Take Two (A psychological thriller) (23 page)

CHAPTER 53

Carolyn looked at the clock on the wall.  It was a quarter to five and there were still two scenes to be shot.  It was Friday and the following week was already choc-a-bloc so she knew she wouldn’t be leaving until they had finished. Tracey was working on her hair, putting it up because the next scene was a cocktail party and the director wanted her looking glamorous.  Glamorous was all well and good but it meant an hour in make-up and doing the scene in high heels which would play havoc with her ankles all weekend.

A runner popped her head around the door. It was a girl with cropped hair and a nose ring, a new face to Carolyn. ‘Miss Castle? Mr Day wants to see you in his office.’

‘Now?’ said Tracey, two hairpins between her lips. ‘I’m halfway through this.’

‘He said it was important,’ said the runner.

Tracey grunted in annoyance and stepped back from the chair. She took the two pins from her mouth and tossed them into a plastic container in front of the mirror. ‘They think we can just throw your hair together, clearly,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry, Tracey. I’ll be right back.’  Carolyn took the blue sheet from around her neck as she stood up, and draped it over the chair. She grimaced at the reflection in the mirror. ‘I look like I’ve just walked through a wind tunnel’.

Tracey handed her a scarf. ‘Wear that,’ she said. ‘I don’t want anyone thinking I did that to your hair.’

Carolyn laughed and put the scarf on the chair. ‘I’ll explain to everyone,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, your reputation is secure.’

Carolyn headed down the corridor to Day’s office, wondering what it was he wanted. It could only be bad news, she was certain of that, and the only bad news she could think of involved her future on the show.  Sinead had been optimistic but things could change quickly in TV-Land.

Laura looked up from her computer and frowned when she saw the state of Carolyn’s hair. ‘It’s a work in progress,’ said Carolyn. ‘Paul wants to see me. Is it bad news?’

‘There are two detectives in with him but I don’t know what it’s about,’ she said. She stood up, knocked on Day’s door, and opened it.

Day was sitting on one of his sofas and there was a middle-aged man and a blonde woman on the sofa facing him. Day stood up and hugged her. ‘A couple of policemen want to talk to you, darling,’ he said. ‘Takes me back to my days on The Bill.’ He waved a hand at the two visitors. ‘Inspector Marriott and Sergeant Biddulph.’

‘It’s the other way around, actually,’ said the man standing up. He flashed a warrant card. ‘Inspector Biddulph. My colleague is Sergeant Marriott.’

Carolyn’s heart raced and she felt light-headed. ‘Has something happened to Robbie?’

‘Robbie?’ repeated the detective, frowning.

‘My son. Robbie. Is he okay?’

‘We’re not here about your son, Mrs Castle,’ said Marriott.

Carolyn put her hand over her heart. ‘Thank God for that. You scared the life out of me.’

Biddulph waved at the sofa next to Day.  ‘Please just have a seat while we ask you a few questions.’

Carolyn was still finding it difficult to breathe. ‘I thought something had happened to Robbie,’ she said to Day as she sat down. He patted her on the knee and smiled sympathetically.

Biddulph put his warrant card away and sat down next to his sergeant.  ‘I’m sorry to have caused you concern there, Mrs Castle,’ he said. ‘We’re actually here in connection with a Mr Maxwell Dunbar. We called your home but kept getting your machine and then realised we’d have a better chance of catching you at the studio.’

‘Max?’

‘You do know Mr Dunbar?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, he does some work for me from time to time.’

‘Is he the guy who dealt with that stalker of yours?’ asked Day.

Carolyn nodded.

‘A stalker?’ asked Biddulph.

‘It was some time ago,’ said Carolyn. ‘I had a fan who was getting a bit too up close and personal and Max sorted it out for me. He’s a private detective.’

‘Well I’m afraid to tell you that Mr Dunbar is dead.’

Carolyn nodded slowly, not sure how to react. She barely knew the man and was more concerned about why the two detectives had come to see her. ‘What happened?’

‘He was murdered, I’m afraid. At his home, yesterday.’

‘Murdered?’ Carolyn put her hand over her mouth. ‘Max? No.’

‘There was a robbery at his house. At least, some things were stolen. But we’re just contacting the people he saw over the last couple of weeks, just to get a feel for how he was.’

‘I’m confused,’ said Carolyn.  ‘He was robbed, you say?’

