Close to the Bone (20 page)

The man on his knees screamed, wrenching himself from side to side, making the chains rattle. Close up on his face, wreathed in black smoke. . .

Zander waved a hand. ‘Can you pause it there, David? ’

On the screen, the burning man lurched to a complete halt, mouth open in a wide scream.

Standing at the front of the room, cadaverous David pulled out a laser pointer and ran a bright red dot around the man’s face. ‘Do you see it? ’

‘Yes, compositing really needs to be tighter. And can we lose the snot? It’s just a bit. . .’ He wiggled his fingers. ‘Too mucusy.’

Logan settled back into his seat. ‘It’s exactly the same set-up: kneeling, chained to a stake, tyre over his head and under his left arm.’

Zander frowned, pulling his chin in, making ripples across his wobbly throat. ‘The necklacing of Thomas Leis is a key scene. We’re being
very
faithful to the book here – the fans would have a fit if we changed it.’

‘It’s in the book? ’

‘
Pivotal
to our understanding of Mrs Shepherd’s character.’

Steel squinted down towards the front of the room.

The big gaunt man had produced a small plastic bag of something. He pulled what looked like a child’s finger from the bag and popped it into his mouth. Crunching.

Her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘David. . .? ’ Then she stood. ‘Holy crap in a handbag, it’s no’, is it? David
Insch
? ’ She cupped her hands around her mouth. ‘HOY, INSCHY? THAT YOU? ’

She was off her head. There was no way that was ex-DI Insch. Insch was the size of a barn: a six-foot-two perpetual-motion eating machine with anger-management issues.

David hauled his shoulders back, chest out, chin up – pulling a dangly fold of skin with it. ‘Detective Inspector Steel.’

There was no mistaking that withering, disappointed tone.

‘It
is
you! The boy Insch, as I live and fornicate. . .’ Her mouth hung open in a lopsided grin. ‘What the hell happened? You look like someone’s draped a deflated bouncy castle over a stepladder.’

‘Age hasn’t improved you any, has it? You still have the manners of a two-year-old.’

Zander clapped his hands. ‘Excellent. I’d forgotten you all knew each other. David, why don’t you sort out DCI Steel and DS McRae, and I’ll get back to work? ’

‘But—’

‘Time and principal photography waits for no man.’

Insch closed his eyes, massaged his temples, teeth bared between thin trembling lips. ‘Cool wet grass, cool wet grass. . .’

Nothing ever changed.

18

‘She broke in through there.’ Insch pointed at a window about six foot off the ground. A set of black bars were bolted over the opening, a ‘W
ET
P
AINT!!!
’ sign hanging beneath them.

Steel puckered her lips, looking up at the bars. ‘Nothing like bolting the stable door, eh? ’

Insch turned his back on her and marched off down the corridor, soured mouth working on another carrot stick. Strange seeing him walk like that, all rangy and long-limbed, instead of the lumbering mass he used to be.

Logan followed him. ‘So how long have you been with Crocodildo Productions? ’

‘I’m not: doesn’t exist any more. The props department is just down here.’

Steel scuttled up beside them. ‘What? No. Come on, that’s no’ funny!’

‘As Zander says: no one appreciates the art any more. What’s the point going to all that effort to create something beautifully written and acted and shot, when all anyone ever does is fast-forward to the sex? ’

‘But that’s the
good
bit!’

‘The final straw came when someone sent him a link to an illegal porn download site. They’d made a compilation of all the . . .
finale
shots from every one of his movies. All his effort and creativity reduced to
that
. No wonder he gave it up.’ Insch stopped in front of a door marked ‘D
EPARTMENT
O
F
V
ARIOUS
T
HINGS
’ and swiped his ID card through the reader fixed on the wall beside it. The little red light went green. He nodded towards a security camera mounted in the corner, with a clear field of view down the corridor. ‘We had all this fitted after the break-in. Insurance company insisted.’

Steel scratched at her right boob. ‘But he can’t give up, he was. . . It’s not right.’

Insch hauled open the door. ‘Of course, I’d always wanted to work in film, so when I bumped into Zander at the Rotary Club we got talking. He invited me onboard for Crocodildo’s last cinerotography project:
The Girl with the Dildo Tattoo
. We won twelve Woodies for that.’

Steel curled her top lip and backed off a couple of paces. ‘Eew. . .’

