Skinner drew in his breath in a familiar hiss. "No, I don"t," he admitted.
"If it was him, then delivering those aerosols personally was a stupid thing to do. And this boy hasn"t done a single stupid thing so far."
"Apart from persecuting Lou in the first place," Mcllhenney growled.
"That will turn out to have been very stupid."
"Indeed," the DCC agreed, moving towards the door with Martin. "And taking a shot at me, even if it was a blank. That too.
"Right, Andy," he said, as Mcllhenney saw them into the small hall.
"You"ll brace Silver right away."
The Head of CID nodded. "Yup. I"ll have to postpone my divisional
232.AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN.
heads" meeting this morning anyway. Dan Pringle"s in court with the guy we nailed for the fish farm jobs."
"Mmm," said Mcllhenney idly. "We saw one of them yesterday, on the edge of the moors just off the Carfraemill to Kelso road. A big one it was, too ... with a video security system, you"ll be glad to hear."
Martin stared at him. "Is that so?" he murmured. "Dan Pringle showed me a list of all the trout farms on his patch, and I"m dead certain there wasn"t one there."AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN.67.Policemen are used to being wakened from their slumber in the middle of the night to be told of catastrophe, disaster and death. Film producers, on the whole, are not. Warren Judd looked a bundle of nerves as he perched on a chair in his Balmoral Hotel suite, sipping black coffee from a jug provided by room service. He was shivering, not from the cold, for the room was warm, but from nerves.
"Do you know how the fire started?" he asked, his voice shaky.
"We"re still in the realms of theory," said Skinner, truthfully. "I won"t speculate."
"But you do know that that man, Glenys"s partner, is dead?"
"His name was Clarence Sparrow, and if he isn"t dead, he"s a b.l.o.o.d.y phoenix." It was the policeman"s turn to shudder as he recalled what Matt Grogan had shown him under that tarpaulin. "Glenys AlG.o.don got out by the skin of her teeth, and of her back. She"ll be in a lot of pain and discomfort for the next few days, and she"ll have a new hair-do for a while, but she will be all right."
"And Ms Bankier definitely wasn"t there? You"re sure about that? I mean if the fire was that bad . . ."
"Mr Judd," the DCC said, slowly. "I have spoken to Louise. She is shocked, but in good health."
"Why wasn"t she there? Where was she? We start shooting tomorrow; it isn"t like her to have late nights while she"s working."
"She had a dinner-date; she hadn"t got back when the fire started."
"Dinner date? With whom?"
Skinner frowned as he looked at the producer, sensing old pa.s.sions, old jealousy within him. But he sensed nothing else.
"With Neil, her bodyguard," he told him, abruptly. "They went out for the day, they had supper and then they went back to his place." Judd"s cup slipped in his fingers, spilling coffee on to the Balmoral"s expensive carpet.
"She . . ." he whispered.
234.
"The DCC stared at him hard. "Neil"s a fine man," he murmured evenly.
"One of the very best of people; as is Louise, as Louise has always been, as she was when I knew her first, when you were not as much as a black cloud on the far horizon. She deserves someone like him, and if you ever grudge her that, mister, or reproach her, or wish her anything but the very best of luck, then in Neil Mcllhenney and me, you will have made two of the worst enemies that a man could possibly have."
"But who is he?" Judd croaked.
"He"s a policeman. He"s my executive a.s.sistant. Lou"s been under our discreet protection since she"s been in Edinburgh. She has a stalker, a persecutor. Before tonight there have been two incidents, one in London and one in Edinburgh. Neither was a lethal attack; tonight"s was.
"We"re looking for a slim-built man in his late twenties, who signs himself John Steed in e-mails, but whose name that, quite certainly, is not."
"What about my movie?" the producer exclaimed. "Are you shutting me
down?"
Skinner grinned. "Whether I would or wouldn"t do that is academic.
Your co-producer won"t have it, and that"s that. You"re going to lose today, while we make revised security arrangements for Louise, but you should be able to start shooting tomorrow.