‘He was robbed, there’s no question of that,’ said Biddulph. ‘His phone, wallet and watch were taken, along with a BluRay player.  His area is a burglary blackspot, lots of drug addicts with habits to pay for. But the level of violence was more than you’d expect from a robbery gone wrong. If a householder disturbs a burglar, more often than not the burglar will just run for it. If they lash out, it’s usually because they were cornered. It’s very, very rare for a burglar to kill during the commission of the burglary.’

‘So what do you think happened?’ asked Carolyn.

‘We’re not sure,’ said Biddulph. ‘Which is why we’re speaking to everyone he was in contact with over the last week or so. We found a copy of a cheque for five hundred pounds in his desk, a cheque dated last Saturday.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Can you tell me what that was for?’

‘For?’

‘It’s a lot of money, can you tell me why you gave it to him?’

Carolyn shrugged. ‘He was doing some work for me.’

‘What, specifically?’ asked Biddulph.

‘Does that matter?’

‘It would, if he was blackmailing you,’ said the sergeant.

‘What?’ said Carolyn.

‘Sergeant Marriott is speaking hypothetically,’ said Biddulph, flashing his sergeant a withering look.

‘You think I killed him because he was blackmailing me?’

Biddulph put up a hand. ‘We’re following several lines of inquiry,’ he said. ‘But, at the moment, we are looking for a motive.’

‘Well, Max wasn’t blackmailing me. The idea’s ridiculous. I have another fan who has been following me a little too zealously.  Max helps me sort things out like that.  He was going to track them down and then get them to stop.’

‘And how does he do that, exactly?’ asked Marriott, scribbling furiously in her notebook.

‘Usually just making contact is enough,’ said Carolyn. ‘But if that doesn’t deter them, Max sets a lawyer on them.’

‘And do they ever get violent, these fans?’ asked Biddulph.

‘No, they’re just a bit deluded. You surely don’t think one of my fans killed Max, do you?’

‘We’re just looking at all lines of inquiry at the moment,’ said the inspector. ‘So when was the last time you saw him?’

‘Saturday. When I gave him the cheque.’

‘Did he usually make house calls?’

Carolyn shrugged. ‘We work long hours and I didn’t want him turning up at the studio. Saturday worked for him, too.  He came around to the house and I gave him the cheque.’

‘And you didn’t see him again?’ asked Biddulph.

Carolyn shook her head.

‘Did you speak at all?’

Carolyn looked at the inspector, keeping her face impassive. She knew that, as a detective, he would be good at reading people but, as an actor, she was equally adept at hiding her true emotions and feelings.  They had already said his phone had been stolen so she could probably lie about the call that Dunbar had made yesterday. But, even without the phone, they would be able to check his calls with the phone company and they would have a record of all the calls he had made. There was no point in lying or being evasive. They might even already know that he had called her. ‘He phoned me once, just to tell me he was still working on the case.’

‘When was that?’ asked Marriott, looking up from his notebook.

‘Yesterday, actually.’

‘When, precisely?’

‘Sometime in the morning.’

‘I really could do with a definite time,’ said Marriott.

‘Elevenish, I guess.’

‘That’s about the time he was killed, Mrs Castle,’ said Marriott, and Biddulph flashed her another withering look. Carolyn realised that was information he didn’t want her to have.

‘It was really just a check call, to say he’d be making more enquiries.’

‘And can you give us the fan’s name?’

‘I don’t have it to hand,’ said Carolyn. ‘I got a couple of letters and I gave them to Max.’  That was a lie but she doubted it would be a problem.  And it would cause her a lot less grief than telling them about Warwick Richards. She figured that was one can of worms best left unopened.

CHAPTER 54

Terry looked over the top of his wine glass at Carolyn and narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re as mad as the proverbial hatter, you know that?’  It was close to midnight and they were sitting in Carolyn’s kitchen. Filming had kept her in the studio until after ten and, as Billy was driving her home, she’d phoned Terry and asked him if he fancied a nightcap. As they’d demolished a bottle of Nuits St Georges from Gabe’s cellar, she’d told him about the visit from the two detectives.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘What, the day after Max Dunbar is murdered, you’re going out onto a boat with Warwick Richards?’

‘You think there’s a connection?’

‘Carolyn, will you listen to yourself?  You pay Dunbar to check up on Richards and five days later someone cuts his throat.’

‘Oh, come on, Warwick’s not like that.’

