‘I believe you live within fifteen miles of Heathrow airport, Mr Beaumont,’ said Snell with a wintry smile. ‘I’m sure Ms Collier would welcome you in Miami at any time.’
Kim leaned over and whispered something into Snell’s ear. He nodded.
‘With prior and convenient notice, of course,’ he added.
Matt glanced at Kim. Had that really been necessary? If his reading of her cuttings files were anything to go by, Kim Collier had a reputation as something of a diva and a bitch. He wasn’t sure whether show business attracted bitches, or whether clawing your way to the top made you that way. Certainly it followed that someone as ambitious as Kim would want to win whichever game she was playing, even if it meant trampling on everyone else along the way. Who knew what a nice bloke like Rob had seen in the woman; then again, he too knew the masochistic appeal of a beautiful and difficult woman, which had also ended in tears.
‘As I said, things have become a little more complicated,’ said Matthew, passing a document across to Kim, taking his time as he enjoyed the moment.
‘What’s this?’ she asked, picking it up.
‘Perhaps you should let me look at it first,’ said Snell, snatching it from her. ‘You’re cross-petitioning?’ he said, looking up startled.
Kim glared at Rob, who gave her a weak shrug. If he was enjoying this, he certainly wasn’t showing it. In fact he looked completely miserable.
‘What is it?’ Kim snapped at Snell impatiently.
‘It’s a petition,’ said Snell. ‘Your husband is divorcing you for adultery.’
‘He can’t do that!’ she gasped.
‘I’m afraid he can,’ said Matthew, sliding a ten-by-eight photograph across the table. It was a grainy long-lens shot, but it was clear that it was Kim on a balcony wearing only a bedsheet. She was being embraced by a silver-haired man in his fifties. After the tip-off via Wayne Nicholls, Matthew had handed the more intimate discovery work back to a trusted private investigation company. Kim Collier wasn’t a big star in America and, ignored by the paparazzi, she had clearly let her guard down.
‘For the record,’ said Matt as coolly as he could, ‘the man in the picture is Fabio Martelli, the international hotelier and playboy.’
‘Oh please,’ spat Kim, but she looked away from Rob. Matthew had broken the news to him the evening before and it hadn’t been one of his favourite meetings of all time. Whatever had gone on in their relationship, Rob Beaumont clearly hadn’t anticipated that his wife would cheat on him. He had been devastated.
‘Mr Martelli is based in Miami, I believe,’ continued Matthew. ‘His primary address is about a mile from the Sacred Heart School where Ms Collier has enrolled Oliver.’
Chris Snell pushed his chair back and stood up.
‘I would like a moment with my client,’ he said.
‘Certainly,’ said Matthew, showing them into an adjoining room and closing the door.
‘I hate this,’ said Rob, rubbing his temples.
‘We have to play hardball to get leverage,’ Matt said as reassuringly as he could.
Rob nodded sadly. ‘I get all that,’ he said. ‘I just wish it didn’t have to hurt so much. What did I do?’
Matthew didn’t answer. He suspected Kim was with Fabio for the same reasons Carla had gone off with David; not because they loved them more but because they could provide a better, more comfortable life. Or so he liked to think.
Kim and Snell walked back in, their previous air of confidence slightly dented as they sat down.
‘Regardless of the reasons for the breakdown of this marriage, we both know that when we are considering the arrangements for the child, his welfare must come first. Mrs Collier is his mother. She can provide a stable, loving environment for Oliver.’
‘Five thousand miles away from his father with some bloody playboy?’ snapped Rob, leaning over the table and pointing his finger. ‘I’ll fight you every step of the way. I’m not going to roll over and let that dirty old sod play daddy to Ollie.’
Matt took Rob’s arm, and as gently as he could, sat him back down.
Chris Snell was busy scribbling a note on the pad in front of him.
‘Of course any episode of volatility or aggressive behaviour will be taken into account by the judge when deciding on the remit of any residence order.’
Matt felt sick; no wonder they called Snell the Vulture. The man was genuinely enjoying picking over the bones of this relationship. It wasn’t about getting the best settlement for his client or making sure the children were well cared for; it was about power, about using anything to gain an inch of ground. It was a game. It was his career. Cases like this one were just another case victory at any cost to the people involved, another step on the ladder towards a bigger partnership, the judges’ bench or even a title. Who cared who got hurt along the way?
‘I think we should call this meeting a day, don’t you?’ said Snell, slotting the petition and photograph into his briefcase. ‘We have plenty to go on here.’
