Silent Scream (2 page)

The costume department were having a hard time keeping the mud off Amanda’s dress, with its heavy hooped velvet skirt and boned corset, and the ringlets were dropping out of her wig. Amanda and the director then had yet another stand-up argument, both shouting at each other in front of the entire crew.

When the time came for the close-up of Amanda screaming, she was in such a bad temper, the scream sounded more like one of anger than of terror. The director yelled at her to try and do the scream she’d heard the night before. Finally he called it quits for the night, even though he knew he hadn’t got the sound he wanted. He told Amanda to have a good night’s sleep; she would be wanted on set for the first shot of the day and he needed her in a better mood.

Amanda, with her usual driver, did not get home until four-thirty the next morning. By this time, she was exhausted. The tight corset and heavy hooped skirt had given her backache, and she had a headache from trying to scream. She was also feeling chilled, as it had been so cold on set and the rain effects had soaked her through to the skin. She sat hunched in the back of the Mercedes on the drive home, saying little. Her driver had helped her from the car and walked her to her front door, making sure she was inside before he drove away. As he reversed, his headlights caught her opening her front door; she turned and waved to him. He was struck by her beauty. Tired as she was, with her make-up wiped off and her face pale, she had almost a translucent quality. She gave him the sweetest of smiles.

The same unit driver returned later to collect her for the end of the night shoot. They would then, thankfully, have the weekend off before returning to the usual daily schedule. It had been a long hard shoot and a few more days remained before they wrapped. The driver rang the doorbell and returned to sit in the car. He waited ten minutes. Often she would keep him outside for even longer; he was used to giving her about twenty minutes. After half an hour, he called her landline and got the answer machine. When he called her mobile phone and she didn’t pick up, he rang the unit to say he was outside Amanda’s mews house but could not get any response.

The make-up and hair departments were getting impatient. It took at least two hours to do make-up and fit the wig. Then the costume designer appeared, asking for Amanda. She was to wear a very elaborate gown that required not only a corset, but they would need to hand-stitch her into it. The first assistant joined them, hoping that Amanda might have driven herself, as they still had not made contact with her at her home.

Julian Pike flew into a rage. He had a heavy schedule, but at least he would be able to start filming the only scene that did not require Amanda. Her driver was instructed to keep knocking on her door and, as the actors prepared to film the first scene, the production assistant called Amanda’s agent. Concerned, the latter said she would drive herself to the mews as she had a spare key.

Two hours later, Amanda’s stunt double was dressed in her costume; the director had made the decision to shoot around any close-ups, so the filming could continue. He was heard to say that they would probably be better off without the ‘bitch’.

The bitch was lying naked on her new bed. Her hands were tied and her legs spread out, and the blood from multiple stab wounds had stained the sheets in hideous thick pools. Her shocked agent stood frozen as she saw the awful tableau. It was obvious that Amanda Delany had been brutally murdered. Her beautiful face was unmarked, her eyes wide open.

D
I Anna Travis had just completed her day in court. The trial had been a long-drawn-out process, but she had held up strongly against a prominent defence team. The murder trial had made headlines; the woman accused of murdering her husband was from a titled family. Lady Melena Halesbury had claimed that she was an abused wife who had shot her husband in self-defence.

Thanks to Anna’s diligent enquiries, her evidence had become a strong plank for the prosecution. The victim, Lord Anthony Halesbury, was suffering from Parkinson’s disease and at the time of the shooting he would have been incapable of the violent attack of which his wife accused him.

The defence team had brought in numerous medical witnesses who claimed that physical abuse
was
possible. However, the star witness, produced by Anna, was the nurse who had been hired to care for the victim. Dilys Summers asserted that the victim’s right arm was virtually immobile and his hand suffered from the debilitating shakes. His wife would therefore not, as she claimed, have had to wrestle the weapon from him and in self-defence shoot him before he tried to choke her.

Anna had instigated the search for the nurse, who had been relieved of duty two months before the incident. Anna had hunted down Nurse Summers and discovered that she and the victim had been lovers and, although Summers was no longer caring for her patient at his home, they had continued to meet secretly.

Summers was able to describe Lord Halesbury’s disabilities because she had seen him the day before the shooting. Contrary to his wife’s statement, his illness had improved slightly, but he was still a very sick man.

The prosecution claimed that the motive for the shooting was because a divorce was imminent. The loss of her social standing and obvious wealth was enough to drive Lady Halesbury to kill. The jury took only three hours to bring in a guilty verdict.

The DCI in charge of the case took Anna aside as they packed up the incident room. A big robust man, DCI Vince Mathews was ready to retire, everyone knew it; he was also an ‘old school’ cop and bore no resemblance to Anna’s former boss, DCS James Langton.

Detective Chief Superintendent Langton was moving up the ranks fast, hungry as ever, based now at Scotland Yard. The Mathewses of the Metropolitan Police were becoming few and far between. Mathews was an old plodder with a big family, and due to his lack of initiative, Anna had done much of the legwork on their case. The team had all been aware of it, but they liked Mathews. He was there for them and always encouraging, even if he did like to get off home early every Friday.

Mathews sat behind his untidy desk, sipping a coffee.

‘It was a good result today, Travis.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘A lot of it was down to you. The Met this year have ninety Chief Inspector posts coming up, and as you’re probably aware, each CID department is allowed to put forward a certain number of Inspectors. We’ve got about nine places allocated to the Homicide Command and the competition will be tough because there’ll be about a hundred officers applying.’

Anna shifted her weight from one foot to the other, unsure if she was hearing correctly.

‘You’re putting me forward, sir?’

‘Correct.’ He opened a drawer and took out an application form, placing it in front of her.

