Joint Enterprise (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 3)

by Oliver Tidy

  ‘Whose idea was it, incidentally?’

  ‘No one’s really. It got suggested down the pub as a joke and then it kind of snowballed from there.’

  ‘What were the reasons behind your collective decision to attend?’

  ‘You don’t have to answer that,’ said the solicitor. ‘Inspector, my client can’t really speak for the others can he?’

  ‘Fair enough. What were your personal reasons then for attending? You’ve got to admit it’s a bit unusual.’

  Jez Ray smiled. ‘We’re a bit unusual. We like to do odd things together. We like a bit of fun that’s off the beaten track, if you know what I mean?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘We tried to row across the channel last year.’

  ‘How far did you get?’

  ‘Not far. We lost an oar. Had to be rescued.’

  ‘So, gate-crashing at the castle was a bit of fun, was it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about the violence. A lot of people were hurt in your idea of fun. A man was killed, Mr Ray. His widow and children aren’t laughing.’

  Jez Ray said nothing for a long moment while he switched his attention between the two officers, then, ‘You don’t know who it was, do you? You’re just assuming it was one of us because we weren’t supposed to be there, aren’t you? Maybe someone else had it in for the Frog. Maybe he was done by one of his own. Have you considered that?’

  Romney fidgeted a little uncomfortably, thought Marsh. She said, ‘How do you know that it was a Frenchman?’

  Jez Ray smiled at her. ‘Nice try. It was on the news in the pub.’

  Romney said, ‘We are considering all possibilities at present, Mr Ray, and following several lines of enquiry. We have the uniforms that were hired by your group. We fully expect forensic investigation of those to reveal whether any one, or all of you, was involved in the man’s death. Was it you, Mr Ray? Did you kill him?’

  ‘There were cameras all round, weren’t there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So why don’t you look at the footage?’

  ‘Because someone’s stolen it.’

  Jez Ray burst out laughing. There was nothing forced about it. He was clearly simply tickled by something.

  ‘You mind telling me what’s so funny, Mr Ray?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Try me.’

  Ray shook his head and regained some control. ‘I was just there for a bit of fun. I don’t know anything about the death of the Frog. I have nothing more to say other than when can I go home?’

  *

  ‘I don’t really want to think about it, sir, but we have to: what if he’s right? What if the man was killed by one of his own? What if this lot had nothing to do with it?’

  Romney shook his head. ‘You said yourself you thought we should be looking in their direction. What’s changed your mind?’

  ‘I’m not saying my mind is changed, just that perhaps we shouldn’t be blinkered to the possibility that he was killed by someone who was legitimately there.’

  ‘Let’s wait and see what forensics have got for us.’

  *

  Romney walked back to CID with something unpleasant gnawing away at his insides. Spying Spicer he said, ‘Anything on the tape?’

  ‘Oh yes, gov. It’s well worth a listen. Might even throw up a few suspects.’

  ‘Really? That would be most welcome. Set it up then and round up Marsh and Grimes.’

  ‘Pete’s still in the toilets, gov.’

  Romney made a face of distaste. ‘All right. Leave him there.’

  ‘And forensics called, gov. About the uniforms.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘Want you to ring them.’

  Romney went into his office and closed the door, made himself comfortable and called forensics. ‘Hello, Diane, DI Romney returning your call.’

  Romney had been slow on the uptake with Diane Hodge. A little obtuse even, especially for a detective, but he’d been fairly smitten with someone else back then – someone who had gone on to let him down badly and painfully.

  The more that Romney had to do with forensics, the more he was sure that perhaps Diane Hodge was burning something of a candle for him. It was the little things. She was never too busy to talk to him; her voice had that slightly flirtatious element; she was always quick with a smile for him that he hadn’t noticed when she spoke with others – and he’d been watching – and her body language around him was certainly coquettish. She wasn’t bad looking. Good figure. Intelligent. And young. But she was work and Romney hadn’t worked out how to square that circle, yet. Still, no harm done with a little gentle encouragement.

