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  ‘You sure about this? Did you tell the police about it?’

  His eyes widened. ‘No, not the police. I wouldn’t tell them anything. I just want to keep out of it.’

  ‘Out of what?’ she persisted. ‘You think Freddie was murdered, don’t you?’

  ‘No,’ he gasped, still darting glances at the window. ‘No, I don’t. Look, I’m going back to the Smoke first chance I get tomorrow. I’ve got nothing to say to anyone.’

  Her eyes narrowed. He was either putting on a very competent show or he was actually very frightened and playing to the gallery in case someone was listening in to their conversation. Whichever it was, she sensed she would not be able to get anything further out of him. Climbing slowly to her feet, she gave him a contemptuous look and turned for the door. ‘Freddie would be really proud of you, wouldn’t he?’ she snapped sarcastically and threw open the door. ‘Don’t forget to lock up after I’ve left, will you?’

  And she smiled grimly as she heard the bolt shoot home the moment she stepped back out into the corridor.

  ‘Everything okay?’ the barman queried when she passed through on her way to the street.

  ‘Couldn’t be better,’ she lied, ‘but I think someone should take Mr Wiles up a drink – a stiff one.’

  ****

  Felicity Dubois had received the call from Carol Amis, Freddie Baxter’s PA, in the middle of a photo-shoot and she muttered her irritation as she snatched the phone from the choreographer.

  ‘And what the hell do you want on a bloody Sunday?’ she snapped in her customary polite manner.

  Well used to the arrogance and rudeness of the posh ex-public school girl, Amis just took a deep breath. ‘I’m calling from home, Felice,’ she replied. ‘Terrible news, I’m afraid. Vernon Wiles has just telephoned me in a bit of a state. Freddie Baxter is dead. Fell off a cliff in Cornwall apparently. I’m ringing round to let everyone know.’

  Dubois’ expression changed dramatically during the brief conversation and she turned, gaping and wide-eyed, towards the choreographer as she handed the phone back to her.

  ‘Bloody hell, Jane!’ she gasped, her dark brown eyes suddenly moist. ‘It’s Freddie Baxter … he’s … he’s dead. Took a dive off a damned cliff in Cornwall.’

  Jane Purnell’s hand shot to her mouth in a gesture of horror. ‘But that’s awful.’

  ‘Isn’t it just?’ Dubois exclaimed. ‘But Cornwall? What on earth was he doing down there in the first place?’

  ‘I know,’ Purnell replied. ‘He’s always hated the sea.’

  Dubois took a deep breath. ‘Poor old Freddie. He didn’t deserve to go like that. And he was such a nice guy too.’

  She shook her head at the photographer as he adjusted the backdrop he had been using for the photographic session. ‘Sorry, Clive, I can’t do this now. Much too upset.’

  ‘Quite understandable,’ Purnell soothed. ‘Look, you go home, Felice. We’ll fix up another shoot tomorrow. I’m sure our clients will understand.’

  Dubois nodded. ‘Yes, I think that would be best,’ she agreed and grabbing her robe to slip over the brief bikini she had been modelling, she headed for the little changing room and carefully locked the door behind her.

  Once there, her demeanour quickly changed. The sorrow in her expression was abruptly erased, as if wiped away by an invisible hand, and leaning against the wall for a moment, she tilted her head back slightly, with her eyes partially closed in thought.

  So fat Freddie was actually dead, was he? The best news ever. And both Jane and Clive would have been astonished to see the gleeful smile, which was suddenly born on those full red lips, in place of the shock she had affected just a moment ago.

  Dressing quickly, she made her way down in the lift to the basement car park, resisting the urge to run, and flicked the remote control of her sleek, maroon BMW. Sliding behind the wheel, she studied her face in the rear-view mirror for a moment, adjusting the mirror to admire the delicate brown skin and the haughty, finely chiselled features she had inherited from her West African mother. Smoothing the black dreadlocks away from her high cheekbones, she winked at her reflection. ‘Well, Freddie, hon,’ she drawled, curling her lips into a vindictive sneer. ‘I always said you would hit the rocks one day. And you’ve certainly done it this time.’

  Then starting the car’s powerful engine she roared out of the car park with all the exuberance of someone who had just won the National Lottery.

