Chapters (49)
- Cover
- Table of Contents
- Also by Graham Hurley
- LIMELIGHT
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- AFTERWARDS
Coping with MI5 as well as the police has exhausted me, but I have two precious days of doing virtually nothing before I must attend a read-through for a Beeb radio play. A phone call from Rosa assures me that we have more time on the Pavel submission than she’d anticipated. Better still, a production company on the Champs-Élyséés has acquired screen rights to a crime novel that has taken France by storm and is excited about the prospect of casting yours truly as the older of the two female leads.
‘Excited’, in this context, is normally showbiz-speak for a low opening offer on the fee, but I’ve had dealings with these people before and I trust, as well as respect, them. They have a track record of excellent adaptations and most of the production money they spend ends up on the screen. Rosa is keen to courier the scripts to me and just now I can think of no better way to fill my time.
The scripts arrive less than an hour later, and I spend all of Wednesday and most of Thursday morning exploring them scene by scene. Dimanche is the story of a series of murders that take place week by week, always on a Sunday. Corpse by corpse, this terrifyingly metronomic outbreak of lethal violence builds a pattern which the two cops leading the enquiry must first recognize, and then squeeze for vital clues. I’m deep in the final script, which is truly excellent, when the video entry phone begins to buzz.
I abandon the sofa and go down the hall to see who it might be. At first glance I don’t recognize the face on the screen. He’s oldish, suit and tie, neatly parted hair, dark blue blazer, slightly military bearing. He rings again, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and as he does so, he looks directly at the camera. It’s Nathan Kline. Retired QC. And stalwart of the East Devon Golf Club.
‘What a surprise,’ I say. ‘Do come in.’
He’s out in the corridor, knocking at my door, before I have a chance to tidy up. I let him in, apologizing for the mess in the lounge before he’s even got there. He doesn’t seem to be listening.
‘Young Evelyn gave me your address,’ he says. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all. Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?’
‘Tea would be fine.’ He follows me into the kitchen. ‘Nice place.’ He’s looking round. ‘All yours?’
‘All mine.’
‘Lucky girl. I had you down as married, somehow, but it seems I may be wrong.’