  ‘Hello, Inspector. Long time no see. I hope you’re not avoiding me?’

  ‘Perish the thought. It’s all go up here, Diane.’

  ‘So I heard. I’ve got something for you, Inspector.’ She let the comment hang just a moment before continuing. ‘About the uniforms that were dropped off to us. Would you like me to tell you over the phone, or do you want to come down and see me?’

  Romney hadn’t had sex since Julie Carpenter. He could have, but she would have been a hard act to follow and ultimately the woman who seemed keen that they should gain some carnal knowledge of each other would have been a mistake. With hindsight, he was glad that he hadn’t decided, in his then drunken state, to make his last memory of sex an overweight friend of a friend who was almost his age and looked older. That couldn’t have worked out well. Talking to Diane Hodge brought some of those longings floating back to the surface; released some of his juices into his system.

  ‘I’ll come and see you, I think, Diane. I could do with stretching my legs.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting, Inspector.’

  Romney stepped back out of his office in a state of mild arousal. Strumpet, he thought. Catching sight of the detectives huddled together around the office cassette player, he said, ‘Bring it in here. I need my chair.’

  As Spicer and Marsh shuffled in Grimes reappeared in the outer office looking sweaty and pale. He leant against a filing cabinet rather theatrically and Romney waved him over.

  ‘I hope you’ve washed your hands?’ said Romney.

  Grimes adopted a hurt expression. ‘Blimey, gov. I might have to go home. I feel like I’ve been turned inside out.’

  ‘You can’t. We’re too busy.’

  ‘Those Swiss rolls you fed me this morning were OK weren’t they?’

  Marsh and Spicer exchanged a look.

  ‘Don’t say it like that. I didn’t feed them to you, you pigged the lot of them. Anyway, they were fine. Come on, we’re wasting time.’

  Spicer set up the equipment and pressed play.

  Roy: Welcome back after that word from our sponsors to White Cliffs FM. If you’ve only just tuned in commiserations and congratulations are in order. Commiserations because you just missed Dover’s answer to the London Symphony Orchestra, Lionel the one man band performing his own particular, or should that be peculiar, version of the 1812 overture. I had no idea dessert spoons and elastic bands could be so versatile. And congratulations because in the studio now for you today we have yet another famous Dover-born celebrity – Edy Vitriol – or should that be infamous? – no offence Edy – to discuss his critically acclaimed, or should that be exclaimed? – still no offence, Edy – debut offering, ‘All Women Are Prostitutes.’ And just so that Edy doesn’t have it all his own way we’ve invited Dolly Anderson head of Dover and District WI and Susan Sharp who many of you will know from her Ladies Hour programme from your very own White Cliffs FM. Ladieees, Edy welcome to the show. So, first, Edy, how does it feel to be a published author?

  Edy: Fantastic, Roy. I still wake up every morning with this big smile on my face. It’s all I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember.

  Dolly: You should be ashamed of yourself.

  Roy: Whooaa there Dolly, you’ll get a chance to put questions to Edy, I promise, but please, first just le
t me give our listeners some background.

  Dolly: And shame on you, Roy, for glibly promoting such anti-female drivel. This sort of spiteful rubbish could set the women’s movement back years.

  Susan: Dolly, while I agree with you, let’s let Roy do his job and we’ll get our turn.

  Roy: Thanks Sue. Well as you can hear Edy’s book is certainly touching some raw nerves out there in lady-land.

  Susan: Lady-land? Sorry, Roy, where is that exactly? Anywhere near la-la-land? Come on, Roy. This ‘book’ provokes serious issues for the way women are perceived by men. It should be an affront to every civilised human being regardless of gender and you making silly comments like that isn’t helpful at all.

  Dolly: Well said, Sue.

  Roy: (embarrassed forced laugh) Sorryeeee. So, Edy. We’d better get down to it. Give our listeners a brief idea of the concept of the book.

  Edy: Well, Roy, I could answer that it does exactly what it says on the tin.

  Roy: Eh?

