The Darkest Deed_A Gripping Detective Crime Mystery Read online

  Hogarth looked at the young man as he pointed to the floor.

  “Have you worked here long, Marvin?” said Hogarth, quietly

  Marvin nodded. “A year or so.”

  “Tell me. When does this place get cleaned?”

  “What?”

  “Just a question.”

  “Nights. After hours. The cleaner comes in about seven. Why?”

  Hogarth glanced down at the cracked tile and looked away. He shifted his footing so the lad couldn’t follow his thinking. “Like I said, Marvin. It was just a question. So, then… Aimee Gillen. Did you know her well?”

  “I don’t know anyone too well here,” said Marvin.

  “Why not?” said Hogarth. “Are you new?”

  Marvin shook his head. “I’ve been here a year or so. But the boss said it’s not a good idea to get too close to other people in this business. There’s not many other businesses like this one.”

  Hogarth nodded, but he had reservations about the young man’s answer. In Hogarth’s mind getting close to people seemed to be part and parcel of the business. But it was too early to push him on that one.

  “Okay. So, you don’t know them well. But in your job you probably see these people most days, I guess.”

  “Yes, I do,” said Marvin.

  “How does it work here?” said Hogarth. “Those doors back there remind me of a hotel corridor.”

  “A lot of our actors, and even some of the film crew, they live here.”

  “Live here?”

  “Yeah. In those rooms, and some more further on down there.”

  Marvin nodded to a door on the other side of the washroom area.

  “We have actors from all over the country here. And from Europe too. And the way Harry works is fast, and busy. He needs the actors local, so quite a few live in.”

  The kid saw the look on Hogarth’s face.

  “This isn’t Hollywood. This is a pretty basic business.”

  “You can say that again,” said Hogarth. “What can you tell me about Aimee Gillen?”

  Marvin shrugged. “Only that she was one of the quiet ones.”

  “Quiet?”

  “Yeah. She kept herself to herself. And she was unhappy. I don’t think I ever saw her happy, unless…”

  “Unless… unless what?” said Hogarth, pushing the lad with his eyes. Marvin blushed.

  “I shouldn’t really say this,” he said.

  Hogarth nodded firmly, instructing him that he had no choice but to continue. The young man gave a sideward glance to the trio of actors lingering behind them. He lowered his voice. Not that he needed to. Hogarth was sure his voice wasn’t discernible to anyone nearby.

  “Unless she was on something,” said Marvin. “Sorry. I don’t want to be disrespectful to Aimee.”

  “But you haven’t been disrespectful. And those are exactly the kind of things we need to know.” Hogarth changed tack. His tone of voice lifted too. “A moment ago I asked when Aimee Gillen was last seen, it looked to me like you were thinking it over. Do you know something about that?”

  Hogarth watched the young man tilt his head left and right in a yes-and-no gesture. Hogarth didn’t have time to waste on vagueness.

  “Yes or no?” he said, firmly.

  Marvin stopped his wavering head.

  “I saw her.”

  “What time?”

  “Around 9pm. I was just doing the rounds, like I do. It’s part of my job.”

  “Doing the rounds? What rounds? Now you make it sound like you’re a bloody milkman. You said you’re a runner. I thought that was a film production role?”

  “Yes, it is. But things are different here. Like I said, it’s not like a Hollywood film studio.”

  “So, I see,” said Hogarth eyeing the trio of actors. If this had been Hollywood the tall male actor wouldn’t have been anywhere near a movie camera. With his curly hair and gawky neck, the man looked distinctly suited to comedy.

  “What I meant was that Harry King Productions operates on a budget model. Harry churns out movie after movie because that’s how you keep the customers satisfied.”

  “And you’re an authority on this?” said Hogarth.

  “I hear how Harry explains it to people,” said Marvin. “The regular customers buy everything we make, and they always want more. So, Harry keeps making movies, sometimes around the clock.”

