Silent Scream (14 page)

‘I’m not wanted for a couple of scenes so we have some time, but if they need me I’ll have to spring into action, and oh . . . !’ He touched his face, which was covered in bruises and scratchmarks. ‘Make-up . . . I’ve just been beaten up by another prisoner, so don’t think for a second it’s real.’

‘It’s very authentic,’ Anna said, taking out her notebook.

‘You should see the set, it’s fucking brilliant. Even the cell doors have the right weight to them. A few of the guys were getting really agitated when they were locked in.’ He laughed mischievously. ‘I think some of the extras have done time!’

He had a lovely warm smile; his blue eyes twinkled. He had such an easy manner to him that Anna immediately felt relaxed.

‘You must know why I’m here,’ she said.

He took his feet off the table and bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

‘Christ! Yes, of course I do. If there’s anything I can think of that’ll be of help, I’m ready . . . I loved her, you know. She was crackers, but she was a sweetheart and a good actress, but that face . . . I used to look at her when she was sleeping. Sometimes it took my breath away. Every feature was perfect, you know?’

‘When was the last time you saw her?’

‘Got to be maybe four weeks. I’ve been here for three and I saw her briefly at the Silver Star, a club in the West End. Maybe a tad before that, say five weeks ago.’

As Anna went through the usual jargon about needing to know his whereabouts at the time of Amanda’s murder, he gave a wide-armed gesture to his trailer.

‘I was here. We were doing some night filming, so I slept in the bed in there rather than schlep back to my hotel. To be honest, I’d had a few beers with some of the crew, so they sort of poured me into bed.’

Anna smiled. He put his feet onto the coffee-table again.

‘I couldn’t believe it when I read about it, really knocked me for six.’

‘Did you ever hear her talk of anyone who had a grudge against her or was following her, anyone making threats?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I mean, she was such a little doll – who would want to harm her? We’d split up. I suppose you know we were an item. Well, according to the press, we were about to get married, which was bullshit. We had a real sexy romp, but that was it.’

‘You paid a visit to her when she was in the Drury Clinic?’

He looked surprised. ‘I did, yes. We’ve all been in there at one time or another but, yes, I went in to see her. She was a real party animal and with the booze and the coke she was just exhausted. She still looked terrific and we had a good laugh; she even asked if I’d brought in some charlie.’

‘Did you accompany Scott Myers?’

‘To rehab? No, I bloody didn’t. He was after me like a demented dog. She left him for me – well, I think they had a sort of similar scene going on, but silly sod took it further and left his wife and kids. Amanda told me she had never wanted it to get that serious.’

‘Were you aware that she had had an abortion?’

‘No, that’s the first I’ve heard of it.’

‘Could the child have been yours?’

‘Christ, no. I’d ask old Scott, considering the number of kids he’s fathered. No way was it mine, and besides I’m a good Catholic and against abortion.’

‘Did she ever mention to you that she was pregnant?’

‘No. She was a bit naughty, you know, and even if she had told me, which she didn’t, I would have asked for a DNA test.’

Anna continued to ask if, when he went to the Drury, he had had any indication how sick she was, physically and mentally. He hadn’t. As far as he knew, she was probably there for a detox.

‘She was anorexic,’ Anna pointed out.

‘I’m not surprised. She was skinny, but then so are most of the young starlets and models. I knew she had fake tits, you could tell.’ He smiled. Anna was getting irritated by his total lack of feeling for the dead Amanda.

‘What was done to her?’ he asked suddenly.

‘She was attacked and died from multiple stab wounds.’

‘Jesus, she didn’t deserve that!’

‘You said you were Catholic – do you wear a crucifix?’

O’Dell raised a hand to his neck and then gestured as if it was a stupid question.

When Anna showed him the little gold crucifix, he didn’t recall ever seeing Amanda wearing it. He did remember the stuffed rabbit and recalled her carrying it around with her, and even bringing it to his flat when she stayed over.

‘It was a horrible, bald, smelly little thing with floppy ears. She used to keep her stash of skunk in it. Liked a joint, did Amanda.’ For the first time, he seemed genuinely moved. ‘She told me it had always been with her since she was a child and that she couldn’t sleep without it.’ Then he grinned. ‘I think it was the skunk she couldn’t sleep without, she was so often out of her head.’

‘It’s missing.’

He leaned forward. ‘What?’

‘The rabbit is missing from her home.’

There seemed nothing to add and he glanced at his watch.

‘Did you have a front-door key to her house?’

He stood up. Answered, ‘No. What do you think, I went there and nicked her rabbit?’

‘Mr O’Dell, if my queries amuse you it is not my intention. I am investigating Miss Delany’s murder, and it’s a very serious crime.’

O’Dell cocked his head to one side and gave a grimace, as if to apologise for his joke.

‘I only ever went there once. She showed me around – she was very proud of it and, to be honest, I was surprised. You know, I was taken aback that she’d got it together. It was a very nice place, classy and worth a bit.’ He dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

‘She was no one’s fool, our Amanda. I mean, she appeared to be doped up and needy, but at the same time she was pretty astute. She gave her agent a right runaround, went for the big money, not that she’d spend it; she was quite a tightwad. I don’t ever remember her paying for a single meal and she liked to eat out at the best places.’

Anna gave a brittle smile. ‘Not that she’d eat much.’

‘She’d tuck in and chuck it all up later, but she had hollow legs and she could drink me under the table.’ O’Dell ruffled his hair, then put his hands back into his pockets. ‘You asked me if she was scared of someone or anything. Well, I think she was terrified of being alone, or . . . more frightened of sleeping. That sounds crazy, but she would take speed or anything to keep going and not go to bed.’

‘Did you ever meet anyone from the flat she shared?’