  Edy: The title of the book is, ‘All Women Are Prostitutes’ and that is the concept of the book – all women are prostitutes. You have read it, haven’t you? I mean it would be polite and professional, if you are inviting me on your show to talk about my book, for you to have read it.

  Roy: Actually, I haven’t quite finished it.

  Edy: How far have you got?

  Roy: Well, I’m, it’s, the bit about where...

  Susan: I’ve read it.

  Dolly: So have I.

  Edy: Why don’t you ask me some questions then?

  Susan: I’ve got a question for you: where do you get the idea that all women are prostitutes?

  Edy: Research. Real life. You see it’s so basic, Sue. Animal basic, I mean. The world is all about sex. Always has been, always will be. We’re obsessed with it. TV, radio, advertising, all the media. You know why? Because the world is run by humans and humans are just animals. We might be the most advanced and intellectual species on the planet, but we are bound by the same basic animal instincts that drive, constrain and control all other species – and top of that list is reproduction. But because of how we are as a species, intelligent and all that, we see sex as more than simply procreation of the species. We’ve come to admire and appreciate it for the recreational activity that it can be. For the simple pleasure of it. And men want sex, Sue. A lot. It’s a primal, primitive animal need. Don’t just take my word for it. You stand out in the street for half an hour any day and do some people watching. Send a pretty, semi-clad girl down the pavement and watch all the men, regardless of their age, ogle her. And they’re all thinking the same thing: they want to screw her.

  Roy: Steady, Edy (little laugh) you can’t say things like that on live radio.

  Susan: Is that what you call research?

  Edy: It’s an example. Now, women, I’ll grant you, are smarter than men in some respects. For a start, most of them twig that blokes are after them for one thing. It’s why men and women can’t be just friends. Blokes might behave outwardly that they just want to be friends or get on well as work colleagues, but if the woman in those relationships decided to put it on a plate for him he’d be up her like a rat up a drainpipe. It’s a fact.

  Susan: So that makes all women prostitutes, does it?

  Edy: Partly. You see, it’s what women choose to do with that knowledge, that position of power and control over men – when they realise that they have it – that makes them candidates for prostitution. I know that we don’t have a great deal of time on here so let me cut straight to the crux of the matter. Let’s define prostitution. Can we agree that it’s the trading of sexual favours for reward? My assertion is that there isn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t have sex with a man for the right incentive. And for most women that incentive revolves around wealth: material gain and lifestyle. How many times do we see in the media beautiful young women on the arm of some withered old relic? Look at that Hefner bloke and Michael Douglas and that Welsh tart

  Roy: Ohhh, Edyyyy.

  Edy: Go anywhere, even the streets of Dover occasionally and you’ll see pretty birds (not too many round here I’ll grant you) with ugly blokes twice their age and you know why as soon as you clock the Range Rover or the Porsche.

  Susan: That is a gross and demeaning over-generalisation and it is an insult to womankind.

  Edy: It’s true though, Sue. And it goes deeper into the main fabric of society and family life than that. It’s commonplace. Remember what I said about the definition of prostitution? In a marriage a woman invariably controls the sex. Sometimes she’ll have it because she’s got an itch to scratch and sometimes she’ll do it because she wants something – new curtains or a wok or something – and she knows that if she can make her man happy with a bit of how’s-your-father, she’s got a better chance of getting what she wants.

  Susan: I shudder to think what kind of experiences of family life you have been exposed to, Edy. Let me tell you that if I want a new wok I use the money that I earn to go out and buy one. I don’t need permission from anyone and I don’t have to provide soulless sex to anyone.

  Edy: That’s just an example. Let me put something out there. It is my belief that every woman has her price for putting out.

  Dolly: I don’t.

  Edy: No offence intended, Dolly, but first off you need a bloke who desires you in a carnal way, or there’s simply no deal to contemplate.

  Dolly: What’s that supposed to mean?

  Edy: Look I don’t want to get personal, but before a bloke wants to start poking the fire he generally takes a look at the mantelpiece.

  Susan: I don’t have a price for ‘putting out’ as you so crudely describe it.

