

Her police contact, a hard bitch called Shona, had not only come through, but had struck gold. So much gold she owed her a nice backhanded bonus. Ha.

She had to act fast. So far there were no other journalists on the story like she was. Right there, with intimate access. It wouldn't stay that way for long. There was no honor among thieves or coppers. Their story would be leaked to other hacks for a price.

Keeley strutted back into the hotel and waved at the concierge. “Get me a taxi,” she snapped. “Now.”

Ten minutes later, she was at the gates of the TV studio. There were a couple of uniformed cops keeping vigil beside the regular security team. The studio staff waved her through.

“There's not much to see today, Ms. Rank,” said Alan, an ex-engineer, eking out his pension with a bit of casual security work. “They've shut down filming until Monday in view of what's happened to that production guy.”

She cast her gaze over the car park—fewer than half the usual vehicles. “Who's around? The producers, I suppose.”

“Yes. Mr. Jones and Ms. Donahue are in there. Want me to let them know you're here?”

“What about the cast? Is Dale Zachary in?”

“No. All cast members have been stood down till Monday.”

Damn.
She should have checked that before allowing her taxi to leave. “I'm supposed to be interviewing Dale today. I don't suppose you know where I can get hold of him?”

Twenty minutes later she was in another taxi winding its way up the narrow roads to a development of new houses built on old farm land. She gave the driver an extra ten-pound note on top of his fare and told him to wait. She had a feeling she wouldn't be here long and didn't want to get stuck in the middle of nowhere with no way back.

She knew which house was Dale's from the rental car parked in front. He was home. Fantastic.

Keeley strode purposefully to the front door and rang the bell. A middle-aged woman with thin mousey hair answered. The housekeeper, she assumed—very Northern.

“Can you let Dale know Keeley is here to talk about the show,” she said confidently.

The woman looked unimpressed. “Mr. Zachary is not expecting anyone today. He gave clear instructions that he doesn't want to be disturbed.”

“He's expecting me,” Keeley said firmly. “He must have forgot.”

“I don't think so. You must have made a mistake, Keeley, was it?”

The audacity of the bitch. Beneath that mousey exterior was a lion. “Just tell him I'm here. And tell him it's important.
Very
important.”

The woman looked her up and down. “Wait here,” she said at last, closing the front door and leaving Keeley on the doorstep.

For a few moments her fury at being treated this way threatened to overcome the malicious pleasure she took from the news she was about to impart. Keeping her on the doorstep indeed. Not for much longer. Dale Zachary would soon be kissing her ass and begging for journalistic mercy. And there was no chance of that. Not for anyone. If it made good copy, Keeley would trash her own mother in print.

Eventually, after five long minutes, the door opened. Dale was dressed in casual shorts and a checked shirt. He didn't invite her in. Didn't even smile.

“Keeley, what are you doing here? Johan gave you access to the studios, not to our private lives. We didn't have anything planned for today and I'm not in the mood to talk.”

Typical man, thinking he could dictate terms.

“I think you will be in the mood to talk to me. Especially as I'm such a sympathetic listener. Some of those other hacks, they won't be so kind-hearted when it comes to writing up your story. At least I can get to the real truth.” She stepped forward.

He leaned into the doorframe, blocking her entry. “All right, stop with the shitty insinuations and get to the point. What do you want?”

Charming. He was hardly the smooth heartthrob now.

“All right. How does
Shamed TV Star's Gay Affair with Murdered Assistant
grab you? Quite a snappy headline, don't you think? Especially when it's spread all over the Sunday front pages. I can turn that around for you. I can tell your real story instead of the closet-busting crap those other journos will run with.”

Well, that hit him where it hurt. He looked as wounded as if she'd punched him in the balls. A real crushing blow.

“C'mon,” she continued. “Just think about it. This story is going hit big in the next few days. You can't hide from it anymore. But you can handle it in a controlled, dignified manner. I promise everyone will be on your side when they read my version of your story.”

“That's never going to happen,” he said angrily. “You can tell whatever shitty version of events you like. Try the angle you got from the police. I'm sure you paid enough for it.”

“Think about this. C'mon, Dale. Don't be a fool. You're making a big mistake.”

“No. Talking to you would be a mistake. Now fuck off.”

He slammed the door in her face and turned the lock.

****

Dale balled his shaky hands into a fist and breathed deeply. The shit had hit the fan. He'd known it was coming, but that didn't lessen the impact of the inevitable. He'd been lucky, getting away with it for so long. To get to thirty-four, as a working actor, and preserve his private life. This wasn't the 1980s and journalists didn't routinely make a big deal of outing anymore, not even the low-life tabloids. But if there was a newsworthy aspect to unmasking someone's sexuality, then all moral obligations were waved. And boy, was there a newsworthy story here.

Mrs. Butterworth was moving the vacuum cleaner across the hall to the living room. “Did I do the right thing?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. Thank you, you did great.”

“A newspaper woman, was she?”

Dale nodded.

“Thought so,” Mrs. Butterworth said, chest bristling. “She had an untrustworthy look about her.” She carried on vacuuming.

Dale headed to the kitchen. There was coffee brewing. He was usually a decaf drinker but today he'd made a strong pot of Arabica coffee. He needed the caffeine hit and poured a large mug.