Fatal Act (8 page)

Geraldine nodded. The thought had crossed her mind. A man like Piers wouldn’t have taken kindly to rejection. He was accustomed to being adulated. He certainly had a colourful history with women.

A
t forty he had married an eighteen-year-old starlet, Nicci Norman. He had left her after two years for another eighteen-year-old wannabe. Three years later he had married yet another young actress, Ella May Cooper. Their son Zak was born a year later, and it looked as though Piers might have settled down, but Ella had tragically drowned when they had been together for four years. By then in his early fifties, Piers had a series of young girlfriends, until he had remarried when he was fifty-five. His relationship with his third wife, Susan Pollander, another young actress, had lasted three years. At fifty-eight he had divorced for the second time, and after yet more brief relationships had been living with Anna for nearly a year, until her death.

‘I
f he’d wanted to get rid of Anna, surely he would have just thrown her out, like all the others before her,’ Geraldine said.

‘Perhaps she wanted to leave him?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘She was making a name for herself in this TV series, and might have thought she could make it without him. A man like Piers, used to being in control, might not have liked to have his position challenged, especially by a younger woman.’

Geraldine wondered if Reg was talking about himself.

‘But she was on a short term contract, which gave him some control over her career. If she wanted to dump him, no doubt he would have wanted revenge, but think about it. He was influential enough to make sure she never worked again. He could finish her career with one phone call. She might have been idiotic enough to think she could be a success without his support, but he would have known better. He’s not young, Reg. He’s in his sixties. He knows the game and how to work it. Believe me, in this relationship he held all the cards. He might be a subtle and a cruel man, but I just don’t believe he would have done something so crass as kill her.’

‘Y
ou feel this, you don’t believe that, he was holding the cards – this is mere speculation, Geraldine. Anna was brutally murdered by someone driving Piers’ van. The man has no alibi, for Christ’s sake.’

‘That’s another thing,’ Geraldine jumped in. ‘He’s a clever man. He would never have done something so stupid and clumsy. Leaving his own van smashed up at the scene is tantamount to advertising the fact that he was responsible. Basically, someone drove into Anna’s car. Why use Piers’ van? It’s almost irrelevant to the actual murder. Unless it was a double bluff.’

‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Geraldine. Clever men can behave stupidly. But this isn’t a poker game. We’re investigating a murder.’

G
eraldine shook her head.

‘All I’m saying is, why would Piers use his own van? Do you really think he would leave it like a calling card, putting himself in the frame? No one with any sense would do that, and he’s intelligent. If he had wanted to kill her, he could have found a thousand ways to do it, without incriminating himself so blatantly.’

‘You’re right about one thing, Geraldine. He’s incriminated himself. So go and arrest him before he has a chance to slip away.’

‘But –’

Reg nodded at her.

‘I think we’ve reached a decision here. Don’t be blinded by this man’s attractions,’ he added sharply.

Geraldine turned on her heel and left without another word.

O
n her way back to her office, Geraldine checked with the team who had been contacting hospitals and doctors’ surgeries. There was no sign of a patient showing injuries consistent with a recent car crash.

‘Keep looking,’ she snapped and the two constables looked up at her in surprise.

They didn’t know she was still fuming about the detective chief inspector’s insulting attitude. He was so keen to wrap up the case quickly, to further his own reputation, he had lost sight of what mattered.

‘The driver of the van must have gone somewhere,’ she told the constables crossly.

H
er mood didn’t improve when she reached her own door and heard Sam’s voice raised in annoyance. Geraldine knew that the sergeant didn’t get on with Nick Williams, the detective inspector who shared Geraldine’s office. But Sam had to be careful. Nick was higher in rank than Sam. If she spoke out of turn, she could get herself in trouble for insolence towards a superior officer. Geraldine hadn’t known Sam for long, but she trusted her and would be gutted to lose the sergeant over something so pointless as a clash with another inspector.

‘Come on, Sam,’ she announced loudly as she entered, as though she hadn’t heard anything of the heated exchange that had been going on before she arrived. ‘We’re going to arrest Piers Trevelyan.’

