Annie was kept there answering questions for several hours. Billy had made sure their lawyer joined her to sit in on the interviews, but she didn’t try to evade any of the repeated questions about her whereabouts the night before, her relationship with Mike, how they had got on, how she had felt about his recent comments to the press about her, if she had seen his interview on breakfast TV.
‘Were you angry with him?’
The lawyer stirred, frowning, but Annie answered. ‘Yes,’ she said frankly, meeting the inspector’s eyes. ‘But not enough to kill him! And I doubt if I could, anyway. Mike was very fit, I’d never have been able to overpower him.’ She held up her small, slender hands. ‘Do these hands look strong enough to strangle a man?’ A shudder ran through her at the thought.
Inspector Chorley shrugged. ‘He was drugged before he was killed – the stuff had been put into a glass of whisky, we found traces of it in the sediment in the bottom of the glass. He was unconscious when he died, and you wouldn’t need strong hands – he was strangled with a woman’s tights, in exactly the same way Derek Fenn was. Anyone could have killed him. Tell me, did he know this ex-tutor of yours, Roger Keats, the man who claimed to have killed Derek Fenn?’
She shook her head, face uncertain. ‘I doubt it. I suppose he might have done. A lot of actors either studied at the school or visited it later, when they were professionals. The school liked to get well-known names along to give workshops or judge competitions.’
‘Did Mike Waterford ever come to the school when you were there?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I never met him, if he did.’
‘But he might have done?’
‘The theatre is a small world. Everyone knows everyone else, actors and directors are obsessed with work, it’s all they talk about. Mike obviously knew people who’d been to the school, apart from me, I mean. He may have known Roger Keats.’
‘But you don’t recall Mr Waterford ever mentioning his name?’
She shook her head.
‘Apart from having a quarrel with him after he talked about you so freely on television the other day, how did you normally get on with Mr Waterford? Did you like him?’
She was tired of being wary and careful; she just told the truth, although she could see from the lawyer’s face that he was appalled by her frankness as he listened.
‘He was unprofessional, selfish, wanted to hug the limelight. He enjoyed making little digs at you, he could be spiteful and his ego was monstrous. He had all the worst faults of actors, magnified a hundred times. No, I did not like him.’
The inspector half-smiled, she sensed he hadn’t liked Mike much on television, and he was secretly amused by what she had said. But he said, ‘It can’t be a coincidence, you know – that first one member of the cast is killed, and then another. And both men were important in the series, weren’t they? Have you got any ideas on that? Why would this murderer want to kill Mike Waterford?’
Her eyes were wide, troubled, baffled. ‘I don’t know – I can’t work it out at all.’ She looked at the inspector, searching his face. ‘Do you think it was Roger Keats who killed Mike? But why should he?’
He shrugged. ‘At the moment all I have is a lot of evidence to sift before I can make guesses. OK, Miss Lang, that will be all for now. If you think of anything else, ring me, won’t you? Any little detail, anything you remember … it could be very important. Oh, and you’d better give me your boyfriend’s address, and where he works? We’ll need you to sign your statement too. Constable Higgs will print it out at once – just wait two minutes, please.’
A policewoman had sat in the corner taking down her words on an almost silent word processor; Annie heard the hum of it beginning to print as she looked through her bag to find Johnny’s address.
She was given the statement to read, and then sign. As she handed it back, the inspector said, ‘And please be careful, Miss Lang, won’t you? Two of the stars of your series are dead. We don’t want to be looking into your murder next.’
Did he think that hadn’t occurred to her? If Roger Keats was killing people, she would be on the list. That thought had been at the back of her mind ever since she heard Mike was dead. But why would he kill Mike? Derek, yes, Roger had a motive for that – he might have vanished from Marty’s life for years but he was crazy enough to resent her taking up with another man.
‘You won’t want to run the press gauntlet,’ said the inspector. ‘So we’ll take you out the back way again – apparently there’s a car waiting for you there. We’ll be in touch if we need to talk to you again.’