He scowled at her. Then dipped into his bag and produced another carrot stick. ‘I wasn’t
in
it, I was second unit director.’

‘Oh, thank God for that. The thought of you, in the nip, humping away at some poor woman. Flaps of skin flippity-flopping all over the shop. . .’ Shudder.

She had a point.

‘Have you finished? ’

A shrug. ‘Tell you, if I could bleach away the mental image, I would.’

Logan stepped through into the Department of Various Things, leaving them nipping at each other in the corridor. The props department was about the size of a school assembly room, laid out with racks and racks of costumes in neatly ordered rows on one side, and modular shelving units on the other, laden with various bits and pieces. Everything from standard lamps to swords, bibles to handguns, all marked with little cardboard tags.

He picked a Glock 9mm from the collection. Hauled back the slide, then clacked it back into place.

A voice at his shoulder: ‘Good, aren’t they? ’

Logan turned. ‘You just leave these lying around? ’

A little woman with big glasses smiled back at him, small fleshy lumps speckling her dimpled cheeks. She was wearing a T-shirt with ‘B
ECAUSE
P
ROP
M
ISTRESS
S
AYS
S
O
,
T
HAT’S
W
HY!
’ on it. ‘They’re using them this afternoon for three-seventy-one, if they get that far. Need a good clean first, checked for blockages – I’m not having a Brandon Lee on
my
watch, thank you very much. Otherwise they’re kept in the safe, with the ammunition and the firing pins.’

She dug into a shoulder bag and produced an iPad in an identical red leather cover to Excitable Jack, the film’s go-to guy. ‘The tags are all barcoded, they’re scanned when the guns are signed out and when they’re signed back in again.’ She held the pad up and pressed something. A click, then a bleep. She turned the screen to face Logan. It was a spreadsheet with names, dates, times, and scene numbers. ‘We’re very,
very
strict about it.’

‘So you’ve got a list of everything that’s gone missing? ’

That produced a small grimace. ‘Don’t get me started. I know this place looks like a junkshop, but every single thing in here has been
handpicked
for a set or a scene. And anything we couldn’t buy we’ve made, so replacing this stuff isn’t just a case of nipping down to Asda with a shopping list. When we started out we were way too trusting: cloaks, hats, props, daggers, medals. . . You name it, someone would nick it.’

She wandered over to another set of shelves, this one full of red leather notebooks. The bottom three shelves looked brand new, but the ones on the fourth were in varying stages of wear and tear. ‘These are always the favourites. You wouldn’t believe how many Dittay books we’ve had to make.’ She picked one up and handed it to him. ‘Started off tooling the designs on the leather by hand, but so many went missing we had to get a die made. Everyone wants a souvenir.’

Logan ran a finger over the intricate pattern of curlicues and swirls set into the cover. It was identical to the one he’d found in Agnes Garfield’s bedroom under the stairs. ‘Dittay books? ’

Insch’s deep, dark voice rumbled through the room. ‘Sixteenth century. They called the list of charges brought against people accused of witchcraft “dittays”. That’s what got you tried and burned at the stake.’

The prop mistress took the book from Logan’s hand and put it back on the rack. ‘All the Fingermen have to have at least one. They’re quite important to the plot.’

‘How many did Agnes Garfield get away with? ’

Another grimace. ‘Bad enough she took a couple of blanks, but she nabbed the main Rowan one too. Do you have any idea how much effort goes into making them look real and used? How many hours I spent, hunched over that bloody book, writing in all the dittays and sigils and notes. . .’

Insch folded his arms across his chest. Not as impressive a sight as it used to be, especially with the dangly bingo wings poking out from the sleeves of his polo shirt. ‘She’s lucky we didn’t press charges.’

DCI Steel slouched into the prop room, hands in her pockets, shoulders slumped. She pursed her lips, looked around. Sniffed. ‘Right: this is boring the arse off me. If no one’s shagging, we’re going.’

She swung around and stomped off, back down the corridor.

Insch stared after her. ‘You know, you could probably arrange some kind of accident. I’d give you an alibi: you were with me the whole time.’

‘Don’t tempt me.’