N
ick leaned back in his chair, placed his elbows on his desk and pressed the tips of his fingers together. He watched the two women with a faint smile on his face. He was clean shaven and his light brown hair was brushed straight back, accentuating his wide forehead. His right eye was permanently slightly closed, so that he looked as though he was winking, which reflected his general air of good humour. While she accepted that his occasional sexist comments could be interpreted as offensive rather than amusing, Geraldine still didn’t understand why Sam was quite so antagonistic towards him. He was amiable enough, if a bit irritating, like an annoying older brother who cracked embarrassing jokes that weren’t funny.

‘Sam’s been desperate to find you,’ he drawled. ‘She wouldn’t tell me why.’

‘It’s not your case,’ Sam muttered. ‘I don’t have to tell you anything about it. I came here to talk to Geraldine.’

She sounded like a sulky teenager. Geraldine suppressed a smile at her pettiness.

‘Come on, then, we can discuss it on the way,’ she said.

With a quick grin at Nick she left, with Sam at her heels.

S
am cheered up as soon as they left Geraldine’s office.

‘Where are we off to, did you say?’

‘We’re going to arrest Piers.’

‘I thought that’s what you said. But you didn’t think he was guilty –’

‘I still don’t.’

‘Then why –’

‘Orders from above.’

Glimpsing Geraldine’s irritated expression, Sam held her tongue and they drove in silence to Piers’ house in Highgate.

J
ust as Geraldine was on the point of giving up, the door was opened by a raven-haired young woman dressed in a silk kimono.

‘Is Mr Trevelyan in? I’m Detective Inspector Geraldine Steel.’ As she was reaching into her pocket for her warrant card, Piers appeared in the hall behind the girl. He was wearing jeans and an open-necked shirt, which was untucked, and his feet were bare.

‘What the hell is it with you people?’ he growled.

‘May we come in?’

‘No you may not. Come on, Cheryl. Shut the door.’

He sounded sloshed. Ignoring his rebuff, Geraldine stepped inside. The woman looked as though she might burst into tears.

‘What shall I do, Piers?’

‘Aren’t you going to introduce us to your new friend?’ Sam asked.

‘This is my sister,’ he said, laughing very loudly and waving one hand in the air.

The woman’s eyes widened in annoyance, but she didn’t say anything.

G
eraldine had heard enough. She still didn’t believe Piers was guilty of murder, but she enjoyed asking him to accompany them to the police station once more. His girlfriend had been dead for two days and he was already consoling himself with her replacement. He stared levelly at her, suddenly sober.

‘I’d like to phone my solicitor,’ he said coldly.

‘I’m sure you would. All in good time. But first things first, you’re coming with us. You can make a call from the station. Unless you want it recorded that you resisted our invitation to come in for further questioning? Now I suggest you get some shoes on and come quietly.’

S
he turned to the shocked young woman who was staring desperately at Piers. Clearly neither of them was used to hearing him addressed in such peremptory tones.

‘Get some clothes on and take yourself home. Mr Trevelyan won’t be back for a while.’

‘What’s going on? Where are you taking him?’

‘Oh, do shut up, Cheryl. Do what you’re told – that’s never been a problem before, has it? Just bugger off, there’s a good girl.’ He turned to Geraldine, his composure restored. ‘I don’t want to leave her running riot in my house while I’m away.’

‘Nice to see you trust your sister,’ Geraldine said.

B
ETHANY
STUDIED
HER
FACE
critically in the bathroom mirror. Not only was the surface of the mirror pitted and cloudy, but the light bulb above it had gone that morning so her face was only dimly lit from behind. It wasn’t good enough, not today. She took her free standing mirror through to the living room and resumed her self-scrutiny in the daylight. Her older sister, who was only twenty-eight, already had a few grey hairs. The thought gave Bethany goose bumps. So far she’d had no problems, not on that score at least.

‘I’m so going to dye my hair if I ever go grey,’ she had told her sister. ‘The very first grey hair I spot, that’ll be it.’

‘It’s different for you. You have to take care of your appearance. You can’t afford to look past it, not yet anyway.’