‘What do you mean, he’s not like that? He’s absolutely like that. You saw him kill Cohen with a blunt instrument, have you forgotten?’

‘I saw someone who looks like Warwick hit Cohen over the head. We don’t know that Cohen’s dead, remember?’

‘Well I called his office this afternoon and he’s still not turned up.’

‘You did not.’

‘Bloody right I did. His office has no idea where he is or when he’ll be back.’ He sipped his wine. ‘You need to keep the hell away from Richards. Seriously.’

Carolyn sighed. ‘We don’t know for sure it was him I saw in Cohen’s house.’

‘Only you know that, darling.’

‘Exactly. And the more I think back, the less I think it was Warwick.’

‘And you think Dunbar being killed is just a coincidence?’

‘His house wasn’t in what you’d call a salubrious area,’ she said. ‘Break-ins aren’t unusual, drug addicts looking to pay for their latest fix.’

‘You believe that? Seriously?’

Carolyn shrugged. ‘I believe that more than I believe Warwick Richards slit Max’s throat.’

‘Like I said, you’re as mad as a hatter. And I can’t believe you didn’t say anything to the cops. They were there, in Day’s office. All you had to say was that you think you saw Richards smashing Cohen over the head and you asked Dunbar to check him out. They could have gone off and done their police thing and you could have got on with your life.’

‘And what if Warwick didn’t do it? What’s he going to think?’

‘He’ll think you’re crazy but he’ll get over it. If he has an alibi for the night Cohen was killed, and an alibi for when Dunbar died, then that’ll be the end of it. And if he doesn’t have an alibi, then you did the right thing by telling the cops.’

‘And then the papers get hold of it and they’ll ask why I was in the middle of nowhere after being given my lifetime achievement award and then my career will be pretty much over.’

Terry refilled their glasses. ‘So what are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to finish my wine. Then I’m going to bed. Then, tomorrow, I’m going for drinks on Warwick’s gin palace.’ She grinned at him. ‘Why don’t you tag along?’

‘Maybe I will,’ he said.  ‘Do you think he’d be up for a threesome?’

‘I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted by that,’ laughed Carolyn.

CHAPTER 55

Carolyn heard a squeal of brakes as a car pulled up outside her house and, a minute later, her mobile rang. It was Richards. ‘Your chariot awaits,’ he said. It was Saturday morning and the sun was shining from a cloudless sky.

‘I’ll be right out,’ she said. She checked her make-up in the mirror above the fireplace. She was wearing a blue and white Karen Millen dress, one of half a dozen the designer had sent over for her to try. And a pair of blue Gucci shoes, also a freebie. She’d paid for her bag – a black Mulberry – and her coat, a long, dark-blue, lightweight Chanel that had been one of her favourites for years.

She set her burglar alarm, locked her front door and walked down the path to the waiting Porsche Cayenne. She breathed out slowly. She had been half expecting him to have turned up in the Bentley she’d seen outside Nicholas Cohen’s house. She saw that Warwick was smiling at her and she waved and walked faster. He didn’t get out of the car or open the door for her and she wondered if he was deliberately not being chivalrous. Not that she minded, she was old enough to open her own doors. She got in and slid onto the buttery leather seat. He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek and she caught the scent of an expensive aftershave. ‘You look fabulous,’ he said. ‘And you’re wearing Coco Mademoiselle again. Nice.’

He looked good, too, but she decided as he hadn’t opened the door for her she’d forgo any compliments. But his Black Hugo Boss suit fitted him perfectly and she liked the fact he wasn’t wearing a tie but had buttoned his grey silk shirt up to the neck. He’d changed his wristwatch, this time he was wearing a gold Cartier on a black leather strap. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ She looked around the car. ‘Now this is lovely.’

‘I’m a big fan of the Cayenne,’ he said. ‘It’s an SUV so it’s big, but you’ve got the kick of a Maserati when you put your foot down.’ He put the car in gear and pulled away from the pavement.

‘You don’t see many of them around.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, there’s a few. The Sloane Rangers have started using them on the school run.’

They made small talk as he drove to St Katherine’s Dock. A uniformed security guard waved them through to the parking area and they climbed out.  The marina was small but packed with huge cruisers and yachts, and surrounded by multi-million pound flats.  Richards locked the car and nodded towards one of the larger cruisers. ‘There she is,’ he said.