Killer on the Set by PN Johnson

Prologue

The Guardia Civil officer was dead behind the wheel of

his bullet-ridden car, now just a sinister outline under the

moon. He’d had no idea who he was up against or why. A

blue light was approaching on a slow mountain road; his

back-up was coming - but far too late.

Out of the darkness one of the gunmen walked

towards me. I watched the shadowy figure turn and raise a

gun, pointing it my way. A shot rang out, but it wasn’t from

him. Silently, he dropped sideways, hitting the ground with

a thud. A brief kick of his leg. Then he was still.

A familiar voice bellowed in the blackness.

‘Holly, RUN! I’ll hold them off !’ It was Blanca. She

rushed the battle-scarred vehicle, picking up the dead

man’s assault rifle, but instead of running away I ran

towards her, joining her behind the dead cop’s car.

‘I’d rather die with you, Blanca, than be killed running

away.’ She smiled and squeezed my hand. We crouched

behind the car; the lifeless body of the policeman slumped

in the front seat. My pulse was thumping. Adrenaline

surged through me. We were waiting for the other

assailants we knew would come.

‘Know how to use this?’ Blanca offered me her hand‐

gun, as she checked the weapon she’d pulled from the dead

man’s hand. I took the black metal pistol, my finger curling

around the trigger in the dark.

‘I’ve only used one for filming, when acting on TV.’

That was make believe. This was real.

‘This one’s not a prop. It kills people. When you use it,

hold it steady with both hands, then aim and shoot. Don’t

hesitate Holly, it’s us or them. It’s not just you and me they

want dead, but Josh, and Laura too.’ I looked at Blanca,

but I could barely see her face, lost in the shadows of the

night. With shaking hands, I held the gun, and pointed it

into the gloom.

Earlier….

All eyes fell on me as I walked through the door, scanning

me up and down as I joined the ranks of the hopeful at the

auditions. Seven others were in the room, all women.

Here, careers would change and dreams would be dashed

for all but one of us. I smiled, and ran my eyes over the

faces looking at me. Some I barely recognised and others I

knew. I wrote my chances off when I studied the competi‐

tion, but I had to do what I thought was right for the role,

and let fate take its course, for good or bad.

The part was DC Daisy White, the new young detec‐

tive constable assigned to the Rural Crime Squad in the hit

TV series: Murder in the Manor. Ratings were high and the

critics loved it. The fame and money the part would bring

was astronomic compared to the work I’d had before, and

at 33, it was now or never. A show like Murder in the Manor

doesn’t come along every day. The new DC was supposed

to have been a former gymnast, and was expected to do

amazing stunts, everything from abseiling down towers to

leaping out of windows.

A few polite and outwardly friendly hellos and forced

smiles filled the room, but make no mistake, rivalry was in

the air. I sat down and an anxious silence returned as

nervous feet shuffled, and fidgeting fingers flipped through

the pages of scripts. There was the woman from Newton

Road, the long running soap; she was by the window in a

tight, A-line dress. The girl who played a teacher in the

kids’ comedy show Strange Academy was sitting in the corner,

baggy cashmere over a pencil skirt, chewing the end of a

pen and underlining words while flicking her freshly styled

fringe nervously. The rising star from Warm Hearts, the peak

time rom-com was standing up, pacing to and fro,

repeating lines in her head. She was the one I was sure

would get it. She had a big personality, even bigger hair

and a massive following online. The competition was on.

I’d carefully dressed to look the part, not quite in char‐

acter, but enough to resemble a detective. Slim grey

trousers and a grey-blue shirt; a navy textured jacket and

dark blue, stacked heel court shoes. I felt dull compared to

some of the others, but there was no going back. I’d played

cops before, so I had an advantage there. My mum’s

brother, my uncle Steve, had been a detective so it sort of

ran in the family. I was the fifth person in. It went reason‐

ably well but it was impossible to read the body language

of the casting team, and after doing my bit I slipped away

into a grey drizzle, writing it off as another near miss.

I was surprised when my agent, Kay, called the next

afternoon.

‘Holly, it’s Kay, you must have done something right.

I’ve been sent another scene for Murder in the Manor. Get

your arse over here girl, we need to record it ASAP and

send it back to them. Come on, chop chop!’

‘What? Great! Thanks, Kay, I’m on my way,’ I replied

and dashed out of the door. I recorded the short piece in

front of a phone in her office and she sent it to them there

and then. An anxious wait was rewarded by a call to come

back the following morning. I wondered who else would be

there. If it was the girl from Warm Hearts, I’d be stuffed: she

was brilliant. Maybe I’d just been asked back to make up

the numbers. My confidence was low.

