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 buggering 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, Dick 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 sex 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. Bloody sound was appalling.’ He waved at a cadaverous man with a boom mike and a bored expression. ‘I swear to God I’m going to fire his skinny arse 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, Crocodildo 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 offshore, only to discover that Amazonian Viking women have come back from the past and are making all the guys on the rig have sex 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 passenger seat so she could glare at Logan in the back, ‘that you daft buggers 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 sex, instead of which they’re all buggering about with bloody forklift trucks.’ She turned back to face the front. ‘Besides, he shouldn’t have been such a big fat bastard: 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. ‘Bloody hell, 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 Dick since Monday – We’ll look like a right bunch of tits 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 glass. 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 bloody right I would!’ said Steel, sooking the last puff from her cigarette before grinding the butt 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 Citroën 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. ‘Bloody hell!’ 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 bloody security sorted out, but will they listen to me? No! We go away for two bloody weeks … What have the little bastards 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?’
That got a long-suffering sigh and a weary, ‘What’s he done?’
‘I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you.’
They left PC Rickards in the lounge with Jason’s mother. She was just sitting on the couch, silent and still, as if she wasn’t really there. Mr Fettes was doing slightly better: bustling around the kitchen, apologizing for the smell as a small terrier did ecstatic circles about his legs, barking and wagging its tail. He picked the dog’s dish off the mat by the washing machine and rinsed it under the tap, telling them what a good boy Wee Jock was for only going in the kitchen, when he could have crapped all over the house if he’d wanted. Left here alone for two and a bit days. Really it was remarkable, when you thought about it. What with Jason not being here to feed him, or let him out. What with Jason being … The tin opener clattered to the floor. Mr Fettes curled in on himself and cried.
DI Steel wrapped an arm around the sobbing man’s shoulders and steered him to one of the chairs at the kitchen table. ‘Here, why don’t you let me feed the wee lad, eh? You sit there, and afterwards I’ll get us a nice cup of tea.’ She threw a glance in Logan’s direction, silently mouthing the words ‘go have a poke about’.
Jason’s room was easy enough to find: a double bedroom on the second floor with a computer desk in the corner and an Ikea bookshelf full of science fiction and fantasy novels. No posters on the walls, but a lot of framed photographs – Jason with friends, Jason at the beach, Jason in America with a pretty dark-haired girl … There wasn’t a single photo in here that didn’t feature his face. Posing for posterity. Logan slipped on a pair of latex gloves and eased the wardrobe door open. The clothes looked as if they might
