Dead Alone (35 page)

Jessie held the plastic bag containing the white-tipped cigarette found outside her house and continued to stare in disbelief at the typed details on the corresponding report. P. J. Dean. He’d stood outside her house. Why? It was the one thing that didn’t add up.

‘He probably came to explain the lawsuit.’

Jessie looked up and saw Niaz in the doorway. She smiled, stood up, walked around the desk and gave him a hug.

‘You have proved yourself more than worthy of the murder squad. I was wondering if you’d like to remain here? Depending, of course, on the outcome of the Dean investigation. I may not be here myself …’

‘Ma’am, he isn’t going to go through with it.’

She appreciated his confidence but didn’t share it. ‘It’ll mean long hours, Niaz, and exams.’

His head shook on his long neck. ‘No matter. My wife won’t mind.’

Jessie was horrified. They had been through a whole case together and she didn’t even know he was married.

‘I’m so sorry, Niaz, I never asked. I’d love to meet her.’

‘You will, when I have. And when I do, she’ll understand about the long hours. I can feel it.’

She had an overwhelming desire to kiss Niaz. ‘Okay, Niaz, I’ll talk to Jones straight away.’ Jessie looked back at the cigarette. ‘You really think he came to explain?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ Jessie unlocked her filing cabinet and carefully placed the envelope inside.

‘Because he is here.’

‘Not funny, genie. With that transfer in mind, don’t you think you should go to the surprise drinks that Burrows has organised, rather than standing here and taunting me about bloody P. J. Dean,’ she said, carefully closing the drawer and locking it.

‘Actually, ma’am, he is here. Standing right next to me.’

Jessie looked up. And he was. Niaz retreated, smiling quietly to himself as he was prone to do. Jessie went through a rapid succession of emotions. Embarrassment, guilt, humiliation, but recovered quite well with anger.

‘You’re suing me. If you want to live, you should leave,’ said Jessie.

‘It wasn’t me, it was the record label – damage limitation bollocks. Anyway, I’ve put a stop to it.’ P.J. pointed to the plastic bag containing the cigarette. ‘Mine?’

Jessie nodded.

‘I came to explain, but I chickened out,’ he said. ‘Then I came here, but you’ve been busy.’

‘Here? Did you speak to –’

‘Frances Leonard. Yes. Another problem I should have addressed a long time ago. We talked about everything. She isn’t mad, she’s just lonely. I guess on closer inspection I lost some of that sheen she thought I had.’ He paused. ‘And she isn’t the only one to think less of me now, is she?’

Jessie wouldn’t be drawn on that. She tidied her desk and didn’t look at him.

‘Anyway, I wanted to say sorry. Sorry for what happened in the garden.’

Jessie relented. ‘It was my fault.’

‘How is that possible when I was the one who lied, I was the one who left Bernie with that man, and I was the one who ignored Verity’s misery so I could keep the illusion of a family around me? If I’d told you about Eve earlier, she might still be alive. And I did that for the most unforgivable reason.’

Jessie waited.

‘I didn’t want you to think badly of me.’

Jessie smiled slightly. ‘In retrospect, shagging Eve Wirrel was probably the least of your worries.’

‘Yeah, well, that’s famous people for you – short
on perspective. Long on selfishness, blind ambition, insecurity, money and misery.’

Jessie tilted her head to one side. She could still see the metal plates shooting volts through Maggie’s chest. ‘Why do it then?’ she asked seriously. ‘When it so often ends in tears?’

P.J. leant back against the doorframe. ‘To escape, I suppose.’

‘And do you?’

‘No.’ P.J. paused, his green eyes studying her. Jessie stared straight back. ‘Unless you’re lucky and meet someone who doesn’t believe the hype.’

‘But, P.J., you are the hype, you created the hype.’

‘That is the nature of the beast.’

