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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.
