The giggling was infectious and soon Carolyn was also unable to speak and the two of them sat at the table giggling until tears as the director became increasingly frustrated. Eventually, after the fifteenth botched take, he took off his headphones and walked over to the table, his cheeks flushed. He bent down and lowered his voice. ‘Ladies, please, we are so far behind already today and if I don’t get this done and on to the next scene, I’m going to be in deep, deep shit.’
‘I’m sorry, Jake, really,’ said Andrea, wiping her eyes.
‘And now you’re smearing your make-up,’ said Harrington. ‘Come on, we’re all professionals, please let’s just do the job that we’re paid for, shall we?’
‘Jake, you’re right,’ said Carolyn. She took a deep breath. ‘It’s just a case of the giggles. We’ll get over it.’
Harrington looked at his watch then stood up. ‘Okay, take ten everyone,’ he shouted. ‘I need make-up to work on Andrea and when we start shooting I want everyone on their best behaviour.’
He went back to his monitors while Kelly rushed over with her make-up box and began fussing over Andrea. Carolyn stood up and took out her phone. She switched it on. There was a voicemail from Max Dunbar so she found a quiet part of the set and called him back. ‘Sorry, Max, I was shooting,’ she said.
‘Not with real bullets, I hope,’ he said.
‘Just a difficult scene. So, you have something for me?’
‘Yes, I’ve asked around about Warwick Richards, and done a little digging. He’s quite well known on the social circuit, he owns Charades nightclub in Leicester Square has quite a few commercial properties in Soho. He’s a bit larger than life, bit of a character, but he’s as clean as they come.’
‘Not a gangster, then?’
Dunbar laughed. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ he asked.
‘I just wondered,’ said Carolyn. ‘And you say he owns a nightclub. They’re usually pretty shady, aren’t they?’
‘Back in the Eighties, maybe,’ said Dunbar. ‘But with all the licensing laws and whatnot, it’s a much more professional business these days. Look, I had a word with a few of my cop friends and they all said he’s as clean as a whistle. Whiter than white. Does a lot of charity work but keeps it low profile.’
‘You’re sure, Max?’
‘Sure, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘I’m not saying he doesn’t meet the odd villain in his club, but that’s par for the course in the hospitality business. Warwick Richards is a straight-shooter, never had so much as a speeding ticket.’
‘Really?’
‘I shouldn’t be telling you this but I checked him out on the PNC. The Police National Computer. I’m not supposed to do that, what with the Data Protection Act and all, but I can tell you he doesn’t have a record.’
‘That’s good to hear. And did you check to see if he had any connection with an accountant called Nicholas Cohen?’
‘I did and I couldn’t find anything. He uses a city firm, one of the biggies. There’s no connection between him and the company you mentioned, Cohen and Kawczynski.’
‘Okay, Max, thank you. You’ll send me your bill, right?’
‘I’ll put it in the post,’ he said. ‘Oh, and there’s something else you might be interested in. He’s not married, never has been.’
Carolyn ended the call and switched off her phone. She was surprised at what Dunbar had told her. As clean as they come, he’d said. Yet she’d seen him batter a man to death. Or had she? She was starting to doubt her own memory. It had been late at night, there had been reflections on the glass, she’d had quite a bit to drink. When she’d first met Warwick Richards she had been sure he was the man she’d seen but after having spent time in his company, she was finding it harder to remember what she’d seen that night.
Harrington waved her over to the table and she put the phone away and went to join Andrea.
CHAPTER 47
Dunbar put down his phone and grinned at Halpin. ‘Happy?’ he said. ‘She bought it hook, line and sinker.’
‘You’re a natural,’ said Halpin. ‘You could be an actor, no question.’
Dunbar grinned. ‘Yeah, I’ve been told my face is perfect for radio.’ He held out his hand. ‘So I’ll take the money now, if that’s okay with you.’
‘You’ve earned it,’ said Halpin. He tossed the envelope to Dunbar and stood up. ‘Don’t spend it all at once.’
Dunbar grabbed at the envelope. As Halpin walked behind him he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a large flick knife. Dunbar started to turn when he heard the blade click into place but it was too late. Halpin put his left hand over Dunbar’s mouth and drew the knife across his throat in one smooth movement. Blood gurgled between Dunbar’s lips and he slumped to the ground, his hands clasped to the gaping wound. His body went into convulsions but after a few seconds it went still as a pool of blood continued to spread across the carpet.
Halpin wiped the knife clean on a dishcloth then put it and the envelope of money into his coat pocket. He spent the next ten minutes making it look as if the house had been broken into and Dunbar killed by a burglar. The area where the private eye lived was a burglary hotspot and all the police needed to see was a broken window and that Dunbar’s watch, wallet and BluRay player were missing for them to assume it was a drug addict looking to pay for his latest fix.
CHAPTER 48
Carolyn knocked on the door to Sinead O’Brien’s office. There was a plastic sign with her name and, underneath it, CASTING. ‘It’s open,’ called Sinead.
Carolyn opened the door. Sinead was texting on her BlackBerry and she looked up and smiled when she saw Carolyn. ‘Give me a minute,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to get an Asian model with short hair.’
Carolyn nodded and sat down. There were whiteboards all around the walls of Sinead’s office plastered with photographs of actors and actresses. In pride of place behind the desk was the whiteboard containing the pictures of the main characters on the show with Carolyn and Seb’s head and shoulders in the centre.
‘Okay, done,’ said Sinead. ‘How the hell are you? Haven’t seen you for days.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Carolyn. ‘Just wanted to pick your brains. Fancy a cigarette break? I’ve got a pass for fifteen minutes.’
Sinead nodded enthusiastically. ‘I’m gasping,’ she said. She grabbed her cigarettes and lighter and followed Carolyn outside.
There were half a dozen people in the designated smoking area but they found a spot where they couldn’t be overhead. They lit their cigarettes and both inhaled gratefully.
Carolyn liked Sinead. She was from Belfast and had black hair and blue eyes and a figure that showed her love of Italian food cooked by her Italian husband, a talented chef with whom she’d had two children. ‘You want to ask me about yesterday’s meeting, don’t you,’ she said.
‘Am I that transparent?’ asked Carolyn.
‘You haven’t said a word to me in four weeks,’ she said. ‘I figured you must want something.’
‘I’m sorry. I just don’t know who else I can talk to.’
‘Really? I thought you had an in with that new writer, Jeff.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because he was singing your praises. He almost got to blows with Simon Hastings.’
Hastings was the lead writer on the show. ‘About what?’
‘I’m not supposed to talk about the meeting,’ she said.