by Paul Charles
“What about Mr Dickens’ loose cannon?”
“Marcus Urry?”
“The very same.”
“He’s hot-headed. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women; sadly he really believes it. He’s never going to murder someone though. He lives with his mum, for heavens sake!”
“Okay. Let’s talk some more about Patrick Mylan,” Irvine said. Miss Robbins looked slightly uncomfortable. “Did you know him well?”
“Do you really think I’ve dated every man I’ve come into contact with?”
“Sorry, what?” Irvine spluttered. “No, no, no, I didn’t mean anything like that.”
“Sorry, my fault. I’m just, you know, Tim under suspicion and all… sorry, what were you saying?”
“Patrick Mylan. How well did you know him?” Irvine asked again.
“Not really well. I had quite a few meetings with him about Mr Dickens. Can I be candid?”
“I wish you would.”
“Patrick always seemed to me like he still hadn’t found what he was looking for. Every time I hear that U2 song, I always think of Patrick. To me he was always lost. He never really got excited about anything. Personally speaking, I found he never looked at me with the hunger so evident in most men’s eyes, even men you know who aren’t interested in you.”
“Did he have a girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. I think he was quite smitten by that actress Nealey Dean.”
“Did you notice that first hand, or did someone tell you that?” Irvine asked, mentally crossing his fingers.
“I believe Tim told me. That’s right, Tim told me Patrick appeared to try to matchmake Tim and Miss Dean. Tim was confident Patrick knew Tim had in fact introduced Miss Dean to Patrick in the first place, and he felt that maybe he was playing some kind of game where he could set himself up. I think Tim also said Miss Dean was already dating someone.”
“Does Mr Dickens have a girlfriend?”
“Luckily, that’s one part of his life that I don’t have to keep tabs on,” she replied quickly.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“You’ve already asked me that. Anyone would think you’re trying to ask me out on a date.”
“But you didn’t answer my question the first time either,” Irvine said. “Well?”
“I was about to say, we don’t have anything in common, but that’s not going to work, is it?” she said, as if trying to lighten up the interview a bit - either that or trying to find a way of evading this question for some reason.
Irvine just looked at her.
“I’ve nothing to hide. I date men, yes. I’m currently not dating anyone in particular. I will admit that, thanks to my job, my personal life does take a bit of a hammering in the romantic stakes, but I wouldn’t change it for anything.”
From there they went on to discuss Miss Robbins’ and Mr Dickens’ shared alibi, and every single thing she said tied in exactly with what Mr Dickens had said earlier.
Maybe just a wee bit too exact, Irvine thought.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Kennedy and King took longer than they’d originally planned to travel to and from Wimbledon. By the time they got back into town, it was closing down seven o’clock, and DC Dot King was about to be late for a dinner date with “my Ashley.” Kennedy had her drop him off outside the door of Nealey Dean’s mansion block in Marylebone. Her protests of the wisdom of Kennedy’s interviewing a female, and “a beautiful young female” at that, paled into Kennedy’s, “And she’s DS Irvine’s girlfriend.”
Nealey greeted Kennedy warmly at the door to her apartment, kissing him on both cheeks and then, quite literally, pulling him into her apartment.
“We called by earlier on out way to Wimbledon,” Kennedy offered by way of explanation.
“Yes, I heard,” she replied, and then, as an apparent afterthought, “Is James parking the car?”
“No, I was with DC King.”
“And she’s prepared to leave me unchaperoned this time?”
“I assured her I’d be okay,” Kennedy said, sitting down into a very comfy seat in the centre of her tidied living room.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Christy, but isn’t the rule there to protect me?” she laughed as she offered him a glass of chilled white wine.
“She did say something about that, but I pointed out that James was a better fighter than me, and she seemed happy at that.”
“So Wimbledon eh? Did you go down to speak to Chloe Simmons?”
“How did you know where she lived?”
“Patrick must have told me,” Nealey Dean said as she flopped out on the sofa opposite Kennedy’s chair. Kennedy noted from the arrangement of the cushions, the close proximity of a smoked glass coffee table bearing a couple of coasters - one with her hardly touched glass of wine - a script, a Penguin Classic copy of Madame Bovary, and a copy of The Telegraph, that this must be the young actress’ favourite position in her apartment.
“I hope your day was better than mine,” she said as she closed her eyes and took a generous sip of wine.
Kennedy remained quiet, allowing her to enjoy her moment of repose.
Eventually she said, “Somehow the press have found out I knew Patrick, and they were outside the studio all day long.”
Kennedy thought of ann rea, knowing she probably would have been aware of that fact.
“Luckily I was able to leave by the back exit and got back here without any of them knowing, but it’s only a matter of time. It sets a bit of an atmosphere around the studio.”
“I knew someone once who was a journalist…”
“Oh, that’s such a sad way to put it, Christy,” Nealey said, springing back to life again.
Christy forced a smile.