So, there I was that morning, facing the final audition, on

the studio set of the incident room, at London’s famous

Elstree Studios. I’d lain awake half the night questioning

my choice of clothes, my make-up and my confidence. I

just wasn’t sure how to interpret the character. They’d

given so few clues and just said: ‘relax into the role’. It was

one of the quickest auditions I’d been up for, out of the

blue, with so little notice. I’d watched the previous episodes

and I knew the characters and the storylines. DC Daisy

was a new face in the show. A blank canvas where I could

really make my mark. There were only three episodes left

of the series to shoot. I was taking the place of another

female detective, played by an actor I’d worked with

before. Her character had been suddenly promoted to

another police job, so mine was being written in. There

was a chance DC Daisy could carry on into the next series

and even become a major character. There was also a

publicity tour with the lead star, Adam, and the rest of the

cast planned for the States in seven months to launch the

new season there, and exposure in America was one of my

goals.

Auditions are hard. Like exams, you’re marked, judged

and rated on a single performance. I was trying to calm my

nerves as I made my way past the exterior sets for long

running soaps and comedies. The everyday detritus of film

and TV littered the alleyways and storage pens. Lighting

rigs, tracks for cameras, rolls of thick black cables with

massive sockets; it’s not very Hollywood, and that morning

was damp, grey and cold, but it was familiar. I was no

stranger to backlots in film and TV. I’d had a few good

roles in a couple of successful TV series already, and I’d

grown up visiting sets.

My mum had been a make-up artist back in the day. As

a kid I would go with her at weekends and in the school

holidays. I’d look forward to sitting there, quietly fasci‐

nated, watching her work, adding magic and sparkle to

famous faces; hiding spots, cuts and, sometimes bruises too,

all soon masked by a cotton pad of beach frolic or bronze tan.

Mum could make even the spottiest face look blemish-free

and shining. Even mine at 13. I loved the fake injuries, and

the cuts and scars she sometimes had to put on to other‐

wise perfect skin. Mum knew it all. All the secrets and all

the tricks. Make-up artists are invaluable. I had a small

tattoo, which usually needed covering if my bare shoulders

were in shot.

I’d got the audition after my first film role which

followed on from playing another cop, PC Kate Kendal,

and then a nurse named Sarah. The film part had been a

nice little job, if not a bit unsettling, and it brought the

curtain down on me and Harry, my long-term boyfriend.

You might remember it? After Jo’s Party. It was part rom-

com and part ensemble drama. It played on subscription

channels after going on general release. Look out for it.

The plot was twelve people thrown together at a New

Year’s party in London. I was delighted when I got the

part.

I played Jas who hooked up with Taylor, acted by the

lovely Scott Williams – you know Scott? From First Team,

the football drama? Well, that helps, playing my first love

scene alongside someone you fancy is always a dream.

However, knowing they live with one of the hottest models

on the catwalk certainly isn’t. Scott was great, though. It

took me two takes to stop the embarrassment and the

giggles, which was very unprofessional I know, but the

director understood. He’d seen it before. Things go

through your mind when you do scenes like that, even with

a closed set – that’s when just the minimum crew are there –

although it still seemed crowded. Lots of people, all

looking at me. I had to do the little strip scene where I took

off a black bra. The bra had to be undone four times as

the director wanted different angles with quick reaction

cuts to Taylor’s face. Make-up had to hide the rash on my

neck which appeared after the first failed attempt at the

opening shots of the scene. They had to cover the small

turtle tattoo on my shoulder too.

Technically, the worst part of a scene like that is

remembering which knee is over which thigh for the close-

ups, and the high angle shots from above the bed. They

don’t teach you that at drama school. No amount of

Shakespeare, West Side Story and dance routines can

prepare you for your first proper love scene. I felt so

exposed, not just to Taylor who was acting the scene with

me, but to the camera too. But I know what you really

want to know. It’s the first thing everyone asks: tongues or no

tongues? You and your screen lover have to decide that

straight away. The director will tell you what he wants too,

and you have to agree or compromise. There’s always a

compromise, unless you’re an ‘A list’ star of course.

My love romp was the smallest of the scenes I was in,

but definitely the hardest to act. The other scenes saw the

couples play out their romances, some short and some

long. Mine – well, Jas and Taylor’s – was one that lasted;

they got engaged and lived happily ever after in true rom-

com style. I’ve been chasing that elusive storyline in real life

ever since. The last scene was their wedding. Actually, I

cried when we shot it. Yes, they were real tears. Have a

look, it’s a good watch. Would I do it again? Sure, yes, if it

was tasteful, artistic; and doing it led to the auditions at

Elstree for Murder in the Manor, after all.

