Part 4 (2/2)

The receptionist puffed up. 'Alexander Lloyd Clark! Don't you dare talk to your mother like that!'

A pause, then a long-suffering, 'What can I do for you, Mother?'

'You've got visitors.'

'Can you tell them to sod off? I'm busy. If they-'

DI Steel leaned over the desk and shouted, 'It's the police.'

Another pause. 'Mum, have you got this on speakerphone again? How many times do I have to tell you-'

'We need to talk to you, Mr Clark.'

'Is it about the break-in? Because it's about b.l.o.o.d.y time!'

Steel mouthed 'break-in?' at Logan, but he just shrugged. 'No, it's about-'

'Look, come back tomorrow. I'm busy today. Make an appointment. I-'

Steel cut in before the receptionist could get out the diary. 'Listen up Suns.h.i.+ne, you can either a.s.sist us with our enquiries, or I can arrest your p.o.r.nmongering a.r.s.e and drag it down the station. Up to you.'

'Oh, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. OK, OK, I'll come back to the office.'

A broad smile slid across the inspector's face. 'No, you stay where you are and we'll come to you.'

'Fine, OK, whatever...' He gave them the address a container yard in Altens then hung up.

Steel beamed. 'Always wanted to see a p.o.r.n film getting made. Think they'll let me audition?'

Altens wasn't exactly scenic: a collection of industrial units on the southern edge of the city; hideous oil company buildings; storage yards; vans selling fast food; and the abandoned back ends of articulated lorries, some stacked with lengths of drilling pipe, others carrying nothing more than a couple of greasy coils of blue rope. They found the film crew set up by a stack of the huge metal containers used to transport goods offsh.o.r.e. Lights, cameras, and not a lot of action.

'Which one of you's Clark?' Steel shouted. Nearly everyone pointed at a large bloke in a ma.s.sive padded jacket, woolly hat and greying goatee beard, drinking something from a polystyrene cup the steam coiling up around his strange little rectangular gla.s.ses. He wasn't quite as big as DI Insch, but it was close. The man froze, as if he'd been caught doing something naughty, then pulled on an ingratiating smile.

'Zander Clark, with a Z,' he said, sticking out a gloved hand. 'Hi. You must be... ?'

'The police. So...' she looked at the camera, the lights, and then the small cl.u.s.ter of people huddling round a script, 'when does the s.h.a.gging start?'

A spray of coffee exploded from Zander's lips. 'Shh!' He grabbed Steel by the arm and led her away. 'We're shooting a safety training course, OK? I don't want my client finding out I do adult films on the side.'

'No' proud of them, eh? I can understand that: I've seen one.' She hauled out the James Bondage DVD.

'Actually,' said Zander, straightening up to his full height, which had to be at least six three, 'my films have won awards all over Europe, thank you very much. I just like to keep my businesses separate.'

'Worried your client's going to ditch you if he knows you do stuff about nuns b.u.g.g.e.ring secret agents?'

He scowled, looking more petulant than angry. 'You said you wanted to see me.'

'Oh, aye.' She held the DVD up again. 'This bloke, d.i.c.k Longlay: who is he?'

Zander took the case off her and squinted at it. 'Jason,' he said at last. 'Jason Fettes, I gave him his big break.'

'Spit-roasting a nun?'

'Look, do you have a problem with something? Erotic films too ”real” for you? Just because you've never had s.e.x in your life it doesn't mean-'

Logan cut him off before things got ugly. 'When did you last see Mr Fettes?'

The large man treated Steel to a scowl, then turned his back on her. 'A couple of weeks ago: had to get him in to do some foley work on his last film. b.l.o.o.d.y sound was appalling.' He waved at a cadaverous man with a boom mike and a bored expression. 'I swear to G.o.d I'm going to fire his skinny a.r.s.e if he doesn't pull his socks up.'

'Jason.'

'Oh, right, right. Yeah, I use him quite a bit. He was in James Bondage, the sequel: From Rubber With Love, a couple about a plumber well, you have to, don't you? It's tradition. Harriet Potter and the Chamber of Filth, Jamie and the Magic Crotch, and, of course, Crocod.i.l.d.o Dundee. I won the XRCO Best Film for that.' Glowing with pride. 'In fact, he's going to be in my new one too: Down-Hole Tools. It's about this accident investigator who goes offsh.o.r.e, only to discover that Amazonian Viking women have come back from the past and are making all the guys on the rig have s.e.x with them until they die! It's going to be huge.'

'I see...' said Logan, trying to keep a straight face. 'And do you have an address for Jason?'

'Not on me...' Frown. 'Cults I think... No, wait, he's just moved. Blackburn. His mum and dad bought one of those new houses.'

Logan tried not to swear.

'So are you telling me,' said Steel, twisting round in the pa.s.senger seat so she could glare at Logan in the back, 'that you daft b.u.g.g.e.rs were at the guy's address yesterday morning and didn't say anything?'

Up front, Rickards went bright red, but kept his eyes on the road and his mouth shut. So it was down to Logan. 'It's not our fault! The woman wasn't even sure she recognized him! And anyway, what was all that about back there? You didn't have to antagonize him.'

'Aye, well,' Steel shrugged, 'I was all fired up to see some steamy, explicit s.e.x, instead of which they're all b.u.g.g.e.ring about with b.l.o.o.d.y forklift trucks.' She turned back to face the front. 'Besides, he shouldn't have been such a big fat b.a.s.t.a.r.d: reminded me of Grumpy Insch.'

The blue sky was a thing of the past by the time they arrived at the housing development. A pall of grey-purple cloud hung overhead, a cold wind whipping through the half-built houses, their roof joists sticking out like ribs picked clean of meat. 'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, it's freezing!' said Steel, clambering out of the car and onto the dusty road. 'Rickards: go find out if the neighbour's seen Jason Big d.i.c.k since Monday We'll look like a right bunch of t.i.ts if it's not him.'

As the constable scurried off next door, Steel lit a cigarette, stuck her hands deep in her pockets and trudged up the path to the silent house.

The place was just as deserted and locked up as last time, but the inspector insisted on peering in every window, leaving boot-prints in the empty flowerbeds and finger marks on the gla.s.s. They'd got as far as the garage before Rickards returned with the news that no, the neighbour hadn't seen Jason again and would they all like to come in for a cup of tea?

'Too b.l.o.o.d.y right I would!' said Steel, sooking the last puff from her cigarette before grinding the b.u.t.t out on the pale brick walls. 'Freezing me nipples off here.'

Logan tried not to picture it. 'I'll go see the site office, they might...' He trailed off as a large red Citroen pulled into the drive, the back full of suitcases and boxes.

The driver killed the engine, took one look at Rickards standing there in his police uniform, and climbed out. 'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!' He was in his early fifties with lots of pink scalp showing between the grey hairs. 'It's those little vandals from the village again, isn't it? I've told the builder they need to get some b.l.o.o.d.y security sorted out, but will they listen to me? No! We go away for two b.l.o.o.d.y weeks... What have the little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds done now?'

Logan and Rickards looked at DI Steel. This was one of those times where rank was a burden rather than a privilege. Senior officer on site got to break the bad news, those were the rules. But the inspector wasn't playing by them. 'Go on then, Sergeant,' she whispered, 'you're up. Be gentle though, eh?'

Wonderful. 'We're not here about vandalism, sir.' Logan pulled the IB's touched-up morgue photo out of his pocket and handed it over. 'Do you recognize this man?'

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