Not Dead Yet

‘I don’t know if I’m happy to hear that or not.’

Grace barely heard him. He was thinking about Gaia’s son Roan, who had apparently been sitting beneath the chandelier seconds before it fell. Had the boy been the intended target?

No. He did not think so. His immediate hypothesis was that Gaia was the target. Something had gone wrong in the assailant’s plans. Timing? The appearance of Roan?

Who was the man crushed beneath the chandelier? The perpetrator? Or a heroic innocent bystander?

He did not think the latter. Innocence didn’t play any part in what had just happened.

96

Roy Grace and a subdued David Barry strode quickly back into the Banqueting Room. The film crew had now been cleared from the room, and two police officers stood by the doorways. A large number of Fire Brigade officers were standing by with their equipment, waiting for a decision that would be made by the Coroner’s Officer and the Home Office pathologist, who would be called out, whether the body could be recovered to the mortuary, or the first part of the post-mortem was to take place here.

A Crime Scene Photographer had arrived, as well as the Coroner’s Officer, who was talking to DI Tingley. Grace hoped there were sufficient people from the mortuary on call so that Cleo would not be dragged out here from her much needed rest this evening.

Jason Tingley turned to Grace. ‘Chief, we can’t get a Home Office pathologist until first thing in the morning. Nadiuska’s going to be doing the post-mortem. I explained the situation and she’s given permission for the body to be recovered to the mortuary.’

‘Good.’ He looked up, briefly. ‘I think we’re going to have a difficult balancing act with the film people. It looks to me that someone deliberately brought down this chandelier. I want the dome above it treated as a crime scene – get SOCO up there right away, and warn them there are some hazardous substances.’

One of the police officers at the door came over to him. ‘Sir, there’s a gentleman who says he is the film’s producer who’s insisting on speaking to you.’

Grace walked across to the door and saw a short, bald man, expensively dressed in casual clothes, who was looking indignant.

‘You the officer in charge around here?’ Larry Brooker said imperiously.

‘I’m Detective Superintendent Grace – I’m in charge of Major Crime for Sussex.’

‘Larry Brooker, I’m the producer of this movie.’ He stabbed a finger towards Jason Tingley. ‘I gotta problem with that colleague of yours. I’m making a multi-million-dollar movie and he won’t let me on my own set!’

‘I’m afraid that’s correct,’ Grace said. ‘No one is permitted in the building while we carry out our investigations. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave, too.’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t let this happen,’ Brooker said.

‘With respect, it’s actually not your decision to make,’ Grace said.

The producer glared at him. ‘So just whose decision is it, for fuck’s sake?’

‘Mine,’ Grace said.

‘You have to get real, Detective – do you have any idea-’

‘Is a dead body under that chandelier real enough for you?’ Grace said, cutting him short, barely containing his anger now.

‘So, like, what’s the score?’

Did this creep really not care? Grace stared at the bald runt, highly tempted to say something that would really piss him off. The score is three-two to Manchester United, perhaps. The Test Match score in Bangalore? But he remembered the importance of this film to his beloved city. ‘Mr Brooker, I’m conscious of your situation, and I’ll be as fast as I can. I’m going to bring in a team to work overnight. I’m afraid we do have to seal off the whole building, but subject to what the maintenance and Health and Safety people say, I’ll try to give it back to you tomorrow afternoon. Would that be acceptable?’

‘What time tomorrow afternoon?’ Brooker growled.

‘What time do you need it?’

‘We were planning to shoot after it closes to the public: 5.45 p.m. onwards.’

‘Chief!’ Tingley cautioned.

‘Fine,’ Grace said, ignoring Tingley’s protestation. ‘You’ll have it back for then. Are you able to do any filming outside, or in a different location tonight?’

‘That was the plan – we have over one hundred extras here. It’s a very important scene – it’s a key scene in the movie. But how can we even shoot outside with all these police vehicles here?’

‘We’ll get them moved – if you tell us which area you want cleared outside, we’ll make that happen.’

Then he turned to the DI. ‘My car’s outside. Meet me there in five minutes.’

He hurried out of the building, looking around for Andrew Gulli, but could see no sign of him. Then he crossed the lawns towards the little village of motorhomes and trailers. Four man-mountain security guards stood by the steps to Gaia’s motorhome. Grace showed his warrant card, then asked if any of them had seen Mr Gulli.

‘He went over to the hotel to see about stepping up security there,’ one of them replied, talking in a voice that sounded like he had a mouth full of ice cubes.

Grace knocked on the door. It was opened a few moments later by a female assistant, who he had seen before in Gaia’s suite in The Grand. She had ginger hair, cut in a fashionably skewed style, and wore a black T-shirt and black jeans over deck plimsolls. ‘Lori, right?’

She smiled in recognition, but looked uneasy. ‘Inspector Grace – what can I do for you?’ she said in a clipped American accent.

‘I wanted to check that Roan is okay.’

‘Uh huh, he’s fine, thank you.’

‘He’s not injured?’

‘No, he’s good, he’s not even upset – I think he was more confused than anything. Thank you for asking. What’s actually happened? Andrew Gulli told us there’s been some kind of accident with a chandelier, but we don’t have any details.’

‘Yes, I’d just like to explain the situation – is Gaia here?’

The assistant stepped back for a moment and called out, ‘It’s Inspector Grace!’

Moments later she beckoned him to come on board.

He climbed the steps and entered the cavernous interior of the vehicle, which smelled of a very appealing perfume, and the fainter smell of a recently smoked cigarette. A television was on, tuned to a cartoon channel, and Roan sat at a table, wearing his baseball cap, a computer game in front of him, staring at the cartoon with a rather bored expression, then turned his attention to his game.

‘You okay?’ Grace asked him.

He shrugged and pressed a toggle on his game.

Then a woman he did not at first recognize appeared through a partition door, wrapped in a cream silk dressing gown, her blonde hair cropped short in a male cut. She looked tearful, but greeted him with a cheery and very sexy voice. ‘Hey, Mr Paul Newman Eyes!’

He smiled at her; she looked different but still strikingly beautiful.

‘What’s going on? Is the goddamn building falling down or something?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m really sorry – we’re doing our best to establish what happened.’

She strode up to him, put her arms around him and hugged him hard. ‘This is scary,’ she said.

‘We’ll get to the bottom of it quickly, I promise you.’

Suddenly, she gave him a quick – but not that quick – peck on the cheek, then stared into his eyes for some moments. Staring back into hers, he felt an electrifying frisson between them.

‘I know you will. Thank you for everything you’re doing while we’re here in your city, Chief Inspector.’ Her breath smelled minty.

He shrugged and blushed. ‘I’m afraid with this incident in the Banqueting Room, it’s clearly not enough.’