W
hat her sister had said was true. Bethany wasn’t naïve enough to believe that talent alone had got her this far. It had been a long struggle to get herself noticed as an actress, but at last she was through to the final audition for a role that would change her life – if she was cast.

‘Next time I see you,’ she whispered to her reflection, ‘I’ll be a star. A household name.’

Fluttering her eyelashes, she gave an alluring pout. She had always had faith in herself and it had worked so far – at least in her professional life. She had chosen her outfit with care: smart tight fitting black jeans and a short tailored jacket that showed off her trim figure. At her throat she wore a neat glass pendant suspended on a leather thong that Piers had given her. It had to be lucky, wearing a gift from a prominent casting director to an audition. With a final touch of eye make-up, she grabbed her coat and left.

A
s the gate swung closed behind her, she noticed a figure in a grey hood and sunglasses standing perfectly still on the opposite pavement. She wondered fleetingly why anyone would be wearing sunglasses on an overcast winter’s day, as she worked out that she would arrive at least an hour early. All the same, she hurried along the street to the station and trotted down the stairs to the platform. It was as well to allow plenty of time for the journey. The trains could be unreliable. It was possible to work around planned engineering work, but there might be a points failure or an unexplained hold up, sometimes a person on the track. Bethany had once gone out with a train driver. Even after three months paid leave and counselling, he had never fully recovered from seeing a woman throw herself in front of his train. Bethany had agreed it was selfish to commit suicide in front of a stranger. Privately she thought that, in the unlikely event of her ever deciding to kill herself, she would definitely want an audience.

T
here were quite a few people waiting on the platform. Faces stared gloomily at the track, as if everyone was contemplating hurling themselves in front of the next train. Glancing round, Bethany was surprised to recognise the grey-hooded figure she had spotted on the pavement opposite her flat. Closer to the figure now, she could see the stranger was a woman. Beneath her hood she had blonde hair. Although she stood with hunched shoulders, the woman was still taller than many of her fellow travellers. As a drama graduate Bethany had been trained to be observant. She was almost positive it was the same person, in a grey hoodie and sunglasses. It was difficult to be sure behind the dark lenses, but again she had the impression the stranger was watching her. She cast the thought aside. It was just the audition making her jittery. Why on earth would anyone be interested in her? It was going to be different when she was famous. Right now, no one even knew who she was.

A
t last the train drew in. She found an end seat. Luckily it was one of the new rolling stock, which ran more smoothly than the bumpy old trains. Taking out a small mirror, she studied her face one last time. Everything had to be perfect today. She looked up as the train passed Wembley Stadium. At night the huge arch looked magical, lit up like the entrance to space. In the daylight it looked like the skeleton of an alien dinosaur. The day was chilly and she shivered as she left the station. She wished she had worn a warmer coat.

T
he audition passed in a whirl of adrenaline and excitement. She remembered her lines, which was always a relief, although it was impossible to tell how she was doing during her short performance. At least they all appeared to be listening. The producer remained aloof throughout, but Bethany was sufficiently experienced not to set any store by that. It could even be an encouraging sign. The casting director she had expected wasn’t there. His replacement was friendly enough, and they all chatted briefly to her while she answered their questions in as relaxed a manner as she could. Yes, she was available for the whole of the run if the production was extended, or went on tour. It went without saying that she was willing to sacrifice anything else in her life for the duration of the show. She was shaking physically by the time she left the building, confident she had managed to keep her nerves hidden. Under the circumstances, she had acquitted herself well.

R
eaching her flat, she thought she glimpsed a figure in a grey hood and sunglasses standing perfectly still between the street lamps on the other side of the road. She felt a flicker of unease before her door slammed shut and she leaned back against the wall, overwhelmed by the enormity of her day. The audition had gone well. That was all that mattered. Now she had to try and put it out of her mind. It might be a few weeks before she heard anything. Normally gregarious, she was relieved her flatmate was out. Lucy was bound to quiz her about the audition, and she didn’t feel like talking. But as she was making a cup of tea her agent rang and forced her to relive the experience.