The more she talked, all the time playing with the pearls around her neck, the more she seemed to relax.
‘Can you think of anyone who would want to harm Mr Foxley?’ Spencer asked.
That made her smile for the first time.
‘Oh, lots of people disliked him. He was a very tough negotiator.’
‘Were you aware that Mr Foxley paid considerable amounts of money for prostitutes?’
Her smile vanished, and she put her hand to her mouth with a gasp.
‘Did Mr Foxley ever make any advances towards you?’ Spencer asked.
‘No, never! Has his ex-wife been saying things about him? She seemed to think any woman who went near Mr Foxley was having an affair with him – but in reality nothing could have been further from any of our minds . . .’ She suddenly stopped.
Jane and Spencer let the pause hang in the air, as Julia bowed her head.
‘Sorry, I’m speaking completely out of turn . . . I don’t think I should answer any more questions.’ She bent down and lifted her overnight bag onto her lap. ‘You wanted Mr Foxley’s diary . . .’ She took out a large manila envelope and passed it to Spencer. ‘In his office, you’ll also find the previous three years of diaries.’
Jane pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘Thank you very much for your help, Miss Summers.’
Julia zipped her overnight bag closed. ‘I’m going to see Mr Myers, now,’ she said, then walked past Spencer, out of the annexe, with her eyes down.
Jane looked at Spencer. ‘What do you make of her?’
‘Well, I hope her shorthand and typing is good. She seems a bit feather-brained to me.’
Jane nodded in agreement. ‘I’m just going to the ladies. Do you want to wait for me in reception?’
The ladies toilet room had three cubicles, with three wash basins and a roller towel. Jane was washing her hands when the door opened and Emma Ransom walked in.
‘We were just talking to Julia Summers,’ Jane said affably, as she pulled down the roller towel.
‘Yes, I was told she had hurried back from Devon with Charles’s diary. You have no idea how many times I have told her that she should not remove it from the office, but I don’t think the lift stops on all floors with Julia. Trying to organise Charles was quite a complicated exercise and one I constantly had to monitor.’
‘I would’ve thought that as he was such a successful agent, Mr Foxley would have required an experienced secretary or personal assistant,’ Jane said.
Emma nodded. ‘He most certainly did, which is why I had more work than I should have had. But then there were other reasons for hiring Julia. Her father is what is known as an angel in our business. He’s is a phenomenally wealthy man who invests in stage productions and, more recently, British movies. Her mother is also from a very aristocratic family, so Julia is very well-connected. For all her ineptness, she did bring in a lot of her aspiring model friends to Charles’s new venture, KatWalk. But frankly, now that he’s gone, I doubt she will be staying at the company. And Simon Quinn will more than likely be out of a job without Charles as well.’
She pushed open one of the cubicle doors.
‘Can I just ask you something?’ Jane said. ‘I believe you were the agent for Sebastian Martinez?’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘I’ve heard various stories about there being some unpleasant interactions with Charles Foxley in connection with the purchase of Mr Martinez’s flat in Kensington.’
Emma pursed her lips. ‘I did represent Sebastian. He was an exceedingly talented designer. He had also qualified as an architect and a lot of his sets were extraordinarily complicated structures. He worked not only for major theatres but also opera houses.’
‘Could you tell me about the animosity between those two?’
‘It was a difference of opinions. At the time, Charles also represented him as a client, and I didn’t really know the details.’ She turned as if to go into the cubicle.
‘But he committed suicide, didn’t he?’
Emma turned back, frowning angrily. ‘I really don’t see what that’s got to do with anything.’
‘I just want to know if his suicide was connected to the sale of the flat.’
This time Emma snapped. ‘If you want further details, I suggest you ask Charles’s ex-wife. Right now, I really need to take a piss.’ She slammed the cubicle door shut.
Spencer was in reception with Rita, listening in to the conversation as Rita took a call from Frieda Lunn. It appeared Mr Foxley’s housekeeper had not been paid for a month. Rita assured her that she would take it up with Mr Myers, and just as she replaced the phone, Myers called out from the end of the corridor.