“It’s fine, Nealey. If I’m honest, it had been coming for quite some time, but the point I was going to make was that ann rea reckoned that all you need to do to stop the press chasing you is to stop running. The pack mentality disappears when you face them, smile, and even say something like, ‘I’m sorry, but my solicitor says I mustn’t say a word to you.’ She figured that once you make yourself available, even briefly, you’re no longer of interest to them.”
“I’ll remember that,” she said. “Are you hungry?”
Kennedy hesitated just one beat too long.
“Oh, I’m a terrible hostess.”
“No, I’m fine. I’ll get something on the way home,” Kennedy protested.
“Well, I do need to eat something myself…”
“Okay, do you have any eggs?”
Twenty-three minutes later they were sitting back in their places to enjoy Kennedy’s version of an omelette with peas (Nealey insisted on some greens), some toasted brown bread, and a second glass of wine.
“I’m impressed, Christy. Any chance you could give James a few tips in the kitchen,” she said as she cleared their plates.
“I’m afraid that’s the extent of my repertoire.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Well, at a push I could probably scramble some eggs as well,” he admitted.
“Mothers feeding their boys; I’d hazard a guess that’s probably where most of the problems start and finish.”
“Nealey, just how well did you know Patrick Mylan?”
She looked at him with a bemused look.
“That’s a funny way to ask a question, Christy. It’s like you already know something.”
Christy told her what he had discovered in Mylan’s secret room - at least the part about her photograph.
“Oh that. That’s been on the Internet for quite some time now. It was taken by one of the silly bugger crew members who thought he’d make a fortune with it. He soon discovered that Victoria Beckham or Anna Friel I am not, nor would I ever want to be… well, at least not Victoria. So in one way, I am shocked that Patrick would want to do that - in fact it totally grosses me out to even think about it - but I can assure you I didn’t pose for him or anything close.”
&nb
sp; “I never thought you did.”
“I didn’t think so. So this will all come out now as well? James will… ah,” she shook her head violently at the thought.
“Well, maybe not,” Kennedy replied, and then explained what he had done with the large photo.
“I can’t believe you’d actually do that for me. OhmiGod, isn’t that meddling with evidence or something?”
“It’s still there,” Kennedy insisted.
“Will James ever see it?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“OhmiGod, is there something I can do for you in return, like fix you up with an Anna Friel or Victoria or someone?”
They both laughed.
“Going back to Patrick for a moment, Christy… you are aware, of course, that whatever he may have had going on in his head…”
“No, I realise that, but you would have thought that being in his company so much, he’d at least have asked you on a date.”
“Go figure. He seemed more interested in fixing me up with Tim.”
“Did he know you were in a relationship with James, with a policeman?”
“I believe I might have said that there was someone in my life, but I don’t believe I would have mentioned that he was a policeman,” she replied, looking as if she were trying to flash through all the relevant conversations she’d had with Mylan.
“What about Chloe? Why did you think he mentioned Miss Simmons to you?”
“Well, I’ve admitted I love finding out about people. His telling me might have been more me bulldozing my way in there like a bull in a china shop… or…”
“Or?” Kennedy asked eventually.
“Or maybe that was Patrick’s way… his way of pulling me in, getting to know me better or something. I don’t know, Christy; I’m trying to figure this out. Did Chloe say how she came to meet Patrick?”
“Over a long period of time,” was as much as Kennedy was comfortable giving.
“Did she like go on a date with him or something and then it developed from there?”
Kennedy grimaced.
“Okay, I know there is a limit to what you can tell me at this point, and goodness, Christy, don’t think I’m ungrateful after what you’ve already done for me.”
“What about the other people at Mr Mylan’s dinner parties: did they ever hint at anything about him?” Kennedy asked.
“Nothing. Maggie Littlewood was always very protective of him, always very sweet to him, but other than that, it was just your average group of people gathering together for a dinner party…ohmiGod!”
“What? Have you thought of something?”
“No, I’ve just thought that I sat beside him, drinking wine with him, as close as I am to you now, and all the time he’d a large, life-size photo of me with my kit off up in his attic. Oh, disgusting, totally disgusting!”
Nealey shuddered.
“And on top of that,” she grimaced, crunching her chin to one side and then the other, “you’ve seen me in the… ah… even James hasn’t ever seen me like that.”
“Really?” Kennedy said involuntarily and then immediately regretting it. “Sorry, no, it’s none of my business.”
“No, of course not. I don’t have that kind of a relationship with James - not yet… and probably not ever now. I’m totally off men, Christy, no offence! Let me get us another bottle of wine.”
“Did you really think I was sleeping with James?” she asked as she returned to the room with a freshly opened bottle of Sancerre. “Did he say anything to you?”
“Not at all,” Kennedy said. “I don’t think men talk about women they care about in that way, and other men don’t really want to hear what goes on with the looser type of women.”
“Which means they do want to hear what happens with the women they care about, or their mates care about, which means…”
“No, it doesn’t,” Kennedy protested.
“It’s a funny relationship I have with James… you must swear you will never tell him we discussed this.”