  Edy: Sorry, Sue, but you do. You just haven’t been offered it yet. You haven’t been tempted.

  Susan: Your ignorance and arrogance is breathtaking.

  Edy: (audible sigh) Let me ask you a couple of questions, Sue. What really concerns you deeply in the world at the moment?

  Susan: What’s that got to do with me being a prostitute?

  Edy: Humour me and you’ll see.

  Susan: OK. Other than you getting published you mean?

  Edy: Boom boom. Seriously, think of something on a global scale that you would like to change, if you had the power. Something massive. Come on, humour me.

  Pause

  Susan: Child workers. I would make all child labour illegal.

  Edy: Good. Now, what if I had the power to grant that wish? Just play along. If I had the power to grant that global wish – the eradication of all forms of child labour throughout the world – and I said to you that I would do that, I would eradicate all forms of child labour in the world today, if you would sleep with me. Would you do it?

  Pause

  Roy: It’s a good question, Sue.

  Susan: It’s the stupidest question I’ve ever heard, Roy.

  Edy: You haven’t answered it.

  Susan: No one person would have that power.

  Edy: If, Sue, if. If one person had that power and if it were me? Think of all the poor children across the world who could be spared the horrors of their forced labour existences forever and all you would have to do would be to sleep with me once. Would you do it? How much would it really mean to you?

  Roy: I’ll have to hurry you, Sue. We’re going to be throwing open the switchboards to questions soon.

  Susan: Roy, you can be so tiresome.

  Edy: Yes or no? It’s a simple question.

  Susan: Well, if you could guarantee it, of course I would. I’d have to. It would only be sex.

  Edy: That makes you a prostitute then, Sue. You’d have sex with me, effectively a complete stranger, for a price. I said everyone had their price. We just found yours.

  Susan: That’s insulting and ridiculous. It’s a joke.

  Roy: He’s got you there, Sue. You’ve got to admit, he’s got you there. Now, Edy, what do you think that Dolly’s price would be?

  Edy: To be honest, Roy, I’m not too in
terested in finding out right now. I only had breakfast half an hour ago and like I said earlier there’s got to be an attraction. I know that it’s been an extreme example, but it proves my point, I think. Let me share with you, if I may, a couple of others that are a bit more realistic.

  Roy: You’ll have to hurry the switchboards are in meltdown they’re telling me.

  Edy: That research I mentioned earlier. Well, I conducted some purely for the purposes of proving my theory. This is going to be a scoop for the programme, Roy. I singled out six random women from the Dover area. Never met them before. I approached them and courted them with something I thought they might want: that old incentive factor. And I led them to believe that if they put out for me then they’d get what their heart desired, or their greed desired, I should say. And guess what, Roy?

  Roy: They all had sex with you?!

  Edy: Better than that. Everything was secretly filmed. Everything.

  Roy: You mean?

  Edy: Yes, Roy. Subscribers to my website will have the chance to pay and view.

  Dolly: That’s disgusting. It’s dishonest. You horrible little man.

  Susan: I don’t believe you.

  Edy: For you, Sue, I can arrange a private viewing of all the tapes. Then maybe I can come on your programme and have a chat. But it’ll come at a price, if you know what I mean? It’s not the eradication of child labour, but it’s better than a poke in the eye with a blunt stick.

  Roy: What do you say, Sue?

  Susan: I say that you two make me sick.

  Roy: Oh. I have a final question for you, Edy. If all women are prostitutes and I’m certainly not saying that they are, but if they are as you, not I, assert, what does that make men?

  Edy: Punters, Roy, punters. And lucky, of course, ‘cos it means that even if you are an ugly old bugger, so long as you’ve got the money you can still get laid.

  Spicer reached over and turned off the machine. ‘It goes on for a bit with the phone-in after that, but to be honest there’s nothing threatening in any of it, just the usual bored house-wives and the mind-numbing stupidity of the local radio day-time chat shows, a bit of abuse, but no death threats. You want to hear it, gov?’