'What about the stuff you've just brought back from Holland, Charlie?' Thorne stepped forward and steered Dodd into the corner of the room. 'Sorry, I know you prefer Charles…'
The watery, green eyes narrowed as Dodd's mind raced, trying to work out who had the big mouth. 'What do you want?'
Thorne took the picture from the envelope. 'This photo was taken here.' He handed it to Dodd. 'I just want to know who took it. Nothing too difficult…'
Dodd shook his head. 'Not here, mate.'
Thorne squeezed behind Dodd, stood close enough to smell the sweat and hair oil. He jabbed a finger over his shoulder at the smudge on the photo and then lifted up Dodd's head and pointed it at the scorch mark on the backcloth.
'Have another look, Charlie…'
Dodd turned back to the photo. The man with the camera had put it back on to his shoulder. He was mumbling something to the girl who were lazily shifting their position on the bed.
'If it was taken here, I wasn't around at the time,' Dodd said, handing the photo back to Thorne. He inclined his head towards the bed.
'Stuff like this today, run of the mill, I usually stick around, get on with other things…'
One of the girls began to moan theatrically. Thorne glanced across. The camera was trained on one girl's head as it busied itself in her friend's crotch. At the other end of the bed, the girl who was moaning stared at the ceiling, still smoking her cigarette.
'You saying you don't remember this picture being taken?'
'There's times, punters would rather I wasn't here. You understand what I'm saying? Maybe there's things being shot I'd prefer I didn't witness anyway and they're paying good money for the place, so…'
'Bollocks.' Thorne pushed the photo into Dodd's face. 'Do you see any animals? Underage boys?'
Dodd swatted Thorne's arm away, shook his head.
'This is top-shelf stuff, no stronger than that. There's a whole series of these and they're much the same, so start remembering, Charlie…'
'Dodd was starting to get upset. He ran his hands back and forth through the oily strands of hair. As he spoke, Thorne watched a white fleck of dried spittle move from bottom lip to top and back again. 'I wasn't here. All right? I'd remember if I was, I can remember every fucking shot taken up here, ask anybody. Like you say, the picture's harmless enough, so what reason have I got to piss you about…?'
On the bed, the girl who was being worked on leaned across to stub out her cigarette on a saucer. The cameraman moved in closer.
'Go on,' he said to the other girl. 'Get your tongue right up her arse…
'All right,' Thorne said. 'Think about anybody who might have asked you to make yourself scarce while they were shooting. Last six months or so…'
'Jesus, d'you know how many people use this place?'
'Not a regular. Probably a one-off.'
'Yeah, but still…'
'Just one man and a girl. Think…'
The cameraman kicked the end of the bed in annoyance and spun round. 'For Christ's sake, can you two shut up? I'm recording sound here…'
The girl who had been going down on her friend raised her head and turned to look at Thorne. The lights washed out her face, exaggerating the job that the heroin had already done. Dodd opened his mouth to speak and Thorne was grateful for the chance to look away.
'There was one, four or five months ago. It was like you said, a one off. He just wanted the place for a couple of hours. Normally, even if they want rid of me for the shoot I stick around to set the lights up, but this bloke said he was going to do all that himself. Said he knew what he was doing.'
'What about the girl?'
'I never saw a girl. It was just him…'
'Give me a name.'
Dodd snorted, looked at Thorne in disbelief. 'Right. I'll check the files, shall I? Maybe ask my secretary to look it up. For fuck's sake…'
Thorne took a step towards the doorway. 'Get your coat on, Charlie. I need a picture of this fucker and for your sake your memory for faces had better be as good as it is for tits and arse…'
'Sorry, mate, it's not going to happen. That's why I remembered him, as it goes. First I thought he was a dispatch rider, you know, dropping off some negs or something. Head to foot in leather, with a dark visor on his helmet…'
Thorne knew straightaway that Dodd was telling the truth. It felt like something starting to press heavily against the back of his head. His piece of good luck turning to shit.
'You must have seen him more than once. He didn't just turn up on the off-chance…'
'Once to make the booking, once on the day.' Dodd was starting to sound slightly smug. 'Never got a look at him, though. Both times,. he had the motorbike clobber on. I remember him standing out there on the stairs, in all the leather gear like a fucking hit-man, waiting for me to leave.'
On the other side of the room, a vibrator began to buzz. The camera was rolling again.
Thorne turned and yanked open the door. The statement could be taken later, for what it was worth. He'd run headlong into another wall, and right now it felt as real, as black, as the one that ran around the ratty fuck- parlour behind him.
He took the stairs down two at a time. The jolt that ran through his body at every step failed to dislodge the image that had fixed itself in his head. The face of the girl on the bed when she'd raised up her head and turned to look at him…
Her mouth and chin glistening, but the eyes as black and dead as those of the fish that lay on slabs in the window of the shop next door.
10 AUGUST, 1976
It was the first time in a long while that he'd seen anything at all register on her face. He wasn't expecting a reaction, but it tickled him nevertheless. To see her jaw drop a little, watch her eyes widen when she saw his hand tighten around the base of the lamp…
'Please,' she said. Please…
In the few seconds that he held the lamp high above his head, he thought about the different uses of that word. The meanings that it could take on. Its many, subtle varieties, conjured by the tiniest changes in emphasis. He thought about the number of ways it could mislead. Please don't.
Please do.
Please don't stop doing..
Please me. Pleasure me. Please…
Pleading for it.
As he brought the lamp down with every ounce of strength he had, he thought that, all in all, it was a pretty appropriate word. For her very last. At least, the way she meant it now, it was honest. With each successive blow he became more focused, his thinking becoming less cluttered until finally, when she was unrecognisable, he could remember where in the garage he'd last seen the tow rope.
NINE
That dreadful hiatus between arriving, and anything actually happening…
The cling-film, they were assured, would be coming off the buffet platters very shortly, and the DJ wouldn't
