The Publicist, page 15
Julia led her through into a large kitchen, which ran the full width of the house. Beyond it bifold doors led to a small garden. Sue was beginning to develop a deep, irrational hatred for bifold doors, just as she loathed coffee chains. Just another middle-class trophy. She’d rather have her old-fashioned, draughty French windows any day.
They took a seat at the wooden kitchen table, where Julia was icing home-made fairy cakes in pink and green. ‘I’ve got two.’ She smiled, wiping her hands on a tea towel. ‘Liam and Lena. Liam loves green. Do you have any kids?’
‘One.’ Sue smiled. ‘Typical teenager at the moment, I’m afraid. He’s eighteen and off to uni soon.’
‘Empty nest, eh? I can’t wait.’
‘You might not feel like that when it happens,’ Sue said wistfully.
‘True. I bet it only seems like yesterday you were dreading World Book Day. Those themed outfits. The endless competition. We’ve got mothers at school who spent months planning them. These cakes are for tomorrow’s cake sale. Normally I send them in with a packet of Mini Rolls and scrabble for some round glasses to make Liam look like Harry Potter.’
Sue smiled. ‘Same here.’
‘So, what can I tell you about Sam? We’d worked together a few years ago on The Moment. He was quite different back then.’
‘In what ways?’
‘Self-obsessed, late on set, doing drink and drugs. In short, an absolute pain in the arse. I almost didn’t take this job when they told me he’d been cast as the lead. But he’s really changed. Teetotal, no drugs, even gone vegan. It wasn’t the easiest of shoots, but Sam acted like a buffer between the cast and the god-awful director. Simon Omeria.’
‘His boyfriend Tyler mentioned there were problems.’ Sue paused. ‘The director getting a bit too hands-on. I’m not here to investigate that. But anything you can tell me, just to help me understand how Sam was feeling, would really help.’
Julia nodded. ‘I saw one of the younger actors, Stephen Merryweather, coming out of Simon’s trailer. He looked pretty shaken up. We went for a walk and Stephen confessed Simon had tried to touch him up. Promising him a bigger part in his next film if he went along with it.’
‘Christ.’
‘Yeah, I know. I was going to challenge Omeria myself but when I confided in Sam, he said he’d do it. He went in Omeria’s trailer and read him the riot act.’
‘Did Omeria deny it?’
‘No. Apparently he started crying. Said his wife had left him for the guy from Virgin Media who came to mend their broadband – seriously, she had – and he was going through a few personal problems. Sam told him that if he ever touched Stephen again, or anyone without their consent, the whole cast would walk off set.’
‘How was Omeria after that?’
‘A lot less difficult with the cast. He didn’t lay a finger on Stephen again. Sam also threatened to expose him in the press if he ever heard allegations in the future.’
‘And you’re sure Sam was off the drugs?’
‘Positive. He’s a really lovely guy when he’s clean.’ Tears welled up in Julia’s eyes. ‘I really hope he’s OK. I saw the news. About his parents. I know he didn’t have any time for them but he’ll be completely devastated by what’s happened. He was telling me he’s been studying a lot of Buddhism lately, finding it in his heart to forgive them. What was it he said? Every night he meditated and imagined sending them “metta” or universal love. And something about holding on to resentment is like picking up a burning coal.’ She glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘Goodness, I must go. The kids will be out shortly.’
‘Of course. Thank you again, Julia. Just one quick question – Simon Omeria. Do you sense he’s in any way mixed up in this?’
‘Good god, no. Pervy and handsy, but that’s about it. And he’s far from alone in the film and TV industry, though #MeToo has helped.’
Sue walked down the hill towards Chalk Farm tube station, pondering the case. Tyler was definitely lying about Sam being back on drugs, but why? Was he trying to frame him for his parents’ murder? She checked in with Dev, but still no sign of Tyler, so they agreed to put a check on all ports and airports.
The Tube was packed and by the time Sue had navigated Waterloo and endured a delayed train to Kingston, she arrived back at the police station feeling stressed, hot and irritable.
A group of paparazzi were still gathered outside.
‘Sue? Any news on Sam?’