He had never been there, he told her, never really wanted to from what Scott had told him – how her flatmates were real losers and dope heads.

‘Why do you think she kept on living there even though she had money?’

‘Like I said, she was a tightwad and, to be honest, she bedhopped and was always moving in with whoever took her fancy.’

‘How long did she live with you?’

O’Dell walked to the door and looked out, before turning back.

‘Maybe six months off and on, because we both had to work on location. Like I said before, it was an easy sex thing we had, never serious.’

‘Did she leave you for Rupert Mitchell?’

‘You’ve certainly been reading up on me or reading the tabloids,’ O’Dell said, and the easy smile was gone. ‘I introduced her to him. We were clubbing and he was there with his wife. We had a few drinks and then left. But at some point during the night, she must have got his number because he called me to ask if it was OK for him to see her, as they might be working together. I said, “Be my guest . . .” ’

‘Didn’t that make you angry?’

He clearly didn’t like the question; for a fleeting moment he was unable to hide the look of anger on his face.

‘What I didn’t like was having the fucking press all over me like a rash. It didn’t make much difference to me that she was screwing him, because soon after I went to France for a shoot and met Daniella Duprès, a French actress . . .’

Anna put her notebook away and stood up. She thanked him for his time and he swung open the trailer door.

‘Can you find your way back, only I should get over to make-up and tidy up my bruises?’

‘I’m sure I can manage, and when it is convenient we’ll need to take your fingerprints for elimination purposes.’

‘OK.’

By the time Anna was on her way back to Dublin airport, Colin O’Dell was sitting in the make-up chair with a robe around his shoulders. The make-up artist checked one side of his face and added a touch of foundation, but she didn’t try to touch up the other side as it was still painful. They had joked about how lucky he was that the scenes being shot required him to have bruises after a fist-fight with one of the actors playing a prisoner. O’Dell explained that he’d had too much to drink and had fallen on the steps up to his trailer. There was also a deep scratch around his neck, but his collar hid most of it so they didn’t bother to cover it with make-up.

When he was through, he remained sitting in the chair chatting up the girl assigned to him. He’d already dated one of them and had quite a reputation round the set. He made no mention of being interviewed by the police, but word had already got out that a detective had been in his trailer questioning him about Amanda Delany.

‘Was she Irish?’ the make-up artist asked.

‘Who?’

‘The girl that was murdered. Wasn’t her surname Delany?’

‘Yeah, but she wasn’t Irish. Can you just add a bit more mascara?’

‘I can’t do much more, it’ll look like make-up,’ she said, unscrewing the mascara tube.

‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ O’Dell snapped. Then: ‘She was crazy enough to be,’ he added softly.

O
n the return flight to London, Anna sat thumbing through her notebook. The last interview would be with Rupert Mitchell, who had agreed to see her at his home in Kingston at six-thirty that evening. Two movie stars down and she had not reckoned either actor to be a suspect, nor had she found them nearly as attractive as the girls at the station made out. She was not impressed by them and was glad that she had never become involved with men like that. They had used Amanda as nothing but a sex object and she could detect no real feelings in either man for her.

Anna became preoccupied with trying to piece together Amanda Delany’s last few weeks alive. From all the interviews she and Simon had completed, from the film-unit crew to the actors, she still had no indication of a motive and did not believe they had, as yet, a suspect. Were they focusing on the wrong place? Was there some extraneous element they had not uncovered? The fact that they had no hard evidence to implicate anyone was disconcerting. Again she thought about the two movie star ex-boyfriends and leafed through her notebook, checking her jottings and remarks. The parents were, in many ways, as lacking in genuine grief as Colin O’Dell and Scott Myers. Although the latter’s marital situation was in turmoil, with jealousy and anger mixed with betrayal, she did not think it was enough for someone like Fiona to have committed a murder. The more Anna thought about how abused their victim had been, the more she couldn’t help thinking about her own situation.

Anna had felt betrayed by James Langton, yet she had loved him and he still had a strong hold over her emotions. Working with him on their last case had proved very difficult. Perhaps though, he had been right to challenge her over her affair with Damien as being unprofessional, even though she didn’t like to think so. She had been foolish with her almost-relationship with Pete Jenkins; yet her personal life in comparison to Amanda’s seemed very unadventurous. Anna closed her eyes, leaning back in her seat. Langton had been controlling, though never abusive, but because he could not or would not give her the commitment she wanted, it had ended. He was now happily ensconced, she believed, in a relationship with his ex-wife, and he had a stepdaughter Kitty and a young baby son Tommy.

Anna remembered how she had felt when she went into his office and had seen his family photographs on his desk. Was she the one at fault? Did she still hanker to be with him again? She sighed. Whenever she thought of him, she had mixed feelings of anger and sadness. With him being such a high-ranking officer now, she told herself, there was no possible way they could get back together. She also doubted that he had any interest in ever being with her again, even more so after the way he had lectured her about Damien. Yet part of her was really thinking that perhaps he had been the love of her life, and she would never feel that way about anyone again. Unlike Fiona, she had no real bitterness towards him – well, not now anyway. She felt, she came to realise, a deep sadness because Langton was someone special, he was also someone that she admired, and then it all twisted. She had been the one to instigate the break, she had been the one to acknowledge they couldn’t live together; and now, after all this time, she wondered if it was because he would never commit to her and deep down she had always known it.

As Anna walked through customs at Heathrow to collect her car, it felt as if she had been on automatic pilot. It was later than she had expected and she knew that she would have to get a move on if she was to be able to get to Kingston to meet with Rupert Mitchell at the time arranged. She called the incident room to check in with Barbara to see if there had been any major developments. Barbara recapped the meeting with Amanda’s flatmates; according to Simon, she said, none could be suspected of Amanda’s murder and none had a motive; in fact, far from it.