DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1

don’t know of anyone recently.’
‘Has there been someone in particular in the past?’
‘It’s none of my business, but sometimes she feels like talking.’
‘Anyone she could be with now?’
‘She’s taken off in the past, but there’s never been a man. I don’t believe she would be with anyone. She was always open with her husband when something was going on, poor man.’
‘Why do you say poor man?’
‘Robert, he’s a good person. He went along with the agreement, but I don’t believe he often strayed; no more than any normal heterosexual male, but Marjorie…’
‘She was more likely to stray?’
‘She was rampant in her younger years, but now…’
‘Now?’
‘She’s in her fifties, menopausal. The fire doesn’t burn as strong. It’s part of the ageing process, unfortunately.’
‘Are you saying she doesn’t stray anymore?’
‘Not too often, but there are tales I could tell you, who and where.’
‘Such as?’
‘I’ve said too much. Client confidentiality.’
‘It’s important that we know,’ Farhan insisted, a little more forcefully than maybe he should have.
‘I’m not at liberty to say more. She’s only gone missing. It’s not the first time, you know.’ Her reply was curt.
‘That may be the case, but we’re treating it as suspicious.’
‘Until it becomes an official investigation, I don’t believe I can help you anymore.’ With those closing words, he was quickly hustled out of the room with a flimsy excuse. He regarded her change in attitude as suspicious. Not about her, but the people that Marjorie Frobisher knew: her paramours, past and present.
***
Isaac had been out at the production lot. He had decided to keep clear of Jess O’Neill, not because the situation was becoming complicated, but because there were other people he needed to talk to. The production office, set at the rear of the car park, consisted of some portable offices arranged into a compound. They were functional and warm, which was as well as the rain was spasmodic and a gusting wind was blowing through the area.
Ian Stanley, the producer of the series, was not hard to find, a small man with a big voice. That wasn’t how the person outside the office constructing a plywood-fronted house to add to the fictitious town referred to him: ‘Loud-mouthed prick,’ was his estimation, ‘always pushing us around.’ There were a few expletives which Isaac chose to ignore.
It was evident to Isaac on entering the first office building that he had indeed found Ian Stanley. A little gnome-like man, with accentuated features, pointy ears, an ungainly gait, and the top of his head barely reaching the shoulders of those around him, was holding court. Napoleon complex, Isaac thought.
‘Yes, what do you want?’ His initial response to Isaac as he stood patiently at the door, waiting for him to be free, was indicative of the man.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Isaac Cook. I’d like to ask you a few questions.’
‘Apologies,’ Stanley’s manner changed. ‘I assumed you were here to sell me something.’
He may have had a Napoleon complex, but his office did not reflect his self-perceived Big Man status. It was relatively small, cluttered with papers, and had a distinct smell of cheap cigars. Isaac found out later that Ian Stanley was the least politically correct person at the production lot. He was not averse to insulting his actors, production team, scriptwriters ‒ in fact, anyone who was subservient to him. He also found out that he was a sycophant who sucked up to those who would keep him in his position.
‘Apology accepted,’ Isaac magnanimously replied. He instinctively did not like the man. Racist, crude, and a bore, he thought.
‘What can I do for you, although I suppose it’s related to Marjorie?’
‘We’re trying to find her.’ Isaac took a seat.
‘I don’t know why.’
‘Her disappearance is regarded as serious.’
‘It’s playing havoc with the series, but apart from that, she’s not been missed much, especially by me.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Isaac asked. Ian Stanley seemed to be a person who had no problem speaking his mind.
‘Look, she’s a pain in the arse, but for me…’
‘Would you care to elaborate?’
‘Yes, why not? It’s a bloody hard job bringing this together on a day-to-day basis. We’re here six days a week, most days fifteen hours at least, and that only gives us five days’ worth of thirty minute daily episodes. It has to be run with military precision. We’ve no time for prima donnas past their prime.’
‘Is she a prima donna?’ Isaac had heard it before. In fact, it seemed to be the general view of Marjorie Frobisher.
‘She’s the only one I can’t control out there, and the only one who holds up the production, apart from that stuck-up bitch Jess O’Neill. She’s only here because she’s screwing Richard Williams.’
Isaac was perturbed to hear the reference to Jess. He decided to continue with the interview and to come back later to that particularly disturbing piece of news.
‘I was told she is brilliant,’ Isaac said.
‘Of course she is. Made the others look as if they were straight out of a school production of Macbeth. She knew how to act, I’ll grant her that.’
‘So why the pain in the arse reference?’
‘As I told you, we need to run this with military precision. This is not the Royal Shakespeare Company. This is just entertainment for the masses.’
‘Are you saying she was too good for the production?’
‘That's what I mean. She could have achieved something in the theatre.’
‘Any idea why she didn’t?’
‘Fame and glory.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Isaac replied.
‘It’s a simple equation. Here, she is paid a handsome salary, King’s ransom, or in her case a Queen’s ransom. Out there in theatreland, she’d have her name up in lights being paid a regular actor’s wages. She wanted the fame, the adoring fans, and the money. She couldn’t have it all.’