‘Isaac, Isaac.’ He woke with a start.
‘Jess,’ he said, bleary-eyed.
There was no one around; she attempted to kiss him. He pulled away.
‘Sorry, Jess. I don’t want to be rude, but the situation has changed.’
‘Charles Sutherland?’
‘You’ve heard?’
‘Who hasn’t,’ she said. To Isaac, she was a vision of loveliness. The sun was shining in through the window, the blouse she was wearing, delicate and almost transparent. He felt as though he wanted to grab her there and then and seduce her, but knew he could not.
‘I’m here in an official capacity now.’
‘He was murdered?’
‘It’s still listed as suspicious, but it looks that way.’
‘I’m sorry that he’s dead.’ She seemed sincere.
‘I thought you argued with him?’
‘That’s what happens when the pressure’s on.’
‘Richard Williams wasn’t much concerned. Does that surprise you?’
‘Not really. He’s a bastard, anyway. He only cares about number one.’
‘Capable of murder?’
‘Richard, no way. As long as he gets plenty of frivolous women to lay, then he’s harmless. Tough businessman, good at his job, but murder? I don’t think so.’
‘You seem to care about Sutherland’s death.’
‘He was actually an excellent actor.’
‘That’s not the impression I get around here.’
‘Professional prejudice, that’s all that is.’
‘So why do you say he was an excellent actor?’
‘Simply because he was. His problem was his attitude. Sure, he wasn’t major movie star great, but in the theatre, he would have been.’
‘I thought he failed in theatre, and this was his last stop before the rubbish heap.’
‘It was. He did have some failings though. I’m afraid Charles Sutherland was his own worst enemy. His decline was inevitable, but…’
‘Not his death.’ Isaac completed the sentence.
‘Why would anyone want to murder him?’ she asked. Isaac had completely forgotten about his arranged meeting with Richard Williams.
‘I don’t know. Do you have any ideas?’
‘Not really. He could be a nosey bugger, always sticking his nose in, listening at keyholes.’
‘Is he likely to have heard anything?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘That’s for me to find out. Anyone else I should talk to?’
‘Not really. He certainly had nothing on me.’
‘Is there anything I should know?’ Isaac realised he had weakened. His reply was perilously close to personal concern.
‘Nothing that you need to worry about.’ Sensing the moment, she moved closer to him. He failed to move away. She kissed him on the cheek.
Isaac had yet again failed in his attempt to maintain a purely professional relationship with Jess O’Neill. He left soon after.
What is it about her? he thought as he drove away from the production lot and back to the office. Why do I keep doing this?
***
‘I’ve been sacked.’ These were the first words to emanate from Christy Nichols on Farhan’s return to the hotel. Farhan and Isaac had not spoken to her on their first visit – they had left that to Inspector Hopkirk.
‘You’d better explain,’ Farhan said as he sat down on the chair in her room. Not as good as Charles Sutherland’s by far, he noted.
‘It’s for the hired help when the rich and famous come to stay.’ She had observed him looking around the room.’
‘And you were the hired help?’
‘He thought I was more than that.’
‘What do you mean?’ He could see she had been crying.
‘I found him out on the street. Have they told you that?’
‘No one’s told me anything.’ Farhan had a basic understanding of the situation, in that the tab for the room was being picked up by a magazine, one of the magazines that his wife liked to read.
‘I intended to write an article for the magazine. In fact, any magazine that would buy it from me.’
‘What sort of article?’
‘Lightweight, the type that most people want to read. Anything to do with fallen celebrities is good copy; makes us all feel a little more human, I suppose. If it can happen to them, then maybe the reader’s imperfect life is not so bad after all.’
‘You mean those that are no longer in the limelight?’
‘That’s it. Charles Sutherland was a big star, at least in the UK, and then all of a sudden he disappears from sight. After they had kicked him off the programme, he was visible on a few television chat shows, but that didn’t last long.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘It’s not what happened to him, more likely what he did to himself.’
‘I’m not sure I follow.’ Farhan was enjoying his time with Christy Nichols. The setting and the woman were too pleasant. He stood up, moved to the window and looked out over the panorama of London.
‘He had been fired. He had plenty of money, so what does he do?’
‘Saves it for a rainy day?’ Farhan knew the remark was incorrect.
‘Not our Charles Sutherland. He’s out partying, sometimes at his place, sometimes in the various clubs around town where the drugs are available and the women are costly.’
‘He blew all the money?’
‘In record time, and then his landlord dumps him on the street. Throws him a couple of bags with clothes that can’t be sold second-hand, and there you have it ‒ the fallen celebrity.’
‘And you were going to write a story about him?’
‘Not only him. There are a few more out there.’
‘Did you find the others?’
‘I know where a few are supposed to be, but I found Sutherland first, and then he gives me this story about Marjorie Frobisher.’
Farhan, his interest piqued, sat down again close to her. He noticed the smell of her perfume. He got up again and sat in another seat, this time more uncomfortable. ‘What story is that?’
‘He knew things about her that would rock the nation, bring down the government, and so on.’
‘Did you believe
