Joint Enterprise (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 3) (18 page)

‘Sounds interesting. What’s it about?’

‘The title is,
‘All Women Are Prostitutes’
and that’s pretty much the theme of the book as he described it. I haven’t actually read any of it yet and I haven’t spoken to anyone who has, but I get the impression from the blurb that this was an attempt to provide some kind of explanation for the way things are between men and women.’

‘The way he, with his distorted and warped view of relationships, sees, or rather saw, the way things are between men and women,’ said Marsh. ‘I’ve read a few pages and I’ve seen something of what’s on his laptop. And if you want my opinion it’s more like the deluded ramblings of some depraved fantasist moron. It’s a poisonous cocktail of male chauvinism and misogyny and the biggest question that it poses for me is how on earth it got published.’

Poisson laughed lightly. ‘Well, with a title like that, I would imagine that your suspect list is very long and very feminine.’

‘Actually, it’s very short and very blank at the moment,’ said Romney. ‘We hope to get to grips with the investigation now this one is concluded. So, what did you find on
his computer?’ he said to Marsh. ‘Anything useful?’

‘Bearing in mind what he said on the radio show recording – we recovered an audio tape of a radio interview he did a couple of days ago,’ she said to Poisson, ‘I concentrated on the files that he claimed would be available on his website.’ Again for Poisson’s benefit, she said, ‘On the radio show he boasted that anyone who cared to subscribe to his website would be able to view files of six local women he had befriended and proved,’ Marsh described inverted commas in the air with her fingers, ‘his all women are prostitutes theory with. This was supposed to be his evidence.’

Poisson raised his eyebrows. ‘And did he indeed provide such evidence?’

‘It’s a porn-
site.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Romney.

Marsh let out a deep breath. ‘I’d be the first to admit that I’m not exactly qualified to comment authoritatively on the authenticity of the content, but my suspicion is that it’s a big con. He has tried to give the impression that he’s made films of having sex with women who didn’t know that they were being filmed, but I just don’t buy it.’

‘Are you saying they’re not realistic, not genuine?’ said Romney.

‘Not exactly. They looked quite realistic, I’d give him that, but I just can’t believe that he could get ordinary women off the street in Dover who are unknown to him and ignorant of what’s going on into a room and get them to have sex with him for reward.’

‘Is it because you don’t believe that women will prostitute themselves for personal gain, or that you don’t want to?’ asked Poisson.

‘I’m basing my opinion on all the women I know. And I don’t know any woman who would behave in the way the women on his website do, that’s all.’

‘What’s he offering them?’ said Romney.

‘You mean apart from a starring role in setting back the struggle of women in a man’s world? A starring role in a film he was claiming to be making.’

Romney let the laugh escape him. ‘The casting couch, eh? That old chestnut. The old ones are always the best. Did you find out where we can get hold of any of them? Did he have contact information?’

‘He has information on several women in his files, but of course he hasn’t identified any of them in his sordid little films and he’s blurred their faces, which is going to make it difficult for us to match them up. He’s really gone to town to make the viewer believe that these women’s identities must be protected, but like I say, I just don’t buy it.’

‘It sounds as though you have a fascinating investigation on your hands, Tom,’ said Poisson. ‘If you find yourself with an extra copy of his book
, I should be interested to read it. But I could never allow my wife to know.’ He laughed at himself.

‘You got two, didn’t you sir?’ said Marsh, trying to carry the remark off as innocent.

Romney made a face at her. She knew why he had asked for two from the bereaved mother and it wasn’t so that either could be read, let alone given away. ‘Yes. They’re around somewhere,’ he answered, vaguely. In an attempt to deflect the Frenchman’s interest from his pristine copies of his Edy Vitriol books, Romney said, ‘You much of a book lover then, Frederic?’

‘Oh, yes. I am something of a bibliophile, I fear. Sadly, the French language cannot boast the broad wealth of literature the English language does, so I find myself reading more and more of other cultures. I am reading something by Murakami at the moment. Do you know him? A fine author.’

‘He wrote Norwegian Wood, didn’t he?’ said Marsh. ‘Grimes saw a copy of that on my desk and accused me of reading Scandinavian porn.’

The man in question was on his way back from the toilets when he heard their laughter erupt from the table. His stomach might have been in uproar, but it would take more than the squits to keep him away from the victory drink, especially when he thought that there was a good chance he wouldn’t have to put his hand in his pocket. As another wave of crippling pain rippled through his guts
, he was forced to stop at, and hold onto, the newspaper table for support. As he leant against it waiting for the spasm to pass, he found himself looking down at the front page of the latest edition of the local paper. It could only have been in circulation for an hour. He laid his palm on it half expecting it to still be, if not hot off the press, then at least lukewarm.

