Not Dead Yet

‘I mean, there could be a bad impact on Stonery Farm’s business. I mean, would you want to eat free-range eggs from hens that had been feeding in an area where there was a corpse? I’m not sure I would.’
    ‘Or eat fish that had been feeding where human body parts were found?’ the woman detective asked.
    Whiteley nodded. ‘Very creepy, if you ask me.’ He giggled again, then looked at the two faces glaring at him. At the two bullies. Two unsmiling bullies. ‘I’m very careful what I put in my mouth – what I eat. My body is my temple.’
    ‘ Kramer vs. Kramer ,’ Branson said.
    ‘Pardon me?’
    ‘Dustin Hoffman said that in the movie.’
    ‘Ah, right.’
    There was a brief silence, which Eric Whiteley found increasingly awkward. The two detectives stared at him as if he were a book they were reading. Clearing his throat he said, ‘Um, so how do you feel that I can – you know – assist in your enquiries?’ He grinned again, from nerves.
    ‘Well,’ Glenn Branson said, ‘it might help if you stopped finding this so funny, Mr Whiteley.’
    ‘Sorry.’ Eric ran his fingers across his lips. ‘Zipped!’
    There was a long silence again. He felt the two detectives just simply staring at him. As if their eyes were full of unasked questions. He squirmed in his chair. He was hungry. He wished he had eaten his sandwich now. And the Twix. But at the same time, his stomach was feeling unsettled. He glanced at his watch. His lunch hour was running out. Ten minutes left.
    ‘Got a bus to catch?’ Glenn Branson asked. ‘Or a train?’
    ‘I’m sorry, I’m not with you.’
    ‘You keep looking at your watch.’
    ‘Yes, well, I am a bit worried about salmonella. You see, you need to be careful with sandwiches in this heat.’
    Once more he clocked the two detectives exchanging a glance. Like some secret code.
    Like school bullies.
    Branson looked directly at him again, staring into his eyes. ‘Does the name Myles Royce mean anything to you?’
    He did not like the bullying stare from the detective and looked down at the table. ‘Myles Royce? No, I don’t think so, why?’
    ‘You don’t think so?’ Glenn Branson asked. ‘You don’t think so or are you certain?’
    The detective’s manner was making him agitated. He was feeling flushed again, his face getting hot. He wanted to be out of this room and back in the sanctuary of his own office. ‘How certain can any of us be of anything in life?’ Eric replied, eyes still fixed on the table. ‘I don’t want to give you a wrong answer. This firm deals with lots of clients and each of them in turn employs lots of people. The name doesn’t mean anything to me today, but I can’t guarantee I’ve never met someone of that name. I wouldn’t want to be accused of misleading you.’
    ‘I’m not exactly clear,’ Glenn said, speaking very slowly and firmly. ‘Are you saying you’ve never met someone by the name of Myles Royce? Myles Terence Royce?’
    Eric closed his eyes for some moments. He was shaking. Then he glared defiantly back at Branson. ‘I will not be bullied. Do I make myself clear?’

80
    As Drayton Wheeler clambered down the steps of the coach into the blazing June sunshine, he was perspiring heavily and his wig had become even itchier. A young man, wearing a yellow tabard over a T-shirt and ripped jeans, was bellowing through a megaphone.
    ‘All extras proceed to the assembly area opposite the front entrance of the Pavilion!’
    The street was lined with production trucks and there were heavy-duty cables trailing everywhere. A camera mounted on a dolly sat on a long length of track on the Pavilion lawn. There were gantries of lights high up off the ground; harassed-looking grips and gaffers were working feverishly. The Director of Photography was standing near the camera, taking light measurements and issuing instructions to his crew. To the left, on the tarmac area in front of the Dome, was a cluster of large motorhomes with slide-outs, and it was easy to spot Gaia’s, which was the size of a house, and Judd Halpern’s, only marginally smaller, parked alongside it, power cables and water hoses trailing from each. A huge crowd of onlookers was gathered behind a tape cordon manned by several security guards.
    Gathered to watch the filming of scenes he had suggested and which Brooker Brody Productions had stolen.
    Oh, they were going to be sorry.
    The young man, the third, fourth or fifth Assistant Director, continued to bellow