Merely Players (6 page)

Chief Superintendent Thomas Bulstrode Tucker sat behind the biggest desk in the station, in the same model of round-backed leather chair as that afforded to the Chief Constable. He was better fitted for the trappings of power than the exercise of it, in Peach's view. But even Percy would have had to admit that he was hardly an unbiased witness. Tucker now glared at his junior over the rimless glasses he had recently adopted and said, ‘What is it now, Peach? I'm very busy.'

It was a Pavlovian reaction to his arrival, thought Percy, sourly surveying the vast yardage of empty desk surface. Tommy Bloody Tucker was always very busy. A cynic would have said that his busyness had accelerated alongside his inefficiency over the years, as he had become ever more remote from the crime-face. But Peach wasn't a cynic: ‘realist' he would have accepted, but not cynic. He said with immense patience, ‘It wasn't my idea to come up here, sir. You sent for me.'

‘Did I? Ah, yes, Percy. Things to discuss, you see. I like to keep my right-hand man fully in the picture, don't I?'

Percy took this as a rhetorical question and afforded it a guarded smile. He didn't like it when Tucker used his forename; it usually meant some particularly tedious or tricky assignment was coming his way. ‘Trouble in the offing, is there, sir?'

‘Trouble? Why no, not at all. On the contrary, I'm always glad when we reach this date in the year. You should try to present a more cheerful face to the world yourself, Percy. Gives the public confidence in the service we offer them, a cheerful face does.'

‘Yes, sir. What is the significance of the date, then?'

Tucker leaned forward confidentially. ‘Well, Percy, it marks another landmark in my service. I now have less than two years to go to retirement.'

‘I'm very pleased for you, sir.'

‘I don't mind admitting to you that it will be a happy day when it comes.'

‘I'm sure everyone in the CID section will rejoice with you,' said Peach inscrutably.

Tucker looked at him keenly for a moment, then belatedly remembered why he had called him to enter the rarefied air of this sanctum. ‘Meanwhile, we have things to do, Percy.'

‘Indeed we have, sir. Crime never sleeps, as your perpetual vigilance reminds us.'

‘That is so. You and I, though, have to take a wider view of things, as senior men. We must never be sanguine, but I think it is fair to say that at the moment we have no really serious cases on our patch.'

‘But we know not the time or the place, sir,' Peach reminded him gnomically.

‘And in the absence of complicated investigations—'

‘We are involved in a complex search for the roots of terrorism. The Home Secretary thinks that is about as serious as it can get,' said Percy desperately. He sensed from long experience that Tommy Bloody Tucker was lining up some tricky assignment for him.

‘And are you personally involved in this search?' The question showed an unusual perspicacity; it thus took Peach by surprise.

‘Well, no, sir. Not directly. A specialist unit has been set up to investigate the militant Muslim element in our Asian population. I have a tenuous connection, in that DS Peach has been drafted into that unit.'

‘DS Peach?'

‘My wife, sir. The former DS Lucy Blake, whom you assigned to me as my detective sergeant some years ago.'

‘Ah, yes. I trust the married state is everything you expected it to be?'

‘Everything and more, sir.' Percy cast his eyes ecstatically to the ceiling for a moment, hoping thus to suggest the bedroom bliss which was surely denied to his chief with the formidable partner Percy had christened Brunhilde Barbara. ‘I miss her at my side during the daily grind, but we can of course no longer work together.'

Tucker had allocated a female sergeant to this most masculine of men as a punishment. The move had gone spectacularly amiss. He said tetchily, ‘This is all very well, but I'm afraid I haven't time for gossip. It is time to think of the community and our part in it. The modern police force does not exist in a vacuum.'

It was one of his favourite phrases over the last year, and one of his most meaningless. Peach could see now where this was going. He said heavily, ‘You're good at public relations work, sir. It's one of your strengths. It was never one of mine.'

‘Then you must make it so, Percy. You must address your weaknesses.'

