Silent Scream (15 page)

‘Why is that?’ Anna asked.

‘They’re junkies and she used to pay their rent and buy their groceries – so why kill her?’

‘Thanks, Barbara. Anything else I should know about?’

‘Oh yeah, Simon has been checking into the victim’s finances. The mews house is valued at over three million, and there’s a heavy wad in her bank account at Coutts. She’s worth over four million.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah. Joan and I wish we were in the film business! And she was only twenty-four years old. I’ve got a mortgage round my neck and two credit-card debts. Apparently there’s more due as her agent was talking to Simon, but we don’t have the numbers yet.’

‘What about a will?’

‘Nothing specific yet. Simon’s checking it out, and her life insurance policy.’

Anna thanked her and cut off the call. It appeared that Simon, for all her irritation with him, was keeping himself busy, but it was yet another inconclusive result, apart from the fact that their victim was worth millions. Anna wondered if Amanda’s wealth could be a motive, but without knowledge of a will or who the beneficiaries were, it was yet another loose end. She was still waiting for Andrea Lesser to return her call.

Rupert Mitchell was much more the movie-actor type that Anna was expecting. He was tall, over six feet, slim, his hair a dark chestnut and worn long enough for it to be scraped back into a ponytail. He was exceptionally handsome. His dark eyes were heavy-lidded and he had a slight hooked nose which seemed to accentuate his eyes and thick lips. He glided into the elegant sitting room where Anna was waiting, lifting his hand in an apologetic gesture, and saying, ‘I’m sorry. I expected you earlier and we have dinner guests at eight.’

‘This shouldn’t take long.’ Anna felt shy. Unlike Myers and O’Dell, Mitchell had more weight to him and an aura about him that was unnerving.

‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked, sitting down in a leather chair. It was obvious that he had no intention of fetching her one.

‘No, thank you. I’ll keep this as short as possible if you have guests. It’s just a preliminary query.’

‘About Amanda Delany, obviously,’ he said quietly.

‘Yes. I need to know when you last saw her and what you were doing around the time she was murdered.’

Anna listened as he told her he was at home with his wife and had not seen Amanda socially for weeks prior to her death, although they were filming together.

‘Did you ever sense that she was frightened or threatened by anyone?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

Anna found it difficult to question him. His eyes bore into her with an unbelievably steady gaze. She took out the photograph of the crucifix and asked if he had ever seen Amanda wearing it. Mitchell studied it for a while and then shook his head.

‘Do you ever recall seeing a fluffy toy rabbit?’

‘Seeing it where?’ he said abruptly.

Anna explained that Amanda used to sleep with it and he gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

‘I don’t remember ever seeing it.’

‘Did you ever go to her mews house?’

‘No. I knew she had moved into a new place, but I didn’t visit.’

‘Did you ever go to the flat where she previously lived?’

‘No.’

There was a pause and he gestured to the door.

‘My wife is here if you wish to ask her about that evening?’

Anna explained that, before she spoke to his wife, she wanted to know more about his relationship with Amanda.

‘My relationship?’

‘Yes.’

He shifted his weight on the chair and then got up to open a drinks cabinet. He poured himself a whisky, a large one.

‘I wouldn’t actually describe it as a relationship – an act of madness, perhaps – but for a while I did see her on an intimate basis.’

He returned to the chair and carefully placed the glass down on a side table, adding, ‘Embarrassing, yes!’

He began to pick up the glass and then put it down, moving it like a chesspiece.

‘My wife and I had been having a difficult time, very strained. We had not discussed the possibility of a divorce, far from it, but . . .’

He picked up his glass and drained it.

‘She is desperate to start a family and we have been through IVF treatment but sadly she didn’t fall pregnant. Anyway, it caused some grief as you can imagine and, to be honest, I found it very difficult. I should have been more supportive, but instead I was the exact opposite.’

Anna listened as Mitchell described meeting Amanda. They had exchanged phone numbers at a nightclub. He had begun the affair after taking her out to dinner, even though he knew it was foolish. It was a wretched few weeks as the press got to know about it and he was hounded at home. He left his wife and rented a flat on Baker Street. Amanda had moved in with him for a while and then, when he realised his stupidity, he returned to his wife. Amanda had already bought her new house and was waiting for it to be refurbished. He thought she had gone back to live with her friends, but they did not see each other again until they started filming
Gaslight
together.

‘It’s incongruous, if that’s the right word, but I play the husband in the film who attempts to frighten her to death and bring on her madness. By this time, Amanda was very cool with me, but that helped with our scenes together.’ He finished his second whisky, then pointedly looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.

‘Were you aware that Amanda had been pregnant?’

Mitchell looked up, unable to hide his surprise. ‘Pregnant?’

‘Yes, she had an abortion.’

‘Good God no, I didn’t know. Well, she never mentioned it to me. When was this?’

Anna explained that the termination probably took place before Amanda went into the Drury Clinic, so it would have been some time before she started filming
Gaslight.
He seemed relieved.

‘Well, that lets me off the paternity suit. Sorry, that was crass. I didn’t see or start seeing her until about six weeks before we started shooting the movie and it was all over before filming began.’

He fetched a refill and stood with his back to Anna, as he replaced the bottle in the cabinet.

‘You didn’t have a key to her mews house?’

‘Certainly not. As I said, it was rather cool between us and she did her best to ignore me, so there is no way she would have given me her front-door key.’

Hearing a light knock on the door, Mitchell quickly rose to his feet thinking it was his wife, but it was their maid.