‘What’s so funny?’ he said, when he returned to the table.

‘Nothing,’ said Romney. He saw the newspaper in Grimes’ grip. ‘Is that hygienic, do you think? Taking the pub newspaper into the toilets with you? Other people might want to read that while their eating a meal.’ Romney accompanied this comment with a look of faint disgust.

‘Actually, I picked it up on the way back, gov,’ said Grimes. He sat down and said, ‘I know where the missing film from the castle is.’

Romney looked more surprised than impressed. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve solved a crime?’

‘No. It’s in the local paper.’ Grimes
set the issue in question on the table between them and Romney, Marsh and Poisson all craned forward to read the front page.

‘Animal Rights Enforcers Claim Victory in Battle at Dover Castle’
.

Dover Today has learned that a local animal rights activist group were behind a daring raid this week at Dover castle that resulted in the theft of several valuable reels of film shot for the making of director Hugo Crawford’s latest cinematic offering from the lunatic fringe, ‘The Beasts of Burden’. A representative for the organisation, Animal Rights Enforcers, contacted the offices of Dover Today claiming responsibility for the action. The representative, who declined to reveal her identity, made the following statement: “The film currently in production at the castle is an affront to animals and animal lovers everywhere. Director, Hugo Crawford, is engaged in making a sick movie that is yet another shameful symbol of Mankind’s perverted perception of the rights of innocent animals with which we share the planet.

“The current suffering of the poor animals involved in the making of the film aside, this production must be stopped as it sends out signals to elements of society that this sort of predatory sexual depravity towards dumb, innocent creatures is acceptable behaviour. Isn’t it appalling enough that the ordinary lives of these poor beasts revolve around being reared in abject cruelty only to be slaughtered in their prime so that humans might gorge themselves on their flesh without also having to bear the additional traumatising ordeal of unwanted sexual attentions and physical violations of such sick-minded people? The aim of Animal Rights Enforcers is to highlight animal cruelty wherever we find it. If you hurt them, we will hurt you. If you seek to encourage others to act immorally against animals we will do everything in our power to silence you.”

Asked why the organisation had taken the decision to contact the press the representative said that they had originally hoped that the local police investigation into the theft would have brought to light the involvement of the organisation
– especially as the organisation had sent confirmation of their involvement to them – however, with little evidence that the police were taking their claim seriously and the pressing importance of highlighting the plight of the distressed creatures currently being imprisoned and (allegedly) abused at the castle Animal Rights Enforcers felt that it was essential to act.

‘Why is he calling it,
‘The Beasts of Burden’
?’ said Grimes.

‘What the hell does that matter?’
flared Romney. ‘We’re being embarrassed on the front page of the local rag and all you can think about is the title of his film. Have you seen anything from the Animal Rights Enforcers claiming responsibility for what happened?’

‘No, gov. Nothing. They’re probably just making it up to make them look good and us look bad.’

‘I sometimes wonder whether we need any help,’ said Romney, in a moment of sullen pique. A dark gloom descended on the little celebration threatening to sour their moods and their drinks.

‘Why wouldn’t the press have got in touch with us before printing?’ said Marsh. ‘Asked for a comment?’

‘Because they would probably worry that we might have interfered with the printing of their little story.’

‘Would we
have?’ said Marsh.

‘Yes,’ said Romney.

‘Could we have?’ said Marsh.

Romney sighed. ‘Probably not. They can print what they like within reason, but they denied us an opportunity to comment and retrieve something of our dignity and that’s not on. First thing tomorrow,’ he said to Grimes, ‘I want you and Spicer to go and speak to whoever wrote this crap and don’t come back until you’ve found out where we can lay our hands on the representative for Animal Rights Enforcers.’

*

On his drive to work the following morning Romney briefly considered parking away from the station and escaping Falkner’s beady eye and annoying window-tapping habit by scuttling in the front entrance. But the notion was brief and discarded. The music must be faced, sooner or later.
Better to do so on something of his own terms.

Romney was surprised not to see Superintendent Falkner’s wan
, fleshy features at his window-pane vigil. Surprised and pleased. After stowing his cushion, he was walking towards his morning coffee when Falkner swept into the car park in his Jaguar. Romney’s spirits sank. Falkner drew up next to him and the electric window was lowered. Romney noticed the local paper on the seat next to him.

‘Morning, sir.’

