Not Dead Yet

  Grace listened intently to the news from Guy Batchelor, trying to think clearly through the panic engulfing him, trying to make some fast decisions. The Chief Constable and the Assistant Chief Constable needed to be informed before they found themselves in the embarrassing situation of hearing about the discovery of Royce’s head on the news. But before he did that, Grace had one absolute priority.

  He rang the US cellphone number of Gaia’s head of security.

  ‘Andrew Gulli,’ he answered, almost instantly, as if expecting a call.

  ‘It’s Roy Grace.’

  ‘Inspector Grace – I—’ The James Cagney whine sounded uneasy.

  ‘We have an emergency situation, Mr Gulli. I have a copy of the production call sheet, and see your client’s shooting at the Pavilion this evening. I’m extremely concerned for her safety – I’ve reason to believe there’s a person out there intent on harming her. He’s already killed at least once. We know what he looks like and we know his disguise, and I think we have a good chance of catching him very quickly. But I don’t want to take any risks with your client so what I’d like to do, with your support, is remove her from the set and keep her and her son indoors in her suite, under guard, for the next twenty-four hours. Is that possible?’

  ‘Hey, Inspector, you and I are on the same page. But I can’t help you. I got fired this morning.’

  ‘Fired?’

  ‘I’m flying back to LA tomorrow.’

  ‘Gaia? Gaia fired you? In the middle of this situation?’

  ‘Yeah, well, the thing is, I told my client I was insisting on her leaving England right away, today, and flying back to the States – and to hell with the consequences. She wouldn’t have it. So we had a kind of a Mexican stand-off. She told me if I didn’t change my attitude, I’d be fired. I told her, “Ms Lafayette, I’m not risking your life, nor your son’s life. You crazy or something? To hell with the consequences.”’ There was a brief silence then Gulli went on. ‘I tell you, Inspector, she was getting paid peanuts for this film compared to what she earns performing, so what the hell, let them sue, I told her. Better to be sued than dead. But she wouldn’t have it. I told her, I was not letting her go on set. So she fired me.’

  ‘Want me to try speaking to her?’

  ‘Gaia Lafayette does what Gaia Lafayette wants, Inspector. She doesn’t listen to anybody.’

  ‘I’m going to go talk to her right now,’ Grace said.

  ‘Good luck. You’re gonna need it.’

  He ended the call with Gulli and immediately phoned the Ops 1 Controller Andy Kille, glad that he was still on duty. ‘We’ve found Myles Royce’s head,’ he informed him. ‘And the suspect’s at large with, I believe, real intent to harm Gaia. I’m circulating images of Eric Whiteley and his Anna Galicia persona – I’m printing copies for all officers on duty, and PCSOs. And I want every available officer and PCSO we have, deployed to the Pavilion right away. I want to make it an island site.’

  ‘I could draft in some Specials as well,’ Kille said helpfully.

  ‘Anyone you can get,’ Grace replied. ‘Until we’ve got this maniac locked up.’

  ‘I’m upgrading this to a Critical Incident,’ Kille said. ‘Graham Barrington’s Duty Gold and Nick Sloan’s Silver.’

  Grace thanked him and looked at his watch: 6.15 p.m. According to her schedule on the call sheet, Gaia had been required in her trailer for make-up and wardrobe at 4 p.m., two hours before she was due on set. He turned to the forensic podiatrist. ‘Haydn, I want you to go back to the CCTV room – I’ll get anyone who’s available to help you there. I need you to watch the cameras on the streets around the Pavilion for any sign of Eric Whiteley – or Anna Galicia.’

  ‘Sure – now?’

  ‘Yes, right away, we have to find him, and fast.’ He looked around. ‘Bella, I want you to blue-light him down there, then meet me at the front of the Pavilion. Okay? Go!’

  Bella Moy and Haydn Kelly both stood up hurriedly and headed towards the door. Grace addressed the rest of the team. ‘We all know what Whiteley looks like in both guises – I want as many as possible of us down there looking out for him. I can’t be sure he’s going to turn up, but I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t, and we can’t take the risk of missing him.’

  He checked the calls log on his phone, found the numbers corresponding to the time he rang Larry Brooker last night and the time the producer returned the call and rang it again.