‘Madam says that the guests will be here shortly and she needs you to open the wines.’

Anna stood up and asked if she could speak with Mrs Mitchell for a moment.

‘Is that necessary?’

‘Yes. I’ll be very diplomatic, but I do need her to verify that you were at home on the night of the murder.’

‘He was.’ Mrs Mitchell walked into the room. She was tall and blonde with her hair swept up into a chignon and was wearing a chic black cocktail dress, with high stilettos.

She shook Anna’s hand. ‘I’m Helen. If you could just let my husband open some wine to breathe, he can rejoin you.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Anna said, and thanked him for his time.

Helen took his seat, crossing her slender legs.

‘This is all rather wretched, isn’t it?’ she said softly when Mitchell had left the room.

‘Yes. So your husband was with you the night Miss Delany was murdered?’

‘We were here together. I am certain of it because he was very tired as they were night filming and he had had a difficult time with her. I had a meal prepared for him on a tray and he ate, had a few glasses of wine and came to bed. It was very late, around five in the morning. His driver brought him home at about four, I think.’

Anna jotted down the times in her notebook, then asked: ‘Did you ever meet Miss Delany?’

‘No.’

‘It was rather public knowledge that she and your husband were seeing each other . . .’

Helen leaned forward. ‘It was an awful time, quite dreadful because the press were outside and calling all the time. To be frank, I felt that Amanda had probably tipped them off. They seemed to know whenever Rupert came home and were hovering outside.’

‘He moved out, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, he took a flat on Baker Street, but all his clothes and belongings were still here. In fact, he only packed a suitcase.’ She fingered a diamond solitaire earring, twisting it.

‘It must have been very distressing for you.’

‘It was.’

‘You never met Miss Delany at the film unit?’

‘No.’

‘Did you ever go to her mews house?’

Helen sighed, shaking her head. ‘This is rather silly, isn’t it? I have said I never met Miss Delany and so therefore I would never have been to her mews house. Let me add that I had no desire to meet or even have a conversation with her. She made my life hell when I really needed to be calm and the stress almost gave me a nervous breakdown.’

‘I’m sorry to ask you these questions, but I am trying to find out as much as I can about Amanda Delany’s background,’ Anna explained.

‘I’m afraid I can’t help you at all. I did not know her, I never met her, and all I do know about her is what I have read in the newspapers.’

‘Thank you for your time.’ Anna stood up, but Helen remained seated.

‘This is very difficult. My husband is starring in her last movie and he will obviously be subjected to a lot of press enquiries. We’ve arranged to go and stay on my father’s yacht in the South of France. I hope we will be allowed to go, I really need to rest.’

‘I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be allowed to go, but we will need Mr Mitchell to give us his fingerprints, so before you go, I’ll get an officer to contact you and arrange a time.’

Helen stood up. She seemed to tower above Anna.

‘Why do you want his fingerprints?’ she asked.

‘Just for elimination purposes.’

‘From her house?’

‘Yes.’

‘But he never went there so it’s a waste of time.’

Anna picked up her briefcase.

‘Nevertheless, due to his previous relationship with Miss Delany, we will require his prints.’

Anna stepped back as Helen swept past her to open the door. Mitchell was in the hall.

‘You have to give your fingerprints,’ his wife told him.

‘Really? What on earth for?’

Anna was feeling tense.

‘It’s just, as I explained to your wife, for elimination purposes. Even though you claim you had never been to her mews house, we are also testing personal items . . .’

‘I told you that I hadn’t.’ His voice was sharp.

‘I’m sorry, but an officer will make an appointment,’ Anna said as firmly as she could, then headed for the front door. ‘Just one more thing. Did Amanda ever mention to you that she was writing a book?’

Mitchell shook his head, muttering, ‘That’s preposterous. What kind of book?’

‘Perhaps an autobiography?’

‘She was only bloody twenty-four years old, for God’s sake. What on earth would
she
be writing a book about?’

Anna gave him a frosty smile. ‘Perhaps naming the father of the child she aborted!’

He stepped away from her as if he had been slapped, but had the good manners to hurry and open the front door. Anna left, sure that Rupert Mitchell had been lying and
had
been a visitor to the mews. But she would have to prove it.

She was about to drive away when she saw a Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce draw up and park in the Mitchells’ driveway. An elderly couple made their way to the front door as Anna jotted down the numberplate. She was certain they were Helen Mitchell’s parents, but she had to be sure, for no other reason than wanting to confirm that Helen Mitchell came from a very wealthy family. Perhaps that was what drew her husband home.

Anna didn’t get into the station until well after eight that evening, and again, only the night staff were working. She was just packing up to go home when her mobile rang. It was Andrea Lesser.

‘Thank you for getting back to me,’ Anna said sweetly, even though Miss Lesser had certainly taken her time in doing so.

‘I talked to Detective Dunn earlier today.’ Miss Lesser could not recall Amanda ever wearing a gold crucifix and was unable to identify it. She did remember the stuffed rabbit, but again was unable to add very much, apart from the fact that she knew it was something Amanda was almost obsessive about.

‘Thank you. There is something else. I wanted to ask you if Amanda had been offered a publishing deal.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Was she writing a book?’

‘A book?’

‘Yes.’

‘Er, I’m not really taking this in. Are you asking me if Amanda was going to publish something?’

‘Yes, maybe an autobiography, something like that.’

There was a pause and Miss Lesser gave a long sigh.