Stephen Leather - Take Two

‘It was the strangest thing,’ said Mrs McKenzie. ‘He gave her a lift. She was in the middle of nowhere. With no shoes. Can you believe that?’

‘That does sound strange. Where did he pick her up?’

‘Somewhere in Surrey. It was Friday night and he was on his way back to London. He ended up taking her right to her door. Notting Hill, I think. One of those posh mansions, she has.’

Marriot stood up and put the picture back on the shelf. ‘It’s a lovely thing to have.’

‘It was so nice of Reg to do it for me.’ She sighed deeply. ‘He was always doing little things like that for me. Flowers. Ferrero Rocher chocolates. Little presents.’ Tears welled up in her eyes again and she reached for her box of tissues. ‘Why would anyone kill my Reg? He wouldn’t hurt a fly, would Reg. You couldn’t meet a lovelier man.’ She burst into tears as Marriott and Biddulph looked on helplessly.

Peter Sessions was on his way out of his office to meet a client at one of his favourite restaurants when his phone rang. He hesitated at the door. He’d been looking forward to his Ivy lunch all day and really didn’t want to be late. What was left of his professionalism kicked in and he walked over to his desk, determined to keep the call short. He picked up the receiver. ‘Yes?’ he said. If it was someone offering to sue his bank for mortgage insurance, he was quite prepared to curse.

‘Is that Peter Sessions?’

It was a woman, Australian by the sound of it. He realised a fraction of a second before she said her name that it was Carolyn’s sister.

‘This is Jenny Hall, I’m Carolyn’s sister.’

‘Yes, my dear,’ he said. ‘I’ve been your sister’s agent for many years. I was talking to Paul Day, he said you’d stepped in to save the day on Rags To Riches.’

‘Just until she turns up, yes.’

‘She hasn’t been in touch?’

‘No.’

Sessions sucked air between his teeth. ‘That’s a problem.’

‘You’re telling me. She was supposed to pick me up at the airport.’

‘The thing is, my dear, has Paul given you a contract?’

‘A contract? No?’

‘Well you really do need a contract. How much is he paying you?’

‘We haven’t discussed that,’ said Jenny.

Sessions laughed. ‘Well, really, that’s not good enough,’ he said. ‘There are fees that have to be paid and Paul knows that. It sounds to me as if he’s taking advantage of you.’

‘Oh, no, he’s being really sweet.’

‘Paul is sweet. But he’s also one of the toughest producers in London. You need someone fighting in your corner.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘I know so, my dear. Now, why don’t you let me represent you? I’ll do for you exactly what I do for Carolyn.’

‘That’s probably a good idea,’ said Jenny.

‘Excellent. I’ll get a contract sent over and once you’ve signed it I’ll talk to Paul. And there’s something else I wanted to ask you. I’ve had a supermarket on to me asking if Carolyn could do an opening for them on Saturday. Would you be up for that?’

‘You mean pretend to be her?’

‘Well, you’re already doing that,’ said Sessions. ‘They want you in character. It’s Diana Bourne they want, and from what Paul tells me, at the moment you are Diana Bourne.’

‘I’m really not sure I’m up for it, Peter. I’m finding the acting bit stressful enough. I don’t think I’d be comfortable opening a supermarket.’

‘They’ll pay six thousand pounds.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Very much so. And all you have to do is turn up, cut a ribbon and pose for a few photographs. As Diana Bourne. It’s just another acting job.’

‘Six thousand pounds?’ repeated Jenny.

Peter smiled to himself. ‘Minus my commission, of course,’ he said.

‘I suppose I could do it,’ she said.

‘Excellent. I’ll bike a contract and details to you at the studio this afternoon,’ he said. ‘The supermarket company will send a car, obviously.’

‘That’s okay, I’m make my own way there,’ said Jenny. ‘Look, Peter, do I tell them I’m not Carolyn?’

‘’To be honest, my dear, it would be simpler if you didn’t. They want Diana Bourne and that’s what they’re getting. No reason to make things more complicated than they already are.’

The two detectives stood next to their Vauxhall Vectra. ‘So what do you think?’ asked Marriott. ‘It is a coincidence? Two men that Carolyn Castle comes into contact with are both murdered?’

Biddulph shrugged. ‘Everyone is six steps removed from everyone else in the world.’ Three more hoodies had joined the group across the road and now two joints were being passed around.

‘You believe that? Can you get to the president of the United States in six steps?’

‘Easy,’ said Biddulph. ‘In less than that. I met the Commissioner once. He’s met the Prime Minister. The Prime Minister has met the President. So I get to the President of the United States in three moves. You get there in four because you know me. Through the President you get to pretty much anyone who matters in the world. So yeah, I think it’s probably true. But the big question is, what connects Carolyn Castle to Maxwell Dunbar and Reg McKenzie?’

‘Dunbar worked for her and McKenzie picked her up in the middle of nowhere. Without her shoes.’

‘That’s the interesting thing, isn’t it?’ agreed Biddulph. ‘Can you think of a reason why a woman would ditch her shoes?’

‘If she was running,’ said Marriott.

‘That’s what I was thinking.’ He looked at his watch. It was just after six o’clock. ‘Do you feel like paying her a visit, strike while the iron’s hot?’

Marriott grinned. ‘I’m fine, but inspectors don’t get overtime so it’s your call.’

‘Let’s do it,’ said Biddulph. ‘I’ll drive while you see if you can get a home address for her.’ He unlocked the door and climbed in to the driver’s seat.

Marriott had no trouble getting Carolyn Castle’s address as she had a number of speeding tickets so her details were on the Police National Computer. The traffic was heavy and it took the best part of an hour to drive to Notting Hill Gate. They managed to park a short distance from her front door. As they walked towards the house, a large Mercedes stopped in front and Carolyn Castle got out.

She waved at the driver and the Mercedes drove off. Biddulph was sure she had seen them but she turned away and walked up to her front door. ‘Miss Castle!’ he called, but there was no reaction. She took her keys out of her bag and opened the front door. ‘Miss Castle!’ Biddulph called again.

As she stepped inside the house, Biddulph ran up to the front door. ‘Miss Castle!’ he said.

She frowned at him, the door half closed. ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

‘Inspector Mark Biddulph. I spoke to you last week.’

She shook her head. ‘Not me you didn’t.’

‘Is there something wrong, Miss Castle?’ asked Biddulph. Sergeant Marriott joined him on the doorstep. ‘And what’s with the Australian accent?’

‘I’m not Carolyn,’ she said. ‘But I am Australian.’

‘Miss Castle, are you okay?’ asked Marriott.

‘I’m Carolyn’s sister. Jenny Hall.’

‘Her sister?’ said Biddulph.

‘Twin sister,’ said Jenny.

‘Would you mind showing me some identification, Miss Hall?’ asked Biddulph.

Jenny fished her wallet out of her bag and flicked through it until she found a driving licence. She held it out and Biddulph took it from her. It was an Australian licence with her photograph and the name Jenny Hall.

‘I’m sorry about the confusion,’ he said, handing the licence back to her. ‘Miss Castle didn’t mention she had a sister.’