Jane sighed. ‘That’s all a total waste of time. I’m the one that has been working on this bloody timeframe. According to her, the clients listed for that day were in the morning, our victim mid-afternoon and another client after him. The only client whose name she gave, together with his address, was the disabled man. From her timeline, he is the only one that was there at her brothel from five thirty onwards, until he was collected by Farook and taken home. I suggest you don’t waste time and just interview him.’
‘Terrific, I’m sure a guy with no legs could’ve got over to Foxley’s and gutted him. Now that’s what I call a waste of bloody time.’
Jane was now really angry. ‘Maybe you should spend more time on your day job, Spence, instead of worrying about whether or not your band has secured a record deal.’
Spencer glared at her. ‘For your fucking information, Tennison, Sony Records turned us down. Happy now?’
Jane felt bad for snapping at him but didn’t have time to apologise as they drew up outside Paramount House.
The first agent they went to see was Daniel Bergman, who was sitting at his desk eating a bagel and drinking coffee. ‘My God, it feels like you two are moving in here. Now what do you want?’
Jane took out her notebook. ‘We have some questions about entries in Charles Foxley’s diary.’
Bergman reached over as she passed him her neatly typed page of queries.
‘I now know KW stands for KatWalk,’ Jane said. ‘But what about the other references?’
He picked up a paper napkin, wiped his mouth and opened his desk drawer to pull out his personalised desk diary.
‘Right, I can’t be one hundred per cent sure, but . . .’ He flicked the pages in his diary. ‘I would say the references to hotels are when a film premiere is taking place. There would be a number of press launches, cast and crew, and then, usually after a premiere, they would have a champagne buffet celebration.’
‘So, these were all movie premieres?’ Jane asked.
Daniel continued flicking through the diary. ‘Yes, I’d say so. I may have been at a couple. I mean, they weren’t all Foxley’s independent premieres. You know Ivor Summers has quite an impressive film company.’
Spencer leant forward. ‘What do you make of him?’
Daniel scrunched up the napkin and tossed it into a waste bin. ‘Well, let’s say I wouldn’t like to argue with him. He’s a heavy hitter.’
‘Would you say the Summers brothers are untrustworthy?’ Spencer asked.
Daniel laughed. ‘I would say that is putting it mildly. I know for certain that Charles was becoming disenchanted with them.’ He gestured to various film posters in his office. ‘Charles was getting packages together, but with the last projects there was a lot of ill-feeling about how the brothers were taking the lion’s share. He brought the actors to the table, the script, writers, director; but I know, when they won an award at Cannes, Charles’s name wasn’t even mentioned.’
Daniel’s phone began ringing.
‘Do you mind if I get to work? If there is anything else I can help you with, feel free to ask.’
He picked up the phone and his usual abrasive tone was instantly replaced with a syrupy cooing. ‘Oh, my darling. I just have to congratulate you. What a brilliant performance.’ He put his hand over the receiver and rolled his eyes. ‘She was fucking dreadful,’ he whispered. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy.’
Spencer and Jane went back down the corridor and turned right, heading towards Simon Quinn’s office. The small cubicle room was in complete disarray. There were stacks of ten-by-eight photographs on the floor, and many of the framed photos had been taken down and were leaning against the wall. His desk was piled high with files and more photographs, while he was on his hands and knees, putting things into a large cardboard box beneath his desk. As they entered, he sat up and hit his head on the edge of the desk, swearing.
Jane stepped over photos of the young, beautiful girls and asked if he could double-check some dates, which she needed to confirm were connected to KatWalk. Simon was wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with ‘Kiss’, with the white, ghoulish face of Gene Simmons on the front.
He looked at the two typed pages Jane handed him. ‘Oh shit, I don’t know. I’ll have to have a look at my ledger because I can’t remember who we sent and who we didn’t.’
Jane moved closer to the untidy desk. ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean by “who we sent”?’
‘Well, models, of course.’
‘But these were film premieres?’
‘Yes, they were, but the boss was often asked to supply some really glamorous girls – “arm candy”, they call it.’
Spencer was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking around at the upturned photos of the young models.
‘They weren’t asked to serve drinks or anything like that,’ Simon continued. ‘It was usually a good gig, as all the press photographers were there and some of these girls would give their right arm to get their faces in the paper. When there was a star actor who didn’t have anyone with them, we’d organise it for the girls to accompany them on the red carpet.’
Jane took back her notes. ‘So the numbers six, four, three – were these the number of girls at the premieres?’
‘Yes, I would think so, but it was always organised by Mr Foxley. You have to understand that this was his sideline. None of the other agents were interested.’ He shrugged. ‘Not that anyone in this effing place shows any interest now he’s not here. In fact, I’ve not even had my wages paid. No matter who I ask, I’m given the cold shoulder. I know we were losing money, but we’d only been up and running nine months or so. Without him, as you can see, it’s finished.’
Spencer bent down, looking through the photos of the gorgeous young girls. At first he was unsure what he was looking for, then he straightened up.
‘The girls you supplied for these events – did they get paid?’
For the first time, Simon seemed uneasy. He looked away before shrugging his shoulders.
