The Cinderella Killer by Simon Brett

subject had ceased to be an option. As soon as one person knew something, it was straight away potentially ready to be shared with the entire world. And by now the news had somehow slipped out that Kenny Polizzi had been murdered by a bullet in the forehead.
    This made his death an even bigger story, definitely the lead item on the bulletin. More clips from
The Dwight House
were shown. More friends and associates were interviewed – even Bix Rogers got his moment in the media sun, which he clearly enjoyed hugely. Notable by their absence from the screen were Lefty Rubenstein and Lilith Greenstone. Charles wondered how they had reacted to the news.
    He wasn’t kept waiting long for an answer. Just as the newsreader had moved on to report possible financial meltdown in the Eurozone, he got a call on his mobile from Lilith.
    â€˜Charles, you’ve heard the news about Kenny?’ she asked.
    â€˜I’d have to have buried myself in a bunker under seventeen layers of concrete not to have heard,’ he replied.
    â€˜Right.’
    â€˜I’m sorry. I feel I should be offering you condolences or—’
    â€˜The hell with that. I hated the bastard. I’m not about to make with the crocodile tears.’
    â€˜But you must be feeling shock at the very least.’
    A verbal shrug came from the other end of the line. ‘Not so much shock. I’m just more aware of my good fortune.’
    â€˜Oh?’
    â€˜Look, Charles, the divorce hasn’t come through. I am still the rightful Mrs Kenny Polizzi. Unless the bastard changed his will before the divorce was finalized – which I don’t think he did – I’m no longer looking at a slice of his estate, I’m looking at the whole lot. Which I must say, having put up with Kenny for as long as I did, is no less than I deserve.’
    â€˜Have you spoken to the police?’
    â€˜Yeah. They talked to me.’
    â€˜Did they let slip any theories as to who might have shot him?’
    â€˜No, the cops here – and in the States too, though to a lesser extent – tend to play that kind of information close to their chests. I think they were just kinda checking I didn’t pull the trigger.’
    â€˜And you managed to convince them you didn’t.’
    â€˜I guess.’
    Charles chuckled. ‘And if I were to tell them I heard you saying you’d kill the bastard …?’
    â€˜I don’t think it’d make too much difference to the way the cops are thinking. Besides –’ her voice sank to a level of great sultriness – ‘you’re too much of an English gentleman to ever rat on me, aren’t you, Charles?’
    â€˜I like to think so.’
    â€˜I like to think that maybe you’d like to join me for a drink at the Grand Hotel.’
    â€˜That sounds a very attractive idea, Lilith. When?’
    â€˜How’s about right now?’
    There was a uniformed policeman, lingering as unobtrusively as a policeman in uniform can, in the foyer of the Grand Hotel. No great surprise, when Charles thought about it. This was where the late Kenny Polizzi had been staying. This was where his still-current wife was staying. The hotel management might well need back-up to hold at bay inquisitive journalists or devastated fans. The thought made Charles wonder how Gloria van der Groot, Kenny’s ‘Number One Fan’, had reacted to the news of her idol’s death.
    Except for the policeman’s presence, a visitor to the hotel would have no inkling that anything untoward had happened to one of its guests. The Grand Hotel continued to be run with the quiet decorum that would be expected of a traditional five-star hotel on the south coast.
    The girl he approached at the counter wore an immaculate grey suit and spoke good English, but with a marked Russian accent. Every hotel Charles had been into recently – which actually wasn’t a great many – had seemed