‘Nothing further to add,’ she replied, stepping briskly into the station. ‘We’ll update you as soon as we can.’
Mike was in the reception area, talking to the custody sergeant. ‘Ah, Sue,’ he said brightly. ‘Know you’re busy, but I’ve got some documents for you. Can I have a minute?’
‘Sure. My office?’ Sue had the distinct feeling he’d been waiting for her. They walked through the incident room, where the initial manic buzz of the investigation had settled into a quieter, more focused air.
‘Briefing in ten minutes,’ Sue snapped, ushering Mike into her office and closing the door behind her. To her surprise, he pulled down the roller blinds.
‘What’s up, Mike? I’ve got a lot on. Dev, Fiona and Uniform are out trying to pick up Stevens’ boyfriend as a suspect.’
‘I know you’re busy, love. But this can’t wait.’ There was a worried look in his eyes, which Sue didn’t like.
‘This isn’t about your investigation, is it? Look, if it’s about our relationship I really don’t want to talk about it now.’
‘It’s Tom.’
Sue paled. ‘Tom? Is he all right?’
‘Yes. Nothing like that. No accidents or anything. I found cocaine in his room.’
‘Cocaine?’ Sue could hardly believe what she was hearing. ‘But he’s always been so anti-drugs.’ She paused, trying to take it in. Tom and drugs?
‘Does he know you know?’
‘No. I put it back.’
‘Well, let’s leave it like that. The last thing I need is Tom thinking we’ve snooped on him. He hates me enough as it is. Kids try stuff, you know that.’
‘A lot of cocaine,’ Mike went on.
Sue ignored him. ‘What were you doing in there?’
‘He came in last night and I thought he seemed high. So when he passed out I had a look.’
‘He passed out? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Not literally. Fell into a deep sleep. He was on the sofa. Don’t worry, I stayed with him and put him on his side in case he threw up. Then I put him to bed. Before you got home so late,’ he added, with a hint of bitterness in his voice.
‘Yes, I was late home,’ she said defensively. ‘Because I’ve got the unenviable task of finding out what the fuck has happened to Sam Stevens. So don’t start giving me a hard time, all right?’
‘Sorry. It’s just you’ve been, you know, not really there lately. Even when you are there, you seem miles away. But that can wait. The cocaine can’t.’
‘I’ll have a word with him. Probably just trying stuff out before he encounters it at uni. Experimenting.’
‘It wasn’t just a wrap, Sue. I found four kilos of it.’
She laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Sue, I’m telling you. He’s got four kilos. Stashed inside his chess books, which he’s hollowed out.’
‘Mike, this is nonsense. You were probably dreaming. Or had too many beers down the Nag’s Head after your shift. He’d never do that to his books, let alone store four kilos of coke. Did you actually double-check when you’d sobered up?’
Sue just couldn’t accept it. She’d brought Tom up to understand the dangers of drugs, that at least six people die to make every kilo of cocaine, that anyone who buys or sells it has blood on their hands. She’d told him horror stories of the crack dens she’d raided when on the drug squad, shown him photos of dead addicts, their bodies and lives ravaged and ripped apart. And now he was dealing? It didn’t make sense.
‘I know it’s hard, love,’ Mike said patiently. ‘But sticking your head in the sand won’t help Tom. He’s clearly got in way over his head. Which explains his mood swings lately. I’m thinking county lines. Perhaps they’re using him to store their gear, knowing there’s a drug squad copper and a murder detective in the house. Last place the police would look for four kilos of coke.’
Sue picked up a file. ‘Look, Mike, you’re being ridiculous,’ she said abruptly. ‘I need to brief my team on the Stevens case. We can talk about it tonight, at home. Tom’s sensible. He simply wouldn’t have kilos of cocaine in the house. He’d know it would wreck both of our careers if it came out. He wouldn’t do it, and that’s that. There’s clearly been some mistake. You’ve been so busy tracing county lines that you’re imagining them everywhere.’
‘I’m not, Sue.’ His voice was urgent. ‘Look at how he’s been behaving. We’ve both seen the change in him. You might not want to face the fact he’s a drug dealer, but you have to. That’s what good parenting is about.’
