A pinch of snuff

'Of course not. The whole thing is a male fantasy, you noticed that, surely? The young husband and the wicked lord are, in fact, the same person. The husband in the end does not rescue the girl; he merely offers her a different form of victimization.'

'That's a fairly cynical view of human relationships,' said Pascoe.

'Then it's one that should recommend itself to you,' answered Toms. 'Cynicism is the basis of law, otherwise why should compassion need to be the better part of justice?'

'Gobbledegook,' said Pascoe with some force.

'Come now. Let us restrict ourselves to matters sexual. A woman comes to your station saying she has been attacked by a man. How do you and your colleagues react? You investigate the man because you believe any man capable of sexually assaulting a woman. You investigate the woman because you believe any woman capable of sexually provoking a man. At the conclusion of your investigations you apportion blame, you don't establish innocence. Am I right? Or am I right?'

Pascoe found himself taking a hearty dislike to Gerry Toms, not so much because of his undergraduate debating manner as because of the impression he gave of intellectual condescension. He quite clearly believed that it needed very little effort on his part to leave a poor policeman floundering in his wake.

'All that's as may be, sir,' he said heavily. 'I can't say I agree with what you say, though I'm not sure I've picked you up right. Any road, what I want to ask you now is about that scene in the film where the young lady gets beaten up.'

'Yes?'

'It's been suggested that at one point in that scene, the young lady really is being beaten up. What do you say to that?'

'I say, how incredible! At which point?'

'When the gent with the metal boxing gloves clips her jaw, sir.' Pascoe watched Toms closely. Having opted to play out the role of dull policeman, he hoped that Toms might be tempted to overact in his desire to impress his stolid audience, but the man merely shook his head.

'And at that point only?' he said. 'But why? Our actresses may not be Royal Shakespeare stuff, but they bleed and bruise just as easily and like it just as little. It's all done with tomato ketchup, Inspector, didn't you know?'

'The suggestion was made, sir, and by someone with claims to expertise,' said Pascoe steadfastly.

'A wife-beater, perhaps? Have you not seen the actress concerned? Linda Abbott, I think it was. Did she have any complaints? Or bruises?'

'None.'

'So what is this all about?' cried Toms, moving now across the thin line which divides the academic from the histrionic.

'It's also been suggested that for this scene there was another actress in the role,' said Pascoe.

'What? By another expert?'

'In a manner of speaking,' said Pascoe, thinking of Ellie standing on the doorstep that morning.

'You'd better change your experts, Inspector,' said Toms, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose with a nicotine-stained forefinger. 'There was only one woman in that part. Ask anyone who worked on the film.'

'I notice you don't suggest looking at the film itself,' said Pascoe.

'Why not? Look away!' said Toms. 'I'll sit and look with you.'

'You have a print of the film, sir?' asked Pascoe.

'I think not. They'll all be out, I expect.'

'All?'

'We usually make a couple of prints, sometimes three. It depends on the kind of demand we envisage.'

'And in this case?'

For the first time the shadow of a smile appeared on Gerry Toms's face.

'Two only, I think. You see, I'm realistic. This kind of social allegory isn't altogether what the modern cineaste is looking for. Yes, there were two, I now recall. But only one survives. I remember there was some trouble, a consignment went astray at our distributors. It sank without a trace. It's the kind of people one has to employ these days. So the only surviving print is the one you must have seen. Presumably it's moved on elsewhere now. Never fear. It will be easy to catch it up.'

'Not too easy, sir,' said Pascoe. 'I'm afraid that's gone too. There was a fire at the Calliope Kinema Club where it was showing. Perhaps you heard about it?'

'No, I didn't. Good lord, that means, unless the last copy surfaces, it's goodbye Droit de Seigneur. Or perhaps I should say Adieu.'

'You don't seem worried,' said Pascoe.

'Why should I be? A film director writes on water, Inspector. And besides, that period of my life is dead. Now I'm into escapism. Symbolic romance.'

'Elinor Glyn?' enquired Pascoe.

'What? Oh, I see,' said Toms glancing at the tiger skin rug and nodding approvingly, as at a sharp pupil. 'No, but nearly right. We're doing a little squib loosely based on the tales of Baroness Orczy. It's about a group of noble ladies who are smuggled out of the shadow of the guillotine disguised as filles de joie in a travelling brothel. We're calling it The Scarlet Pimp.'

'Oh God,' said Pascoe.

'Oh Montreal,' said Toms. 'Is that all, Inspector?'

'Just a couple of other points. What time did you get back on Friday?'

'Oh, I don't know. Ten, eleven p.m.'

Pascoe did a couple of quick calculations.

'Did anyone see you when you arrived, sir?'

'What? Of course they did. I'm not invisible, you know. Customs men, taxi-driver, hotel receptionist. Am I establishing some kind of alibi?'

'I meant, did anyone see you when you got back to Harrogate?'

Toms began to smile.

'I'm with you, I think. You've misunderstood me, Inspector. It's true I should have been back in Harrogate early Friday evening. But we got held up. Barcelona was absolutely fog-bound. It was London I reached on Friday night. I didn't get back to Harrogate till Saturday lunchtime.'

The door opened and Penelope Latimer came in.

'Generator's arrived, darling.'

'Great,' said Toms. 'Any way I can help, Inspector, you've just got to ask. Will you excuse me?'

He left. Pascoe smiled to the woman and said casually, 'Mr Toms was telling me he got held up in Spain.'

'Yes. Bloody nuisance. We lost a day. Should have started this lot on Saturday, you know.'

'Where is it he stays in London? I meant to ask.'

'The Candida,' she said. 'I think he'd be there. Yes, he definitely was. Their switchboard girl put him through to me when he rang.'

'He rang? Why?'

'To say he was delayed, of course. What's all this about, Peter?'

'Nothing. Nothing,' said Pascoe. 'Interesting ideas your partner has, though.'

'You think so? He sees himself as the poor man's Warhol. Or do I mean the rich man's Warhol? But he's certainly got what it takes for this business.'

'Talent, you mean?' said Pascoe.

Penelope laughed her joyous laugh.

'Talent! Gerry could stick his talent between the cheeks of his tight little arse and it would fall out when he stood up. No. He knows which way to point a camera, and up from down, but his real asset is face. Sheer bloody effrontery. He got this place for us from old Lady Campsall. There was a bit of bother when her agent latched on to what kind of outfit we were, so Gerry went along and saw her. "Ma'am," he said. "What we are making are vulgar films for vulgar people. It's a new form of peasant taxation, and as such, you owe it your keenest support." She bought it. That's Gerry's real talent. Not film-making, but getting out of jams when they occur, which in this business is every two minutes. I know a dozen guys could make a better film than Gerry with one eye closed, but they couldn't get it put together within a time limit if the leading actor had a hernia, the banks foreclosed and a drunken lab-assistant peed in the hypo tank. Gerry could, would, and has done.'

'I begin to see his value,' said Pascoe. 'You said he owned a third of the company.'

'Did I?'