‘Detective, could I speak with you for a minute?’
Spencer headed down the corridor and Myers ushered him into his office.
‘Detective, I don’t know if you are aware, but Charles’s ex-wife has inherited all of his shares in the company. Quite honestly, if she was even to contemplate working here, I very much doubt that the other agents would stay. I, for one, would find it virtually impossible. My hopes are that she sells the shares, to be divided between us all. Emma Ransom has already had another top agent trying to poach her. Meanwhile, Charles’s clients are already moving elsewhere.’ He shook his head. ‘FFA, as we say in the business. Fickle Fucking Actors.’
‘How do you know the contents of Mr Foxley’s will?’ Spencer asked.
‘I was his partner. He had said numerous times that he would change it after his divorce, but then they had this freaky relationship, so you never knew where you were with the two of them. He was often at their marital home, which she fought like a tigress to be awarded, lock, stock and barrel. And she was always on the phone to him, usually using Clara as an excuse.’
Myers’ desk phone rang and he snatched it up. He listened for a moment, scowling.
‘Rita, I am a very busy man and I don’t give a toss about whether or not Mrs Lunn has been paid for her cleaning services. Tell her to send an invoice to his ex-wife.’ He slammed down the phone.
‘Unbelievable. As if, in the middle of this nightmare, I’ve got time to deal with Charles’s cleaner. At least we don’t have his bloody dogs running amok. I had to get rid of one of the wing-backed chairs they appropriated – it wasn’t just full of dog hairs, but fleas.’ He gave an odd chuckle. ‘He used to find it amusing, you know, when he had one of his FFAs in. He would sit them in that chair and they’d walk out covered in dog hairs. Now, added to the rest of my problems, bloody Daniel Bergman is insisting that he wants to move into Charles’s office. I mean, talk about shoving his feet into a dead man’s shoes.’
Spencer said, ‘Thank you very much for your time, Mr Myers. I would also like to take this opportunity to take Mr Foxley’s Rolodex from his desk.’
Myers frowned. ‘It has some important contact details I need.’
‘I’ll make a copy of it for you, but I’ll need to keep the original as evidence in the investigation.’
After they had driven back to the station, Spencer went into the canteen and grabbed two rather stale cheese sandwiches and two mugs of tea to take into the boardroom. Jane was having the first look through the coveted diary and by the time he joined her she had already made extensive notes.
‘I don’t know how this man functioned with a secretary who was so dizzy,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘There is more Tippex in here than there is paper. Some of the pages are clogged with it when he has appointments, breakfast meetings, coffee meetings, lunches . . . but on the days when he was obviously visiting the dominatrix, it just says “family matter”. There’s a lot of scrawled writing, which I presume is his. “Toadying with FFA”. I wonder who FFA is,’ Jane said, turning the pages.
Spencer grinned. ‘FFA means Fickle Fucking Actor.’
Jane rolled her eyes. ‘Well, he certainly has a lot of meetings with them.’
Together Jane and Spencer went through the diary page by page, noting
that Julia had covered over some entries. Perhaps because she’d run out of Tippex, she had glued on little bits of paper and written ‘cancelled’ or ‘do not include’.
There were numerous flights back and forth to LA and New York, and on one page, in Foxley’s red scrawl, was ‘got him’ underlined several times, but nothing else that indicated any confrontations or difficult relationships.
Spencer stood up and dug his hands into his pockets. ‘Here is a guy who has a hugely successful business. He represents some of the most famous actors in the UK and in the US. He owns a luxurious flat in Kensington. And he spends an inordinate amount of time in a seedy S&M brothel. It just doesn’t seem to add up.’
Jane nodded. ‘I know what you mean. Paul Lawrence felt there was a lot about his flat that didn’t make any sense either. He had very few clothes there and, for a man who was always going to premieres and opening nights, there were no evening suits or smart shoes, only one pair of rather grubby trainers.’
