A pinch of snuff

Chapter 16

'One thing I'll give you lot,’ said Linda Abbott. 'You start early.'

'But they let us finish late,' said Pascoe, glancing at his watch. It was only nine o'clock in the morning and already he'd contrived to do – he totted it up. Very little.

Linda Abbott did not seem likely to change things. No, there definitely hadn't been another girl on the set. What would have been the point? The shooting had taken about a week, four or five days, that was. This was a lot longer than the back-street boys, three hours of an afternoon would do them, but the thing about Mr Toms was that he made real films. Some of them even had certificates and made it to Screen Three at the local Gaumont. She'd appeared in one of these, a small part. But hadn't she had to join Equity?

Pascoe sat in the bright neat kitchen and talked softly over a mug of coffee for fear of disturbing the sleeping Bert.

'How'd you get into this film business?' he asked.

'It wasn't that hard,' she said. 'None of your struggling to stardom stuff. I used to be an exotic dancer. I still am when the kitty's low. I was asked if I'd like to make a bob or two doing a film. I was a bit dubious at first.'

'Why?'

'I knew right off what kind of film he meant…'

'He?'

'Chap who managed us. I was a Lulu then, part of a team, the Three Lulus. Maurice, that was the chap who ran the agency, said he could get us into films. Like I said, we knew what he meant, or thought we did. Getting humped on some flea-ridden bed for home-movies. We told him to take a jump, but he ran us out to meet Mr Toms, showed us a film he'd made. Well, it wasn't Gone With the Wind but it was a cut or two above the do-it-yourself kind. Most of the sex, he said, was put on. Them as felt like going the whole hog for a few quid more were very welcome, but there was plenty of work for well-built girls who just wanted to go through the motions. I talked it over with Bert and said all right.'

'This Maurice,' said Pascoe casually, 'does he still manage you?'

'Not really manage. When we were the Three Lulus, he was more our manager then. But you don't have proper managers in this game. If he knows of anything that might suit me, he gets in touch. If I'm a bit short, I might ring his agency just to see what's going.'

'Arany, that's a funny name,' mused Pascoe. 'Doesn't sound English. Just a business name, perhaps.'

She put her cup on the table and stared at him with blank unblinking eyes.

'What's the game, love?' she asked.

'Eh?'

'I never said Maurice's second name was Arany.'

'Didn't you? Surely you did!' said Pascoe brightly. 'Otherwise how would I know…?'

'That's the question, right enough. So what's the game?'

Pascoe was acutely embarrassed. It had been a stupid slip. Dalziel would probably not have made it – he rarely underestimated people. But if he had, he wouldn't have been in the least embarrassed.

'Association of ideas,' he said. 'Maurice Arany's name came up when I was talking with Penny Latimer of Homeric. I just put two and two together when you mentioned a Maurice.'

She laughed disbebevingly.

'Look,' she said. 'I had Lorraine the year after that first film job. Times were hard. Bert and me had a lot of financial commitments. Well, Maurice subbed me while I couldn't work. He got it all back, mind you. I didn't want charity. But there's not many as would have bothered in our game. Afterwards he helped me get back in as quickly as possible. I used to take Lorraine with me in her carrycot. I felt right daft at first, but Maurice said it'd be all right. Everyone'd love the kid. Having a baby around made them feel sort of respectable. He was right. Any road, what I'm saying is, I'm not about to say owt that could harm Maurice Arany. So you can bugger off somewhere else with your sneaky questions!'

She had raised her voice and before Pascoe could reply, there was a series of bangs on the floor above.

'Now you've woken Bert up!' said Linda Abbott.

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' said Pascoe. 'You've got it all wrong..’

'Just shove off,' said the woman wearily. 'No wonder they call you pigs! You revel in muck.'

Pascoe rose. At the door he said in a quiet, reasonable voice, 'Lady, you get annoyed because people think that running around without your clothes on makes you a dirty, immoral woman. Well, policemen get annoyed too when people assume that running around trying to solve or prevent crimes makes them some kind of nasty animal. The only difference is, you can tell me to bugger off and all I can say in reply is thank you very much and good morning.'

It was feeble and plaintive, thought Pascoe. And also only partly true. Under Dalziel's patient tuition, he'd learnt when to tell people to bugger off and when to keep his mouth shut. Now he felt almost as guilty as before when Linda Abbott caught up with him in the hall and said, 'I'm sorry I said that. It's your job. I shouldn't blame a man for his job. Women especially shouldn't.'

'Yes,' said Pascoe. 'A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.'

'That film,' she said. 'Really, there wasn't another girl. Just me. And it was put on.'

'I believe you,' he said. But he didn't move; he sensed there was the possibility of something else.

'Mr Toms was very economical,' she said finally. 'He'd always want to get it right first time.'