Annie assumed the studio had sent Jason to get her, but when she walked out of the back of the police station the first thing she spotted was Sean’s black Porsche. He leaned over to open the passenger door. Annie hesitated, then got in.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I came to give a statement too – confirming the time you left the studio yesterday, your visit to the hospital, what time you got back to your home, the fact that you met Johnny Tyrone there, and left again with him, and what time you returned later that night.’
Her head almost exploded. ‘God, I’m so sick of all this prying and snooping and having to answer questions!’
‘I know, it’s tough, but a second murder has really put Chorley under pressure to find the killer, and fast. They’ll give the case to someone else if he doesn’t get someone soon, and Chorley’s whole career could be blasted.’ Sean grimaced. ‘Not that I’d care about that, I can’t stand the man, but I understand the sort of stick he’s getting from above.’
Annie leaned back in her seat while they drove out of the car park with the press heaving around them and trying to take pictures through the car windows even as Sean accelerated.
Several of them actually tried to stop the car by lying across the bonnet and Sean had to swerve to throw them off while he shot away.
He was muttering angrily under his breath about them. ‘Vermin, scum of the earth … I’d like to drive right over the whole pack of them.’
Annie giggled, almost hysterical suddenly. ‘And you an ex-policeman, too! I’m shocked.’
He turned to grin at her. ‘Policemen are human beings!’
‘I’m not so sure about Inspector Chorley!’ Annie noticed him turn the car northwards, into the stream of traffic which would pass through the London Borough of South Park eventually, and realised he was going to drive her home. ‘I want to visit my mother, Sean, before I go home. You can leave me at the hospital. I’ll get a taxi home later.’
Sean didn’t argue; he turned off a few streets later, and headed for the hospital instead.
‘Do you ever miss being in the police force?’ Annie asked, trying to avoid talking about Mike and the murder, or even thinking about it.
‘Not in the slightest. No, I was mad keen on it, in the beginning. It was the family job, after all, and I’d badly wanted to be a copper. It can be an absorbing job, but it can be deadly dull, too; there’s too much paperwork, too much plain footwork, knocking on doors, asking the same questions over and over again, observation for hours in the freezing cold street, sitting in cars waiting, endlessly waiting. In a way it’s a bit like filming; you spend an awful lot of time waiting for something to happen, and filling in your time with boring stuff that leaves a lot of your mind with nothing to do. On the other hand you meet a lot of people, hear some very odd stories, a lot of pain and grief – it is a very human job.’
She thought about what he had said and nodded. ‘Is that why you started to write – or did you always want to write?’
‘I always liked reading, especially detective stories – I started thinking I’d like to write one when I was in cadet school, then I thought of writing for TV. I tried out a couple of scripts, but didn’t dare send them to anyone until I met Harriet at a writing weekend, I showed her what I’d done, she liked them and that was how The Force started.’
He pulled into the hospital car park and Annie smiled at him
a little shyly, her blue eyes darker than usual. ‘I’m a fan, you know, Sean – you’re a terrific writer. I love working with you.’
A flush crept along his cheekbones. ‘Thanks. Same here. I’m a fan of yours, and you’re a joy to write for; you always make my words sound as if you just thought of them. At times even I wonder if you have.’
‘I’m not that clever. I’m just an actress, that’s all. Thanks for the lift. Bye.’ Annie dived out of the Porsche, flurried by the exchange of mutual admiration, and rushed into the hospital. Sean waited until she was out of sight, then he drove to the hospital and parked where he could see the main entrance. He knew Annie wouldn’t stay long; she always found it painful to see her mother the way she was now. But from now on he wasn’t allowing her to go anywhere without someone watching her. First Derek, then Mike … if he didn’t do something to stop it, the next victim might be Annie, and Sean wasn’t letting that happen.