Still his forename. There was a shitty job coming up, for sure. ‘I pride myself on collaring criminals, sir. Whereas – well, you're good at public relations.'

‘We have been asked to speak to our Asian community – to build on our already good relationship with them. I want you at my side on the platform. I shall deal with the general questions, you will provide practical examples of how good policing is helping these people, even though I find some of them are suspicious and uncooperative. This will be valuable experience for you.'

In other words, you'll deliver the general, meaningless platitudes, but if we collect any tricky questions about discrimination, they'll be passed to me. ‘This isn't one of my strengths, sir.'

‘Then it damn well ought to be! I'm acting on the chief constable's instructions here, Peach. If necessary, this will become an order.'

At least ‘Percy' had disappeared, now that the cards were on the table. He said heavily, ‘In that case, I shall put my limited talents at your disposal, sir.'

It was a view of the great northern city that would not have been possible thirty years ago, when the rows of tightly terraced houses which had given
Coronation Street
its setting were still being demolished.

From the fourteenth floor of this new block, Adam Cassidy now looked out over the new Manchester. The spectacular stainless steel and glass of the Lowry Art Gallery glinted in the soft autumn sunlight, with the water of the ship canal setting it off on two sides. On the other side of the slim arc of the lifting footbridge, the newly completed Imperial War Museum North rose impressively, moving the eye on to that arena of more peaceful contests, the football ground at Old Trafford. The Theatre of Dreams, the publicity boys had labelled it. Well, Adam Cassidy was here today to further his dreams.

The man who stood behind his shoulder as he looked out at all this did not hurry him. Accommodation in this spectacular high-rise building had been expensive to acquire and he now paid plenty in council tax for an office suite with this impressive view. So let it do its work and impress his visitor. He hadn't met Adam Cassidy before; two brief phone conversations had been the extent of their previous communication. The actor was a little older and a little shorter than he had expected, but that was usual when you met men who had acquired a degree of glamour. He waited until Cassidy turned away from the big window, then gestured towards the armchair and took the one opposite it for himself.

Mark Gilbey wore an expensive lightweight suit and a silk tie. His features were tanned so deeply that he might have been from the Middle East. He had small, neat features, of which the most remarkable were his deep-set, dark-brown eyes, which gave the impression of continually seeing more than the actual scene in front of him. He wore a small gold earring, which was easily removable for those of his clients who preferred a more conservative appearance. His visitor had refused tea but accepted a dry sherry, in which Mark had joined him. He sipped from his glass and waited for his visitor to take the initiative; most show business people liked to feel that they were controlling things. He would keep his eye on Cassidy's sherry during this exchange, replenishing it if necessary. It was always good to know from the outset if a client was a drinker.

Adam sat back and appeared at ease. An actor could always simulate relaxation, even if he did not feel it. He said, ‘I must make it clear from the beginning that anything we say to each other this afternoon must be completely confidential.'

Gilbey offered his most knowing smile, the one that said that already they had an understanding, that they appreciated each other and their respective needs. ‘That goes without saying. It is my normal practice. Anything disclosed to the media will normally be on my client's initiative, not mine.'

‘You should understand that I am under contract to another agent at the moment.'

‘Most people who come to us currently have other agents. That is because we do not need to take on people who are not already successful.' An easy, confident smile. Let the prospective customer know that you do not need to grovel for trade. Tell Cassidy that whilst you might welcome his custom, it will not be the end of the world for you if he doesn't sign up.

‘I would need to be convinced that you can offer me wider prospects, that you can secure the kind of work I envisage for myself in the next few years.'

‘I look forward to convincing you, Mr Cassidy.'

‘I want film work.'