'Just the one take, you mean,' said Pascoe.

'That's right. I think he was quite proud that all he had to do was more or less stick his shots together to make the film.'

'No editing?'

'Oh aye. I suppose he had to do a bit, but what I'm getting at is, if owt went wrong, he didn't have a lot of other takes to fall back on. I don't know much about it, mind. Just what I heard some of the others say when we were chatting during dinner break or whatever. One of the girls reckoned she'd gone to see one of the films she was in and there was a bit from another film in it, if you follow me. She wondered if she could get an extra payment.'

'And did she?'

Linda Abbott laughed.

'Some bloody hope!' she said. 'They're as careful with cash as with film. Oh God, there's Bert banging again. I'd best take him a pot of tea, see if that'll quieten him.'

'Goodbye then, Mrs Abbott,' said Pascoe. 'And good luck.'

She wished him goodbye in return but nothing was said about luck.

About two hundred yards from the house there was a telephone-box. He stopped the car, entered the box and dialled Linda Abbott's number which he had noted as they stood talking in the hallway. He got the engaged signal. Replacing the receiver he next dialled the number of Maurice Arany's agency. That was engaged too.

Finally he dialled Ray Crabtree.

'All those naked bodies too much for you?' asked Crabtree cheerfully.

'I didn't stay long enough to see. Ray, just a couple of points you might be able to help with. You don't happen to know how Homeric get their films processed, do you?'

'Not off hand,' said Crabtree. 'Is it important?'

'I don't know. I just wondered if there was a gap in a film, you know, something went wrong in the processing, could you slot in a bit from another film fairly easily?'

'Hang on,' said Crabtree. 'There's a lad in our lab who's pretty hot on camera stuff, I'll give him a buzz.'

There was a lengthy pause during which Pascoe had to feed another couple of ten-p pieces into the slot.

'Hello? Still there? Good. Yes, dead easy. And also he reckons Toms does most of his own stuff.

He's evidently pretty hot on the technical side. I suppose he doesn't care to let the stuff he's working on get far out of his sight.'

'Thanks a lot, Ray.'

'Anything else?'

'I don't think so.'

'Just one thing from this end, Peter,' said Crabtree apologetically. 'You will keep us posted about what you're up to? I mean, in case of any overlap.'

It was a reproof and a justified one, Pascoe had to admit.

'Of course. And I'm sorry, Ray. You know how it is. Any trespass on other people's land will be signalled in advance. OK?'

'Great. Watch how you go. My love to the Great Buggernaut. Cheers!'

Before leaving the box, Pascoe dialled Linda Abbott's number again. It was still engaged.

The road was full of long slow lorries and it was mid-morning before he got back to the station. He was guiltily aware that he was still a long way from being able to justify the time he had spent on the Droit de Seigneur business and it was with a sigh of relief that he gained his office without bumping into Dalziel.

Now he turned his thoughts to Haggard and what had emerged the previous night. Haggard and Arany. Haggard and Blengdale. Why should Haggard go into partnership with the Hungarian?

Why should the rotund councillor want to set Haggard up as the manager of the proposed Holm Coultram Country Club?

It would be interesting to know the story behind Haggard's resignation from the Diplomatic Service, but he guessed that official channels would be locked by all manner of protocol, closing of ranks, pleas of confidentiality, etc.

On the other hand, there was almost certainly someone in the Met who would know someone in Whitehall who could look in a filing cabinet during his lunch-hour…

He picked up the phone and a few moments later was speaking to Detective Chief Inspector Colbridge whom the previous summer at a police college course he had saved from being caught drunk and half naked in the ornamental fish pond of a local lady magistrate.

'Willie,' he said. 'Peter Pascoe. How are you?'

'Relieved,' said the voice on the other end. 'I've been waiting for this call for nine months. What do you want, you blackmailing sod?'

Pascoe told him. Colbridge said airily that he saw no difficulty there, leave it with him, always ready to help the provinces.

'If it's so damned easy,' said Pascoe, 'there's something else.'

'Oh God! Why don't I keep my big mouth shut? Go on.'

'A man called Toms – would you believe Gerry Toms? – claims he was staying at the Candida Hotel last Friday night. Could you check for me without treading on anyone's toes? Great. Fine. I'll buy you a pint of real beer next time you're up this way. Oh, and listen, while you're at it, if there was any way of getting a look at his bill… it's a phone call I'd be interested in. To Harrogate. Could you? Many thanks.'

As he himself had said earlier that day, it was always worth checking the obvious.

It was after one when he made his way to the Black Bull and he expected to find either Dalziel or Wield there already, probably both. But there was no sign of either. On the off-chance they might have opted for something a cut or two above their usual pie and peas, he glanced into the little dining-room where business executives could sit at tables with nearly white cloths and eat their pie, peas, and chips like real gentlefolk.