Spencer began to walk around the boardroom table.
‘He owns the rundown Volvo to move his dogs around, plus he has a flash Jaguar. What we don’t know is what was he doing at the weekends. Where did he go? Did he play golf? What did he do on those blank weekends?’
Jane closed the diary. ‘I think we should get a search warrant for the ex-wife’s house.’
‘Too bloody right! According to DS Lawrence, whoever committed the murder had to have been covered in blood.’
‘Yes, we know that,’ Jane agreed. ‘But we haven’t got the results yet on the footprints, which were found in the victim’s blood . . .’
‘Maybe they could be female? They haven’t clarified the actual size and make yet.’
‘We know Justine Harris turned up shortly after the murder was discovered and behaved irrationally. According to the guv it felt as if she was going to kick the body. If you ask me, we should have been considering her as a suspect from day one.’
Spencer raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you want to run that by the guv?’
Jane shook her head. ‘No, it’s just a bit of a gut feeling. If we get a warrant, maybe we’ll find something incriminating.’ Jane stood up and put the diary back into the envelope.
DC Tony Johnson barged into the room, holding the door open awkwardly as he heaved in four folding chairs.
‘Guv wants the diary and asked me to tell you there is going to be a briefing. I dunno what time it’s going down, but if not this afternoon then tomorrow morning.’ He stacked the chairs and walked out as Dors carried in a heavy portable slide projector, setting it up at the end of the table.
‘Commander Dartford and Detective Chief Superintendent Walker are in with the guv. They’ve been closeted in there for half the afternoon.’
‘Did something happen while we were out?’ Jane asked.
‘I dunno. DI Arnold was in with them, that’s all I know. Me and Tony are hacked off as we’ve been back running the station and working shifts for the usual array of shoplifters, while you nobs are all interviewing movie stars.’
Spencer put his jacket on and gave a warning look to Dors. ‘Mind your mouth.’ He turned to Jane. ‘I guess we better get cracking on writing our reports about the diary.’
‘I haven’t even started yet.’
‘Well, we better get a move on. I think something serious is going down.’
‘Finding a man disembowelled isn’t serious enough for you?’
‘No, listen to me, Jane. I’ve heard that Walker, the Divisional Senior Detective – the bloke who monitors murder investigations – is coming in. So the pair of us need to get more information and make sure we are up to speed.’
‘Honestly, Spence,’ said Jane. ‘I’ve been doing report after report after report. I don’t think Arnold is pulling his weight.’
‘You’re telling me that? Listen, I’ve been covering a lot of work in Arnold’s absence and I’ve had no thanks for it. If the big chief is coming in, I want to make a good impression because of previously blotting my effing copy book.’
‘And being demoted for it.’
Spencer grinned, unrolling a tie from his jacket pocket. ‘I am going to prove, DS Tennison, that I am an exceptionally capable officer.’
Jane laughed, ‘Well, if I were you, Spence, I would hold that tie over the spout of the steaming kettle first. It looks as if you slept in it.’
Spencer headed for the electric kettle, muttering to himself, as Jane took out her compact. If Spencer wanted to make an impression, she was damn well going to make one herself.
CHAPTER TEN
Jane had passed the diary over to one of the clerks, who had hurriedly taken it in to Tyler’s office. She could hear the low voices from inside his office but did not know for sure who was in there. She went back to working on her report.
Other members of the team were arriving in dribs and drabs, some hurriedly typing up reports, others bringing in teas and coffees. The room felt stiflingly hot and clouds of cigarette smoke hung in the air. Jane printed out her report and went over to Spencer’s desk.
‘Are you going to suggest a search warrant?’ she asked, quietly.
‘Yeah, yeah . . .’ He leant towards her. ‘What do you think is going on in there?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but it’s got to be something big. I overheard one of the detectives saying something like Harry Belafonte was coming in.’
Spencer looked up. ‘You’re fucking joking? The actor? He’s not on any list from the agency.’