‘Well, they were given expenses, of course, and in some instances they were paid to get glammed up. But on the whole, as I said, they were very eager to be seen.’
Spencer nodded. ‘You didn’t quite answer the question. On top of the expenses, and on top of maybe buying a designer gown, were they also paid to go to these premieres?’
Simon was sweating. ‘You’re making it sound sleazy. I can assure you it wasn’t. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but all the girls were very well cared for. They had taxis home and there was nothing untoward about the evening.’
‘Thank you very much.’ Spencer nodded to Jane for them to leave.
Jane couldn’t quite see what direction Spencer was going in, but looked at her wristwatch and knew she needed to go if she wanted to get to Barnes for midday.
As they headed down the stairs, Spencer paused.
‘The last time I was coming up these stairs, one of the teenage models was hurrying down and was so intent on keeping hold of a wad of cash she had in an envelope, she knocked straight into me and everything spilt out.’
Jane pursed her lips. ‘Why haven’t you brought this up before?’
‘To be honest, I didn’t really see the point.’
They walked out onto the pavement.
‘Well, there is a point, Spencer, particularly if Foxley was paying for these models to be a lot more than arm candy. I’ve been trying to figure out where the shedload of cash Foxley was withdrawing each week was going. I suggest you get back there and put some pressure on young Mr Quinn.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
In reception, Rita took a call from DC Gary Dors, asking to speak to DS Tennison. She held the line and put a call in to Simon Quinn’s phone and was told that both Spencer and Jane had already left the building, missing Spencer’s return across the corridor.
Spencer tapped on Simon Quinn’s door.
‘What is it now?’ he asked petulantly.
&nb
sp; Spencer walked into the room. ‘I just need to straighten out a few things.’ He looked around and saw a stool, which had a stack of models’ photographs on top. He picked them up and placed them on the edge of the already cluttered desk.
‘I have answered every single question. I just don’t know what you want from me.’
Spencer took out his notebook and leant over the desk to remove a pencil from a jar. ‘It is just to satisfy my boss. You stated that the models were hired to be – and this is your description – “arm candy”, for various premieres, which were not necessarily Charles Foxley’s movies.’
‘Yes.’
Spencer made a show of flicking from one page to another, but there were actually no notes written on them.
‘So, you say you paid for these girls to have taxis back and forth, for evening dresses. How much would you say that would cost per girl?’
‘I don’t know, it depends where they lived. I mean, if they had a flat in Hampstead and were going to the Odeon in Leicester Square, we would have to book a taxi there and back.’
‘So what would you say was the usual outlay for cash for taxis? I presume you paid them cash?’
Simon sighed. ‘Yes, cash. They would come in the day after with their receipts and that’s how we paid them.’
‘What about the evening wear?’
Simon sighed again. ‘Well, sometimes they would hire an evening gown. We aren’t talking Valentino or Yves Saint Laurent. They just had to look glamorous.’
‘So, on these occasions, the girls would come in with the receipts for the clothes the next day?’
‘Yes. On a couple of occasions the hire company refused to take the item back due to a drink being spilt or a torn hem, something like that.’
‘So how much would you say you were forking out for these glamorous clothes you wanted the girls to wear?’
‘Well, it varied, but on average I would say around two hundred pounds. Sometimes they included shoes and an evening bag. I mean, some of these girls were pretty savvy, you know. It wasn’t as if they didn’t jump at the chance. As I’ve already told you, sometimes the star of the movie needed an escort, so the girls couldn’t wait to get the gig.’
Spencer made quite a show of writing down figures and totting up the amount. ‘So, shall we say when six girls were required to attend one of these first nights, you’re looking at a thousand pounds, maybe fifteen hundred pay-out?’
Simon shook his head, ‘No, no . . . it would have been more like five or six hundred.’
‘Do you have these receipts?’ Spencer asked quietly.
‘You must be joking. Look at the state of my office! Do you really think I can put my hands on any of the receipts? Besides, they would be handled by Julia to give to Foxley.’
Spencer nodded thoughtfully. ‘Did you ever have any problems with these girls?’
‘What do you mean, problems?’
‘Well, did any one of the girls complain or say they felt they were being taken advantage of? I mean, you said there were a lot of movie actors, producers and directors.’
‘They couldn’t wait to get there. Most of them were aspiring actresses and, as I have said before, the girls were almost fighting each other to be given the job.’
‘You didn’t actually answer my question. Did any of these girls ever make a complaint that perhaps they might have been forced into providing sexual favours?’
‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
‘Mr Quinn, I have put it as plainly and politely as possible. I am asking you if these young girls, I would say some of them underage, ever felt obliged to go further than being simply “arm candy”.’
Quinn shook his head. ‘I can honestly say that I never had to deal with anything like that. I am sure that if there had been any instances of wrong-doing, Mr Foxley would have dealt with it personally.’
‘Do you know if any girl was ever paid extra?’
Quinn’s face was now glistening with sweat, his cheeks flushed. He plucked a tissue from a box to wipe his forehead.
‘I’m not getting involved in any of this. I only just started to work here recently, so I can’t tell you what may have gone on before my time. I did hear a rumour that one girl had caused a lot of problems, but I don’t know who she was.’