They followed her out of the prop room, Insch’s hand dipping into the bag of carrots every three or four steps, conveying another bright-orange stick into his mouth. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. ‘Is Rennie still. . .? ’

‘A pain in the backside? Yeah. He’s on a major whinge at the moment, because Steel keeps—’

A woman’s voice echoed down the corridor behind them. ‘David? ’

Insch froze. Then pulled on a smile. And turned. ‘Nichole! I’ve been reviewing yesterday’s rushes – the bath scene was terrific, you were great: such emotional intensity.’

Nichole Fyfe had taken off the leather frock coat, dark patches beneath her arms staining the red silk shirt. A ring of what looked like napkins poked out of her collar, presumably to keep her makeup off the fabric. Unlike Zander’s and Insch’s ID pass, hers hung around her neck on a bright orange lanyard with ‘A
CTOR
~ A
CTOR
~ A
CTOR
. . .’ picked out in black all along it.

She held up a copy of the script. Post-it notes stuck out of the edges like brightly coloured spines, the visible text covered in scrawled annotations and yellow highlighter pen. ‘I wanted to talk to you about three-eighty-two. Don’t you think Rowan should be more concerned about the inquisition team? Would she really go into the tower block without taking backup with her? I can’t emotionally connect with her decision-making here.’

There was a small pause, then Insch blinked. ‘I see where you’re coming from. . . But if she takes backup then we don’t get that sense of deep primordial threat when she finds Issobell Barroun’s body.’

‘But—’

‘And she doesn’t want Mrs Shepherd finding out, does she? If one of the team’s compromised, then everything becomes a lot more dangerous.’

A little frown pulled at the fake scar on her face. ‘So what you’re saying is: at this point, Rowan’s the only person Rowan can trust? She’s isolating herself and that emphasizes her core vulnerability. . . It’s a metaphor for her need to be loved. Yes, I can work with that. . .’ Then Nichole looked over and gifted Logan with a smile. ‘Sorry, I’m
such
a drama queen when it comes to getting the scene right.’ She hauled off a black leather glove and stuck out her hand. A network of shiny scar tissue traced its way across the skin of her wrist. ‘Nichole Fyfe.’

Logan took her hand – slightly damp – and shook it. ‘DI McRae. I used to work with . . . David.’ Still felt strange using his first name.

‘Right – Logan McRae. I’m sure David’s mentioned you.’ The smile got brighter for a second, then she picked at the fabric of her shirt, pulling it away from her armpits. ‘Sorry, been under the studio lights all day, I’m a mess. Anyway, it’s been great. I’m sure I’ll see you later.’ And she was gone, scribbling something down in the margins of her script.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Insch sagged, massaging his forehead with the fingers of one hand. ‘It’ll be worth it, it’ll be worth it. . .’ Deep breath. ‘Whatever happened to just turning up on time and knowing your lines? Now everyone’s a method-acting nutjob pain in the arse: “What’s my motivation, would my character
really
think that in this situation, what’s the emotional
heart
of the scene. . .?” Every bloody day.’

Another carrot stick disappeared. Then he turned and stalked back down the corridor.

Logan followed him. ‘Seems nice enough to me.’

‘You know we send her a car every morning? With a driver, a punnet of raspberries, and three bottles of Perrier. Has to be Perrier, any other brand and she flies off in a strop. It’s fizzy bloody water, not insulin. If she deigns to turn up at all. Four hours we were waiting for her this morning.
Four
hours.’

‘So fire her.’

Insch stopped and stared at him. ‘Don’t be stupid. She’s the best thing that ever happened to this film.’ He pulled out a carrot stick and pointed it at Logan like a magic wand. ‘She was still filming
In Death We Trust
when we cast her as Rowan. And soon as they stopped shooting, she dragged Morgan off to stay with a coven in the Midwest US so they could learn about witchcraft. She even learned to smoke a pipe for the role. We told her she didn’t have to – we’d fix it in post-production – but she did it anyway.
That’s
how dedicated she is.’ The wand disappeared between his teeth. ‘Just because Nichole’s a nightmare to deal with, it doesn’t mean she’s not a great actress. Not just good:
great
.’

The fire door clunked shut behind them. Insch squinted in the sunshine as they stepped out onto sticky black tarmac. ‘So I finally managed to persuade Zander it was still possible to make an artistic statement, but he’d have to get away from cinerotography to do it. Let’s face it: the people watching porn are, by definition, a bunch of wankers. We needed a genre that would appreciate the work we put in.’