Death of a Showgirl by Tobias Jones Page B

The sub used to call up the victim and say, all cosy and friendly, “Look, I don’t want you to get into trouble, so I thought you should know we’ve got hold of this picture and we’re going to run it . . .” And the sub would let slip how much his magazine was going to pay for the snapshot and who was selling. So the victim, of course, got hold of Mori and offered more. And Mori would then split the sum with the sub. It was a decent scam. And even when he got rumbled he had enough dirt on enough people to persuade everyone to go easy on him. Look.’ He picked up a few photos at random. ‘He had the dirt on politicians, businessmen, magistrates, everyone. He was attracted to the dirt like a fly to the shit. It’s hardly surprising they all went easy on him when it came to court.’
    ‘When did all this happen?’
    ‘Huh,’ he threw his head back. ‘Long, long time ago.’
    ‘And then?’
    ‘I never heard of him again until this morning. All I know is I was told to come here and bring him in.’
    ‘By who?’
    He stared at me. ‘You ask too many questions.’
    I had a lot more I hadn’t asked him. Like whether there was a connection between him looking for Mori and me looking for Simona Biondi. It was the sort of coincidence that set me thinking. And if there was a connection, I needed to know what it was. My guess was that this thug was working for someone who was being blackmailed by Mori, and the Biondi girl was somehow involved. Maybe she had the dirt on someone too. Maybe she was the dirt.
    ‘Where do you reckon he’s heading?’ the man asked me. He looked lost, like the kind of man who wasn’t used to asking advice and felt a fool for doing so.
    ‘I expect he’s heading straight for the person who hired you.’
    He nodded to say that he understood.
    ‘You want to tell me who that is?’
    ‘He’s a very private man.’
    ‘You mean he’s got a hyperactive private life.’
    He smiled slightly, a leery kind of smile. ‘Yeah, he likes his private life.’
    ‘And what were you supposed to do when you found Mori?’
    ‘Bring him in.’
    It was the kind of phrase that could cover a range of solutions.
    I went over to the kitchen corner and found a large pan. I threw some of the rags from the chest in it.
    ‘Give me your lighter,’ I said.
    ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘Give.’
    He passed over a heavy silver lighter. The flame was high and the rags took quickly. I began feeding in the photos, one after the other. Images of bare flesh wrinkled and turned black. Moments of passion turned into ashes. It stank bad, but it felt good.
    ‘What are you doing?’ he said again. ‘That stuff is worth a fortune.’
    ‘You want to go into the same game as Mori?’
    ‘I’d play it better.’ He picked up one of the snaps and turned it sideways. ‘Look, that guy’s in parliament. Think what he would pay you to do what you’re doing now.’
    ‘I like doing it for free.’
    He threw it in the pan with the others. ‘Just seems like a waste, that’s all. There are more secrets here than in the Vatican.’
    I looked at each snap as I threw it into the fire. The photos kept curling black as they burnt to nothing.
    ‘It’s been a pleasure,’ I said to the man. ‘See you around.’
    ‘Where you going? Where’s Mori?’
    ‘I’ve no idea. I’m not looking for him. I’m after Simona Biondi.’ I walked off and squeezed back out of the broken window. The campsite was the same as before, only busier. I could see people in flip-flops heading off to the beach. The sun was up high and there were tiny lizards darting between the stones. I could smell a rich sauce that someone was already simmering for lunch. I realised I hadn’t eaten for a long time and could feel my stomach tightening around nothing. I got in the car and went to look for some food.

  
     
     
    I made a few phone calls as I sat in the restaurant waiting for the bill. It was one of those places that looked down at heel, but only