The first people he saw were Ellie and Ms Lacewing, drinking coffee and brandy.

'Hello!' he said. 'I didn't think they served unescorted ladies in here.'

Ellie rolled her eyes and groaned.

'I'm beginning to believe what Thelma tells me.'

'And what does Thelma tell you?' asked Pascoe, regarding the beautiful dentist distrustfully.

'That peaceful compromise isn't possible. Nothing but all-out revolution will do.'

'And the Black Bull dining-room was the nearest thing to a bastion of male chauvinism you could find!' mocked Pascoe.

'The nearest thing that sells the nearest thing to food,' corrected Ms Lacewing.

'Are you eating in here, Peter?' asked Ellie.

'No. Just looking for Andy Dalziel. I'll sit in the bar as usual and pick at a bag of crisps,' he said plaintively.

'I shouldn't wait too long for your colleague,' said Ms Lacewing. 'Not if he's that gross man with fleas.'

'That sounds like him,' said Pascoe. 'Why?'

'He turned up at the surgery just as I was leaving and arrested Jack Shorter.'

Pascoe sat by himself and ate some salted peanuts. Ms Lacewing's news had taken him aback. She had been unable to give him any details beyond the bare facts that Shorter, having turned up in mid-morning and occupied himself with paper work (his appointments having been cancelled), had been on the point of going out to lunch when Dalziel arrived and took him away. Emma Shorter had appeared soon after, evidently expecting to eat with her husband.

'I was on my way out to meet Ellie then, so I left her in the hands of Alison. They have a lot in common, those two. Well, something.'

'What's that?'

'Usability,' said Ms Lacewing. Upon which Pascoe had left.

He no longer felt hungry. The peanuts were merely something to ease the burning the beer caused in his guts. Perhaps he had joined the club and was getting his first ulcer. He thought of Burkill and Shorter, Arany and Haggard, Toms and Penny Latimer. Everything had the smell of disaster.

‘For a man who's avoided both Dalziel and this place's food, you look strangely down in the mouth.'

Ellie sat beside him. She had brought her brandy glass with her, newly replenished, and her eyes sparkled with the after-fire of a boozy lunch.

'You'll fall asleep during your lectures,' said Pascoe.

'If you can't beat 'em,' said Ellie.

'Where's Mary Wollstonecraft?' asked Pascoe.

'Gone to scour a few more mouths. I told her to let the bastards rot, but she's very conscientious. And pretty, don't you think?'

'Yeah. She'll fill a nice cavity in some lucky man's life,' said Pascoe cynically, adding thoughtfully, 'Or woman's. She's not a high-flier, is she?'

Ellie looked blank.

'I mean, what do you think she was after? Your sharp mind or your shapely body – or just your fat purse?'

'My energies, I think. She wants me to join, well, not join because she doesn't believe in the concept of joining. She wants me to discover that I'm one of her lot, these Women's Rights Action Group people.'

'WRAG,' said Pascoe. 'And are you?'

'I think I may be,' said Ellie solemnly.

'Yes? You try Lysistrating around me, I'll fetch you one round the ear,' said Pascoe in a heavy Yorkshire accent.

'You've been watching those films again. How was your morning, by the way?'

But Pascoe wasn't listening. Over Ellie's shoulder among the ruddy puffy cheeks of the double-gin-and-tonic boys he had spotted a pale set face with dark and desperately questing eyes.

It was Emma Shorter and he had no doubt who she was questing after. Last night he had seen the strain in that face, but there had been action to take, motions to go through. Jack was up and about and full of aggression. But now Dalziel had laid hands on him, taken him in for all the world to see. Now the strain was all on her.

'Oh shit,' he muttered to himself. He felt desperately sorry for the woman, but there was nothing he could do, nothing he could tell her. He just didn't feel equipped at this moment to take any more pressure himself.

'Look, love,' he said. 'Someone I don't want to see. Must dash anyway. See you later.'

He got up and went out via the dining-room, keeping his head bowed low and resisting the temptation to glance back. Outside in the car-park he took a deep breath and for a moment felt the exhilaration of escape. He set off towards his car, then stopped so suddenly that a man behind him cannoned into his back.

What the hell am I doing! wondered Pascoe.

In his mind he saw again the woman's face. She was seeing her life collapse and desperately looking for whatever slender comforts anyone could offer. A face falling apart on celluloid had haunted his thoughts for days now and sent him back and forward across the county looking for something to scour away the image. But a real face, a life falling apart before his eyes, a few feet away, a few seconds away, had put him to flight.

He turned round and walked back to the pub. But when he re-entered the bar, there was no sign of Emma Shorter and Ellie was just going out of the main door.

Full of shame he resumed his walk to the car.