Strictly Murder (9 page)

“
Greg Ferrari,” he said, as if it wasn't a household name and held out a smooth well manicured hand. Still, I thought, as I shook it, up until a few days ago I'd never heard of him so it was possible there were others like me. Monks in a silent order perhaps or hermits in some cell in a valley in deepest Wales.

“
Verity Long.”

“
Can I get you a drink, Verity?”

He smiled, lines showing at the corner of his eyes. He wasn't as young as I'd first thought him to be and I found his stare somewhat disquieting. Suddenly, I was on my guard.

“
I'll have an apple juice, please.”

Val raised a surprised eyebrow at this change to my usual order of a glass of Merlot but then gave an almost imperceptible nod, perhaps in acknowledgement of the wisdom of my choice. I would need all my wits about me dealing with Mr Ferrari.

"We don't see you in here very often, Mr Ferrari," I said.

"I don't often get into the city centre. Is this a favourite watering hole for you?"

"Me? Oh I'm a habitué," I laughed.

"So what were you doing out at the studios, Verity?"

Is that what he's after, I wondered? Is he going to start pumping me for information? Well, two can play at that game.

"I interviewed Candida Clark for a magazine article about Jaynee Johnson."

I caught a momentary flash in his eyes. Anger? Fear, perhaps? Hard to tell but this was getting more interesting by the moment.

"Really? Which magazine?"

The question was casually put, but again I became wary.

"I'm freelance. There are lots of magazines interested in JayJay right now."

"Of course. She will be a sad, sad loss," he said, echoing Candida's false sentiments word for word. And with the same amount of conviction. This man was not mourning the death of his co-star.

"It must be awful for you. So distressing," I sounded suitably sympathetic.

"Indeed. I shall miss her so much."

Yeah! Like you'll miss a hole in the head, I thought.

"What will happen now?"

"That rather depends on the studio." He shrugged.

"Will the show continue? It's very popular, I've heard."

His eyebrows shot up. "You've heard? You mean you don't watch the show?"

Heaven forfend! I'd rather have my teeth drilled than watch a bunch of talentless twerps prancing around in the name of entertainment.

"I'm usually busy on a Saturday," I said with total dishonesty. "Hadn't you nearly finished the run, though?

"Yes, it's an eighteen week season and we had three more programmes to record. I've suggested Kaylee Blake would make an excellent replacement. Should the studio heads decide they want the show to continue, of course."

Of course. And your career too, I thought nastily.

"Greg! Darling!"

A woman's high pitched shriek shattered my eardrums.

"Hello, Babs."

He turned towards the newcomer and I slipped from my stool.

"I've got to go. Nice meeting you, Greg."

"Wait."

He laid a hand on my arm, bedroom eyes gazing into mine.

"Dinner next week?"

"Oh!" Surprised at his quick work, I agreed. It fitted in nicely with my plans, too. "Yes. OK."

"Great. Next Tuesday?"

I nodded.

"I'll meet you here, say seven thirty? We'll go next door, shall we?"

"Sounds good to me." I never refused dinner at
Chez Jacques
- especially if someone else was paying. "See you then."

I left them to it, turning and blowing a kiss to Valentino as I passed.

My flat in Sutton Harcourt occupied the ground floor of what had been a substantial two-storey brick cottage. It had once possessed a large garden but during the last property boom the land had been bought by an enterprising builder who'd thrown up a couple of boxes, called them 'bijou residences' and sold them for a fortune. Instead of sitting outside in the evening and admiring trim lawns and flower filled borders, I had four slabs and the side of a house to look at.

I finished wiping the last of my supper pots, stacking them away in the few cupboards that made up my fitted kitchen, and poured myself a glass of wine. It was nearly nine o'clock and, if I couldn't sit out in a garden then I would have to make do with the lounge. I was half way there, wine in hand, when the doorbell rang. I sighed and carried my glass back to the kitchen. The original front door now served the flat upstairs while I made do with the back door re-sited to the side wall when the cottage was divided.

"Hello, Miss Long. I hope I'm not disturbing you?"

"Not at all. Come in, and please call me Verity. I was just about to have some wine," I waved the glass in my hand, "would you like one?"