"However, from now on, no one is going to know where Louise is staying; neither you, nor your director, nor the co-stars . . . not even Glenys, when she recovers. That knowledge stays within my team.
Til also be putting a man on set, so that no one can b.o.o.by-trap any of your props. You"ll be responsible for checking everybody on set. You see one unfamiliar face, you shout b.l.o.o.d.y murder."
Judd nodded his head. "Whatever you say, boss. I"ll call the unit manager right now and tell him to stand everyone down for twenty-four hours. We can reschedule and make up the loss over the next couple of weeks.
The only days I can"t change are the Hogmanay street party stuff... but that"s wild footage, doesn"t involve the cast . . . and next Sat.u.r.day and Sunday; we"ve got the okay to shoot the big closing scene in Parliament Hall. We set up overnight Friday so we can film both days if necessary."
"That"s fine. No worries there. There"s only one other thing you"re going to have to do. Telly have been to the fire scene already and the press will be all over it very soon, so my media manager is going to have to issue a statement confirming that there"s been a fatality.
"Sparrow"s parents will be advised of his death first thing in the morning.235.4_.Once that"s done, I want you to issue a statement expressing regret and explaining that the house was occupied by members of your production team, including Louise Bankier"s a.s.sistant.
"You should add that Lou is shocked by Clarence"s death and by Glenys"s injury in this tragic accident. You can lie in your statement. I can"t."
He left the producer in his suite, to come to terms with everything that had happened, and to begin revising his schedule.236.68.Elliott Silver"s address had been easy to find. Louise Bankier was one of those traditionalists who still carried a Filofax, rather than an electronic notebook. And like all Filo-freaks, she updated hers daily and took it with her, everywhere she went.
Neil Mcllhenney found it without difficulty, scribbled it on a clean page in the "notes" section and handed it to Andy Martin, as he was leaving.
Martin enjoyed driving through the empty streets of the city at night, listening to the frying sound of the tarmac beneath the wide tyres of his MGF, driving fast through lights which normally were blocked with daytime traffic. He zipped through Holy Corner and Bruntsfield, on into Lothian Road and past the new office blocks which had changed Edinburgh"s skyline in recent years, finally taking the unnecessarily complicated route which led him to India Street.
Elliott Silver had made his temporary home on the bas.e.m.e.nt level of a tall grey tenement building. He parked in the street outside, looked around the other vehicles until he found a Mercedes A-cla.s.s, with the rental company tag still hanging from the rear-view mirror. He laid a hand on the hood, but it told him nothing; it was cold.
The Head of CID trotted down the steps, checking his watch as he went: 4 a.m. "The man should be well asleep," he murmured to himself, as he rang the doorbell. There was no answer; not until the third ring. Eventually the blue-painted door swung open, framing a leggy blonde woman, wrapped in a silk dressing-gown, back-lit and made transparent by the hall.
"Yes!" she snapped. "What the h.e.l.l is it? Where"s the fire?"
"Craiglockhart," he said, "but it"s out now." He flashed his warrant card.
"DCS Martin, Edinburgh CID. I want to see Mr Silver. Is he in?"
"What"s up, Grade?" a sleepy man"s voice sounded from the depths of the hall. "Is it some drunk? Cos if it is . .."
"It"s the police, Mr Silver," Martin called out. Then the man stepped into view and he recognised him, even unshaven, in boxer shorts; a face from aQuintin Jardinehundred screens, and many more magazine covers. That of Ralph Annand, Louise"s co-star.
Unbidden, Martin stepped into the hall. "Elliott Silver," he repeated, "I"m told he"s living here. Is that true, and if so, is he here?"
"Yes!" The third voice came from the bedroom door; a man, fair hair tousled, leaning naked against its jamb. "I"m Elliott. Now what the f.u.c.k do you want?"
"As little as I can get away with," Martin replied, his legendary patience wearing thin. "Where were you between midnight and two o"clock?"