Perfect Death: The gripping new crime book you won’t be able to put down!. Helen Fields
‘Thirty-five if I’ve been drinking Flaming Pig, twenty-eight when I wake up without a hangover, and more like twenty-six when I’m in make-up.’
‘Okay, we have your song choice here and a monologue. If you could start with the musical piece then run straight into the acting, that’d be great,’ the director said. The pianist began to play.
‘That was really good, Sean. Where did you train?’ the director asked.
‘Ulster University,’ Sean said.
‘Well, it was great. These are open auditions so we’re seeing a lot of people. We won’t have the call back list available until Friday but we’ll be emailing the successful people and asking to see them again next week. Thank you for your time today,’ she finished.
He hadn’t been cut short. That was all he could think about as he left the stage. He’d finished his song, nods all round, and had actually enjoyed performing the monologue, which made a pleasant change from being wracked with nerves throughout. Reaching for his mobile, he began texting Bradley before picking up his coat, got halfway through writing the text then deleted the draft. It would jinx it, he was sure. There could be no self-congratulatory words at this stage. He’d have to play it down. Since they’d moved in together he’d lost track of how many time-wasting auditions he’d attended, but he had a good feeling about this one. If he got the call back, he’d talk to Bradley about it then. By that stage he’d be one of just a handful going for the job. It wouldn’t pay much, but to be part of a company, working on a show, would be the start of something real.
He smiled at the man in the doorway, presumably awaiting his turn to audition.
‘Good job out there,’ the man said.
‘Thank you.’ Sean grinned, taking in the dirty blonde hair and open smile. ‘I’m Sean.’ He held out his hand.
‘Jackson,’ the man replied, shaking it.
‘Great name, I like it. You waiting to go on?’ Sean asked as he did up his coat against the sub-zero temperatures outside.
‘Not sure there’s much point,’ the man said good-naturedly. ‘Looks like you nailed it.’
‘I very much doubt that,’ Sean said, hoping beyond hope that the stranger was right. ‘Anyway, break a leg,’ Sean said, bustling past him. The man smiled once more as he left, his eyes on Sean’s back as he exited. Nice guy, Sean thought.
Bradley was itching to phone his boyfriend Sean. They were both starting to give up hope that Sean would get work although neither wanted to be the first to voice such a negative opinion, but this audition played to Sean’s strengths. The theatre company wanted an actor who could both sing and dance, able to ‘make comedy work’ was how they’d phrased the advert, and Sean could certainly do that. He didn’t have film actor looks, and was never going to be cast as the hero, the hard man or the icy-stare bad guy. He was, however, good at improvising. He could deliver a killer punch line. And he was easy to be around. If he could show that off, then he should finally make it to call backs.
Bradley dialled Sean’s number, cutting the call off before it could connect. He didn’t want to put too much pressure on. He needed to make Sean feel good about himself, to let him know that if not this time, then one day. A decent bottle of wine, albeit within their limited budget, would be good on the way home. They could talk about the audition over dinner, brought up casually. That would be better.
Brad shut down his computer, tidied his notes and put on his coat. Life as a junior actuary was lacking the drama and thrills of the stage, but he loved it. At least it brought in a steady wage, which was nothing to be sniffed at. Sean was the sort of partner who would sit and listen to Bradley talk about his day as if it was the most important thing in the world, and for the most part Sean even managed to look convincingly interested. If there was a downside to their different careers, it was that Sean’s world was so much more dynamic that occasionally Brad felt like the boring hanger-on. Every one of Sean’s dance classes and physical training sessions was full of gorgeous muscled men with regular bookings under the sun lamp. Not that Sean ever deliberately made Brad feel insignificant, but as an entertainer Sean naturally drew people to him. Everyone they met remembered Sean’s name immediately, social media friendship invitations came flooding in. Sometimes, just sometimes, Brad thought, it would be nice if he could be the centre of attention for a change. On his way out, he washed up his coffee mug in the work kitchen sink, chiding himself for being so ungrateful. Life with Sean was wonderful. So what if Brad sometimes felt blinded by the brightness of his lover’s personality? It was a fair exchange for the moments of intimacy and sweetness. He wouldn’t change what they had – not much of it, anyway – even if he could, Brad told himself as he wrapped a scarf around his neck and set off into Edinburgh’s chill evening air.
A week had passed since Lily Eustis’ death and Callanach was no further forward in ascertaining who she’d spent the evening with before her fateful trip to Arthur’s Seat. She hadn’t been seen at any of her usual haunts. Friends had been contacted, CCTV had been checked, her mobile activity and social media were blank. A few of the numbers in her mobile contacts database were dead numbers that didn’t check out, but that was par for the course.
Ailsa had spoken with Lily’s parents again to explain the need to hold the body until the toxicology screening results were back in case further investigations were needed. Callanach had visited them, too, intruding on their terrible grief with more questions than answers, sensing the ghost they could all still see in their house. The chair Lily used to sit in to read, the way she always took the stairs two at a time, the way she sang incomprehensibly whilst cleaning her teeth. These were the little things Lily’s mother had told Callanach about. He had drunk tea, nodded, and let the words come. They might not help him resolve the questions over Lily’s death, but if it helped her mother to tell him then he would listen.
Lily’s sister Mina had sat listless on the couch, biting her nails and tugging at the few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail.
‘She would never have thought of going there herself,’ Mina had said. ‘Someone was with her.’
‘We’re working on that basis,’ Callanach had told her. ‘But no one’s coming forward with any information. As the Chief Pathologist explained, there are no injuries and no evidence of any crime having been committed.’
‘So that’s it?’ Lily’s father had barked from an armchair in the corner, so shrouded in darkness with all the curtains closed that Callanach could barely see him.
‘Until there’s any further forensic evidence or witness testimony, yes. It’s possible that the Procurator Fiscal will ask for a sudden death report, but the Major Investigation Team won’t play any further role. A police liaison officer will be in touch today so you know who to contact with any questions.’
No one had said anything after that. Callanach had expected outrage, some display of frustration at the least, but the family was numb with loss. Callanach had stood up quietly, said his goodbyes and made his way out. Only Mina had followed him into the hallway as he’d put his shoes back on.
‘When will we get her things back?’ Mina had asked.
‘I’ll contact the city mortuary about that for you,’ Callanach had said. ‘Anything on her body or in her pockets will be in evidence, but if it’s of no significance we can release it to you.’
‘Thank you,’ she’d whispered, opening the door for him, and closing it again before he’d had a chance to turn around and say goodbye.
Callanach had been trying to get five minutes with Ava all day. It was hard getting used to her being so elusive. The days of wandering into her office and expecting her to be available to talk theories or Police Scotland politics had disappeared with her promotion. He’d left two messages on her voicemail