  Hogarth rubbed his cheek in thought. He eyed the actors and looked past them to the area with the plain doors like a corridor from a cheap hotel. “How many of the actors stay here then?”

  “Most of them do,” said Marvin.

  “But how many?” said Hogarth.

  “About twenty,” said Marvin. “It’s like a live-in club here. They get everything they need, food, accommodation, and they get membership to the gym next door to keep them in trim. As this business goes, working for Harry King is a pretty good gig. All they need to do is show up for filming and that’s it.”

  “It’s a twenty-four-hour business?”

  “Not often, but if there is a deadline on, then yeah, Harry insists on it.”

  “And how does that affect someone like you?”

  “I just do what I’m asked to do. I’m the runner. I’m on ground zero in this business.”

  It didn’t look to Hogarth like Harry King Productions offered any levels higher than zero. It was a live-in porn studio business, with its eyes very much on the basics, constantly filming smut to maximise the sales available. But from what he knew, Harry King didn’t seem to do too bad out of it himself. Hogarth looked around, his eyes taking in Annabelle Marks and the moody looking brunette. He thought about the dead woman in the sauna. They were at two ends of the spectrum. The women in front of him were pretty, healthy and well-groomed. The dead woman’s face was lined, with dark circles beneath her eyes. If she was a heroin user, the circles could be explained by the drug. But he guessed Aimee Gillen was getting close to the end of her useful life cycle in the porn trade. Hogarth wondered what the working life span was. Eighteen to thirty-five, forty-five with plastic surgery maybe? It was a different world.

  “Do you know how old Aimee Gillen was?” he asked.

  “Thirty-five,” said Marvin.

  Hogarth was digesting the ease with which Marvin answered him when the moody brunette chimed in.

  “Thirty-six, actually. But I think she looked more like thirty-nine,” she said, with an unapologetic shrug. “It’s a lifestyle thing. The woman was caning it, and her looks paid the price.”

  Hogarth winced at the comment and narrowed his eyes.

  “You people seem to know Miss Gillen’s age very well,” said Hogarth.

  “Age matters in this business,” said the brunette. The wrinklier you get, the less time you’ve got left. Nobody wants to pay to see grannies. And I think Aimee knew it too, that’s one of the reasons she was on a permanent downer.”

  The look on Marvin’s face said he agreed with the brunette’s summary. Even so, Hogarth wasn’t impressed that the brunette had managed to eavesdrop their conversation. He put an arm around Marvin’s shoulder and led him a few steps away, his eye trailing over the crack in the tile as he passed. He saw another glint in the corner. Another piece of tile. This time a chunkier piece. It bothered him, but Hogarth didn’t mention it. He made a mental note to have the crack looked at. Instead he faced the young man, closer this time. As he looked Marvin in the eye, Hogarth saw a hint of fear.

  “Marvin. You saw Aimee Gillen at 9pm?”

  “Approximately, yeah.”

  “And where did you see her?”

  “I went to her room.”

  Hogarth’s eyebrows flickered. “What for?”

  “To check on her. To see if she needed anything. Like I said, it’s part of my job.”

  “But come on – what has that got to do with making films?”

  Marvin smirked at him. “Have you ever read the job description of a runner? Involvement in making the actual movie is pretty much the b
ottom of the list of the job description. Like Sam said, we’re the gofers. Runners do everything but make the films.”

  “So, you run errands? Is that it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Okay. So what errand were you running for Aimee Gillen?”

  The young man stiffened and shook his head, as if he’d been accused of something. But he hadn’t. Not yet.

  “I was checking on them, like I always do. I heard the loud music coming from her room, which meant she was awake and at home, so I thought I should check in on her. Like the others said, she’d been very down lately.”

  “So, you went to see if she was okay?” said Hogarth, his cynicism almost bleeding through into his voice, but he managed to keep it at bay.

  “Yes. One of my jobs is to check that everyone is okay.”

  “Then what?” said Hogarth. “You report back to Harry King, or whoever deputises for him.”

  “On occasion. But it’s not really like that. I’m not reporting on anyone. I’m there to help look after them.”