Jessie shook her head and stood up. ‘You know what, I’ve seen way too much of that beast and, although I’m sure you’d love to talk about yourself for the next few hours, I am very thirsty. I have a pub full of people waiting to surprise
me
on
my
success. I’m probably going to get very pissed, I might even dance on a few tables, cry into my pint. And it is possible that around eleven I’ll puke up because I can’t remember when I last ate.’

P.J. was smiling at her. It wasn’t the reaction she’d expected.

‘So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to the pub.’

‘Can I at least help you on your way and buy you a drink?’

Perhaps she should have said no. But she didn’t. ‘You’d better get in there quick. I’m a popular girl at the moment.’

‘That comes as no surprise to me,’ said P.J., a smile in his eyes.

‘No queue-barging, just because you’ve been on
Top of the Pops
.’

He saluted. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Or signing of autographs.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘And don’t expect me to protect you from the lads. They can be brutal.’

‘I never expected you to make this easy for me.’

‘And the first whiff of a photographer, you will do the decent thing and bugger off.’

‘Not necessarily.’ P.J. held the door open. ‘Come on, your fans await.’

Jessie peeled on her leather jacket. ‘Not fans.’

‘No. Not fans. Colleagues. People who admire you. People who look up to you. People who respect you because you are good at your job. And the odd hanger-on who would like to cook you cheese on toast some time, drink red wine and play Scrabble.’

‘Scrabble?’ she mocked.

‘Not Scrabble then. Whatever you like doing, anything – just don’t write me off yet.’

‘I like dancing,’ she said, zipping up her jacket.

P.J. lowered his head into his hands and groaned.

‘What? You’re always prancing about in those videos.’

He looked at her through his fingers. ‘I thought you said you’d never listened to my songs?’

‘Just doing my job,’ said Jessie primly.

‘Did you like them?’

She stood opposite him in the narrow doorway. ‘Don’t change the subject. Can you dance?’

P.J. shook his head slowly from left to right.

‘And the videos?’

‘Body doubles.’

‘I don’t believe it. You are a con, Paul John Dean.’

P.J. laughed loudly and took her arm. ‘At last,’ he said. ‘A woman who understands me.’

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Becoming a thriller writer is a daunting prospect and I could not have done it without the help of Paul Dockley, retired Detective Chief Superintendent of Hertfordshire Constabulary. Many pints were sunk for the sake of accuracy.

For reading, advice, soundboards and shoulders to cry on I’d like to thank Stephanie Pavlik, Joanna Longworth, Thalia Murray, Dee Poku, Juliet Dominguez, Felicity Gillespie, Angelina Davy and my mother. For chai made to exacting standards I’d like to thank Sophie.

A special mention to those who shall remain nameless who lifted the lid on celebrity and let me take a peek inside.

To my fantastic agents Stephanie Cabot and Eugenie Furniss at William Morris Agency whose influence and assistance go far, far beyond the limits of literature. Thank you also to Marie Baron and Tracy Fisher in the WMA in New York for giving this London-based book an international audience.

At HarperCollins I’d like to thank everyone involved in the impressive production of
Dead Alone
. A special mention to Anne O’Brien, a brilliant copy editor who turned a usually painful process into a joy.

Most importantly, my sincere gratitude to Julia Wisdom, for her faith, expertise and insight; thank you.

Lastly, but most heartfelt, my love and thanks to my husband Adam – it just gets better.

Born in 1970, Gay Longworth trained as an oil trader after graduating from university. It was during this time that the idea for her first novel,
Bimba
, came to her. Eventually she took courage, left the job, and moved to Cornwall to write.
Bimba
was published in 1998, and her second novel,
Wicked Peace
, came out two years later.

During that time Gay had too many jobs to mention, though donning fishnets for Club Med was probably a low point. Thankfully she is now a full-time writer.

Dead Alone
is the first in a series of Jessie Driver novels, and she is currently working on the second. Gay lives in London with her husband, theatre producer Adam Spiegel, and their daughter.

Bimba
Wicked Peace

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