Both men flipped open the thin leather wallets they carried. Scott gazed at the photos, then at their faces.
'Satisfied?' said Gregson.
Scott nodded.
'Yours is a better likeness,' he said to the DI, a smile flickering on his lips. 'You look a miserable cunt in the picture, too.'
Gregson held his stare for a moment, a smile forming at the corners of his own mouth.
'I'm surprised I don't know you,' he said quietly. 'Geezers like you usually have form, or has Plummer been recruiting up-market?'
Scott merely glared at the DI. The heavy atmosphere was finally interrupted by Finn, heading towards the door.
'Come on, Frank,' he said wearily. 'Let's get out of here. He doesn't know anything and we've got other places to check.'
The DS actually had his hand on the door handle when it was turned.
He stepped back a pace, smiling broadly as he saw the young woman who stood before him, looking slightly surprised. She returned his smile as she stepped inside the office, glancing across at Scott's desk. Gregson eyed her disinterestedly.
'They're coppers, Carol,' Scott told her. 'Here to ask some questions,' he sneered.
'Another member of your staff?' Finn enquired. He showed Carol his ID as he spoke. She looked at him again but this time there was no smile on her face.
'Questions about what?' she wanted to know.
Never taking his eyes from her, Gregson slipped out the photo of Paula Wilson and quickly explained the reason for his and Finn's presence, enquiring whether or not the face in the monochrome picture rang any bells.
It didn't.
'Happy now?' Scott asked, noticing that Gregson was still gazing at Carol.
'Well, well,' said the DI, smiling thinly. 'Long time no see, eh, Carol?'
Scott glared at the policeman then at Carol.
'How long's it been now?' Gregson continued. 'Two years?'
She looked at him through narrowed eyes.
'How the hell do you know him?' Scott wanted to know, unable to contain his anger.
'We met on a professional basis,' said Gregson, his smile broadening. 'I arrested her for soliciting.' He allowed his gaze to travel slowly up and down her shapely body. 'No wonder you were doing such good business,' he said. 'You still look good.'
Scott clenched his fists until his nails dug into the palms of his hands.
Carol didn't answer. Like some naughty child who's been caught playing a prank she just kept her head low, staring at the floor.
'Maybe I'll see you again,' the DI said as he and Finn reached the door.
'Just get out,' hissed Scott.
They closed the door and were gone.
Scott brought his hand crashing down on the desk top, his face pale with rage, the vein at his temple throbbing.
'Did you recognise him when you walked in?' he demanded.
'Jim, that was in the past,' she said. 'Besides, it's nothing to do with you. It was my problem.'
'How did he catch you? Had you fucked him before he lifted you?' There was a stinging vehemence in Scott's words.
Carol looked angrily at him, turned and headed for the door.
Scott shot out a hand and grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her round.
'Had he?' he roared.
She struck him hard across the left cheek with the flat of her hand.
'Get off me,' she shouted.
Scott moved a pace towards her, his face stinging from the blow, his eyes bulging wide.
'You don't own me, Jim,' she hissed, her voice faltering slightly as she saw the look of pure rage etched across his features. She opened the office door. 'You don't own me.' She slammed it behind her and walked away hurriedly, her heart beating madly against her ribs.
Inside the office Scott touched the cheek she had slapped, his breath still coming in gasps.
'Bitch,' he hissed, turning back to his desk. He found the bottle of Southern Comfort and poured himself a large measure. His breathing gradually slowed as he propped himself against one edge of the desk, drinking. Again he touched his cheek, but this time he felt no anger, merely a deep sorrow.
One thought surfaced in his mind.
Would she forgive him?
***
Outside in the street Finn lit up another cigarette and looked at his watch.
'Where to next?' he said, pulling up the collar of his jacket.
Gregson didn't answer; he was staring at the doorway of 'Loveshow'.
'Frank. I said, where next?' the DS repeated, blowing out a stream of smoke and looking at his companion. 'Hello, is there anyone in there?'
Gregson looked impassively at his colleague.
'Something on your mind?' Finn asked.
'You could say that,' Gregson told him vaguely. He started walking and Finn followed.
'You're fucking weird sometimes, Frank, you know that?' he said. 'Who was that tart, anyway?'
'I said, I arrested her a couple of years ago,' Gregson muttered.
'You were right, she's good-looking. I'm not surprised you remember her.' The DS chuckled.
Gregson merely continued walking.
He remembered her all right.
FIFTY-THREE
Ray Plummer looked at his watch, checking the time against the clock on the marble mantelpiece.
11.24 P.M.
He crossed to his drinks cabinet and poured himself another large measure of whisky, glancing at the phone every few seconds as if willing it to ring.
Perhaps it was a wind-up, he thought. There would be no phone call from the mysterious informant. The whole fucking scheme was somebody pissing him about.
Wasn't it?
He downed what was left in his glass and thought about pouring himself another. He looked at the phone again. What if the caller rang and couldn't be bothered to hold on?
Someone pissing about.
It was a hell of an elaborate plan just for a windup.
Could it be true about the twenty million?
He crossed to the drinks cabinet once more and tipped the bottle.