  ‘Brooker.’ He did not sound in a sunny mood.

  ‘It’s Detective Superintendent Grace, Mr Brooker.’

  ‘This is not a good moment,’ Brooker said. ‘We’re about to start shooting a major scene. Can I call you back later?’

  ‘No!’ Grace said emphatically. ‘Is Gaia on set?’

  ‘She goddamn well isn’t – we’re waiting for her.’

  ‘Mr Brooker, I need a big favour from you. We believe her life may be in real and present danger. I want to take her under police guard back to her hotel room and keep her there until the threat is over. Is there any filming you could do tonight without involving her?’

  ‘Detective Grace, she’s already delayed us enough. You have to get real. Stars get threats from crazies regularly. She’s got her own goddamn security, we’ve got the Pavilion’s security, the film unit’s security and we’ve got the whole of your police force. This location is more secure than Fort Knox. A mouse isn’t getting in here without ID. This is the safest place in Brighton right now.’

  ‘So in which case, how come the chandelier came crashing down yesterday?’

  ‘Everyone’s tightened up since then. We’ve battened down the hatches. The whole place has been searched. She’ll be totally safe on set – if we can ever get her out of her goddamn trailer.’

  Grace hung up, exasperated.

  ‘What’s happened, chief?’ Glenn Branson asked.

  ‘Sorry, thought you’d been told. They’ve found Myles Royce’s head.’

  Branson looked at him. ‘They have? Where?’

  ‘In Eric Whiteley’s freezer.’

  ‘Ohhhhh shit.’

  ‘Yes, and I have a bad feeling his next intended trophy is Gaia’s. Judging by the state of his house, he’s lost it. He ripped all his Gaia memorabilia to shreds, daubed his walls in anti-Gaia hate slogans and disappeared.’

  ‘Where do you think he might be?’ Branson asked.

  ‘I talked to a psychologist this afternoon, who’s written extensively on stalkers and celebrity obsessives, a Dr Tara Lester. She said these obsessive fans frequently build themselves an imaginary relationship with the celeb. They know the celeb is just waiting for that right moment to show reciprocation. That the celeb is, secretly, as much in love with them as they are with the celeb. When they get rejected by the celeb, sometimes they can flip. I think we’re dealing with such a situation now. I think he’s going to position himself near her, either at her hotel or the Pavilion.’

  Branson nodded.

  ‘Forget this evening’s briefing, you and I are going down there ourselves right now.’

  114

  ‘Gaia’s left her trailer, she’s on her way,’ Barnaby Katz announced at last to Larry Brooker and Jack Jordan. Then he listened on his earpiece for a moment to the voice of the Third Assistant Director who was accompanying her, before speaking to the producer and director again. ‘Joe’s with her and there’s two police officers escorting her to the door.’

  ‘Tell ’em to switch their sirens on and shift it,’ Brooker said impatiently.

  The black Range Rover, followed by a marked police car, drove the 300 yards across the lawns to the front of the Pavilion. The police officers hurried out of their car and stood a few feet away, as one of her minders held the rear door open, and the icon slowly emerged, carefully ducking her head so as not to knock her mass of hair against the door frame, or snag any of the multiple layers of her dress and high collar on anything.

  There was a ragged cheer from the crowd of general public assembled bey
ond the wall in New Road, and a whole battery of flashes strobed in the grey, early evening light, as Gaia stepped down on to the drive. She walked slowly, seemingly a little uncertainly, following the AD into the building, then right, along the corridor towards the Banqueting Room.

  Into a sea of faces.

  A distinct sense of relief spread through the room. Several of the actors at the banqueting table turned to look at her. A make-up artist was working her way around their chairs, dabbing shiny noses and foreheads, and one of the hairdressers was making a minor adjustment to Hugh Bonneville’s wig. Suddenly the entire assembly of actors burst into spontaneous applause.

  Oh shit, Brooker thought. Oh shit, she is not going to be happy with this.

  It wasn’t the applause of a warm greeting, nor the applause for a fine performance. It was a sarcastic demonstration by her thirty fellow actors that they had not been amused to be kept waiting.