Spencer held up his pencil. ‘Wait a minute . . . you heard about a girl causing problems? What do you mean by “problems”?’
‘Oh Christ! I was just told that there had been a problem. I think she was young and immature and I was told afterwards to make sure that any of the girls we sent to these first nights were given strict instructions: if anyone made an unwanted approach, we encouraged them to leave immediately and then they should report back to Mr Foxley.’
Again Spencer held up his pencil. ‘So what you’re saying is Mr Foxley knew that he was sending these girls into a situation which could easily end up with the expectation of sexual favours?’
Simon had to wipe his face again. ‘I am not getting into this because it had nothing to do with me. When I was told that they needed six girls, or four girls, for a first night, I would call them up. As I keep on saying, they were eager to accept. These girls hoped to get discovered at these events: there were photographers, journalists . . . A number of times these girls were photographed and got onto the front page of the top gossip papers. I mean, they were encouraged to mingle with the cast and crew, and therefore had every opportunity to meet directors and producers at these parties. But Mr Foxley was often there to personally supervise the girls.’
Spencer flicked through his notebook again. ‘These parties, as you just said, would take place before the film began and afterwards at certain top hotels like The Ritz, The Savoy, The Dorchester?’
‘Yes . . . yes. The producers spared no expense on these events.’
‘So, often a lot of these people involved with the movie would be staying at the hotels?’
‘Yes, I suppose they would.’
‘Can I take you back to the girl you said was a problem? Can you give me any indication what that problem was?’
‘No, I can’t! I wasn’t working here at that time. You have to understand this is a fledgling company, which now, due to the circumstances of Mr Foxley’s death, is no longer functional.’
Spencer turned back to the notes he made with Jane Tennison in the accountant’s office. ‘So, KatWalk was making losses from the moment it was opened, is that right?’
‘Yes, because we had to get the girls on our books. So Mr Foxley ran the company at a loss until he felt we could begin earning. I had also booked a number of sportsmen for advertising purposes.’
‘Can you give me the names of the girls you know were at the last premiere? I recall the last time I was here I saw a very tall red-haired girl who appeared to be carrying an envelope stuffed with money, a lot more than I would say would cover a taxi and a hired gown.’
Quinn stood up, pushing his chair back. ‘I don’t remember. As I said earlier, you should contact Julia Summers. Perhaps she can give you a name.’
‘Come on, Simon. She looked like a model . . . red hair, wearing high-heeled shoes and carrying an envelope bulging with cash. All I want is a name.’
Quinn gestured to the mounds of photos boxed up and stacked in heaps around the room. ‘If you want to go through all the photographs, you’re welcome.’
Before Spencer could say anything, Quinn had pushed past him and into the corridor. Spencer looked around the room. He doubted that he would be able to remember the girl that clearly but, nevertheless, he picked up the stack of photographs and began to sift through them. He took out his notebook, jotting down the names from the back of the photos. He noticed they all had a cross in the corner. A memo on top of the stack read: No longer clients, no further booking. He put them aside and picked up a box from the floor.
*
Jane walked to Piccadilly Circus and caught the Piccadilly Line to Hammersmith. She then hailed a taxi to take he
r to Justine Harris’s house in Barnes. By the time she got there it was almost noon. Parked in the drive was Justine Harris’s Mercedes, but there were no other vehicles.
Jane walked to the front door and rang the bell, thinking perhaps that DI Miller had been dropped off. She could hear a telephone ringing. No one answered the phone or came to the door. Jane checked her watch again and walked back to the gate, which had been left open. She stood on the pavement, waiting as she saw Justine heading towards her, coming out from the copse and starting to cross a field not far from the railway line. She was wearing a slouch hat and an old overcoat and had all three dogs. Stick, the whippet, and Jack, the Jack Russell, were on leads, while she carried Toots, the dachshund, under one arm.
She was about ten yards away when she saw Jane and gave her a friendly wave, still holding the two dogs’ leads. As she approached Jane, she smiled and said they should go in the back way as she needed to wipe the dogs’ paws down and feed them. Justine appeared to be relaxed as she unlocked the back door to go into the rear garden, pointing out to Jane the new fencing that had been erected to keep the dogs from escaping, and in particular to prevent Jack from attacking next door’s pigeons.
She laughed as she let the dogs off the lead. ‘I’m sure the poor woman’s deluded. Half her precious pigeons were wild and just took up residence in the pigeon loft when they felt like it.’
Justine ushered Jane into the kitchen as she kicked off her muddy boots and left them outside. The dogs all bounded about outside for a while before they followed the women into the kitchen.
‘Take a pew,’ Justine said, indicating the breakfast bar with high stools. She then began to prepare the three bowls of dog food. At the same time she filled the coffee percolator and moved gracefully, almost like a ballet dancer, around the kitchen. Jane had never seen her so amicable and so relaxed. She checked the time again but didn’t feel that it would be a good idea for her to mention the imminent arrival of DI Miller. She wondered if perhaps he’d been delayed in traffic or was being driven to the house by Darren McDermott.
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