  CHAPTER 11

  The offices of the New Light Modelling Agency stood on the edge of the square mile covered by the City of London Police, but just inside the Metropolitan Police District’s boundary. Occupying a corner of the first and second storeys of a large business complex, the place was accessed by a lift from a shared car park directly underneath, and was nothing short of a design statement in itself. Mick Benchley raised an eyebrow as he entered the plush foyer with DI Angel on a bright Monday morning. The DI, who had been to the premises previously as part of the bombing investigation, gave him a nudge. ‘As I said earlier, Guv,’ she commented, ‘We’re in the wrong business.’

  Benchley grunted and approached the long reception desk with his warrant card already in his hand.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Benchley and DI Angel, Metropolitan Police,’ he snapped at the blonde girl behind the desk and frowned as he noted her puffed eyelids and pale face, which suggested she had been crying. ‘Here to see Mr Baxter.’

  For a moment the girl just gaped at him and visible tears started running down her face. ‘Freddie?’ she echoed. ‘But … but you can’t.’

  For a second both Benchley and Angel simply stared at her. ‘What do you mean can’t?’ Benchley rapped. ‘Just ring him, will you?’

  She released a little whimper. ‘I … I’ll get his PA,’ she said and picking up the phone beside her, dialled a number, cupping her hand around the mouthpiece as she whispered into it.

  Carol Amis was down in the foyer within minutes, her face also pale and drawn and strands of dark hair straying out of the tight bun which usually held them in place. Drawing the detectives to one side after introducing herself, she dropped her bombshell. ‘I’m afraid Mr Baxter is … is deceased,’ she said.

  ‘Deceased?’ Benchley exclaimed, visibly shocked. ‘How on earth did that happen?’

  ‘He … he apparently slipped on the edge of a cliff in Cornwall and fell on to the rocks.’

  ‘Cornwall? And when did this happen?’

  ‘Saturday evening, I understand. I’ve been off for a few days. A business colleague, Vernon Wiles, who was in Cornwall with him, rang me at home yesterday to give me the terrible news. The press have only just found out and they have been plaguing us non-stop all morning. I think there is going to be a major story on it tonight. Freddie was quite a celebrity in the fashion world, you see.’

  ‘But what was Mr Baxter doing in Cornwall?’

  She shook her head. ‘I have no idea. He didn’t confide in me.’

  Benchley released his breath in a long sigh. ‘Well, we’re sorry for your loss, Miss Amis,’ he went on, his mind racing ahead of him now, ‘but we do need to talk to you.’

  She nodded. ‘My office would be best.’

  Minutes later, seated opposite the diminutive little brunette in her smart white blouse and very short black skirt, Benchley said, ‘I’m investigating the bombing incident at The Philanderer’s Night Club three months ago.’

  Amis looked surprised, her brown eyes narrowing behind the large, full-frame spectacles. ‘Is that still going on?’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought the case was closed? You didn’t catch anybody, did you?’

  Angel shook her head. ‘We never close an undetected case, Miss Amis,’ she replied, ‘and certainly not after only three months.’

  ‘We have a few more routine inquiries to make,’ Benchley went on. ‘I’ve just been to The Philanderer’s Club again, and we would be interested in speaking to the models who were there at the time of the incident. Perhaps you could le
t me have their current addresses.’

  Amis looked puzzled. ‘But the girls were all interviewed at length by your officers soon after the incident.’

  Benchley’s face twitched irritably. ‘I’m well aware of that, Miss Amis, but we would like to speak to each of them again anyway.’

  Amis sighed her own irritation. ‘Well, there were six girls in all. They were modelling evening wear for three different designers.’

  ‘And where are they now? Working?’

  Amis shook her head. ‘I had to ring round everyone personally with the bad news and they’ve all been told to take some time off until we decide what our next steps will be. I have the company solicitor coming to see me later this afternoon and there’s bound to be a board meeting soon.’

  ‘And Felicity Dubois, where is she now?’

  ‘Felicity? Why do you want to know about Felicity?’

  ‘Is it a problem answering our questions, Miss Amis?’ Angel put in tartly.