Sue’s eyes were so full of blind rage that Mike automatically took a step backwards. ‘Don’t ever lecture me on good parenting. You’ve never had kids.’
‘How can you say that to me, Sue? You know why.’
‘Well, maybe you were infertile for a reason.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Because you’d make a shit parent. Now just fuck off and take these ridiculous allegations with you.’
She tugged open the roller blinds, opened the door and strode into the incident room. ‘Gather round, everyone. I just need to bring you all up to speed on Tyler Tipping.’
Chapter Nineteen
LOLA
Rick drives us out of London along the Westway, the showy skyscrapers and 1970s council tower blocks sharp against the leaden autumnal sky. The traffic is surprisingly light and the road widens into the M40, its green signs turning to motorway blue, and industrial estates giving way to fields and hedgerows as heavy, grey clouds laden with rain thicken overhead. He turns on the windscreen wipers as we approach Oxford, but there’s no time to visit my old college, St Hilda’s, with its pretty, honey-coloured walls, enclosing draughty old buildings which, for a time, had been my home.
It was a women-only college back then, but I’d often sneaked Rick into my room, which was opposite Soozie Lightwater’s. We were both reading English, but unlike Soozie, I worked flat out, determined to get a First. Success was everything to me. She didn’t care, especially after she met her boyfriend Simon in her second year. Soozie spent her time in the pub, punting, taking ecstasy or having silent sex with Simon in his tiny room at Worcester College overlooking the quad, while his not-really-asleep room-mate quietly got his kicks, too. I wanted to be more Soozie.
The headmistress at my grammar school was over the moon when she heard I’d been accepted, announcing it in assembly and saying I’d shown just how anyone could turn their life around. The other girls gave me hell after that. But Rick and the not-eating got me through the rest of school, and Oxford too, somewhere else I didn’t fit in, with its terrifying formal dinners and high tables laden with calories, chunky girls who got up at six a.m. to go rowing and posh boys playing rugby, swilling champagne and boasting about their latest imaginary conquests. I kept my head down and worked. But after we graduated and Soozie asked me to join her new agency, I saw it as a chance to reinvent myself. I modelled myself on her, outwardly at least, creating the hard-nosed agent Lola Lovett that everyone knew and feared. Inside I was still a whirl of calorie-counting, self-loathing and control. But it turned out that I was better at it, the managing, the organisation, the dealing with clients, protecting their reputations, and she never forgave me when I started Lola Lovett PR, taking Sam with me. Soozie liked to be in charge, with me as her sidekick, doing the dirty work. I’d created the monster that was Lola Lovett and now I’d become her. The fact I’d wanted Sam dead just proved it.
The motorway skirts around Oxford and we turn off the M40 near Chipping Norton, heading cross-country, deep into the heart of the Cotswolds. As we pass through chocolate-box villages, the sun breaks through a gap in the rainclouds, warming the cottages’ golden stone and casting long shadows in the church graveyards.
Could Tyler be telling the truth about the drugs? Possibly. But I’d never trusted Tyler’s relationship with him. Always seemed to me he was there for the money. Rick still thought a gang could be involved, though that didn’t explain why there had been no ransom demand. Yet. And then there was James Lethbridge. Had he paid Tyler to hurt Sam...or worse?
‘You know Andrew Netherington’s constituency is about twenty miles from Winchborough,’ Rick says, glancing in his rear-view mirror.
‘I know. But I can’t believe he’d shit on his own doorstep.’
‘He might. If he was confident he wouldn’t get caught.’
‘You think Sam might have blackmailed Netherington? Who then used Tyler to kidnap him?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘Are we being followed? Any sign of that motorbike?’
‘No. But listen, we don’t know who’s in this house, Lola. You’d better stay in the car. Let me handle this.’
The Gables is outside the village, a secluded old farmhouse standing in acres of land. Sheep are grazing in the fields in front of it. Rick drives straight past and parks further up the lane. I yank down the back seat, revealing the boot, where Tyler is tied up and curled in the foetal position.
‘Wake up,’ I hiss. ‘Where exactly is Sam in the house?’