That afternoon there was a long meeting to decide the future of The Force in Billy Grenaby’s office. Half a dozen people sat around his desk, with very long faces.
Only when the directors had debated for several hours did they call Harriet up to that floor. She had got straight back to work again after Annie’s departure, shooting bits of scenes which didn’t require either Annie or Mike. For Harriet work was always the best medicine.
She was drawn and pale when she came into Billy’s office. He was alone now, seated behind his desk. Looking like someone facing a firing squad, she met his eyes.
‘For the moment we’ve decided not to make a decision,’ he said drily, and she breathed again. ‘Carry on with the schedule. If Annie is cleared, if the police catch the killer, we may be able to salvage the series. We’ll play a waiting game for now.’
Harriet sat down facing him. ‘Billy … about this swap you’ve arranged? Do I have to accept?’
‘No, but I thought it would be useful for you to be over there while I’m there.’ His eyes drifted down to his desk and he looked self-conscious; as always when he wasn’t easy in his skin he ran a finger under his collar, straightened his tie, like a nervous schoolboy.
‘You’re going over to the States too? Why?’ Harriet’s mind worked overtime on what he had said, the implications of Billy wanting her near him while he was in the States. She still hadn’t made up her mind how she felt about him, but a little quiver of excitement ran over her, raising goose-bumps on her skin.
‘One of their networks is interested in doing a deal with us to produce stuff specially tailored for American markets; they would come up with half the funding, I’d have to find the rest. I need to spend some time over there, exploring the current trends, assessing the atmosphere, before I decide.’
‘Sounds fascinating. Are you thinking of asking me to produce anything, if it comes off? Is that why you want me over there?’
Billy moved things on his desk, staring at his hands, then looked up at her.
‘I want you there because I’d miss you if I was away for three months.’
Harriet breathed carefully.
‘Think it over,’ Billy said, voice husky. ‘Why don’t we have dinner tonight, and talk?’
Harriet had made up her mind. ‘I’d love to,’ she said, and watched his eyes glint, his mouth relax:
‘I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty, then.’
‘I’ll be waiting,’ she said, and went back down to the studio floor briskly. The technicians and actors were taking a long tea break, talking their heads off, their faces worried. ‘OK, people, back to work,’ she said, clapping her hands, and they saw from her face that they were not out of a job. Yet.
As they rushed to get back to their places, Harriet looked at her watch. Three hours since Annie and Sean left. Her light-hearted mood dissolved. What were the police asking Annie that took so long?
She swallowed. If they lost Annie too that really would be the end of the series. It couldn’t go on without her.
Surely to God the police don’t suspect her? She thought of Annie’s big eyes and delicate face – how could anyone think that was the face of a murderer? Then she remembered the rumour that a woman just like Annie had been seen with Derek the night he died, What if Annie had been seen with Mike last night?
She pushed the idea away, grimacing angrily. What was she thinking about? The idea was crazy. Annie, commit murder? Strangle people? She wasn’t capable of it.
But who was doing this? They’re destroying my series, she thought, trembling with anger and fear. It could have run for years yet. Now there’s every chance it will come off at the end of this season.
Harriet set her teeth. Not if I can help it! Her hands clenched at her sides. I’ll use every weapon I can get, but I’m not just letting them kill my series.
Trudie was in a strangely talkative mood; she was back in the past again, a happier past, remembering Annie as a little girl, talking about her dead husband as if he was alive.
Annie let her talk, holding her hand and watching her wistfully. Her mother had always been so strong, so certain. Now she was shrunken in the bed, she barely made a bump under the bedclothes; how childlike she looked in the white cotton nightdress, and her hair had been brushed back off her face, silver, glistening.
Suddenly Trudie was silent. Talked out, she lay back against the pillow, eyes closed.
‘I suppose I’d better go, now,’ Annie said, and her mother’s fingers clutched at her.
‘Annie … don’t leave me here, someone wants to kill me. He came back last night, but Sister came in, and he went away.’
