Autographs In The Rain Part 39

'Bring it to a head,' the DCC snapped. 'Put his paper to the Board, argue against it, and have it squashed. In the minutes, it'll read like a reprimand.'

'But what if they back it?'166.'They won't. You still have enough on enough of them for them to be afraid to cross you. If I'm wrong about that... Well, I won't be taking any orders from that f.u.c.king blackshirt; I'll tell you that much.'

He sighed. 'But listen, that's trivial. My big problem is that Good knows about Lou, and that is dangerous given his suspected weakness for pillow talk. You know the whole story, because I told you straight away; I was hoping to avoid it, because I just don't trust the man, but now Chase has to be let in on it as well.

'You speak to him, if you will. I'll handle Jack Good; when it comes to putting the fear of G.o.d in people, you'll concede that I'm better at it than you.'

The Chief let out a sound that was half chuckle, half snort. 'You do that; then I'll send him back to the Ops Room tomorrow.'

'No,' said Skinner quietly. 'Keep him here until this is over; I want him close, where he can feel my hot breath on his neck, even though Chase won't dare send him out of this office again. Meantime, give the ACC a typist, just to keep him happy.'168.48.In a strange, private way Neil Mcllhenney was in awe of his daughter, of her calmness, her maturity, and her remarkable common sense for her years.

Since Olive's death, she had replaced her mother as the rock upon which his life was founded.

Therefore it was quite remarkable to see her in awe of someone else.

Louise Bankier had not just come for dinner; she had provided it. King size specials from Pizza Hut had been delivered ten minutes after Neil had brought her round from her secluded address, and she had insisted on giving Spencer the money to pay for them.

They had eaten them, cut into wedges round the dining table, father and children, Marie the temporarily living-in nanny, and their guest.

Lauren had said very little during the meal; for once Spencer had gone unchecked as he had made the running with a series of quick-fire questions which ran the gamut of the movie industry, from Tom and Jerry to Tom Hanks. As Neil had watched her he realised that she in turn was studying Louise, a vivacious, vibrant female presence restored unexpectedly to her young life. He could not begin to read, far less understand all the thoughts which were swirling around in her pre adolescent mind. However, he was reminded of something that his own grief, and their bravery, made him overlook too easily; the extent to which they too must miss their mother.

As they prepared to leave, Lauren and Spencer stood politely, ready to wish their guest goodbye. In keeping with the rest of the evening, the youngest Mcllhenney had the last word. 'Dad's taking us skating in Princes Street Gardens on Sat.u.r.day,' he said. 'Would you like to come too?'

Hey Spence,' said his father with a grin. 'Don't push your luck.'

How did you know I like skating?' Louise responded. 'Of course I'll cme ... if your dad lets me. I have to do what he says, you know.'

he children seemed to look up at him with a new kind of respect. 'Okay,' e sai- 'As long as you continue to remember one thing; that Ms BankierAUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN.

being here is not to be talked about at school, or to anyone outside this room. Understood?'

Spencer nodded. Lauren simply said, 'Father!', throwing him an old young reproving look that he had seen so often before, and which never failed to tug at his heart.

Louise laughed. 'It's a date then. Hot dogs on your dad!'

He whistled as they stepped out into the moonless sodium-lit night. 'Add two more names to the fan-club,' he said.

Two?'

'I always was a fan,' he murmured.

'That's good to know,' she answered, as he opened the car door for her.

'Where are we going, then?' she asked, as he slid into his seat beside her. 'Somewhere discreet, you said.'

'Yes; and somewhere I'll feel comfortable in the dark.'

'Where are you going to find an empty cinema in this town?'

'I'm not, but wait and see the next best thing.'

They had been driving for less than ten minutes, when Neil turned off Morningside Road, and parked close to a small, but well-lit cinema, one of the old-fashioned kind, rather than a modern multiplex. 'This is where I take the kids: the Dominion. We're going to Cinema Three; it's about the size of your average living room.

