The Deep Dark Sleep

‘No, no …’ I held my hands up. ‘Don’t get the wrong idea … With the smog and everything, and my office just over the way, I wondered if you could swing a special rate for me here. Just for tonight. It’s a bit rich for my blood normally but needs must …’

She appraised me with the glacial blue eyes and for a moment I killed the time thinking about what Rhine maidens and Valkyries might get up to in Valhalla. She seemed to make up her mind about me.

‘Actually,’ she said, ‘we have a spare room at the end of our hall. We had it for one of the studio executives, but he’s flown home early. We have kept the booking open in case we needed it. I guess tonight we do.’

‘I’ll pay, of course …’

‘No need.’ She took a long, thin cigarette of a brand I’d never seen before from a specially made silver case. I held out a light for her the instant it met her lips. She took a draw and nodded a perfunctory thanks. ‘It’s paid for whether you use it or not. And, anyway, you’re working for Mr Macready. Just tonight?’

‘Just tonight.’

‘Was there anything else, Mr Lennox?’ She frowned at me over her sipped daiquiri, as if my presence was seriously compromising her enjoyment of it.

‘As a matter of fact there was. How much do you know about why I’ve been employed by the studio? About Mr Macready’s situation?’

‘Everything,’ she said blankly. ‘I am Mr Macready’s personal assistant. To do my job, I need to know everything that’s going on, good or bad. I am how Mr Macready connects with everybody and everything around him.’

I was about to say he’d done some pretty enthusiastic connecting himself, but let it slide. ‘Did you know about his … tastes before this incident?’

‘Of course.’ A little defiance now. And resentment.

‘Where were you when Macready was at the cottage with his friend?’

‘I was at the hotel. Not this hotel … the one up north. Up past that big lake. We were there for the shooting.’

‘And Macready gave you the night off?’

‘That’s right. He was in the bar of the hotel drinking with Iain.’

‘When I asked him about it, he said it was a spur of the moment decision to go to the cottage.’

‘That’s what he told me,’ she said, holding me in a blue glacier gaze. ‘Iain’s family owned the estate we were shooting on and the cottage was one he used now and again. He paints, you see. An artist.’ She said the word with disdain. ‘Mr Macready said that Iain suggested they go to the cottage to continue drinking.’

‘But as a guest of the hotel, Macready could order drinks after closing time …’

Leonora Bryson shrugged. ‘I don’t think drinking was what was on either of their minds. Why is this so important?’

‘Have you seen the photographs?’

A split second of outrage, then the storm passed. ‘No, Mr Lennox, I haven’t.’

‘I have. I had to. They were taken with some kind of hidden camera. In a wall void or something. I can’t tell for sure because the other party … Iain … is not, I’ve been told, to be made aware of this difficulty. That means I can’t examine the cottage. But it was an elaborate set-up. That means organization. Planning in advance.’

‘And that doesn’t fit with them going to the cottage being a spur of the moment thing … is that what you’re saying?’

‘Exactly. But that leads to the conclusion that his Lordship’s – or is it his Dukeship’s? – son and heir was in on the setup. And that simply doesn’t make any sense at all. He – and his father – have as much to lose as John Macready. More, probably.’

‘So where does that leave you?’

‘Tracking down the blackmailer. Paul Downey. Believe it or not, Miss Bryson, this city is a tough place to stay hidden in. And I’ve got the kind of contacts who can tell me exactly where to look.’

‘So why haven’t you spoken to these contacts? Shouldn’t you be bumping into more mysterious objects in the smog, instead of sitting here?’

‘It’s not as simple as that. These contacts I have are, to be frank, criminals. If there’s a crooked way of making a buck, then these guys have done it. With something as delicate as this, I have to be careful about what I say and to whom.’ I noticed she had finished her daiquiri and beckoned to the waiter. ‘May I get you another?’

‘No.’ When the waiter came over she ignored my protests and told him to put the drinks on her room bill. ‘I’ll ask reception to give you the key for the room.’

‘Fine, thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll nip over to my office, if I can find it in the fog, and pick up my bags.’

‘Bags?’ She arched an eyebrow.

‘I keep some stuff in my office.’

It was a lame answer and she saw through it. I could see her reappraising the wound on my cheek.

‘Mr Lennox, I do hope that we can rely on you. I have to tell you that I was not in favour of you being hired. From what Mr Fraser told us about you, you have a lot of colour in your background. I wouldn’t like to think that that colour could interfere with you sorting this mess out for us.’

‘It won’t. For your information, Miss Bryson, it is exactly that colour that could lead me to Downey and the photographs. May I ask you a question?’