The usual story. Get yourself a television success and move on to Hollywood and world glory. It was understandable enough, considering the obscene sums still volunteered to stars by film moguls. And this man had possibilities. Others before him had moved on from television leads in adventure hokum to James Bond; if Roger Moore could do it, there was certainly hope for Adam Cassidy. The kind of popular success he was enjoying in television was surprisingly easy to sell to Hollywood, now that such series were sold around the world. Mark Gilbey noted down a few details of Cassidy's career to date. He already had most of this on the profile his PA had prepared for him, but it was always interesting to hear how actors saw themselves.

Gilbey pursed his lips, then delivered his prepared speech. ‘You're seeking to move into a very competitive world, as you no doubt appreciate. But in your case I consider it is a realistic aspiration; you've done the spadework with your Alec Dawson series. We have good contacts both here and in America. I suggest I conduct some exploratory work on your behalf and then come back to you. You will need to sever your ties with your present agent to facilitate this process.'

‘That seems a sensible approach.'

‘There will be no fee at this stage. If we eventually secure you an acceptable offer, I would expect you to sign up with the agency at that point.'

‘That is eminently acceptable.' Adam found himself trying to use phrases Gilbey might have used to him. It was always a temptation for an actor; sometimes the last person you wanted to present was yourself.

‘This preliminary procedure will probably take a week to ten days. May I ring you then at the number you gave me?'

‘Yes. And only at that number, please. It is my home number. But I would prefer that you spoke only to me about this.'

‘Good. That is understood.' Gilbey made a final note and stood up. ‘I look forward to doing business with you, Mr Cassidy. And I hope ours will be a long association.'

Adam tried to control his elation as the lift bore him back to earth. He had at that moment no knowledge of how long this new association would last.

FIVE

A
dam Cassidy had secured his first small role after leaving drama school in 1990 in a revival of
An Inspector Calls
. The lead part had been played by Dean Morley.

Dean was only five years older than Adam and he had taken the raw young actor under his wing. He had helped him with the delivery of his lines. At Adam's request, he had taken him through his one major speech in private, showing him how he could make a greater impact if he could make himself take it more slowly. You could give greater impact to ordinary phrases if you delivered them after a pause, could make dialogue seem better than it was if you made it important to yourself. They must have talked about such things at drama school, though Adam couldn't remember it. In any case, this was the first practical application of it for him. He had learned the lesson eagerly at the time, and found it still useful with the occasionally stilted dialogue of the
Call Alec Dawson
series.

Dean had continued to help Adam in his first few years in the business, putting in a mention for him with casting directors, recommending him to the agent who secured him a tiny part in a low-budget British film, and, most important of all, using a contact to get the eager young man his first small speaking roles in television. It was not entirely altruistic, of course: few things are in a cut-throat and overcrowded profession. Morley realized that a young man with Cassidy's looks and common sense might make progress, and eventually be able to reciprocate these favours.

More immediately, the twenty-two-year-old Adam Cassidy was a young Adonis and Dean Morley was homosexual. He was not one of the prancing queers more common in fiction than in fact. He was never aggressive and always discreet. Nor was he stupid; he saw Adam giving attention to the young women who were always at hand in green rooms and could not ignore it. But there was always a chance that he might be bisexual; there were many precedents for that, in a business which seemed to redistribute hormones copiously and ambiguously. Dean Morley was an optimist.

He was also well used to refusals. When Adam decisively rejected his advances, he shrugged his shoulders and got on with the acting life. There were always other possibilities and Dean exploited them cheerfully. Life wasn't to be taken too seriously, he told everyone. He maintained a boisterous exterior and trusted that no one would see the quiet desperation which besets the lives of all men.

In any case, his early kindnesses to Adam Cassidy were certainly not wasted. As the younger man's television successes rapidly surpassed those of Morley, he remembered those early days. Dean found that a succession of supporting roles came his way as a result of the rising star's recommendations. He was forty-seven now, and he found he was increasingly playing villains and character parts, but that did not matter. Dean had seen too much of the business to worry about the roles which came his way; the important thing was to keep working, which he generally did. A well-known television face could always secure theatre work.