Joint Enterprise (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 3) (9 page)

‘Now, Rupert, what I want to see is you looking a combination of furtive, guilty and aroused
, as you run your eyes and hands over the flanks of the sheep. I want to feel your sexual tension, your sexual frustration. I want to understand your lust and your irrepressible desire to join with one of these lucky creatures. I want to believe in you, Rupert. Talk to them. Caress them. I want to know that you know that what you are about to do is wrong. It’s against God, against morality and the law. You’ll surely swing for it if you’re caught, but you can’t fight it. Understand me? You must have her.’ Rupert nodded, his fierce concentration clouding his thoughtful and handsome face.

And all Marsh could think was don’t do it, Rupert. You might be an actor; it might be just a job, just a part to play; you might need the money, but don’t do it, Rupert. You are surely destined for
greater things, higher things, Hollywood even. You will never live down the reputation and the sniping that you were desperate enough – financially or sexually – to rut with something on four legs. People will never forget it and they will never let you forget it. You are a fine and successful actor with a bright shining future. Don’t throw it all away on a whim, or an artistic statement. It’s what they would all remember you for. Surely you don’t need to stoop to this, or that ewe. Look what happened to Charlton Heston after he French-kissed a monkey making
Planet of the Apes
.

To illustrate a point he was making, Crawford, clearly no stranger to farm animals, got himself behind a fat ewe, grabbed two handfuls of its thick fleece, bent himself at the knees and to the obvious and vocal protestations of the animal in question proceeded to simulate an act of the most base and sordid depravity. In doing so, Crawford indicated a strength that few would have associated with his frame.

Marsh forced herself to look away. She looked at the members of the film crew and saw only professionalism etched into their features. She looked at the faces of the animals and saw only concern racking theirs. And she looked at Romney’s face to find him grinning from ear to ear, his school boy mentality conquering all. Maybe he hadn’t grown up after all. Clearly, he just couldn’t believe his luck. Marsh actually feared that he was going to laugh out loud and start pointing.

There was a cry from Hugo Crawford and he leapt back from the creature with whom he had been simulating copulation. The animal
, clearly disturbed by the director’s attentions, had voided its bowels and its bladder in response and defence of its virtue. Crawford swore and someone rushed to him with a towel. He fussed at his trousers for a moment and then looking around the assembled throng for someone spied the police. It clearly didn’t please him.

‘Get set everyone,’ he called. ‘We’ll be going in five.’ He strode over to where Romney and Marsh stood, while everyone else involved themselves in their duties behind him. ‘What do you want, Inspector?’ He was glowering, no doubt expecting some smart remark. Romney didn’t disappoint him.

‘I can see you’re a busy man, Mr Crawford,’ said Romney politely. ‘When they said that you were working on an interior scene I didn’t quite understand exactly what they meant.’ He obviously liked this little attempt at humour enough to run it out again. He went on quickly. ‘Just a couple of questions about last night when you’ve got a minute.’

Crawford regarded him coldly. ‘A minute? I have one minute now. Ask what you need to and then I would be happy if you would leave. I have work to do.’

‘You look very comfortable with the ewe there. Did you grow up on a farm?’

Oh no, thought, Marsh. Please don’t.

‘I beg your pardon. What has that got to do with anything that happened yesterday?’

‘Just making conversation, Mr Crawford. Showing an interest in what you’re doing here.’

‘Will you just ask your questions, please?’

Romney affected hurt. ‘Who stands to gain if this project is ruined? If it’s, let’s say, sabotaged beyond recovery? If it can’t be finished?’

Now, Crawford looked completely bewildered. ‘What are you driving at? No one would stand to gain. Everything would be lost.’

‘What I mean is, is a production like this insured? Does insurance get taken out by a production company so that in the event they pour hundreds of thousands, if not millions of pounds, into a project and it, for whatever reason, cannot get finished, then they are insured against their losses.’

The question left Marsh and Crawford equally stunned. It was so unexpected, so left-field as to be almost out of bounds.

When Crawford had recovered himself he said, ‘Do you mind telling me what you are driving at, Inspector?’

‘Mr Crawford, our investigation must consider all aspects of an enquiry. I’m merely wondering if it would be in anyone’s interest to have this project halted in its tracks for whatever reason. It’s an avenue I feel we must consider if only so we can rule it out.’

‘Of course we are insured,’ said Crawford. The irritation in his tone had been replaced by something more reasonable.

‘Thank you. That answers that. Being a director is all about reputation, am I right? Churn out a duffer or two and it might be difficult to get further commissions, yes?’

‘That’s one way of looking at it. Is it relevant to the here and now, or are you just making conversation again?’

‘It could be. Last question: as the director would it be fair to say that reputation wise you have the most to win or lose on a filming project?’

‘That could be argued, why?’

‘Well, if you had an enemy, someone who harboured a professional jealousy, a rival in the industry, or even on the set, who wanted to see you come unstuck – throw a spanner in the works of your career – then sabotaging your project would accomplish that, wouldn’t it? It could certainly do harm?’

‘Yes. It could certainly do harm. But I don’t have those kinds of jealous rivals. And as I tried to explain to you last night
, everyone working on this set is focussed towards one end and one end only – making the best film we can together.’

‘Bear it in mind though, eh?’

A young girl clipboard in hand shuffled over. ‘I’ve been asked to let you know that the sheep are getting restless, Hugo,’ she said.

‘Restless or nervous,’ said Romney, flashing her a smile that was not returned. ‘You should have got them from Wales. I understand that they would find this sort of thing much more normal.’ No one laughed. ‘Right thank you. That all helps a lot. Sorry to have been a nuisance.’

Crawford turned to leave. He hadn’t said goodbye.