'You really don't mind going to American Beauty'? I mean, you must have seen it.'

'No, honestly, I haven't,' she said. 'You may find this odd, but I don't go to the movies much.'

He led her quickly past two short queues of cinema-goers and past the box office. 'I picked up the tickets earlier,' he explained, 'and I had a quiet word with the manager. The only things I asked was that we go in first, so that I can eyeball the rest of the audience. There only are a couple of dozen seats, though.'

She said nothing, but looked sideways at him with a quiet smile.

Two and a half hours later, they stepped back out into the foyer. This time there was no slipping unnoticed past the crowd. Word had spread and scores of people were waiting, holding diaries, leaflets, future attraction fliers, sc.r.a.ps of paper, anything that would accommodate an autograph.

Neil stood back as she signed, studying every person as they stepped up, noting the time she spent with every one, and the interest she seemed to take in them all.

170.Finally it was over. As they stepped outside, he asked her, 'Is it like that

every time?'

'Pretty much,' she said, linking her arm through his as they headed for the car. She chuckled, enigmatically. 'But at least, tonight it isn't raining.'49.Stevie Steele didn't mind Newcastle, but he did have a strong aversion to wild geese. As he stood in the street outside the St James Internet Cafe, he fancied that he heard a fluttering of wings.

He had spent a good part of the previous day in front of a screen, studying the jerky images provided by the Balmoral Hotel's video security system, trying to put a face to Louise Bankier's stalker. Trying in vain.

Yes, there had been that one image; a slim man of medium height wearing a loose raincoat and a black hat. He had stopped at the reception desk, and stood there for a while, his back to the camera throughout, appearing, to Steele at any rate, to peruse some of the information leaflets on display there. Then the receptionist had turned to pick up a telephone; there had been a movement. Very little, no more than a flick of a wrist, and the appearance of something small flying through the air and falling behind the counter; only the appearance, that was all. Unless you added the fact that a few seconds afterwards, as the receptionist ended her call, the man had walked off, without turning, towards the hotel's side exit.

The only certainty that Stevie Steele had at the end of the day was that there was nothing else on those security tapes. They were patchy in their quality and, worse, they switched from camera to camera. He had walked around the hotel and confirmed what he suspected, that each one had a red 'live' light and that anyone with half a brain would be aware when he was being filmed and when he was not.

The only other slim clue to the ident.i.ty of the actress's persecutor was that one, cryptic e-mail message from the threateningly named John Steed.

It was the only potential lead he had left, and he was even beginning to doubt that. Sure, its use of the word 'b.i.t.c.h' was offensive, but it was still possible that it was nothing more than a letter from a fan with an odd turn of phrase.

The only chance of finding out lay in the Newcastle cafe from which it had been sent. He opened the door and stepped inside.

172.

AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN.Stevie Steele was something of a Net-head himself; he had a home computer and an e-mail address, through which he had built up a small network of friends around the world. He knew what a cyber-cafe was, a drop-off point at which those without their own Internet connection, or more likely, people travelling away from home, could buy on-line time, and coffee while they used it.

He could see their value in big tourist centre cities, and in airports, but he was slightly surprised that there was sufficient custom on Tyneside to drive such a business. As soon as he stepped inside he could see that his scepticism was justified.

The cafe side of the business seemed lively enough, but the three computer terminals which sat on desks against the far wall were all idle. A screen-saver was displayed on one, but the others were switched off.

As he looked at it, a middle-aged woman approached him; she wore a designer suit, and a pleasant smile. 'Can I help you?' she asked, in a tone which suggested that that was genuinely what she wanted to do.

'Mrs Egremont?'

'Yes.'

'I'm DS Steele; I called you this morning.'

'Ah yes.' The smile stayed in place, but behind it was something that he had seen many times before, the natural uncertainty sparked by a visit from a policeman.