‘Usually just making contact is enough,’ said Carolyn. ‘But if that doesn’t deter them, Max sets a lawyer on them.’
‘And do they ever get violent, these fans?’ asked Biddulph.
‘No, they’re just a bit deluded. You surely don’t think one of my fans killed Max, do you?’
‘We’re just looking at all lines of inquiry at the moment,’ said the inspector. ‘So when was the last time you saw him?’
‘Saturday. When I gave him the cheque.’
‘Did he usually make house calls?’
Carolyn shrugged. ‘We work long hours and I didn’t want him turning up at the studio. Saturday worked for him, too. He came around to the house and I gave him the cheque.’
‘And you didn’t see him again?’ asked Biddulph.
Carolyn shook her head.
‘Did you speak at all?’
Carolyn looked at the inspector, keeping her face impassive. She knew that, as a detective, he would be good at reading people but, as an actor, she was equally adept at hiding her true emotions and feelings. They had already said his phone had been stolen so she could probably lie about the call that Dunbar had made yesterday. But, even without the phone, they would be able to check his calls with the phone company and they would have a record of all the calls he had made. There was no point in lying or being evasive. They might even already know that he had called her. ‘He phoned me once, just to tell me he was still working on the case.’
‘When was that?’ asked Marriott, looking up from his notebook.
‘Yesterday, actually.’
‘When, precisely?’
‘Sometime in the morning.’
‘I really could do with a definite time,’ said Marriott.
‘Elevenish, I guess.’
‘That’s about the time he was killed, Mrs Castle,’ said Marriott, and Biddulph flashed her another withering look. Carolyn realised that was information he didn’t want her to have.
‘It was really just a check call, to say he’d be making more enquiries.’
‘And can you give us the fan’s name?’
‘I don’t have it to hand,’ said Carolyn. ‘I got a couple of letters and I gave them to Max.’ That was a lie but she doubted it would be a problem. And it would cause her a lot less grief than telling them about Warwick Richards. She figured that was one can of worms best left unopened.
CHAPTER 54
Terry looked over the top of his wine glass at Carolyn and narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re as mad as the proverbial hatter, you know that?’ It was close to midnight and they were sitting in Carolyn’s kitchen. Filming had kept her in the studio until after ten and, as Billy was driving her home, she’d phoned Terry and asked him if he fancied a nightcap. As they’d demolished a bottle of Nuits St Georges from Gabe’s cellar, she’d told him about the visit from the two detectives.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘What, the day after Max Dunbar is murdered, you’re going out onto a boat with Warwick Richards?’
‘You think there’s a connection?’
‘Carolyn, will you listen to yourself? You pay Dunbar to check up on Richards and five days later someone cuts his throat.’
‘Oh, come on, Warwick’s not like that.’
‘What do you mean, he’s not like that? He’s absolutely like that. You saw him kill Cohen with a blunt instrument, have you forgotten?’
‘I saw someone who looks like Warwick hit Cohen over the head. We don’t know that Cohen’s dead, remember?’
‘Well I called his office this afternoon and he’s still not turned up.’
‘You did not.’
‘Bloody right I did. His office has no idea where he is or when he’ll be back.’ He sipped his wine. ‘You need to keep the hell away from Richards. Seriously.’
Carolyn sighed. ‘We don’t know for sure it was him I saw in Cohen’s house.’
‘Only you know that, darling.’
‘Exactly. And the more I think back, the less I think it was Warwick.’
‘And you think Dunbar being killed is just a coincidence?’
‘His house wasn’t in what you’d call a salubrious area,’ she said. ‘Break-ins aren’t unusual, drug addicts looking to pay for their latest fix.’
‘You believe that? Seriously?’
Carolyn shrugged. ‘I believe that more than I believe Warwick Richards slit Max’s throat.’
‘Like I said, you’re as mad as a hatter. And I can’t believe you didn’t say anything to the cops. They were there, in Day’s office. All you had to say was that you think you saw Richards smashing Cohen over the head and you asked Dunbar to check him out. They could have gone off and done their police thing and you could have got on with your life.’
‘And what if Warwick didn’t do it? What’s he going to think?’
‘He’ll think you’re crazy but he’ll get over it. If he has an alibi for the night Cohen was killed, and an alibi for when Dunbar died, then that’ll be the end of it. And if he doesn’t have an alibi, then you did the right thing by telling the cops.’
‘And then the papers get hold of it and they’ll ask why I was in the middle of nowhere after being given my lifetime achievement award and then my career will be pretty much over.’
Terry refilled their glasses. ‘So what are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to finish my wine. Then I’m going to bed. Then, tomorrow, I’m going for drinks on Warwick’s gin palace.’ She grinned at him. ‘Why don’t you tag along?’
‘Maybe I will,’ he said. ‘Do you think he’d be up for a threesome?’
‘I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted by that,’ laughed Carolyn.
CHAPTER 55
Carolyn heard a squeal of brakes as a car pulled up outside her house and, a minute later, her mobile rang. It was Richards. ‘Your chariot awaits,’ he said. It was Saturday morning and the sun was shining from a cloudless sky.
‘I’ll be right out,’ she said. She checked her make-up in the mirror above the fireplace. She was wearing a blue and white Karen Millen dress, one of half a dozen the designer had sent over for her to try. And a pair of blue Gucci shoes, also a freebie. She’d paid for her bag – a black Mulberry – and her coat, a long, dark-blue, lightweight Chanel that had been one of her favourites for years.
She set her burglar alarm, locked her front door and walked down the path to the waiting Porsche Cayenne. She breathed out slowly. She had been half expecting him to have turned up in the Bentley she’d seen outside Nicholas Cohen’s house. She saw that Warwick was smiling at her and she waved and walked faster. He didn’t get out of the car or open the door for her and she wondered if he was deliberately not being chivalrous. Not that she minded, she was old enough to open her own doors. She got in and slid onto the buttery leather seat. He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek and she caught the scent of an expensive aftershave. ‘You look fabulous,’ he said. ‘And you’re wearing Coco Mademoiselle again. Nice.’
He looked good, too, but she decided as he hadn’t opened the door for her she’d forgo any compliments. But his Black Hugo Boss suit fitted him perfectly and she liked the fact he wasn’t wearing a tie but had buttoned his grey silk shirt up to the neck. He’d changed his wristwatch, this time he was wearing a gold Cartier on a black leather strap. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ She looked around the car. ‘Now this is lovely.’
‘I’m a big fan of the Cayenne,’ he said. ‘It’s an SUV so it’s big, but you’ve got the kick of a Maserati when you put your foot down.’ He put the car in gear and pulled away from the pavement.
‘You don’t see many of them around.’