  Hogarth changed tack. “Why was Aimee Gillen so depressed?”

  “I guess drugs don’t help, do they?” he said.

  “No,” said Hogarth. He waited for the truth.

  “Look. Aimee knew she was reaching the end of the line, man. She knew it. She was worried about getting kicked out of here. I already told you, there isn’t another gig in the business like this one. It’s a cushty little number. It really is.”

  “But why was she depressed?”

  “She never told me outright, but I think I got close to working it out…”

  “Go on.”

  “The last movie she was involved in was a total train wreck. Harry was trying to film, but she was flipping out. She was off her neck for the whole thing and couldn’t remember her lines. She couldn’t perform…”

  Hogarth raised an eyebrow.

  “Perform?”

  “Yeah. She couldn’t play sexy. She was emotional. I mean it was cringeworthy, like really embarrassing. After that Harry said he would give her some downtime and then call her into another picture when she was refreshed. But the gossip machine said that was it for her. I guess after a few weeks o not being called in for another picture, Aimee must have thought the same thing.”

  “I don’t get it, Marvin. You say this place is amazing. But from what I hear, this place offers a bed, a camera, cash, and what else? You get a gym membership thrown in. If she got sacked, so what? She was thirty-six years old. She could have gotten another job, couldn’t she?”

  Marvin sighed. “I don’t think it was that easy. This was her home. She would have had to move, found a new home, found new work, auditioned, and maybe they would have spoken to people here and heard she was losing it. Aimee wasn’t stupid. I think she knew all that too. If she thought her time here was up, that could have been enough to make her worse…”

  “And she had relationship trouble?”

  “People heard her on the phone arguing, yeah,” said Marvin. “A few times, lately.” Hogarth nodded. “Not good.” He read the kid’s eyes and looked around. The situation said suicide. But the situation in which the body was found didn’t sit right with Hogarth. Suicide in a sauna? Then by what means? And then there was the broken tile. Something didn’t fit.

  “Marvin, do you know if anybody else saw or spoke to Aimee Gillen after you did your rounds last night?”

  Marvin folded his arms. “I doubt it. When she was getting on the charlie like that, she locked the door and that was it. You didn’t see her until she crept out for the toilet, or until she was done.”

  Hogarth looked him in the eye. He rubbed his chin.

  “See, that leaves you as the last person to see Aimee alive. Which means I’ll certainly need to speak to you again, Marvin. And you may need to speak with colleagues of mine too. Do you understand?”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong,” said Marvin.

  “Nobody said you did. Thanks for your time,” Hogarth turned aside, and the young man seemed only too glad to get away. He took a breath and moved off like a fly.

  “Marvin?” called Hogarth. The young man stopped and looked around. “I’d be grateful if you’d let Harry know we’re here.”

  Marvin nodded and walked away.

  Hogarth took another look around the washroom area. A white tiled space with the sauna hut and two door-less openings leading to the male and female toilets. He looked at the cracked tile and noted the proximity to the sauna door. Finally, he looked at the group of actors and actresses huddled in a corner, whispering their gossip and supposition. It would have been useful to know what they were talking about, but that wasn’t an option. Hogarth knew something wasn’t right, and it wasn’t just the type of work being undertaken by Harry King. Aimee Gillen’s death might have been suicide, but what an odd way to go. Hogarth heard Simmons finishing up the call with Dickens and glanced at DS Palmer. He found Palmer was watching him too – a fact which made him uncomfortable. He hoped she didn’t see the personal concerns written on his face. Instead, he aimed to distract her focus back to the case.

  “Palmer. What do you make of it?”

  “Probably an overdose. Could be a deliberate one. Probably a suicide.”

  “Hmmmm,” said Hogarth. “Then we’d better be sure. Come on, let’s take a look at Aimee Gillen’s living quarters…”

  Six

  As they passed through the lower corridor from the washrooms towards the stairs, Hogarth’s eyes took in each of the plain white doors of the living quarters.