Holly Danvers refused but asked for a soft drink.

"Do you like Youth Dew, Holly?" I asked on a whim when we sat down in the lounge.

"Youth what?" She looked blank. "Is it a drink?"

I shook my head.

"Youth Dew. It's a perfume."

"Oh, I can't wear perfumes. They give me a headache."

No, Holly Danvers wasn't the sort to suit perfume - certainly not a heavy fragrance like Estée Lauder's classic. Candida Clark, on the other hand … I kicked myself for not having asked her when I'd had the opportunity.

"So, what can I do for you, Holly?"

I took a small sip of wine before putting the glass on the table. For the sake of the precious contents, it was a good job I did so because Holly said, "I've got JayJay's diary."

"What? Here?"

She nodded, reaching down to her bag out of which she drew out a fancy leather bound book with a metal clasp and passed it to me. Just in case there was any doubt it had the word 'diary' picked out in gold on the front.

"Where did you get hold of this?"

Holly coloured slightly.

"There's an office next to mine with a connecting door. JayJay always used it for the thirteen weeks when she was recording '
Star Steps'
"

"But haven't the police already searched that?"

"Oh, yes. A nice young sergeant came and went through JayJay's desk." This time a more pronounced blush appeared on her cheeks. "But I'd got it."

Whether the blush was for the sergeant, probably D.I. Farish's sidekick Stott, or her failure to hand over what could be a vital piece of evidence was hard to tell.

"You see," Holly went on, anxious to explain herself, "JayJay kept the diary in a drawer. She didn't carry it round with her."

Easy to see why, I thought. It had the dimensions and weight of a medium sized paperback and wouldn't fit in the type of small, flimsy handbags so favoured by celebrities.

"Anyway, one day she phoned me from outside and asked me to check up on an appointment so I went and fetched the diary but I didn't take it back. I was busy, um …" she faltered to a stop.

"So you put the diary in your drawer and forgot about it?"

"Yes. It got pushed to the back and, and …"

"Well, no harm done. Don't blame yourself," I said in an attempt to console her. The poor kid had guilt written all over her face. "The police will need to have this, though."

"Oh yes, I know, but I thought, as you are investigating, you might like to see it first."

I nearly sprayed the mouthful of Merlot I'd just taken all over the carpet.

"Me! Investigating?"

"Yes. And then you could give it to the police, couldn't you?"

"If that was a hint, Holly, it was about as subtle as a train crash," I informed her. "Anyway, what makes you think I'm investigating?"

"Well, you found her and when you came to the studios yesterday, I rather got the impression you wanted to do a bit of detecting, yourself."

"Hmmm, maybe I did but that was before everyone started telling me to stay out of it and leave it to the police."

I thought bitterly of my conversation with Inspector Farish and KD's pronouncements.

"Oh," she looked disappointed. "I thought you'd be pleased to have the diary."

I was, of course, but I still didn't want to give her any unnecessary encouragement to think of me as Agnes Merryweather.

"I suppose it won't do any harm to have a look. Are there any secrets or racy details inside?"

If I'd thought to catch her out I didn't succeed.

"I don't know, I've not looked."

"But you looked when JayJay called you."

"Yes, but I just went straight to the date and it said '12.30, lunch, KC."

"Do you know who KC is?" I asked, taking another sip of wine before sliding the clasp undone and opening the diary.

"I don't think so," said Holly, shaking her head.

I flicked through the pages until I got to June. There was only one entry and that was for Tuesday 8th June when she'd had, but never kept, a hairdresser's appointment at 10.30. I turned back a page to the previous week. JayJay had had no appointments between Monday 31st May and Sunday 6th June. I went back another week.

"Do you know who Dawn is?" I asked Holly. "Only, JayJay has written that name and 3.30pm against Tuesday 25th June.

She shrugged and shook her head.

"I didn't know much about her personal life, sorry."

"Don't worry," I smiled, leafing quickly through the months from January to June. There was certainly nothing here to set any biographer's pulses racing. No intimate secrets, no lurid love life retold in sweaty detail.

"This is really just a list of dates, times and names, mostly just initials," I said to Holly.

I fetched my note pad and pen.