The Cinderella Killer by Simon Brett Page A

to be staffed entirely by people from the former Eastern Bloc.
    It was with some trepidation that he said he was meeting Lilith Greenstone. He was worried about being suspected of being one of the journalists or fans the policeman was there to deter.
    But as soon as he said his name, there was no problem. The receptionist immediately said that Ms Greenstone was expecting him in the Debussy Suite, gave him the room number and directions to find the lift.
    Of course it was quite logical that they should meet in her suite. Lilith Greenstone was, after all, very high profile. She might not be left in peace by the gawping public in one of the Grand Hotel’s public rooms. But Charles Paris couldn’t suppress a little flicker of excitement at the
tête-à-tête
that lay ahead.
    He could never really believe that real people did live like they did in the movies. Deeply aware of his own inadequacies and vulnerabilities, he always assumed that everyone else was, like him, an assemblage of Achilles heels. But when Lilith let him into the seafront Debussy Suite, he really did feel like he was stepping into a movie.
    The sitting room was splendidly lush, subtly illuminated by low table lamps. The windows were uncurtained, showing beyond the private balcony the lights of occasional ships plying the English Channel. The interior door was open, showing the passage to a bedroom. Charles glimpsed a huge bed with a kind of canopy over its head.
    Lilith Greenstone too looked as if she had just stepped off a film set. Hair and make-up were perfect, as ever. So were the high heels and the midnight-blue wrap-around dress, which showed a generous amount of her already generous cleavage.
    On the sitting-room table was a silver tray on which a bottle of champagne lolled in an ice bucket. It had already been opened. Lilith’s flute was half-empty and she poured a full one for Charles.
    â€˜So,’ she said as they sat down on the sofa facing the sea, ‘let’s raise our glasses to “No more Kenny”.’
    â€˜Yes, all right, but I should say I did quite like the guy.’
    â€˜You weren’t married to him.’
    â€˜That is undeniably true.’
    They raised their glasses and clinked.
    â€˜And, like I said on the phone … condolences or whatever’s appropriate to—’
    â€˜And like I said on the phone, no need.’
    â€˜Right. Fine.’
    â€˜So the cops have talked to you, Charles?’
    â€˜You bet. I was actually the one who found the body.’
    â€˜I heard that.’
    â€˜Whether I was the first person to find the body, though, who knows?’
    â€˜Howdja mean?’
    â€˜Well, not having actually witnessed the death, I don’t know how many other people might have seen him.’
    â€˜Right, got you.’
    â€˜Mind you, the time frame was fairly short, between Kenny summoning me on the phone and my finding him.’
    â€˜How short?’
    â€˜Twenty minutes, half an hour tops.’
    â€˜OK. You have any thoughts who might have shot the bastard?’
    Charles realized again that, beneath all the surface charm and sexiness, Lilith was a woman with an agenda. She had invited him to the Debussy Suite because there was information she wanted from him. Or maybe she wanted to know the extent of his ignorance.
    â€˜I haven’t a clue,’ he replied. ‘You know a lot more about his background than I do. You know who might have had a grievance against him.’
    â€˜Yes, like me, for instance. If I started listing the grievances I had against Kenny, we could be here all night.’ She smiles a deliberately provocative smile. ‘That is assuming we’re not here all night anyway.’
    Charles didn’t know how to respond. Maybe he was meant to come back with some slick movie-dialogue riposte, but it didn’t feel right to him. Instead he said, rather formally, ‘I’m working from the assumption that you didn’t