‘I take it you’ve seen this, Tom?’ said Falkner, tapping the offending article.

‘Yes. Grimes and Spicer are going to see whoever wrote it first thing. It’s outrageous that they didn’t speak with us before going to press.’

‘Did we know about them?’

‘No, sir. They’re probably just making it up to make them look good and us look bad.’

‘I sometimes wonder whether we need any help,’ said Falkner, giving Romney a jolt of déjà-vu. ‘I’ve had a rather uncomfortable conversation with the CC this morning, Tom. He doesn’t like this kind of thing. Doesn’t like it all. Makes everyone look bad.’

‘
Well, with respect, sir, we can’t stop them printing something like this.’

‘No, but perhaps we could have worked out who took the film rather than reading about it in the local
fish-wrapper.’ He shook his head and tutted. ‘Animal rights activists. God help us.’

‘We have been investigating the theft properly, sir. I’ve had two officers on it. I’ve also got more important cases to devote my time and resources to,’ Romney shut himself up realising he was in danger of crossing a line.

‘I know, Tom. I know. I think I’ll speak to someone over at the paper myself about this. You’re right, of course. It isn’t on. Still, on the bright-side at least we have a lead to pursue. Find those films, Tom, and get the chief constable off my back would you?’ The window was raised and the Jaguar eased away.

*

As Romney entered the building a uniformed officer behind the counter called him over and delivered the message that Hugo Crawford had tried to get hold of him several times and would be most grateful if the Inspector could return his call at his earliest convenience. Romney took the hand-written message, crumpled it into a ball and threw it in the bin without reading it.

‘Why are you here?’ said Romney, on finding Grimes and Spicer drinking coffee at their desks. ‘Shouldn’t you be interrogating whichever arsehole at Dover Today wrote that article?’

‘I rang them, gov,’ said Grimes, ‘but Claire Wright isn’t going to be in the office until late morning apparently.’

Romney made a face of exasperation. ‘So, find out where she lives, get round there a
nd bring her in for questioning if she won’t tell you what we need to know. We are investigating a serious bloody crime you know. What about Animal Rights Enforcers? What do we know about them?’

‘They must be a new outfit, gov. There’s nothing on an organisation of th
at name anywhere. Not even the Internet.’

‘Right, off you go then and don’t come back without good news or someone we can beat it out of.’

Grimes and Spicer scraped their chairs back on the flooring, gathered up their jackets and left. Laurel and Hardy was about right, thought Romney.

Marsh was working diligently at her desk. ‘How do you want to follow up the contact details for the women from Vitriol’s laptop, sir? You want me to phone them or call in person?’

Romney leant against her desk and blew out his cheeks. ‘Why do I pair those two together?’ Marsh looked to where Grimes and Spicer had just left and said nothing. ‘Let’s have a look at what you’ve got.’ She passed him a sheet of paper with the names, phone numbers and addresses of ten females. All were local to the area.

Romney glanced at it. ‘I thought you said that there were only six?’

‘There are only six involved in the filming, but in one of his computer files he had the names and contact details of ten. I can only hope that the six come from them. If they don’t then we’re a bit stuck, especially as he was such a gentleman and blurred their faces for the website.’ Romney was smiling now, his full attention was on what he was reading. ‘What is it, sir?’

‘Well, Sergeant. While it may not be true that all women are prostitutes
, there are two on this list who certainly are. I should know. I’ve arrested them for it.’

*

The front door of the small terraced property was opened by a woman who looked like she’d had to get out of bed to do so. She probably used to be quite attractive, thought Marsh. Maybe she still was with a bit of face paint and kinder lighting. She stood squinting into the sunlight and up at Romney, shielding her eyes with one hand while holding a faded bath-robe around her with the other. There were smoker’s lines around her lips giving her mouth a puckered definition. It aged her.

‘Hello,
Annie,’ said Romney. ‘Long time no see. How’s business?’

With trace of neither malice nor affectio
n, Annie Moses said, ‘Inspector Romney. If this is an official visit, you’re going to be disappointed.’

‘It is, but not what you might be thinking, Annie. Can we come in?’

The woman hesitated weighing up her rights and the trouble they might bring her. ‘Come on then,’ she said, standing back to open the door wide and admit them.

‘This is Detective Sergeant Marsh, by the way,’ said Romney. The women nodded at each other.

Annie Moses showed them through to a comfortable, small sitting room and they all sat.

‘I hope we haven’t called at an inconvenient time, Annie,’ said Romney, a ghost of amusement hovering around the corners of his mouth.