“Of course I wouldn’t,” Kennedy quickly confirmed, because he really wanted to hear what she was going to say.
“I like him, I like him a lot. He’s very funny. We get on well… it’s just… you know, we don’t seem to be going anywhere. We see each other once a week max, and because I’m busy and he’s busy and our schedules get in the way. But I’m inclined to believe that if we wanted to, if we needed to find a way, we’d find a way. Christy, a girl likes to be swept off her feet. I suppose what I’m trying to say is, we don’t always know when we’re in love, but we sure do know when it’s not love. Do you know what I mean?”
Kennedy thought that Nealey Dean had most probably said in a few seconds what it had taken ann rea five years to say. Actually, truth be told, ann rea still hadn’t said it properly.
“I think you have to have this discussion with James as soon as possible.”
“Yes, you’re right. But you know what?” she said sadly, “If it hadn’t been for our chat, I wouldn’t have admitted this, even to myself. All this stuff with Patrick, harbouring these… whatever it was that he was harbouring, it’s such a complete waste of time.”
“If Patrick had invited you out, what would have happened?” Kennedy asked.
“Nothing. He’s not my type. I like participators.”
“Maybe he knew that.”
“You’re not suggesting this might have had something to do with me?” Nealey asked earnestly.
“No, no. I’m suggesting maybe Patrick didn’t approach you romantically because he knew what the answer was, but at the same time, he couldn’t give up on you, so he was happy to have you around.”
“So he was waiting around hoping that a bolt of lightning would occur and I’d fall into bed with him?”
Kennedy was about to respond when she added, “I don’t think so. But what do men think attracts women to them? I mean, for my part, I admit that it’s not that I’m attracted by looks. At the same time, I’m definitely put off by scruffy, unshaven people with shabby shoes, wrinkled clothes worn a day or more too long, unkempt hair, stupid hair-styles, or people who try too hard. But you know, if you can get beyond that, well it’s all down to personality, isn’t it? It’s just very weird to discover there was a man who was an acquaintance ogling at a photo image of me to get his rocks off. Am I wrong, or is that weird? What attracts you to a woman, Christy?”
Christy thought of lots of answers to her trio of questions, but he realised he just didn’t know.
“If you look at what attracts a man and a woman, you’d have to say that the sexual act is not the most important part of the dance.” He wondered exactly where that had come from.
“Why is it not?” she asked.
“Well, first we need to know what the most important part of the dance is.”
“Okay, Christy, I’m biting: what is the most important part of the dance?”
“I’d say mystery.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kennedy caught a cab straight from Nealey Dean’s apartment to his house. It was nearly nine o’clock by the time he got to Primrose Hill, and there, for the third night in a row, was Miss Chada waiting for him. He noticed a little distance in her eyes as he hopped into the car beside her.
“I can’t believe you did that to me,” she started, a little tremor barely noticeable in her voice. “Why must all men be so predictably disappointing?”
“Ah, look, I’m so sorry,” Kennedy began, realising he’d missed his appointment with her at Unlocked for her to do some more work on his back. “I’m working on this case and I had to go to Wimbledon. I’m not long back in town.”
“That’s still very bad manners Mr Kennedy.”
‘Mr Kennedy?’ That’s a funny way to address your lover, he thought. But how did she think of him? Was he her lover? She was definitely more upset than one should be about him missing a professional meeting with her. Yes, he should have called, and yes, he had considered getting Irvine or
King to make the call on his behalf when he got tied up, but then he’d become so preoccupied with his work he just forgot. She sat beside him sulking. Okay, he’d made a major social gaffe, and she was going to make him pay for it. “Do you fancy going back to your great restaurant again tonight?” Kennedy offered in the hope of a thaw.
“You shamed me in front of my colleagues,” was her only reply.
“Look, Sharenna, I am soooo sorry. I really am.”
“I didn’t think you were like that.”
“I’m not, normally,” Kennedy said. He started hesitantly, realising that, “I don’t usually do that” would only dig him an even deeper hole than the one he was already in.
He regretted turning down Nealey Dean’s invitation to join her in another bottle of wine. He’d really enjoyed his conversation with her. There were no overtones or undertones between them. They might become friends, where being friends, for both of them, wouldn’t be a second-best state. However, he realised that if he had stayed at Miss Dean’s, Miss Chada would probably have continued to sit outside his house waiting for him and stewing even more fervently than she had.
“Sorry, Sharenna. The only reason the appointment slipped my mind was because you’ve done such an amazing job on my back. Now if I had been going on a date with you, well, that would have been a totally different matter altogether.”
She diverted her eyes to him from the parked cars ahead for a split second without turning her head. He noticed her body relax a little, just a little. This was a completely new experience for Kennedy. Even when ann rea was mad at him, or mad at herself for being with him, she’d never behave like this. She’d always, but always, remain civil. Miss Chada’s actions bordered on… well, the word that kept floating into Kennedy’s head was “childish.”
