get up to, a nice respectable lady like you.’
I laughed. ‘I’ve not been called a lady for a very long time. Or respectable, come to that.’
Scarlett’s eyes clouded over. ‘Compared to my life, chuck, you’re Mother Teresa. And while we’re on the subject, I don’t want you shooting up to Leeds for a cosy little chat with my mam and my sister. You keep them well the fuck out of it. I’ll tell you all you need to know about them and then you’ll understand why I don’t want you listening to their poisonous crap. We clear on that?’
I eased myself up till I was sitting on the lip of the Jacuzzi. ‘You’re the boss. But it would make good reading if we could meet up with somebody who does know you from those early days. Just to make the comparison more powerful.’
Scarlett scowled. ‘I’ll have a think. Trouble is, they’re all drunken slags and junkie wankers. You wouldn’t want to be in the same room.’
‘I’m sure you can come up with—’
‘What have we here?’ An amused voice cut across mine. ‘Scarlett, my girl, my woman, what’s on your mind? You bringing your girlfriends round to have fun with us now? You got a nice little threesome in mind?’
I swung round to see a young Asian man in familiar uniform – baseball cap set at an angle, athletic letter jacket two sizes too big shrugged on over a dark polo shirt, low-slung baggy trousers falling in folds on over-sized trainers.
But it wasn’t the outfit that caught my attention. It was the gleaming chrome handgun cradled in his hands.
5
Stephanie stopped in her tracks, clearly reliving the shock of that moment. As a trained FBI operative, Vivian McKuras had faced danger and loaded guns and taken them in her adrenalin-fuelled stride, but even she was taken aback by Stephanie’s revelation. Till then, the woman’s story had seemed a pedestrian tale of low-level fame gilded with the rosy glow of Vivian’s idea of British life mainly garnered from Mystery Theatre. But it had been starkly transformed by the introduction of a big shiny handgun.
‘He was toting a gun?’ She wanted to be clear about this before she put out an APB on this British DJ.
‘With the emphasis very much on toting,’ Stephanie said. ‘The thing about Joshu is that he was always a complete tosser.’ Seeing Vivian’s frown, she clarified. ‘A wanker. A jerk-off. All mouth and trousers.’
‘Even so. He was carrying a gun the first time you met him. That must have been pretty scary. As I understand it, that’s not exactly commonplace in the UK.’
Stephanie stared at a patch of wall over Vivian’s shoulder. ‘There was a moment when I couldn’t make sense of what I was looking at. This shiny thing in his hands. He was almost cradling it. Then it dawned on me that it was an actual gun. And yes, I was scared. And yes, I showed it. And he just stood there giggling.’ She shook her head and dragged her eyes down to meet Vivian’s. ‘He was high, of course. Which made it considerably scarier.’
‘What did Scarlett do?’
‘She rolled her eyes and said, “For fuck’s sake, I told you not to walk around with that. Some five-oh is gonna see that and take you down.” Then she told me to chillax because it was only a replica. Which, as it turned out, was very Joshu.’ She sighed. ‘He was always on the fringe of the action. Never a serious player. He knew the big-time dealers and gangstas, charmed his way into their circle and skated close to the edge, but he wasn’t one of them. And assuming he was in a position to do anything about his son, this business with Jimmy would be nothing to do with him. Scarlett and Joshu were married and divorced before the kid was a year old.’
‘That doesn’t change the fact that Joshu is his father. These emotions run deep. They’ve got a way of coming back at you. If it’s not him, it could be a family member acting on his behalf or on their own initiative.’ Vivian reached for her computer and started tapping the keys.
‘You’re not getting it. Jimmy doesn’t exist for the Patels. Joshu’s family hated Scarlett. They blamed her for everything that went wrong for their precious son. They didn’t come to the wedding, they never came to the house and Scarlett never crossed their front door. As far as I’m aware, they’ve never set eyes on their grandson outside the pages of a tabloid.’
Vivian shook her head. ‘All the same. It’s the strongest lead you’ve given me so far. What’s his surname, this Joshu?’
‘It’s Patel. But—’
‘Joshu Patel.’
‘Actually, it’s Jishnu, that’s his given name. He left that behind when he became a DJ.’
‘OK. Jishnu Patel, then. Do you have an address for him? Date of birth? Family details? Anything that would help us track him down?’
‘I can tell you exactly where Joshu is right now,’ Stephanie said wearily. ‘Believe me, this is nothing to do with him.’
6
When I think back to that first encounter with Joshu, I can’t help seeing the final act foreshadowed in every aspect. That need always to look like a big man. The way he filled the gap between his reality and his fantasy with drugs. His failure ever to step up to the plate and be a man.
But I’m running ahead of myself. Once I’d realised Scarlett was telling the truth and I didn’t need to be scared witless of the pillock with the pistol, I could see Joshu for what he was. As far as I was concerned, right then he was nothing more than an irritating distraction. I’d started to build a rapport with Scarlett then he’d slouched in and broken the mood. I knew I couldn’t creep any further into Scarlett’s confidence with him there. It was obvious even in those few moments. She only had eyes for him and he only had eyes for himself. My sole function in this triangle was to big Joshu up, and I didn’t need to bother with that just yet. I wanted to hear from him, but not before I had a clearer idea of how he might be useful to making Scarlett’s story work. The only thing I could do now was lay down a timetable.
‘Let’s sort out when we can meet,’ I said, setting off for the changing room. Scarlett followed and so, disconcertingly, did Joshu. I closed the curtain on the cubicle firmly and tried to ignore his attempts to turn the situation into a sexual encounter. ‘Not now, babe,’ Scarlett kept saying amid the scuffles and moans.
When I emerged he had her against the wall, his hand between her legs. ‘Have you got your diary handy?’ I said briskly.
He cast a dirty look over his shoulder. ‘Listen to you. “Have you got your diary handy?”’
‘You need to work on your impressions, innit,’ I said, dropping into his patois.
Scarlett giggled and ducked out from under his arm. ‘I got it in the kitchen,’ she said, grabbing a luxurious towelling robe from a hook on the wall as she passed Joshu, flirting a little wave at him. ‘Why don’t you go upstairs? I’ll be there in a minute.’
Joshu’s scowl lifted and he slouched after her, turning back to target me with a self-satisfied sneer. As I followed Scarlett down the hall, he peeled off and disappeared up a shallow flight of stairs.
We settled on three blocks of three days’ interviewing time, built around Scarlett’s schedule of public appearances, product promotions and meetings with TV executives and brand managers. She’d certainly learned how to turn racism and homophobia to her advantage.
‘Before we meet again, there’s one thing I need you to think about,’ I said.
‘What’s that, then?’
‘How do you want to be presented? What do you want them to think of you? What impression of you should they take away? You need to be clear about that before we start, so I can focus the direction of our conversations.’