  The PA cast her a daggers look, but ignored her and addressed Benchley directly. ‘She was sent home from a photo-shoot yesterday after she heard the news. I expect she is still at her apartment.’

  ‘Models work on Sundays then, do they?’

  ‘In special circumstances, yes. Felicity had had the Friday and Saturday off, so it was necessary for her to work on the Sunday to keep a client happy.’ She treated him to a waspish smile. ‘Modelling is not all about fashion shows and glitzy cat-walks, Chief Inspector,’ she added. ‘Our models represent a whole variety of clients in all kinds of areas, including catalogue, film and television advertising. It can be very demanding work, requiring a 100 percent commitment. Weekends are not sacrosanct and many of our models endure long, unsociable hours.’

  Benchley grunted, apparently unimpressed. Then he came in again on a completely different tack, as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘Do you know why the dressing rooms of Felicity Dubois and Lynn Giles at The Philanderer’s Club were changed at the last minute?’

  Amis shrugged. ‘No idea. Freddie dealt with all the arrangements there. I had nothing to do with them. In fact, I remained here during the set-up of the fashion show, fielding calls and so forth.’

  ‘Felicity and Freddie get on well, did they?’

  Amis looked surprised by the question at first, but then gave a little twisted smile. ‘Oh yes. Felicity and Freddie got on extremely well,’ and the bitch in her surfaced in a rush. ‘In fact, you could say they were very close.’

  ‘You mean they were lovers?’ Angel said.

  Amis laughed without humour, her contempt now only too apparent. ‘Lovers? Hardly. Freddie was bi-sexual. He was incapable of that sort of normal relationship. He simply liked sex – any kind of sex. Felicity was just one of a long line of affairs – with both men and women.’

  ‘Like who, for instance?’

  ‘Well, his more recent conquests included our esteemed publicity and advertising manager, Cate Meadows – I think he liked a bit of rough on occasions – but that was probably his shortest sexual foray and their parting was anything but sweet sorrow. I think she would have put metal filings in his coffee if she could have managed it.’

  Benchley was immediately interested. ‘And where is this Cate Meadows now?’

  ‘On her hols, I believe. She’s taken a couple of weeks off.’

  ‘You say his more recent conquests included her. So who else did he sweep off their feet?’

  The PA considered the question for a moment. ‘Well, poor old Cate was actually dumped for our former salon manager, Julian Grey—’

  ‘Julian?’ Angel cut in.

  Amis gave another tight smile and nodded. ‘Must have been a bit humiliating for her to be dumped for a man, but that was Freddie. Julian was a nice-looking, athletic lad, though. Gay, of course, but there you are. Rather sweet on Julian, was our Freddie – before he was distracted by Felicity, of course. Then he just dropped him like all the others.’

  ‘Others?’ Benchley queried.

  ‘Oh, I could give you a whole list.’

  ‘Perhaps you would do that,’ he said. ‘And how did this Julian take to being dropped?’

  ‘Not very well at all. There was a flaming row. Most embarrassing too, as it all happened in Freddie’s office next door while I was sitting here. Julian left us after that, I’m afraid, but said it wasn’t over and that Freddie should watch his back in the future.’

  ‘What did Julian mean by that, do you think?’

  ‘No idea, and Freddie himself was too besotted with Felicity to care.’

  ‘And where is this Julian now?’

  ‘North London. I don’t know exactly where.’

  ‘Would you not have his forwarding address on file?’

  ‘Probably.’

  Benchley took a deep breath, his irritation barely concealed. ‘Be most helpful if you could dig it out for me, Miss Amis. Before we leave, eh? But back to Freddie. From what you are saying, he seems to have been a bit of a Don Juan. What was his secret, do you think? Some sort of natural talent or charisma?’

  Amis gave another short laugh. ‘Hardly. Freddie was one of the least attractive men I have ever met and being bi-sexual, his relationships were always physically intense, but emotionally shallow and short-lived. Felicity was a lot more sexually versatile than the others. That’s what probably attracted Freddie to her in the first place, though after the bomb blast, if he had known she’d also started having it away with Lynn Giles’ boyfriend at the same time as she was pleasing him, maybe he would have thought differently. In any event, I don’t suppose her fling with him would have lasted much longer, even if he had not fallen off the cliff.’