‘Fill it out. You’ll have to think hard about what you’ll say when they ask how you think you would perform in the next rank. You’ve got to write no more than twenty lines on seven topics, covering examples of how you would deal with effective communications, planning and organisation, customer and community focus, respect for race and diversity, strategic perspective, openness to change and, last but not least, personal responsibility.’

Anna flushed, not knowing what to say.

‘Well, go on, take your application home and remember, think carefully about what you are going to say. Then it’s down to you, Travis. Good luck.’

‘Thank you very much, sir. I really appreciate this and I’ll do my best.’

‘I hope you do, Travis. You’ve got a big future ahead of you.’

Anna thanked him again and hurried out, grinning from ear to ear. She crossed to her small office and put the application form into her briefcase. She was packed up and ready to leave. They would all be having a drink in the local pub to celebrate the end of the case, and then it would be onto the next one. She didn’t mention the promotion application to anyone. Instead she enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine and then left, eager to get home.

Back at her flat, close to Tower Bridge, Anna went straight into her bedroom and chucked her briefcase onto the bed. She picked up her late father’s photograph from her bedside table and kissed it.

‘Daddy, I’m going up for promotion. Detective Chief Inspector . . .’ Then she laughed and flopped down onto her bed, holding the photograph frame to her chest. He would have been so proud, her father, the late Detective Chief Superintendent Jack Travis. She was determined that she would work her butt off to fill in the application to the very best of her ability.

As Anna showered and washed her hair, humming, she felt so good and so positive. It had been a tedious investigation, and although the guilty verdict had been the one the team had hoped for, she was glad the case was over. Hunting down the evidence had involved painstaking enquiries and lengthy conversations with the nurse. It had never ceased to amaze Anna how complicated people’s lives were. A jealous wife, a sickly husband and a homely middle-aged woman in a tragic triangle. At first Anna had not suspected that the nurse could have been anything other than a dedicated carer. Dilys was a widow in her mid-forties, rather overweight, with greying hair, and only when she spoke of the victim’s kindness to her, did Anna begin to suspect there existed anything other than a professional relationship. When she eventually asked if there had been something more, the floodgates had opened. Dilys had explained how fond she had become of her patient, how admiring of the way he never complained and was at all times so charming.

Lady Halesbury, possibly suspecting something was going on, had asked Dilys to leave. It had been a terrible wrench, but the nurse had packed up her suitcase and returned to her council flat in Paddington.

‘I loved him,’ she told Anna. ‘We loved each other. I have never known such kindness and such sweetness from a man . . .’

Anna had listened as the woman seemed to shine, her eyes bright as she explained that they had become lovers. Lord Halesbury had asked her to marry him as soon as he could get a divorce. She knew he would be an invalid, but to be in his company no matter what, would have given her the best years of her life.

Lying on her bed thinking about the case and the outcome, Anna sighed. The stout little nurse, her face shining with adoration for the dead man, and the bitter, vicious wife, who couldn’t bear to lose her sick husband or his fortune; both women middle-aged and yet caught up in heated passion. The real passion in Anna’s life had been with James Langton; she wondered if she would ever know or feel that passion for someone else.

Wanting a last glass of wine before bed, she uncorked a bottle of wine and sipped from her glass as she stood by the open window, looking out onto the Thames and Tower Bridge. She had not seen Langton for over eight months, though she had heard news of him and read about him in the police journals. She drained her glass and refilled it. She was suddenly depressed. Even thinking about the last time they had been together made her flush with embarrassment.

The murder enquiry they had both worked on involved tracking down an infamous drug dealer, Alexander Fitzpatrick. During the enquiry, Anna had met Damien Nolan, husband of a woman who eventually became a major part of the investigation. Anna had found Damien attractive from the moment she had met him, and when he was excluded from the case, she had foolishly agreed to see him. She knew at the time that she was being unprofessional, that Damien would possibly be called as a witness for his wife’s defence, yet she had ignored her own doubts and agreed to meet him. They had met on three different occasions before they went back to her flat and slept together. He was sexy, he was attractive and he was a very experienced lover. In some ways Anna felt her relationship with him freed her from the hold Langton had over her. Even in part knowing she was being foolish made their illicit dates exciting.

Damien was intelligent, amusing and she really enjoyed his company. He had made
her
feel attractive – sexy even. It wasn’t love, she knew that; it was something she had never experienced before – a kind of lust. Anna had few friends and even fewer lovers, James Langton being the most recent and the most important in her life. Having Damien, being with him, had helped her confidence. He had bought her sexy underwear, encouraged her to dress in a more flattering way, and even suggested a new hairstyle.

Anna never kept the hair appointment. On the day she was going, Langton turned up on her doorstep. It was early on a Monday morning, three weeks before the trial was due to take place. She was nervous at seeing him and he didn’t make it easy for her. He refused her offer of coffee, saying he wasn’t there for a social meeting. Tossing his coat onto the sofa, he lit a cigarette and she passed him an ashtray. From the way he was behaving she knew something was wrong.

‘OK, I won’t beat about the bush, Anna. Are you seeing Damien Nolan?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then fucking stop it, you stupid girl. One, he’s involved in the entire investigation, two, he’ll be called by the defence and three, it is fucking unprofessional.’

She couldn’t look at him.

‘You having sex with him?’

‘None of your business.’

‘It
is
my business, Anna. I am leading the case, and to have one of my officers screwing a possible suspect . . .’

‘He hasn’t been charged with anything.’

‘Jesus Christ, Anna, his wife has and he’ll be asked to give evidence. What you are doing is crass stupidity, let alone insubordination. I could have you disciplined – which would result in you being demoted or possibly kicked out. I can’t believe you would not only be so unprofessional, but what the fuck are you doing with that prick?’