Take Two

CHAPTER 20

Reg dropped Carolyn outside her house and made her promise for the third time to send a signed photograph for his wife. He wrote his name and address, and his wife’s name, on a petrol receipt and she had it clutched in her hand as she waved goodbye. She hurried into the house, unlocked the front door and tapped the four digit code into the burglar alarm pad. She padded into the kitchen, switched on the kettle and then phoned Terry Carter. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

‘Demolishing a bottle of Baileys and thinking about watching some porn. You?’

‘Can you come around, Terry? Now?’

‘Is something wrong, darling?’

‘Sort of,’ she said. ‘Can you come?’

‘I’m out of the door,’ he said.

Terry lived a few miles away in Kilburn and he usually rode around on his bicycle which meant he could get to her door in ten minutes or so. Carolyn rushed upstairs to her bedroom, threw her clothes onto the bed and had a quick shower, then wrapped herself in a bathrobe she’d liberated from the Ritz Hotel in Paris. She was pouring boiling water into her chrome and glass coffee maker when the doorbell rang. She went to open the front door and as soon as Terry crossed the threshold he gave her big hug and a kiss on both cheeks. ‘So where is it?’ he asked.

‘Where’s what?’

‘Your award, silly.’

Carolyn had forgotten all about it. She gestured at her bag which she’d dumped on the floor by the sofa. ‘It’s in there.’

‘Are you serious?’ Terry hurried over to the bag and pulled out the award. He grinned. ‘You star!’

‘It’s a few quids worth of cheap metal,’ she said.

‘It’s what it represents, and you know it. It shows they love you.’

‘It’s not me they love, it’s my character,’ said Carolyn. She laughed. ‘If you like it so much, you can have it.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he said, setting it down on the coffee table. ‘It’s yours. You’ve earned it.’ He turned to look at her. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘It’s a long story,’ she said. She took him through to the kitchen and finished making coffee, then flopped down on the battered old leather sofa facing the French windows that overlooked her garden. Terry sat down next to her, holding his coffee mug. He was wearing tight jogging pants and a purple Pineapple Studios sweatshirt. In between sips of coffee, Carolyn told him the whole story. Getting out of the car in the middle of nowhere. The walk to the house. What she’d seen. And how she got back to London. Terry didn’t interrupt, but his mouth opened wider and wider. When she finally finished, he stared at her, his mouth so wide that she could see every one of his perfect, white teeth. ‘Close your mouth darling, you look like a vampire about to take a bite out of my throat.’

‘You’ve called the police, right?’ he said.

She shook her head.

‘Why the hell not?’

‘Because it would cause me problems on so many levels,’ she said. ‘First of all I’d have to explain what I was doing out there that late at night, which means I screw up my relationship with a network producer which will be the kiss of death for my career. He’ll get hauled in for questioning, and that’s going to piss him off. And when the story gets out…’ She shrugged.

‘Why would it get out?’ asked Terry.

‘Come on, you know what the police are like,’ she said. ‘Someone will call one of the tabloids or one of the magazines. Every time a celebrity gets busted for anything the papers are on it like flies on shit. Within hours of talking to the cops I’ll be on the front page of the Sun and the Mirror and probably the Mail. And then, of course, Sky News will be all over it.’

‘But you saw a murder, Carolyn. Someone died.’

‘I saw someone get hit with a crystal dolphin, that’s what I saw. And I saw a lot of blood. But he might not be dead.’

‘Even so…’ He studied her with unblinking brown eyes. ‘You have to go to the police.’

‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘What can I tell them? I saw one man hit another? It was late at night, it was dark, and I’d been drinking.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I’d had a hell of a lot to drink, actually.’

‘Can you describe the man you saw? The one that did the hitting?’

‘Tall. Dark. Good looking. Nice suit. But that’s it, Terry. I’d probably recognise him if I saw him again but could I describe him?’ She shrugged. ‘Not really.’

‘But if the cops can identify the victim, maybe they’d have an idea who the killer is.’

‘And what if they don’t? And what if they go public? Soap star witness to gory murder. What then? What if the murderer decides to get rid of the only witness to his crime? It’s not as if I’m low profile, is it? I can’t hide, can I?’ She smiled ruefully. ‘What do you think, they’d put me in witness protection?’ She pointed at her face. ‘How many magazine covers have I been on? I can’t go into a department store without half a dozen fans asking me for my autograph.’

‘It doesn’t work like that, not in the real world,’ said Terry. ‘Murderers don’t go around killing witnesses.’

‘They shot at me,’ said Carolyn. ‘When I was running away.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I heard a shot, and I’m pretty sure the guy chasing me had a gun. He was a big bald guy. I was lucky he was so big because he couldn’t run for toffee.’ She smiled. ‘All those sessions in the gym paid off.’

Terry raised his coffee mug. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘I need a cigarette,’ said Carolyn.

‘Do you have to?’ sighed Terry. ‘You know I hate those things.’

‘I’ll smoke it in the garden,’ she said. She got up and retrieved her cigarette and lighter from her bag. ‘Terry, will you stay with me tonight?’

‘Of course.’

‘I don’t want to be alone,’ she said.

‘I’ve already said yes,’ he said. He waved at the door that led to the garden. ‘Go and smoke your coffin nail while I see what we can watch on your cable.’

‘Not porn,’ she said. ‘Anything but porn.’

Terry laughed and wagged a finger at her. ‘Visitor’s choice,’ he said. ‘Can I open a bottle of wine?’

‘My fridge is your fridge,’ said Carolyn. ‘There’s a bottle of Bollinger in there, we can toast my award.’

‘You don’t like champagne.’

‘No, but I know you do.’

‘You’re such a sweetie.’