‘What the devil’s it doing out here?’ he demanded.
The Superintendent answered with his own question. ‘I assume you always keep it locked, sir?’
‘Of course I do. I’m not a damned fool. Don’t want it stolen, do I?’
‘And you locked it tonight, sir?’
‘What do you think? Asking dumb questions like that,’ said Battleby. ‘Of course I locked it.’
‘Just making sure, sir. You see, the firemen had to break the side window to move it out into the road, sir.’ There could be no mistaking the purpose of the repeated ’sir’, at least not for Mrs Rottecombe. It was intended to provoke and it succeeded.
‘What the fuck did they do that for? That’s breaking and entering. They had no right to–’
‘Because you had locked it, sir, as you have just admitted. The fire engines couldn’t get into the yard, sir,’ said the Superintendent. More provocation. He said it slowly as though explaining the matter to a backward child. ‘And now, sir, if you’d be so good as to give me the keys I’ll–’
But Battleby had been baited far enough. ‘Oh, fuck off, copper,’ he said, ‘and mind your own business. My bloody house burns to the ground and all you want to do is–’
‘Give him the keys, Bob,’ said Mrs Rottecombe firmly. Battleby swore again and groped in his pockets and finally found them. He tossed them towards the Superintendent who picked them off the ground and made a show of unlocking the door on the passenger’s side.
‘If you wouldn’t mind, sir, I’d like you to look at this material, sir,’ he said, blocking Mrs Rottecombe’s view and switching on the interior light. Lying on the seat beside the gag and the handcuffs were the magazines. The Superintendent stood back and let Battleby see them. For a moment he gaped at them.
‘Who the fuck put them there?’
‘I was hoping you could tell me that, sir,’ said the Superintendent and moved away so that Mrs Rottecombe could see the collection. Her reaction was more informative. It was also more calculated.
‘Oh, Bob, how revolting! Where on earth did you buy that filth?’
Battleby turned his bloated face on her lividly. ‘Where did I buy it? I didn’t buy it anywhere. I don’t know what it’s doing there.’
‘Are you saying someone gave it to you, sir? If so, would mind telling me who–’
‘No, I’m fucking not,’ Battleby shouted, totally losing control of his temper. Mrs Rottecombe backed away from him. She knew now that she had to distance herself from him. Being the friend of a man who had pictures of children being raped and tortured was the last thing she needed. Tying Bob up and whipping him was one thing but sadistic paedophilia…And the police were definitely involved now. She wanted out. The Superintendent took a step closer to Battleby and peered into his purple face and bloodshot eyes.
‘If you didn’t buy this material and no one gave it to you, just tell me how it happens to be in your car, your locked car, sir. You tell me that. You’re not suggesting it got in there by itself, are you, sir?’
There was no doubting his sarcasm now. This was interrogation proper. Mrs Rottecombe made an attempt to get away.
‘If you don’t mind…’ she began but the Superintendent’s tactics had achieved the object he had been hoping for. Battleby took a drunken swing at his face. The Superintendent made no attempt to dodge the blow; it struck him full on the nose and blood
