Free Death Trap by Dreda Say Mitchell Page A

awareness about eating disorders. One of the charity’s patrons was photographed on the poster – Ophelia Bell.
    ‘Can you please leave us alone?’ Ophelia’s voice was harder, but Rio noticed that her cheeks had pinked over as soon as she spotted the poster.
    But the couple weren’t going anywhere. The man peered closer like the actress was an exhibit in a shop window advertising sales. This time when he spoke his tone was scornful. ‘You’re her alright; I’d recognise that voice anywhere. And that show you’re in is crap, love, and you’re crap in it.’
    Rio stepped in. Showed her warrant card. ‘Maybe you want to talk a bit more about your own personal crap in Interview Room Number One down at the station.’
    Her threat got the couple rapidly moving along.
    ‘See what I have to put up with? Every little tosser’s a critic these days.’ Ophelia pressed the sunglasses closer to her face. ‘I suppose you’re wondering now if I’ve got an E.D?’ Seeing the confusion on Rio’s face she added, ‘Eating disorder.’
    ‘It’s none of my—’
    ‘Well I have,’ the actress carried on as if Rio hadn’t spoken. ‘Or had. It’s no big secret. It was years back when I was a teen. When ‘‘Love Yourself’’ asked for my help I gave it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘‘Now, where were we? Ah yes, Dad’s business. The honest God truth is I don’t really know. I think he had a partner before I was born, but I’m not sure. When I was young I think he made his money in property, but once again I’m not sure. Whatever it was he sold up and diversified into something else. Something more lucrative.’
    ‘What could be more of a money spinner than property in a place like London?’
    ‘Who knows? I didn’t much care. He just wanted to make lots of money and I wanted to entertain people.’
    ‘He must’ve been proud when he saw you on the telly, especially when The Wilcotts became such a success.’
    Ophelia removed her Ray-Bans. Her eyes were bright and glassy. ‘I like to think he was. He belonged to a generation that didn’t really open up about their feelings.’ She shrugged, a small one that was more continental than British. ‘He did pat me on the back last year when I was nominated for the National Television Awards. He didn’t say anything, just touched his palm to my back.’
    Ophelia shivered and Rio knew she was feeling that loving touch on her back all over again. She placed her glasses back on her face in an action that was more a fumble than a sure move.
    ‘In the last few days, did your parents mention seeing anyone out of the ordinary near where they lived?’ Rio then took her first bite of the bar. It tasted just as it always did – like wood shavings mashed together with glue – but it kept her energy levels going.
    Ophelia ruffled the front of her hair with her fingers. ‘The last time I spoke to them was a few days ago. It was Mum’s birthday and I was meant to go over, but then a rehearsal came up.’ She shook her head. ‘They didn’t mention seeing anything strange. Mind you there were always weird goings-on at the home nearest to them: that pop star living with his wife, mistress and two adopted kids from Cambodia.’
    ‘And what about your brother? Cornelius? We haven’t been able to locate him because we don’t have any contact details.’
    ‘I don’t have a clue where he is or a number for him. Nor do I want one. He doesn’t appear to understand the concept of work but fully understands the role of a full-time parasite. The last time I saw him he looked like he needed a good hose-down to clean up his life.’
    ‘Would your parents’ lawyer, Stephen Foster, know where he is?’
    Ophelia face screwed up fiercely. ‘Foster?’
    Rio remembered the repulsion the other woman had displayed earlier when his name was thrown into the conversation in her dressing room. ‘You don’t like him?’
    ‘I hate that man.’
    ‘Why?’
    Ophelia pulled her neck long.