  Then, to his amazement, Gaia smiled and curtsied. First to the cast at the table. Then to the Director of Photography and his camera crew. Then to the sound crew. To the continuity girl. To the director and to the producer, and to each grip and spark present. She curtsied as if her career depended on it.

  She curtsied smiling and proud, totally misreading the situation, as if relishing being the centre of attention, the centre of adulation that was not there.

  Brooker frowned. Her behaviour was totally out of character. There was also something else very strange about her.

  115

  Roy Grace wondered why, whenever Glenn Branson got behind the wheel of a car, he drove it as if he had just hot-wired it although he now had a legitimate reason. Glenn was weaving through the thinning rush hour, on blues and twos, and Grace spent much of the journey fearing for his life, or the life of anyone who stepped into their path. To distract himself, he phoned and updated first the Chief Constable, via his Staff Officer, and then ACC Rigg.

  At 6.30 p.m., just seven minutes after leaving Sussex House, they tore into the Pavilion grounds and pulled up behind a black Range Rover. Grace was a little relieved to see that already the police presence here was markedly increased from yesterday.

  As they walked up to the front entrance, two uniformed security guards, each wearing earpieces, blocked their path. ‘Sorry, gentlemen,’ said one of them. ‘No one’s allowed in, they’re about to start shooting.’

  Grace fished out his warrant card and held it up.

  The same guard shook his head. ‘Sir, you don’t understand, they’re about to do a take. There has to be absolute silence. I can’t let you in until they’ve finished this scene.’

  ‘We’ll be quiet,’ Grace said. ‘This is an emergency.’

  ‘I’m afraid they’ve already lost almost an hour tonight. Madam’s been in a particularly tricky mood, if you get my drift,’ one guard said. He had a nicotine-stained moustache, a stocky but bolt-upright posture, and exuded the officious, no-nonsense air of a former army Sergeant-Major.

  She’s damned lucky to still be alive, if you get mine, Grace nearly retorted. ‘I’m sorry, we need to go in the building.’

  ‘Phones off?’

  ‘No, we’re not turning our phones or radios off.’

  ‘Then I’m afraid you can’t go in until the end of this scene, gentlemen.’

  ‘How long will that be?’

  ‘Depends how many takes Madam requires to get her lines right.’ Both officers noted the sarcasm in his voice.

  Grace decided not to push the point, turned and walked a few steps away, followed by the DS.

  ‘Sodding jobsworth!’ Glenn Branson said. ‘I’d love to see some of the filming.’

  ‘I’d like to see the finished result, knowing that we kept Gaia alive,’ Grace replied grimly.

  There were a good 200 members of the public lined up along the wall, watching. He saw Glenn warily scanning their faces. Was Eric Whiteley among them? A man who was prepared to pay more than £27,000 for a suit worn once by his idol. A loner, with nothing in his life but his doomed-to-be-unrequited – and unreciprocated – passion for an icon. A loner who had been spurned by her, probably humiliatingly for him, in the front entrance of The Grand Hotel.

  Was he so desperate for anything belonging to his idol, that he had killed and butchered his rival bidder for that suit?

  What was next on Whiteley’s agenda, after destroying his entire collection of Gaia memorabilia?

  Destroying the icon herself?

  Which would, of course, instantly make him almost as famous.

  116

  Along with Larry Brooker, several of the cast and crew were staring uneasily at Gaia. Jack Jordan frowned, wondering whether his star was on drugs. She was definitely looking very odd this evening, he thought. Her hair was obscuring much of her face, her make-up was far too heavy and her voice sounded strange, as if she had aged overnight; nor did she appear to have remembered anything from their rehearsals over the weekend. Had it been the shock of her son nearly being killed yesterday? Would it have been more sensible to have given her a couple of days off to recover? Too late for that now.

  Patiently he repeated the line for her, putting the emphasis where he wanted her to put it. ‘This is not how a queen expects to be treated, my dear Prinny. I have never in my life been so humiliated.’ He paused. ‘Okay? Much more emphatic! In these last few takes you’re almost mumbling. You are saying this loudly to everyone, playing to your audience – all the king’s friends and associates. You must really project! What you are doing is trying to humiliate him publicly.’

  Gaia nodded.

