Her words made me uneasy and uncomfortable. I knew Joshu would be outraged at the very thought. Leanne would be insulted and hurt. And God alone knew what Jimmy would make of it, should it ever come to pass.
But Simon had said it wouldn’t. Simon had said I was safe from Scarlett’s mad machinations. Unfortunately, Simon wasn’t a clairvoyant. And by the end of the week, Scarlett’s fallback plan had come one degree closer.
35
Joshu was dead. I heard it on the radio. It was a shocking way to start the day. I’d known about the drugs from the first time I met him, but it never occurred to me that they would kill him. Yet here it was on the morning news. DJ Joshu, star of the London club scene, ex-husband of TV star Scarlett Higgins, dead of a suspected overdose.
And yes, to be frank, I did feel put out to get that particular piece of news at the same time as the rest of the world. Scarlett called me most days. She called about all sorts of trivial stuff, but now something major had happened and I was hearing it on an early morning news bulletin. I know I should have been thinking about Scarlett first and foremost, but I held on to my chagrin for a few minutes before I put my own ego to one side and considered what effect this news would have had on my friend.
The life he’d chosen had changed the man that Scarlett had initially fallen for. Too many drugs, too much adulation, too many late nights and too much indulgence stripped away his better qualities. He’d grown increasingly petulant, self-righteous and abrasive. Lately, he’d become somebody I would have called the cops on if he’d shown up at my front door. But none of that erased the history between them. Scarlett had truly loved him for a long time. He was the father of her child and she’d never failed to acknowledge his right to a role in Jimmy’s life. This news would have been crushing. The more I thought about it, the more I realised how badly she must have taken it for her pain to have overridden her instinct to get on the phone and share.
So I got on the road and headed north. As soon as I got on the main road, I called Scarlett’s mobile. It was Leanne who answered. ‘Hiya, Steph. You heard the news?’
‘On the radio,’ I said. ‘How is she?’
‘In bits,’ Leanne said. ‘She’s in the shower right now.’
‘When did you hear?’
‘The cops came round a couple of hours ago and broke the news. I thought it was pretty good of them. I mean, technically she’s not his next of kin any more. But obviously, they knew who he was.’
‘Somebody with an eye for public relations didn’t want the Daily Mail splashing tomorrow with “HEARTLESS COPS LET ME FIND OUT ABOUT JOSHU’S DEATH ON MORNING TV”.’ Cynical, I know, but probably close to the truth.
‘Whatever. The main thing is they didn’t let her find out through rumours and gossip.’
‘How did she take it?’
‘She looked like she’d been slapped. They didn’t stick around long. I made her a cup of tea and got her to drink a brandy. She didn’t say much. Didn’t cry either. My guess is she’s still in shock. It was about time for Jimmy to get up, so I told her to go and get in the shower, I’d see to him. He’s eating his cereal in front of the telly and she still hasn’t come out of the shower. I’m glad you rang, Steph. I was going to call you. You’re better at dealing with her when she’s in a state than I am.’
‘I’m on my way now. Take care of her, Leanne. Get Marina to take Jimmy out for the day. And tell her to make sure the press don’t follow them. The last thing we need is “TRAGIC JOSHU’S SON PLAYS UNAWARE” in the red-tops. And talk to George, too.’ I had no doubt there would be deals to be done when the initial shock wore off. I didn’t relish writing the copy, but I already knew Scarlett would be in an ‘only Steph will do’ mood.
There was a familiar paparazzi camp outside the gates of the hacienda, reporters and photographers surrounding me and baying like crazy people. I refused to meet their eyes and concentrated on remaining stony-faced till I was inside. To my surprise, I wasn’t the only new arrival. When I walked into the kitchen, Dr Simon Graham was nursing a cup of coffee at the breakfast bar. He looked more rumpled than usual, his hair tousled and a shadow of stubble on cheeks and chin. His shirt didn’t look like this morning’s model. I nursed a momentary bad thought before he greeted me with, ‘I came as soon as the police were done with me.’
‘The police? What were the police doing with you?’ I headed for the coffee machine. I’d already been up for more than two hours without a caffeine fix and I needed to put that right before I had to deal with Scarlett.
He sighed. ‘It looks like the drugs Joshu overdosed on were stolen from my clinic.’
That stopped me in my tracks. ‘From your clinic? How did that happen?’
‘He turned up last week when Scarlett was having her chemo. I had to throw him out.’
‘I heard. Well done.’ I slotted a capsule into the machine and set a cup in place.
‘I was worried he might do it again. And I’ll be honest. I was concerned that one of the clinic staff had fed him the details of her treatment. So I rearranged her remaining appointments but I didn’t change them in the clinic diary.’
I took my coffee. ‘You’ve dealt with celebs before, haven’t you?’ I said, weary at the thought of the hoops decent people like Simon had to go through to protect their patients.
‘And the people who pursue them,’ he said, looking depressed at the memory. ‘Anyway, as I’d feared, Joshu turned up yesterday at the time Scarlett was originally supposed to attend the clinic. He barged into a treatment room where I was sitting with a patient. He was very irate that Scarlett wasn’t there. He didn’t make a fuss about leaving the room, but he wouldn’t leave the clinic. He stormed into my office and wouldn’t budge.’ Simon sighed and ran a hand through his tousled hair. ‘I know I did a stupid thing. I left him in my office while I went to get security. I should have called them from my office. But I didn’t want to wind him up any more. I thought calling security might have sent him over the edge. There was a real sense of desperation and violence coming from him.’
‘He could be very unnerving,’ I said, remembering our first encounter and the replica gun.
‘Unnerving, yes.’ Simon seized on the word like it was the Christmas present he’d always wanted. ‘So I left him alone while I fetched security.’
‘Did he put up much of a fight?’
Simon frowned, perplexed. ‘No. That was the funny thing. As soon as the two security guards appeared, he went off with them like a lamb. I thought at the time he must be one of those types who are all sound and no substance.’ He lowered his eyes and stared into his coffee. ‘Turned out I was wrong. The reason Joshu wasn’t making a fuss was because he’d broken into my briefcase and pocketed all the morphine I carry for emergencies.’
I suspected ‘emergencies’ was a term that covered a multitude of contingencies, including helping people on their way whose quality of life had diminished to vanishing point. ‘Ah,’ I said. ‘I can see why he’d go quietly. When did you realise what he’d done?’