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“Not yet. Janet Soames called to tell me.”
“Okay,” said Reilly. He pulled his mobile out. “I’ll get Colin Sharp onto it. He can update the whiteboard.”
Mushrooming grey clouds hovered menacingly overhead, typical of a December afternoon, as Gardener stepped out of the car and studied his surroundings. Derek Summers’ huge house was Tudor, set in an enchanting forest with ornamental carvings and shaped bushes. A circular fountain stood proudly as the magnificent centrepiece on the gravel drive. The lawn was neatly trimmed. The building was well kept, with clean windows and freshly painted walls. The grounds, as far as Gardener could see, were litter free. There was obviously money to be made in the entertainment industry.
“I wouldn’t mind a slice of this!” said Reilly.
?
?We are in the wrong business, Sean.”
As they approached the steps leading to the house, the front door opened. An elderly butler emerged to greet them. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Can I help you?”
Both detectives flashed their warrant cards before introducing themselves.
“Mr Summers will see you shortly. If you would like to follow me.”
Gardener and Reilly exchanged glances but followed as requested. They were shown to a study, where they politely declined an offer of refreshments. The butler closed the door behind him as he left.
Gardener paced the parquet floor. The panelled walls were decorated with a variety of old-time music hall and film posters. Aside from the oversized writing desk and matching chairs, the only other decoration was a Persian rug.
Gardener turned to his partner. “Do you hear that?”
“What?”
“Exactly. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. When have you ever been in a house and felt so isolated, so cut off? You’d expect to hear something.”
The study door opened. The host entered.
“Gentlemen.”
Gardener’s dislike of Summers was instant. He was small and balding except for a fringe of hair over his ears. He wore thin, wire-framed spectacles over a small snub nose. His moist lips were thick. He was dressed in a charcoal grey pinstripe suit with a white shirt and grey tie.
Summers chose to sit at his desk. Before speaking, he lit a cigar. “Now, what can I do for you?” he asked with a condescending air.
Gardener studied the agent’s gold cufflinks with matching Rolex watch before answering.
“I’m DI Gardener. This is my partner, DS Reilly. We’re investigating the death of a man we understand worked for you.”
“And it was so urgent you couldn’t wait till normal working hours?”
“I’m not fortunate enough to work normal hours, Mr Summers.”
“Quite. So, who is it?”
Gardener was not impressed by Summers’ brusque manner. He felt as if he was merely being tolerated. Reilly produced his pad and pen and started making notes as Gardener replied.
“Bernard Thornwell. He was found murdered yesterday. We have reason to believe he worked for you.”
Summers inhaled deeply on the cigar, billowing smoke above his head. “He did, and he didn’t.”
Gardener could see he was going to have trouble with Summers. He’d had a gutful of that already today. “Which means what?”
“He did, but only on a part-time basis.”
“What exactly do you do? I have a card here that says you’re an entertainment agent.”
“Yes.” Summers puffed on the cigar. “Entertainment agent is only a part of it. I do employ people to work as clowns and Father Christmas for children, but I also run a casting agency for adults, and I’m actively involved with a film production company.”
