Free Irrefutable Evidence: A Crime Thriller by David George Clarke Page A

ago. In the late eighties, I think. He was blamed for the death of that actor they called the British James Dean.”
    “Dirk Sanderley?” suggested Bottomley.
    “Yes, that’s the one. I don’t know much about the incident except that it was a car crash and Silk was driving. It put a blight on Silk’s career. Even after all these years, he can’t get work with any of the big studios in Hollywood, all of whom were raving about Sanderley at the time. Seems very unfair to me. Several other actors from Runway have got good parts in Hollywood films or TV series and they’re not a patch on Silk.”
    Another grunt from McPherson. “I shouldn’t feel too sorry for him, Cotton. After our visit today, Silk might well be putting his acting career on permanent hold. Unless they do Christmas panto where he’s going.”
    “Guv, we haven’t …” started Jennifer, but then thought better of it.
    “Haven’t what?”
    “Doesn’t matter,” replied Jennifer quietly. She wanted to talk about the criminal justice system being based on the premise that a person was innocent until proven guilty, but she knew what the response would be: that was the job of the courts — judge and jury. The job of the police was to catch the criminals and to present the facts to the CPS, the Crown Prosecution Service,for consideration. What concerned her was that they hadn’t even spoken to Henry Silk and yet her bosses were already thinking the case was done and dusted . She hoped that the passing years would not make her so blinkered, that she would always be able to keep an open mind.
     
    Rob McPherson had called ahead to the local police in Luton who had in turn asked the airport division to send two patrol cars in case support was needed. They waited half a mile down the road for the unmarked CID car and the three cars swept into the filming location together, causing immediate consternation to the director, who yelled at his harassed assistant.
    “Anthony! What are they doing there? We haven’t ordered any police cars for today or even for this week. And they are right in the way just as we’re ready to start.”
    He paused, his weekend hangover threatening to return.
    “Why is nothing ever easy?” he whined. “You arrange for the plods to be here and they’re late; you don’t arrange it and they’re in your face. Get on over there and politely but firmly tell them to shift their uniformed backsides.”
    He pivoted on his foot and marched off in the direction of a group of actors standing by an airport vehicle being used as a prop on the tarmac.
    “Sorry,” he said, reaching for a cigarette before jamming the packet back in his pocket in frustration as he remembered the smoking restrictions on or near the runway. “Those boys in blue are in the way. We’ll get them shifted, pronto. Jesus!”
    Henry Silk cast a wary eye to the clouds scudding across the sky.
    “I’d suggest sooner rather than later, Jonty. This weather doesn’t look like it’s going to hold. If we’re not careful, we’ll have to reshoot the whole lot in rain gear.”
    The director slapped the palm of a hand to his forehead.
    “I can’t bear to even think that might happen; I’ll sue the buggers. Don’t they know how much delays like this cost?”
    He turned to look for his assistant.
    “What’s taking Anthony so long? Oh, God, what are they doing?”
    He could see that despite his assistant’s protestations, none of the police cars had moved and now three people — two men and a young woman — were marching towards him with Anthony half-running along behind them.
    The director had had enough. He thrust his clipboard into the nearest pair of hands and stormed off towards the approaching group, booming at them from a distance of twenty yards.
    “Listen, I don’t know who you are but I need those police cars and that other car out of here now. Not in a minute. Now!”
    Jonty Peters was an imposing figure. At six foot four, with a shock of wild grey