He squints in the bright light. ‘Not in the house. In the garden. Right at the end. Old air-raid shelter.’
I slam the seat back up. ‘Wait here,’ Rick orders, handing me the keys. He’s pulled on a protective hooded black coverall, gloves and mask.
‘No chance.’ I tug off my heels and pull on a pair of flats from my bag.
‘Then you’ll need this.’ He hands me a fresh coverall. It’s baggy, but I pull it on over my clothes.
‘Gloves, too,’ he says. ‘And mask. We don’t want to leave any traces here.’
‘Do you believe Tyler?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know. There’s a stile back down the road,’ Rick says. ‘Must be a footpath. Let’s see if it goes behind the house.’
I lock the car. We climb over the stile and walk quickly along the narrow footpath, well-worn and lined with tangled raspberry bushes. My heart is thumping, my breath quick. If Sam is here, there’s a chance to save him. To put this whole ghastly mess between us right again. And to make money.
As we near the house, the path veers off to the right. Rick strides into a small wooded area. I can see the back of the house, a couple of hundred feet away. There’s no sound, no sign anyone is there. A thin piece of rusting barbed wire in the woodland serves as boundary, but there are gaps here and there, and flattened grass where what look like wild animals – or dogs – have pushed their way through.
We crawl under the wire to take a look at the garden. It’s huge and overgrown, a jumble of weeds and swaying grasses a couple of feet tall, with a rusty children’s swing rising up out of it. Ivy is spreading up the back of the house. The whole place looks abandoned, unlived in, left for nature to reclaim it.
Rick takes out a small pair of binoculars. ‘The curtains are closed,’ he says.
‘Can you see a bunker?’
He shakes his head. ‘Too overgrown. I’ll have to go in.’
Rick crawls forward. I follow. Staying low, hidden by the grasses, we check the end of the garden.
That’s when I see it.
‘Over here! Quick.’
The ground rises up slightly in a shallow mound, and when I tap it with my hand, it’s solid. A roof.
We feel our way around it. The roof is small, maybe twelve feet long and five feet wide. It’s some kind of metal, covered in moss and grasses. I’m longing to call out, to bang on it, to let Sam know I’m there, but it’s too dangerous. There could be a sniper in the house. Or inside it.
‘I can’t find a door, Rick,’ I whisper.
‘It’s here.’
He’s standing on overgrown steps at the far end. In front of him is a large, rusting metal door, secured with a new padlock. Rick takes a hairgrip from his pocket and picks the lock in seconds.
The metal door creaks open.
We’re staring at a brick wall.
‘They’ve bricked him in?’ I hiss. ‘Jesus Christ. Sam, can you hear me?’
Silence.
I’m starting to panic now, but Rick stays calm. He goes back to the car to get a crowbar and a hammer. Working quickly, and as quietly as he can, he chips away at the mortar in the middle.
‘Hurry up,’ I urge.
The wall is a couple of feet inside the door. Whoever forced Sam in here didn’t want him to get out.
The first brick is loose. Rick jabs it with the crowbar and it falls inside the shelter. The stench almost makes me retch.
I grab my iPhone from the pocket in my coveralls and shine the torch in the gap, holding my nose through the mask to stop myself vomiting. Part of me doesn’t want to look, to see the horror that I now know must lie there.
Sam is in the far corner, curled up, unmoving. His jogging trousers are filthy, and he’s surrounded by congealed vomit and faeces.
‘My God.’
I don’t want to shine the torch on his face, to see his dead eyes staring back at me, but I move the beam slowly up his body. His hands and feet are zip-tied together and his head is covered with some kind of hessian sack. As the light touches the sack, he moves slightly.
‘He’s alive, Rick. Get that fucking wall down.’
Rick hammers at the bricks and I claw at them with my bare hands. The hole widens, brick by brick, just enough for me to crawl through. I don’t care about the filth, I just want Sam. To make sure he’ll keep my secrets. To put this right. To make sure he knows it wasn’t me. And to find out the name of the bastard who did this to him.
‘Sam. Sam, wake up. It’s over. I’m here.’