  He turned to the banqueting table, to King George. ‘Judd, immediately you respond with, “You never were a damned queen. You were just a posh tramp.”’ He turned back to Gaia. ‘That’s your cue to burst into tears and run, wailing, from the room. Are we all clear?’

  Judd Halpern and Gaia both nodded in turn.

  The First Assistant Director, headset on, strode across the floor and called out, ‘Right, first positions everybody!’

  The Camera Operator announced, ‘Rolling!’

  The Clapper Boy jumped in front of the camera lens with the digital clapperboard. ‘Scene One-Three-Four, take three.’ There was a sharp crack, and he moved clear.

  Jack Jordan called out, ‘Action!’

  ‘Gaia,’ she said, addressing first the king, then everyone at the table, before turning dramatically around and addressing Jack Jordan. ‘You never were a queen! You were always just a posh tramp! Just a poser! You made people believe you loved them just for your ego, didn’t you? Well, you’re not special, see, anyone can do what you do. Look at each one of you in this room!’

  Faces froze. There were looks of astonishment, bewilderment. Jack Jordan took a step towards her. ‘Gaia, love, do you want to take a few minutes’ break?’

  ‘You see?’ she was screeching now. ‘You can’t tell! You really can’t tell! So you don’t need her any more, anyone would do!’

  She turned and ran, stumbling, from the room.

  Jordan turned in bewilderment to Larry Brooker, then to the Line Producer. ‘That – that’s not her,’ Barnaby Katz said. ‘That’s not Gaia!’

  Brooker was shaking his head. ‘Has she goddamn flipped?’

  ‘That’s not her – that wasn’t her!’ Katz said again. ‘Shit, I’m telling you, that was not Gaia!’ He sprinted for the corridor and ran down it, into the hallway where there was the door to the public toilets. Brooker and Jack Jordan followed closely behind him.

  ‘Not Gaia?’ Brooker called out.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Then who the hell was it?’ Brooker said. ‘Is this her idea of a goddamn practical joke or something?’

  ‘Where’s she gone?’ Katz pushed open the door to the ladies and peered in, then the men’s room. Then he hurried across to the front entrance, and out to the two guards. ‘Did you guys see anyone come out? About a minute ago?’

  Both men shook their heads. ‘No one’s been in or out in the past fifteen min
utes, on your instructions, sir.’

  ‘You didn’t see Gaia – or someone resembling her?’

  ‘No one.’ They looked adamant.

  He squeezed past them, followed by Brooker and Jordan. A few yards away, he saw Roy Grace standing beside a tall black man in a sharp suit. ‘Neither of you saw Gaia just now?’ he asked.

  ‘Gaia?’ Grace said. He did not like any of their strange, baffled expressions.

  ‘Or someone dressed as her?’ Katz asked.

  ‘She ran out of the Banqueting Room and goddamn vanished,’ Brooker said.

  ‘No one’s come out of this entrance since we’ve been here,’ Glenn Branson said. ‘Not for at least the last seven or eight minutes.’

  Roy Grace stared at Brooker. ‘Would you mind telling me what’s going on? What do you mean, you can’t find Gaia?’

  ‘I would if I goddamn knew.’

  ‘Gaia came on set looking very strange, and acting completely out of character,’ Jack Jordan said. ‘Then she went totally off-script, spouting a whole load of nonsense, and ran out of the room.’

  ‘It wasn’t her,’ the Line Producer said. ‘I’m certain.’

  ‘Everything’s secure, the whole building,’ one of the security guards said. ‘All the keys have been removed from the locks – one of the measures we were advised to take by your colleagues. We did that as soon as the public had left. If she was in the building five minutes ago, she is still there, I can assure you.’

  ‘If you’re saying it wasn’t Gaia,’ Grace said to the Line Producer, ‘then where is Gaia?’

  He shrugged. ‘I dunno. Maybe still in her trailer?’

  Grace felt his earlier panic returning, gripping and twisting his insides. Still in her trailer?

  Jordan and Katz went back into the building.

  ‘Want me to go and check?’ Katz said to Grace.

  ‘No, I’m going.’ He turned to Branson. ‘Glenn, get the building surrounded, put someone on every exit, no one leaves, okay? Not even the damned Curator until I say so. No one leaves the grounds, either – I want a total lock-down, and right now.’