‘Oh. One last thing, Mr Crawford,’ called Romney, after his back.

Crawford stopped in his tracks and made a show of taking a deep breath before turning back to face them. ‘Where did you learn your policing skills, Inspector, watching Columbo?’

Marsh thought that was rather good. Romney ignored it. ‘Had any bother with animal rights protestors? They can be a bit funny about this sort of thing.’

‘It’s a film, Inspector,’ said Crawford, irritably. ‘Everything is simulated. No one is actually going to fuck the animals.’ The set went very quiet. Even the livestock appeared to be listening, pleased or disappointed at the news.

‘I’m sure that will be a big relief to all God’s creatures, Mr Crawford.’

Crawford walked away. Romney spied a man standing off to the side dressed in the uniform of the period and looking nervous. He led Marsh over to him. ‘What’s your part, soldier? Sloppy seconds?’

‘Eh? No. I’m Rupert’s stunt bum.’ The man delivered this line as though it were something to be proud of.

‘Pardon.’

‘When the time comes for Rupert to drop his trousers they substitute me for him.’ It was an earnestly serious reply. Someone else taking their art beyond their sense of humour, or reality.

‘What do they pay you for that?’

‘A hundred and forty-five a day.’

‘Just for showing your backside.’ The man nodded smiling. ‘We’re in the wrong business, Sergeant,’ said Romney looking saddened. ‘Well I hope you’ve had your jabs and you’ve got your tackle well insured lad. A sheep’ll give you a nasty nip. I hope for your sake you don’t end the day feeling you sold out cheap. And I do have to caution you that the RSPCA are present and they’re reporting directly to us in the event that anyone, shall we say, gets carried away in the heat of the moment. Make myself clear? No inappropriate touching with any part of yourself.’ Romney tapped the side of his nose with his index finger and walked off. Marsh noticed that the young man was not smiling now. In fact he looked rather worried.

There were two RSPCA officers present. Romney told Marsh to wait for him and then went across to where they were watching over the treatment of the livestock with a keen and professional eye. Romney knew them both. After they had shaken hands he leant in and whispered something that made them both burst out in loud guffaws of laughter. Several of the film crew looked round in irritation. Marsh looked over to see Rupert’s stunt-bum staring in their direction. Romney saw him too and made a show of pointing first to the RSPCA officers, then indicating both of his own eyes with his index and middle fingers and then pointing at the stunt-bum. Romney spoke again to the men quietly and then handed one of them his card, patted him on his back and led the way out.

Romney seemed pleased with himself, as they left the castle grounds. He’d been in and spread his mischief; sowed his seeds of discontent and doubt and upset a few people. The way he was acting these days Marsh wouldn’t be surprised if he began to whistle a tune.

***

5

‘What was all that about insurance, sir?’ said Marsh. She was unconvinced of her DI’s motives for the visit and feeling the need and the right to understand more about what he was playing at, especially if he was using her in an unwitting supporting role in his mischief making.

Romney had wedged himself back in the corner of the front passenger seat and the further they drove, the more he fidgeted with his position. ‘I did some checking last night. It is very unusual for a film company on location to go for a local security firm to protect their interests. There really is often too much at stake to risk on some unknown cowboy outfit that parochial security firms often are. There are dozens of companies within the industry itself that specialise in and have experience of that sort of thing. Professionals. It just made me wonder why Crawford, or whoever decides these things, chose a tin-pot setup like Samson Security.’

Marsh had to concede that perhaps the DI had a point at last. ‘Why didn’t you ask Hugo Crawford about it today, then?’

‘It’s not too important to me, or to the investigation, at the moment and I need to keep something back so I have a good reason to go and see him again.’

‘Why do you need that, sir?’ Her suspicions were shuffling back in.

‘Never mind,’ said Romney. He had already decided he was going to make Crawford minor’s time in Dover as unpleasant as he possibly could and he wasn’t intending to share his plans with someone who had clearly been taken in by the poseur.

Eventually, they left the main carriage-way and followed the signs to Parkwood Industrial Estate where
Everything Army
had their premises. The small business was wedged in between a work-clothing wholesaler and a vacant building advertising competitive rates and a large storage area. They parked in front of the little office and wandered through the gaping opening next to it to stand on the threshold of the warehouse.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Romney, as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom of the interior. ‘You could kit out a small army with this lot.’

In front of them stretched out racks and racks of neatly arranged and labelled equipment: hardware, clothing, accessories, everything except weapons that might be needed by a military force. As they stood taking it all in, a small bespectacled man, not in uniform, strode over to intercept them.

‘Can I help you?’ he said, a little stiffly. Romney and Marsh showed their identification and he relaxed. ‘Sorry. Let me start again. Good morning. I’m Gordon Glazier.’ They all shook hands. ‘It was me you spoke to this morning
, Sergeant Marsh. Follow me through to the office would you and I’ll give you the information you’re after.’

As he led them back the way they had come Romney
, still clearly mesmerized, said, ‘Where did you get all this stuff?’

‘Army surplus auctions. MOD clearouts. We’ve bought up a couple of competitors stock too in the last few years. As you can imagine, it’s a niche market and you don’t get business every day. Mind you, when you do some of it can be very good.’

‘Such as?’ said Romney, genuinely interested.

‘For example they’ll be a series on the telly in the spring about the training of raw army recruits. We supplied the production company with a lot of what they needed of a military nature. It was a very good and timely project for us.

‘And what about the older uniforms?’

‘Like I said, buying out the stock and catalogues of competitors who couldn’t survive. We’ve been going a long time too and had a decent amount of stock ourselves. I realised one day that I had a decision to make – either pack it in and sell off everything or go for broke and throw everything I had into it.’