‘As you wish,’ said Matthew, his mind already wandering to the next step. He looked at Rob; at the bags under his eyes, the jittery manner. He was taking this hard. He thought back to their first meeting; what was it Rob had said? Something about how he wanted a straightforward divorce. ‘Let’s keep this simple’, wasn’t that what he’d said? No, simple was one thing divorce never was.
‘Your boss fucked me over.’
Anna stopped in her tracks, surprised to hear Wayne Nicholls’ voice as she walked into Strawberry Studios just across the road from the Roundhouse in Chalk Farm. Nicholls was sitting in an office behind the reception, his feet up on the desk, cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth.
‘Slumming it a bit, aren’t you?’ smiled Anna, putting her head around the door. ‘I didn’t think you left trendy Clerkenwell these days.’
‘Don’t change the subject,’ said Wayne. ‘That snake of a boss of yours has done me out of an exclusive.’
Anna perched on the edge of his desk. ‘Okay, what’s your beef this time?’
‘Kim bloody Collier,’ said Wayne, stubbing out his cigarette angrily. ‘Ten measly grand for following that bag around for a couple of days. I’d have asked for fifty times that if I’d have known it was heading for this.’
He tossed a copy of the
Evening Standard
on the desk bearing the headline ‘Kim And Rob Love Split: Exclusive’.
Anna crossed her arms and smiled. ‘Like you’re not rich enough.’
‘That’s not the point. I feel stitched up.’
He looked so dejected, like a little boy being denied his favourite toy, that Anna couldn’t help herself: she cracked up with laughter.
‘Hey, it’s not funny, this is my reputation here.’
‘Come on, Wayne, even you must have guessed there was something going on. Matthew Donovan, a divorce lawyer, asking you to follow Kim Collier, see who she talks to?’
‘Course I twigged,’ said Wayne, pouting. ‘But there was no story – she didn’t meet with anyone, only her leg-waxer and a couple of fruits. I thought it was just Rob getting paranoid or something.’
‘And you didn’t think to tip off the papers about that? That’s very principled of you, Wayne.’
He looked down at his waste basket. ‘Yeah, well I’d signed one of them confidentiality wossnames, hadn’t I? Had to stick to it. As I told Donovan, you’re a tough old bitch.’
‘Well at least you’re in my good books.’
‘Then how about dinner?’
‘How about you show me where the shoot is?’
He sighed, shook his head, then got up from behind his desk. Anna had to grudgingly admit that she did owe Wayne Nicholls. He’d been true to his word the day before and called with the time and place of the shoot Mandy Stigwood had been booked for. In the meantime, Anna had sent Ryan Jones a photo of Mandy to confirm that she was indeed the girl he had met with Amy Hart that night in the club.
‘See?’ he had replied. ‘Told you she had great tits.’
Anna glanced at her watch as Wayne led her along a white corridor. Ten thirty already. Helen would be wondering where she was. Anna had managed to fob her off, saying she had urgent work of her own at the office, but she knew that Helen would be watching her time sheets like a hawk. Certainly if she wasn’t in court within the hour she’d have some serious explaining to do. Even so, Anna was prepared to risk her boss’s wrath. Over the past week, since her meeting with Ryan, she’d been unable to shake the thought of Amy Hart’s death from her mind.
She might know her case law inside out, but Anna knew that what made her a really great lawyer was her instinct, and it was her instinct that was telling her that there was more to Amy’s death than met the eye.
‘Check this shit out,’ said Wayne proudly, pushing through two massive double doors.
The studio was enormous, like an aircraft hangar. You could easily have fitted three double-deckers and Evel Knievel inside.
‘It’s huge,’ gasped Anna.
Wayne winked. ‘That’s what they all say, darlin’. But enough about me. The studio’s thirty thousand square feet of space, all within London’s Zone Two. It’s full every day. Catalogues, magazines, corporate work. No fashion yet; they’re so up their own arses they’re snooty about what studio they use, let alone the models and photographers. But they’ll come around when they realise how close we are to Soho.’
‘Remind me not to feel too sorry for you next time I get a two hundred thousand damages settlement out of you,’ said Anna slowly.
‘Yeah, well, the
Heat
years have been good to me, haven’t they? Everyone’s mad for celebrities. You know people slag off the pap agencies, but I’m just providing a service, satisfying a demand.’
They opened the door of Studio 5 on the top floor. Dance music was blaring out and the whole room was full of stylists fussing around rails of clothes, make-up artists laying out their wares and a whole crew of technical staff setting up lights, reflectors and camera triggers.
