Dead Famous

DAY THIRTY-EIGHT. 9.00 a.m.

As he removed his coat and hat in the cloakroom Chief Inspector Coleridge was surprised to hear cheering and shouting coming from the incident room. He walked in to see a group of his officers, both male and female, clustered round a video monitor from which strange moans and groans were emanating.

“She will never get that in her mouth!” a constable was saying.

“It can’t be real!” shrieked one of the girls. “It must be digitally enhanced.”

Now Coleridge realized what sort of video they were watching, and was about to begin the process of disciplining the lot of them when Hooper pressed the freeze-frame button and turned to his boss.

“Ah, sir,” he said. “Sorry about the noise, but we’re all a bit pleased with ourselves this morning. I think we know where Kelly had met David before.”

On the screen a young woman was frozen in the act of performing oral sex on a man who appeared to have been crossed with a donkey. The woman was most definitely not Kelly.

“That’s not Kelly,” said Coleridge testily, “and I don’t see David either. What’s your point?”

“Look behind the main lady, sir. Look at the two girls reaching round to feel her knock- breasts, the one on the right, she’s partially obscured by the man’s dick- penis, but it’s Kelly all right.”

“Good heavens,” said Coleridge. “So it is.”

“She said that she’d been a movie extra, sir. Now we know what sort of movie she was an extra in. No wonder she didn’t rate it very highly. This film is Kelly’s ‘Far Corgi In Heaven’, by the way.”

“Curious title.”

“Not when you know that what she actually said was Fuck Orgy Eleven.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I never… And the owner of that… um, appendage… Is that David?”

“No, sir, that’s just one of the numerous disassociated penises that the movie features. This is David.” And Hooper fast-forwarded a little to reveal the entrance of the star of the film: an outrageous bisexual figure in a long purple wig and high-camp make-up, pink lips, glittery eye shadow and a fur and feather posing pouch, which he was in the process of removing.

“David, sir,” said Hooper, “or Boris Pecker as he is known in the Fuck Orgy series. He also appears at times under the names of Olivia Newton Dong, Ivor Whopper and half of a mock Scottish gay-porn comedy double act known as Ben Doon and Phil McCavity.”

“Good heavens.”

“I talked to his agent this morning. He tried to hold out on me at first, but in the end he didn’t fancy getting nicked for obstructing the police in their inquiries. Our David has a secret double life as a porn star. Apparently he’s much in demand.”

“So that’s how he manages to live so fat despite apparently not working.”

“Yes, sir, the high-and-mighty serious actor who would never take on extra work and believes it is better to be unemployed than prostitute your talent.”

“What a nasty little hypocrite our friend is.”

“Exactly. Remember the hard time he gave Kelly that day about getting a different dream because she’d already compromised any hope she had of being an actress?”

“I do indeed.”

“Well, look at him.”

The tape played on and David, or Boris Pecker, barely recognizable in his outrageous make-up, walked among the writhing copulating bodies. He was stark naked save for the purple fright wig and a pink bow on his penis.

“My name is Lord Shag!” he said. “Bow before the power of my awesome schlong!” At which point all the naked extras stopped cavorting about and prostrated themselves before him.

“I’m amazed that none of the papers has picked up on this,” Coleridge remarked.

“Well, look at him, sir. All the make-up, the wig, the high-camp act. Would you have recognized him if you didn’t know?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“And nor would anyone else. Unless of course they recognized some absolutely clear distinguishing feature. Watch Kelly.”

Kelly was very close to David, lying at his feet, her eyes barely two inches from his left ankle.

“To be or not to be, sir,” said Hooper smiling.