Annie stared down at her. ‘He? It wasn’t one of the nurses, then?’
Trudie looked confused. ‘It was a nurse. Yes. A male nurse. Cinders. I call him Cinders because he’s only here at night. It was him who gave me that injection. I remembered, yesterday, but Sister took no notice, she told me to go to sleep, I was imagining things again.’
Annie talked to the ward sister who was very polite at first but became stiff and irritated when she heard what Trudie had said.
‘Yes, she did make some vague accusations against one of my night nurses, but she’s mistaken. He wasn’t on night duty the night she was given the injection of digitalin. He was not in the hospital that night. It’s true he was here last night, but only briefly – he came in to say goodbye to the night staff, he has decided to leave us. He wasn’t working. He went in to say goodbye to the patients, too, which was when your mother got so upset. She started screaming, I’m afraid.’
‘Have you told the police about this?’
‘Told them what, Miss Lang? That your mother had made unsubstantiated accusations about one of my nurses? Do you realise how contradictory her accounts of this incident are? She can’t actually remember exactly what happened. It’s a typical pattern. We get these accusations all the time. Old people forget and then when they’re cross about something else they think up wild accusations. Look, my own opinion is that your mother was given digitalin by mistake – it should have been given to another patient that night. It has to be that. No digitalin is missing. There were several patients on the drug but they are all just as unreliable as your mother and they didn’t remember whether or not they had had their medication. I am not going to have another pointless upheaval by having the police back here.’
Annie could not believe the woman’s indifference. ‘And what if it happens again? What if my mother dies next time?’
‘I have improved security on this ward. It won’t happen again.’ The woman’s assurance was impregnable.
Annie stared at her, trembling with anger. ‘If it does, and if anything … happens … to my mother, I’ll blame you!’
Sean watched from his car as Annie left in another taxi, which he followed back to her house. As he’d feared, there were a couple of press cars waiting outside, but they were half asleep after a long wait, took too long to get out and sprint after her, and just missed catching her before she got indoors. They rang the doorbell and stood about on th
e path shouting until a woman next door threw a bucket of ice-cold water over them.
They scattered like tomcats and she yelled after them, ‘If you don’t clear off I’ll set my dog on you!’ The dog snarled beside her in the upstairs window, a heavy Alsatian who looked as if he ate postmen and journalists for breakfast.
The press retreated to their cars again and, after waiting another few hours and deciding Annie wasn’t coming out again that night, drove off together.
Sean rang Tom Moor on his mobile phone. ‘I want someone watching her twenty-four hours a day – can you arrange that?’
‘Nothing easier, but it will cost you, Sean. Twenty-four-hour surveillance comes expensive.’
‘Look, two men are dead, and her mother was almost killed – I don’t care what it cost. I want her protected night and day.’
‘I’m surprised Chorley didn’t give her police protection – I’d have thought it was warranted, with two members of the cast murdered.’
‘He thought of it, but he can’t spare the men, and it would be open-ended. Who knows when this killer will hit again? Twenty-four-hour surveillance comes expensive, as you just told me. Chorley knows I’m keeping an eye on her.’
‘You like this girl, don’t you, Sean?’ Tom said softly.
Sean didn’t answer. ‘I’ll stay here until your man arrives,’ was all he said.
‘It will be me,’ Tom said. ‘Why should I pay someone else when I can earn the money myself?’
‘Cherie is going to love me!’
Next day Harriet watched Annie carefully while they were shooting three short scenes. She’s at the end of her tether, Harriet thought. I think we should stop using her for a couple of weeks. Send her away. A health farm, where she can get some peace and quiet? Or abroad to get some real sunshine? She needs a complete break.
Over lunch, she said as much to Annie, who smiled and shook her head. ‘I can’t go away. I have to be near my mother. And I have a contract, a job to do. I’ll take a holiday when we finish filming the series.’
In the Still of the Night Page 30
