Craig Russell - The Deep Dark Sleep

‘I think you’ll see that we are in a very delicate and very serious situation here …’

I took the envelope and braced myself before slipping out the photographs.

‘My God …’ I said, not enough under my breath for Fraser not to hear.

‘Indeed …’ Fraser’s voice was filled with malicious satisfaction. ‘I was very impressed with your cynical seen-it-all attitude, Mr Lennox, but I see it has its limits. I take it you recognize who is in the photographs with Mr Macready?’

I stared at the photographs. For a moment, I found it difficult to take it all in. The young, bent-over gentleman beneath Macready in the photograph was clearly not having the same trouble.

‘I don’t follow the society pages but yes, of course I recognize him. That is the Duke of Strathlorne’s only son and heir, isn’t it? I’m guessing that’s one noble lineage that’s run its course …’ I glanced through the photographs as quickly as I could. Not quickly enough to stop me feeling queasy. ‘Blackmail?’ I asked eventually.

‘Yes. Or, in effect, yes. The person making the demands is not concealing his identity and is taking the utmost care to word things in a way that cannot be seen as a threat. And he is claiming that it is in the public interest that these photographs be made public.’

‘Unless someone buys them from him?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I don’t see Picturegoer or Everybody’s running this little tableau with the headline “Hollywood Star Penetrates High Society’s Inner Circle.” The other … party in the photographs … surely he would have more to lose. Why isn’t he the one being blackmailed?’

‘The other party , as you put it, and his people , are unaware of the existence of these photographs. As yet. I think you can understand that the repercussions would be profound. And they have the power to ensure that no suggestion of this appears in the British press. But the American media would have a field day. I’m sure I don’t have to point out to you that buggery and gross indecency are serious crimes. It would take a lot of nerve to blackmail a member of the Royal Family, even a peripheral member.’

Fraser scooped up the photographs from the desk and placed them back in the envelope.

‘You understand, Mr Lennox, that you now have knowledge that very few people will ever be allowed to have. If you tell anyone what you have seen, I will rigorously deny the existence of the photographs — which, I assure you, will no longer be in this office — and, given the status of the other party in the photographs, you will attract the attention of individuals and organizations infinitely more dangerous than your current associations.’

It was the most long-winded threat I’d ever been subject to. But it was effective.

‘Maybe I don’t want to become involved,’ I said. Truth was I wasn’t sure that I did. ‘This is more than a little out of my league.’

‘I quite understand why you may feel that. I have been authorized to make a payment of fifty pounds to you, should you decide against taking this assignment. In return, I will require you to sign a declaration that you will not discuss anything that has passed between us today.’

‘Fifty pounds?’ I grinned. ‘Please feel free to ‘phone me any time you have a job for me to refuse.’

‘If you take the assignment, however, I am also authorized to make a cash payment of one thousand pounds to you, with the understanding that another four thousand will be paid to you on recovery of the negatives. And we really would appreciate your professional help with this matter, Mr Lennox.’

I blew another of those long, low whistles that large sums of cash seem to elicit from me. ‘Five thousand ? I don’t get it. Wouldn’t you be cheaper paying the blackmailer off?’

‘Do you really think that the ransom asked for these images is anywhere near five thousand pounds? These photographs could command heaven knows how much on the open market. And, of course, a blackmailer is a blackmailer, no matter how he couches it. I would not for a moment imagine that we would hear the last of it if we meet his initial demands. But even if no further demands were made, we could not be guaranteed that all copies and negatives had been destroyed. What we are paying you to do, Mr Lennox, is to hand over the money, secure the negatives and make sure all copies, other than those I have here, are destroyed.’

‘And the blackmailer?’

‘Quite frankly, Mr Lennox, we would wish the person responsible for these photographs to be made fully and unequivocally aware of the seriousness of our intent.’

‘I see.’ Fraser’s halo of rectitude was slipping: it looked like I was going to have to polish my sap after all. ‘I don’t know what George Meldrum told you, Mr Fraser, but I am no hired thug. But I’m sure, given his other associations, that Mr Meldrum knows a great many people better qualified for that kind of work-’

Fraser held up a hand. ‘This is not a job for a thug, Mr Lennox. I am assured that you are an ex-officer and a man of some intelligence as well as … well, having a robust approach to your work. You have seen the photographs and understand the gravity of the situation. We need someone who can conduct themselves decisively but discreetly. Now, Mr Lennox, do I pay you fifty pounds or one thousand?’

I watched his forgettable face for a moment.

‘I have other work on at the moment. Other commitments.’

‘I expect you to forget about everything else until you have recovered all originals of these photographs.’

‘That I can’t do,’ I said. ‘I have a Friday wages run.’

‘I’m sure you could find someone to stand in for you.’

‘No. I handle the run personally. And I have another case that I need to pursue. I’ve also been paid in advance for that. It wouldn’t make many demands on my time, but I can’t drop it. I can still do this for you, depending on what leads you can give me, but I won’t drop my caseload.’

I used the word ‘caseload’ instead of jobs a lot these days: it sounded professional. More like a lawyer and less like a plumber. ‘Anyway, dealing with these other cases is my problem, not yours.’

‘I’m afraid we would see that exactly as being our problem,’ said Fraser.

‘We?’

‘The studio, my colleagues in London and myself, of course,’ said Fraser. ‘You will deal directly with me, Mr Lennox.’ He leaned across the desk and handed me a visiting card. ‘You can reach me on one or either of these numbers, twenty-four hours a day. If you have anything to report, I want to hear it right away.’

‘Of course. Listen, Mr Fraser, I am more than willing to undertake this for you, but I repeat that I cannot promise to work on it exclusively.’

Fraser watched me for a moment with his beady lawyer’s eyes.

‘Very well,’ he said, as if indulging a child, but in that moment I realized he had no choice. Whoever we really were, they were desperate.

‘You say you have a name for this extortionist?’

‘Paul Downey. He is a photographer. Of sorts. And, apparently, some kind of aspiring actor. He has dropped out of sight and has left instructions for all “bids for his scoop”, as he puts it, to be mailed to a PO box at Wellington Street post office.’ Fraser dipped into the file again. ‘Here is his last known address and a photograph of him. Reasonably recent, I’ve been led to believe.’

I looked at the photograph. Downey was a young man in his early twenties, and had the Iberian Celtic look of a Glasgow Catholic: dark hair, pale complexion. He had a faintly girlish appearance with his black hair a little too long but not Teddy Boy style, largish, soft eyes, a weak mouth and a soft chin.