You know, there’s a curse to playing in soaps and long

running dramas. On one hand it’s good, well-paid, solid

work. It brings fame and credibility and can be fun: you

know the part, you know the other members of the cast

and you can really develop the role. But it’s also restricting.

Sometimes even a career killer. Everyone just says oh she’s

so-and-so from that show, and that’s it. You’re typecast.

Unable to work again. I think science fiction is the worst. I

was once up for a part in a low budget series called Colony

Zero. Remember it? No? Well, I’m not surprised, not many

people do. It would have meant spending a lot of time in a

stupidly skin-tight silver jump suit on wires, floating in front

of a green screen, appearing to be weightless on a six-

month space voyage to another planet. I didn’t get it – the

part or the plot – and in retrospect I’m glad I didn’t. The

show bombed.

Murder in the Manor was just too popular a show to turn

down. The others on the production were all good actors.

Adam, who played Detective Chief Inspector Dez Steele

was a real star. I’d grown up watching him on TV. He’d

been an action hero in a spy drama, taken the lead in an

award-winning war film and been a handsome pilot in a

long running American series about an airline. He was

stunningly good looking as a young man, but even now he

was in his sixties, he was still pretty striking. Adam’s a real

legend. My mum had been his make-up artist in the 1980s

on a TV series he was doing at the time.

Everyone stopped as I walked through the big stage

doors onto the set. My heart raced but I wanted to appear

confident and positive, even though I was as nervous as hell

and convinced I’d be rushing to the loo at any second. The

producer and the writer, who were standing in the shadows

on the edge of the set, turned as I was led in by the

associate producer, Zeb. The writer gave me the creeps.

Her dark glasses and roll-neck top made her look like a

sinister extra. But all eyes were on me; I held my breath

and smiled. That fixed smile they teach you in drama

lessons. I was acting already, to hide my nerves. I looked

around but couldn’t see anyone else waiting to be audi‐

tioned. I guessed I was the first, or maybe I was the last,

although it was only eleven o’clock. I took a deep breath as

the producer, JJ Elms, spoke.

‘So, Holly, we’ve seen the clip your agent sent us of the

scene we asked you to do, and we’ve been really impressed.

You’re a natural to play DC Daisy White. Do you think

you can handle the physical stuff as well?’ His voice made

me uncomfortable, but my enthusiasm pushed me

forwards.

‘You kidding?’ I laughed. ‘Of course I can.’ I spoke

confidently, hiding my nerves.

‘Well, that’s reassuring,’ he continued, ‘because we’ve

called you back to tell you – you’ve got the part.’

‘Seriously?’ I gasped. ‘Wow, thank you! That’s unbe‐

lievable.’ I held my hands to my face, dropping my bag.

‘Congratulations, Holly,’ said a gravelly voice. ‘Wel‐

come to the show. It’s good to have you on board.’ It was

Janey Mullen, the director. ‘Excited?’ she asked. Her pres‐

ence was intimidating. Thick-set and sullen, she stood

there, arms folded, a heavy brown jacket on top of a white

pullover with black jeans over dark leather Doc Marten

boots. There were glasses over her cropped hair, with

traces of faded henna pushed away by dark roots.

‘Yes, of course. I don’t think I’ve taken it in yet. I mean,

being in one of my favourite shows. How good is that?’ I

was flustered and glowing red.

Janey Mullen just nodded, slowly. She was scary. I’d

read up on her before the audition. She’d clawed her way

up. There aren’t enough female directors in TV drama,

and it was good to see a woman at the helm, but I’d heard

she took no prisoners, and ‘Mull’, as she liked to be known,

had a menacing presence. I was sure there’d be no excuses

for second takes or fluffing lines.

It all seemed unreal. Soon I was saying hello and

shaking hands with the rest of my new TV ‘family’. To be

honest, they weren’t quite as welcoming as I’d hoped, and

certainly not like the cast on other long-running shows I’d

joined. There was something missing; I could sense a

tension I’d not experienced on other sets. People were

holding back and looking to see where Mull was before

expressing an opinion. The associate producer took Mull a

coffee before anyone else and seemed to be petrified of her,

asking if she was sure it was as she liked it. I picked up my

bag and clutched it tightly, feeling for the security of the

familiar.