1 The Cuckoo's Calling

“And how well did Freddie know Lula?”
“Hardly at all, but that wasn’t for lack of trying. He had some idea about
luring her into acting; he kept trying to invite her downstairs. She never came,
though. And he followed her to Dickie Carbury’s house, the weekend before she
died, while I was away with Ursula.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Bristow, looking startled.
Strike noticed Ursula’s quick smirk at her sister. He had the impression that
she had been looking for an exchange of complicit glances, but Tansy did not
oblige.
“I didn’t know until later,” Tansy told Bristow. “Yah, Freddie cadged an
invitation from Dickie; there was a whole group of them there: Lula, Evan
Duffield, Ciara Porter, all that tabloidy, druggie, trendy gang. Freddie must have
stuck out like a sore thumb. I know he’s not much older than Dickie, but he looks
ancient,” she added spitefully.
“What did your husband tell you about the weekend?”
“Nothing. I only found out he’d been there weeks later, because Dickie let it
slip. I’m sure Freddie went to try and make up to Lula, though.”
“Do you mean,” asked Strike, “that he was interested in Lula sexually, or…?”
“Oh yah, I’m sure he was; he’s always liked dark girls better than blondes.
What he really loves, though, is getting a bit of celebrity meat into his films. He
drives directors mad, trying to crowbar in celebrities, to get a bit of extra press.
I’ll bet he was hoping to get her signed up for a film, and I wouldn’t be at all
surprised,” Tansy added, with unexpected shrewdness, “if he had something
planned around her and Deeby Macc. Imagine the press, with the fuss there was
already about the two of them. Freddie’s got a genius for that stuff. He loves
publicity for his films as much as he hates it for himself.”
“Does he know Deeby Macc?”
“Not unless they’ve met since we separated. He hadn’t met Macc before Lula
died. God, he was thrilled that Macc was coming to stay in the building; he
started talking about casting him the moment he heard.”
“Casting him as what?”
“I don’t know,” she said irritably. “Anything. Macc’s got a huge following;
Freddie wasn’t going to pass that chance up. He’d probably have had a part
written specially for him if he’d been interested. Oh, he would have been all over
him. Telling him all about his pretend black grandmother.” Tansy’s voice was
contemptuous. “That’s what he always does when he meets famous black people:
tells them he’s a quarter Malay. Yeah, whatever, Freddie.”