One end of the room had been decked out in red drapes, at the centre of which was a huge circular bed covered in black satin sheets. Nice, thought Anna. Classy. Wayne’s voice boomed across the studio.
‘Mandy, my darling. You have a visitor!’
A platinum blonde in lacy white lingerie stepped out from behind a screen and tottered towards them on stacked heels, pulling a short robe around herself.
‘Hi, baby,’ she said to Wayne, stooping down to his level to give him a kiss on the cheek. Wayne whispered something to her and she giggled, glancing in Anna’s direction.
‘Mands, we need you to jump on the bed in five, all right?’ shouted a man in a waistcoat.
‘Of course, babes,’ cooed the girl. ‘Just talking with the boss.’
‘
I’m
your boss today,’ said the man.
‘Course you are, sweetie,’ she pouted. ‘But Wayne’s special.’
Wayne slapped Mandy on the bum and sent her over towards Anna.
‘All right?’ she said, looking Anna up and down warily. ‘Wayne said you’re a lawyer. What’s this about then?’
Anna led her over to a quieter corner of the room, where three sofas were positioned round a coffee table laden with sandwiches.
‘Something about a date, was it?’ said Mandy, sitting down. She had perfectly even white teeth and a slender Barbie physique with a hand-span waist and cantaloupe-melon-sized breasts.
‘No, not exactly a date,’ said Anna. ‘Although I do have a lot of high-profile clients. I actually wanted to talk to you about Amy. Amy Hart.’
‘Amy? God, that poor cow,’ said Mandy, glancing over towards where Wayne was laughing with two other blondes. ‘Awful, isn’t it?’ she said sadly. ‘I mean, it could of been any of us, couldn’t it? Slipping on her heels like that.’
‘Were you good friends?’ asked Anna.
‘Not especially,’ said Mandy. ‘We used to hang about at parties and that, but we weren’t really close. I was sad to hear about it, though. She was pretty and clever, and she was a good girl.’ She glanced over at Wayne and the models again. ‘A lot of them girls can be right bitches, but Amy was always nice.’
‘You didn’t get called to give evidence at her inquest?’
She shrugged. ‘I didn’t know nothing about an inquest. Why did she have one of those?’
‘They have inquests to work out exactly how someone died. Sometimes they call witnesses.’
‘But I thought it was an accident, wasn’t it? She fell down the stairs.’
‘Probably,’ nodded Anna.
Mandy pulled the tiny white robe tighter around her waist and frowned.
‘Don’t you believe them?’
‘I’m just looking into it for someone.’
‘Who, the police?’ Mandy said with wide eyes.
‘No,’ smiled Anna. ‘Amy’s sister Ruby, actually.’
‘Oh, her,’ giggled Mandy. ‘Amy brought her down one of the clubs once. I think she wanted to meet a footballer or something. But she was sweet. How can she afford a fancy lawyer like you?’
Anna smiled. ‘She can’t. I just want to see if there’s anything in what she says.’
‘And what’s that?’
Anna paused for a moment before she spoke. She had no idea whether she could trust Mandy, or where a conversation like this might lead.
‘Ruby thinks Ryan Jones killed her sister.’
Mandy gave a low, slow laugh.
‘Ryan Jones?’ she chuckled. ‘Ryan’s an arsehole, there’s no doubt about that. But a killer? He hasn’t got the balls.’
Anna smiled. Mandy had given a pretty accurate assessment of Ryan’s personality, in her opinion.
‘I spoke to Ryan at the weekend and he thought that Amy might have had another boyfriend. He was saying that he thought Amy used him to get back at someone. Do you know what he meant by that?’
Mandy pulled a face.
‘Like I said, we weren’t close, but I do think she was unhappy about some guy. That night we met Ryan, Amy had had a few drinks – she wasn’t usually a drinker but I think she was upset. I remember she asked me: “Do you think I’d get in the papers if I shagged Ryan?” At the time I thought it was weird, because she was never one to go boasting about her boyfriends.’
‘Why do you think she was discreet?’
Mandy shrugged.
‘There’s different reasons why we do this job,’ she said quietly. ‘People think we’re tarts, slags. And yes, some girls like showing off, they like the attention and all the parties. When you’re living in the back arse of nowhere, with no hope of getting out, it looks pretty nice dating people off the telly and that. But Amy wasn’t like that; she was smart, savvier than most. She wouldn’t do glamour or topless like this, only swimsuit stuff, because I think she had plans to get out.’