  “It’s a bit below-stairs, don’t you think? The ones down here can’t exactly be the stars of the show, can they?” said Hogarth.

  “Yeah. And I wouldn’t want to think about what goes on down here after hours,” said Palmer.

  “That’s because you’re not a sweaty little teenage boy,” said Hogarth.

  “Or a seedy old perv,” said Simmons, as he caught up with them.

  “Simmons,” said Hogarth, turning to greet him. “So, what did Dickens say?”

  “Dickens is on the way, guv. And he’s his usual cheery self.”

  “He loves it, Simmons. That gruff exterior hides a man who loves to glove up and get in up to the elbows in evidence. Grumpiness is just part of the act.”

  “Takes one to know one, eh, guv?”

  Hogarth caught Simmons eye with a look that let him think he’d overstepped the mark. They made their way out beyond the living area corridor to find a smartly dressed woman with tied back red hair walking down the stairs. The woman wore black framed spectacles, a neat suit and she seemed in a hurry. When Hogarth saw Marvin the runner, following close behind, Hogarth knew she was looking for them. “Here comes the cavalry,” said Hogarth.

  Reaching the foot of the stairs, the woman walked quickly towards them. Her heels tapped loud and hard on the floor as she walked. She offered a beaming, businesslike smile and offered her hand outstretched towards Hogarth.

  “Hello. I’m Lana Aubrey, managing director of Harry King Productions. And I believe you’re from the police?” she said. Hogarth placed the woman somewhere in her forties. She was well made-up and had big amber coloured eyes, the colour and size of which were accentuated by the lenses of her glasses. She was striking, and Hogarth couldn’t help but enjoy the woman’s pretty, sculptured face as he took her in. Still, she wore far too much make-up, and her outstretched hand wore long peach-painted nails. Not exactly the classiest business woman he’d ever met, but she was still a looker. Hogarth coughed and shook her hand once – carefully.

  “Detective Inspector Joseph Hogarth. This is Detective Sergeant Sue Palmer, and this is Detective Constable Simmons. Southend CID.”

  “The whole tribe,” said Lana Aubrey, offering the smile between them. Hogarth detected a woman who had spent a long time looking after her looks and her figure. It didn’t take a genius to work out that Lana Aubrey had once been on the other side of the camera. With a name like hers, Hogarth wondered what
he would find if he Googled it. But on second thoughts, he was in enough trouble with DCI Melford as it was – and now Commissioner Johnson too. There was no need to give the top brass any easy options for dismissing him. The web search could wait. The warm smiles were interrupted by the trill of a mobile phone. Lana Aubrey reached into her jacket and took out a silver smartphone – she gave them an awkward smile of apology and put the phone to her ear. “I’m sorry, yes, yes. We’ve had an incident at the studio. I’ll have to call you back. No. I’m with the police now, sorry.” She cut the call and slid the phone away. It was only seconds before another phone noise came through. This time a chirp.

  “My, my, Miss Aubrey,” said Hogarth, after checking the woman’s wedding ring finger. “You’re a busy person.” The ring finger was empty and unmarked.

  “Busy is good,” said the woman. “It’s just the business we’re in.”

  “But an unusual line of work for a woman…” said Hogarth.

  “Do you think so, Inspector? Then you really can’t have seen how many women work here.”

  “I suppose I meant a woman running a pornography business, Miss Aubrey.”

  “We’re in the soft-porn industry, Inspector. I won’t apologise for it, I’m happy with what we do here. We provide entertainment for millions of people all over the world. It provides a very healthy profit, and keeps our actors and actresses in paid work. No one gets hurt and everyone’s happy.”

  “Except Aimee Gillen, of course.”

  Lana Aubrey winced. “Ah… yes. I didn’t mean to dismiss Aimee Gillen’s suffering like that. Of course, not all people can be one hundred per cent happy all of the time. But Aimee was one of our longest serving actors here. She was part of the team way back in 2000. I joined only two years before she did.”