  ‘And how come you know how versatile Felicity was?’ Angel cut in again.

  Amis snorted. ‘How do you think? He wasn’t exactly discreet about his affairs and, as his PA, I was pretty close to the action.’

  ‘You’re saying he was doing the business at work?’

  ‘Most nights after he thought I had gone home actually.’ She waved an arm in the direction of Baxter’s office. ‘On the sofa, the floor. Maybe even in his leather chair. I reckon all options and positions were open.’

  ‘Did that annoy you?’ Benchley asked mildly.

  ‘Why should it? What they got up to was their own affair. But I knew what Felicity was after.’

  ‘Oh? And what was that?’

  ‘Well, Freddie was well connected, wasn’t he? He could open doors others couldn’t.’

  ‘So you’re saying Felicity was selling her favours for a leg-up in the modelling business, if you’ll pardon the expression?’

  ‘Something like that, yes.’ Amis began sorting through some papers on her desk. ‘Now I really must get on.’

  But Benchley had no intention of letting her off that easily. ‘And did Felicity get the leg-up she was after?’

  The PA was suddenly re-animated. ‘No way. Freddie was much too cute to be had over by someone like her. Lynn Giles was always his favourite, even though she would never succumb to his charms. Lynn got most of the good contracts as a result and Felicity even lost out on a really big opportunity at The Philanderer’s Club after the bomb blast.’

  ‘How so?’

  Amis smiled again, plainly enjoying recounting Dubois’ woes. ‘Freddie had been negotiating a lucrative new modelling contract with a top fashion house and their scouts were all at the club that night. When Lynn was quite literally blown out of the running, Felicity thought the contract would ultimately be hers, but instead it went to a new model, Melanie Jones, who was picked at another fashion show.’

  ‘That must have really pissed Felicity off, eh?’ Angel said.

  Amis tensed, as if she feared she had said too much, and glancing quickly at her watch she said, ‘Look, I’ve got the company solicitor here in ten minutes. I really must ask you to leave.’

  For a moment Benchley just stared at her and Angel thought he might be about to refuse until she answered his question. But instead he gave a fro
sty smile and stood up. ‘Fine. Thank you for your cooperation.’ Then on his way to the door, he half-turned and snapped his fingers. ‘Oh, yes, there’s just the matter of Julian Grey’s address. If you would be so kind?’

  ****

  Minutes later the two detectives were seeing themselves out through the big glass doors of the foyer. ‘Reckon we touched a nerve back there?’ the DCI remarked, pausing by the lift.

  Angel laughed grimly. ‘We certainly touched something,’ she agreed.

  He nodded. ‘Certainly no love lost between Amis and Dubois anyway.’

  ‘Maybe a touch of the old green eye?’ she suggested. ‘But why are you so interested in Dubois in particular?’

  He shrugged, then told her what he had learned from Wilfred Kent about the change of rooms at The Philanderer’s Club on the night of the bombing.

  She listened in silence and nodded slowly. ‘Hence your question to Amis about it,’ she acknowledged with a rueful grimace. ‘Nice of you to tell me beforehand.’

  ‘You were off this weekend, so how could I?’

  ‘You spoke to me yesterday.’

  ‘Okay, okay, point taken. Anything else you would like to know?’

  She treated him to her sweetest smile. ‘No, that should about do it, Guv, thank you. And now I have the full SP, I can see that you suspect Dubois might have been a party to the bombing?’

  He nodded and pressed the lift button. ‘I certainly think she has some questions to answer and it would be remiss of us not to give her the opportunity of answering them. Giles was originally the favourite for that top modelling job and it’s clear Dubois desperately wanted it, so the sudden last-minute change of rooms could be very significant.’

  ‘If Giles was the target and not Baxter.’

  ‘Maybe both of them then. You know, catch two birds with one stone. Get rid of the competition and punish Baxter at the same time.’

  Angel thought about that for a second. ‘Feasible, but equally, the perpetrator could be someone else. Baxter could have been the real target and Giles just collateral damage. He seems to have made enough enemies and from what Carol Amis said, Cate Meadows and Julian Grey might be worth talking to as well.’