‘I think he was referring to some high-ranking fixer from Scotland Yard, not the movie star.’
She looked around the room as even more officers were arriving. Jane decided to grab a bite to eat in the canteen before the meeting started.
By the time Jane had washed her hands and tidied her hair, it was coming up to 4 p.m. When she got back to the boardroom, it was packed full. Detectives were seated around the table, apart from five empty chairs at the top. The folding chairs were mostly occupied as well, and she was thankful when Spencer signalled that he had saved her a chair beside him. She passed along the row and sat down.
The murmur of voices stopped abruptly as DCI Tyler walked in. He was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt and tie, which, by the creases, looked as if he had just taken it out of the packet. Behind him was shorter man who was slightly overweight, but with a square jaw and iron-grey hair, which gave him an air of toughness. Jane recognised him as Edward Walker. He was the Detective Chief Superintendent controlling four sections – their station included – and he had a formidable reputation. An old-fashioned copper who had worked his way from the ground up, Walker was known to take a hard line with his officers and was famous for his rigorous interrogation technique.
Tyler waited as the female cleric carried in a jug of water and plastic beakers, then poured a glass of water for himself and one for Walker. Three chairs remained empty beside them.
‘I doubt he needs an introduction, but this is DCS Walker. He’d like to say a few words before the briefing begins.’
Walker eased off his jacket, placing it carefully on the back of his chair. He had heavy-lidded eyes and, Jane thought, there was almost a thuggish quality to him. When he spoke, there were still traces of a cockney accent.
‘Right, I’ll make no bones about it. This murder inquiry is at a standstill. I am in no way pointing blame at any one of you gathered here, but I have taken the unprecedented step of bringing in three very accomplished detectives who have, for the last twenty-four hours, made themselves privy to the entire investigation to date. We are very fortunate as one of the officers was here in London from the famous FBI training academy in Quantico. He is an accomplished criminal psychologist and an expert profiler.
‘As you are all very well aware, this case has created a lot of press interest, and some of it not very welcome. I want to reiterate the warnings you have been given not to be drawn into any dialogue with reporters. I am also taking this opportunity to inform you t
hat due to recent and ongoing health issues, Detective Inspector Timothy Arnold has taken a lengthy leave of absence and will be replaced.’
Spencer nudged Jane. He was about to whisper something when there was a knock on the door. Tyler pushed his chair back and crossed to open the door. It was not theatrical in any way, because everyone gathered was tense and felt as if any one of them could be removed from the inquiry. The first man who entered was a thin, wiry detective with jutting cheekbones, his blond hair cut short, almost military style. He wore an expensive-looking suit and a blue shirt with white starched collar and cuffs.
‘This is Detective Inspector Lucas Miller, who will be replacing DI Arnold,’ Tyler announced.
Miller nodded acknowledgement and sat down beside Walker.
Tyler then ushered in the second man. He had red hair, pale, watery blue eyes and ruddy cheeks that gave him a boyish quality, but he had a muscular physique, as if he worked out. He was wearing what appeared to be an off-the-peg, grey single-breasted suit with a cream buttoned-down shirt.
‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Jack Collins,’ Tyler said. ‘He handles serious organised crime cases.’
‘He spends a lot of his time abroad on investigations, but as you can see, he never manages to get a sun-tan,’ Walker chipped in.
Jane peered over the shoulder of the officer in front of her to get a good look at DCI Collins as a ripple of laughter went around the room.
Finally, standing patiently in the doorway, was the man who Jane had heard called Harry Belafonte. He was a tall, handsome black man and, unlike the two previous detectives, he was not wearing a suit. He had on a black polo-neck sweater and a fashionable jacket with dark trousers.
‘Welcome to Senior Special Agent of the FBI, Harry Bellamy,’ Tyler said with a grin.
Bellamy gave a relaxed smile to everyone as he took the remaining seat, pushing it back to accommodate his long legs.
Blunt Force Page 13
