Free Dead Alone by Gay Longworth

walked round the interconnecting Portakabins to the main studio and office building. Alistair Gunner had appeared one day from nowhere; he had no c.v., no experience in TV and no qualifications. But Ray St Giles had given him a job anyway. Just like that. Gunner had so much information on other people, Tarek found himself wondering whether he’d got something on the main man himself. They were close without being close, like a couple in an arranged marriage. Very occasionally, Tarek caught Ray staring at Alistair with a look of apprehension. It was as if he needed him around but didn’t trust him. Ray St Giles probably didn’t trust anyone.
    In the shoddy reception area there was a coffee machine. Tarek put his own money into the slot and waited for it to regurgitate the pale, foamy drink. Somewhere inside the studio real programmes were being made. But not by him and not by the cable company that had put their trust in Ray St Giles and his shadow. Tarek carried the drink back and knocked on the door. Ray and Alistair were leaning over an open file. He’d seen the type of file before. Marked ‘Cadell’. In it, Tarek had glimpsed a photograph of a man in a pinstripe suit checking into a hotel with a young blonde. Shortly afterwards Henrietta Cadell’s agent had rung up out of the blue and offered her for the ‘Mother’n’Son’ slot. Whatever he might say, Henrietta Cadell was the sort of guest Ray wouldpay good money for. Looking at Alistair’s shiny new leather jacket, Tarek guessed he had.
    ‘Tarek, get my agent on the line, tell her yes to the Yardie special, and tell her no more fucking supermarkets and cancel my talk at the young offenders’ unit. I’ve had enough of that shit. We are changing gear.’
    ‘Ray, you’ve got to –’
    ‘Just do it, Tarek. Who is paying your salary?’
    Tarek picked up the phone. ‘This shitty cable company,’ he whispered.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    Alistair Gunner was staring at him with his cold eyes. Tarek needed another job. This one was killing him.

CHAPTER 13
    Jessie, Jones and P.J. emerged from the underground playground and walked back out into the hall.
    ‘Do you mind if I check her room?’ asked Jessie.
    ‘Whose?’
    Was he being deliberately obstreperous, or just downright stupid? Unless he thought she meant Bernie’s room. ‘Your wife’s room,’ she said deliberately.
    ‘Sorry,’ said P. J. Dean. ‘It’s up the stairs, on the right.’
    ‘Would you mind accompanying me?’
    ‘Oh, okay. This way.’
    ‘I’ll wait in the car,’ said Jones, already reaching for the front door.
    Jessie followed the billowing dressing gown up the stairs. At a half-landing the stairs split in two directions. A tall window reached up to the ceiling, giving an incredible view of their hundred-foot garden. The stone wall at the end backed directly on to Richmond Park.
    ‘The boys and I watch for deer,’ said P.J., pointing to the three pairs of binoculars on the table below the window. ‘You can usually find them in the vicinity of the Isabella Plantation. See, the clump of oaks over there on the left?’ P.J. was pointing out of the window now.
    Jessie looked at her watch. ‘If you don’t mind …’
    ‘Shit! Sorry, I keep forgetting why you’re here.’ He shook his head. ‘Does that seem weird to you?’ His green eyes were staring into hers.
    ‘It’s probably shock,’ she said quietly.
    ‘You don’t really think that, do you? You probably think I’m a law unto myself, that my marriage was a farce and I screwed every backing singer that walked through my door.’
    ‘I’d like to see the room now,’ said Jessie.
    ‘I’m a good father to those boys.’
    Jessie didn’t know what to say. He turned away from her and took the right-hand staircase two steps at a time. Jessie followed him along a galleried landing until they reached a corridor, at theend of which was a set of double doors. There was a key in the lock. P.J. pushed both doors open