Not Dead Yet

the cheapest available on the market, or because it was the best?’
    She squeezed his hand. ‘The best, of course.’
    ‘So there’s your answer. We’re talking about our baby’s life. It wouldn’t be much of a bargain if it turned out to have stress fractures from involvement in a previous accident.’
    ‘Being a detective makes you so suspicious, doesn’t it?’
    ‘I was born suspicious,’ he said. ‘Maybe I have my dad to thank. But that’s my view.’
    He lapsed back into his own troubled thoughts. Amis Smallbone’sintention to rob Gaia. Well, good luck, sunshine . No one was going to get past the goons guarding her suite. He’d notified Chief Superintendent Barrington, and the number of officers guarding her had been increased as an extra precaution.
    Then his brain switched back to Myles Royce. At least now they had a name. But one thing was going around and around in his mind. Royce had been a Gaia fan. Gaia was now here in Brighton.
    Someone had tried to kill her in Los Angeles.
    She’d been sent death threats through an anonymous email account.
    The LAPD had the suspect in custody. They were convinced they had the perp.
    Was he reading too much into Royce being a Gaia fan?
    Every major crime enquiry was a hugely complex puzzle. Thousands of pieces to be fitted painstakingly together. Except, when the puzzle was complete, there were never happily smiling faces. Just the grim satisfaction of knowing they had achieved justice for the victim, and possibly some closure for the family.
    Provided of course he got a conviction.
    ‘There was a documentary on the box tonight about Gaia,’ Cleo murmured suddenly.
    ‘There was? Did you watch it?’
    ‘Not really my thing, but I recorded it, in case it was helpful for you.’
    ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll watch it tomorrow. You’re an angel.’
    ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Never forget that, Detective Superintendent!’
    He kissed her, then slowly fell into troubled sleep.

84
    At 1.45 a.m. Anna Galicia walked along New Road, Brighton, across the street from the Theatre Royal, wearing a bomber jacket and jeans and a baseball cap pulled on tight against the blustery wind. She stopped by a low wall, screened by some shrubs, watching the activity in the Royal Pavilion grounds wind down for the night. Two police officers strode along the pavement and she turned her face away from them. There was a tantalizing smell of frying bacon coming from the catering truck that still appeared to be open.
    A short while ago, burning with hatred, she had watched Gaia leave her swanky trailer and step up into the back of a black Range Rover. The car had swept out of the grounds in a presidential-style convoy of identical vehicles.
    You don’t care about the environment really, do you, Gaia? Anna thought, her anger tinged with sadness. Your whole persona, your act – and even your bloody name – is all a lie, isn’t it? Do you really need five Range Rovers just to transport you less than half a mile from the set to your hotel and back?
    Do you?
    You are such a hypocrite.
    Someone has to teach you a lesson.
    Then Judd Halpern, Gaia’s co-star playing King George IV, emerged from his trailer. He was looking the worse for wear from drink – or drugs, in all probability – and had to be helped down the steps by two minions, and guided into the back of a Jaguar. A security guard, standing outside the main entrance, lit a cigarette. She watched it glow bright red for an instant.
    Several other vehicles also left, carrying away, presumably, some of the supporting cast and senior crew. A number of unit members were still working, switching off lights on stands and humping equipment around. She stepped forward and walked nonchalantlyacross the Pavilion lawns, being careful not to trip over any cables. No one appeared to take any notice of her. Good.
    She made her way over to the cluster of trucks and motorhomes, heading as discreetly as she could towards Gaia’s trailer, which was parked close to the gatehouse building on Church Street. Just in case anyone had noticed her, she meandered as nonchalantly as she could towards the archway, as if she were just Ordinary Joe taking a late-night stroll before bed. But just as she reached the shadows on the far side of Gaia’s trailer, she ducked down, pulled her iPhone out of her handbag, then switched on the Torch app.
    She could not believe her luck.
    Legend had it that King George had had a secret underground passage