Free The Vanishing Point by Val McDermid Page A

And if that doesn’t work out, we’ll set something up.’
    ‘So we do this talk and tape here, do we?’
    ‘Not actually in the Jacuzzi. We need to be somewhere quiet. But yes, here at your place would be the easiest.’
    The wary look was back. ‘Would you stay here, like?’
    ‘No, I’d go home at the end of the day. Back to London.’
    She nodded. ‘Yeah, you wouldn’t want to be round here when Joshu starts playing his music. Some nights, bands come back here and all sorts.’ Her mouth curled in an indulgent sneer. ‘You wouldn’t like the kind of stuff they get up to, a nice respectable lady like you.’
    I laughed. ‘I’ve not been called a lady for a very long time. Or respectable, come to that.’
    Scarlett’s eyes clouded over. ‘Compared to my life, chuck, you’re Mother Teresa. And while we’re on the subject, I don’t want you shooting up to Leeds for a cosy little chat with my mam and my sister. You keep them well the fuck out of it. I’ll tell you all you need to know about them and then you’ll understand why I don’t want you listening to their poisonous crap. We clear on that?’
    I eased myself up till I was sitting on the lip of the Jacuzzi. ‘You’re the boss. But it would make good reading if we could meet up with somebody who does know you from those early days. Just to make the comparison more powerful.’
    Scarlett scowled. ‘I’ll have a think. Trouble is, they’re all drunken slags and junkie wankers. You wouldn’t want to be in the same room.’
    ‘I’m sure you can come up with—’
    ‘What have we here?’ An amused voice cut across mine. ‘Scarlett, my girl, my woman, what’s on your mind? You bringing your girlfriends round to have fun with us now? You got a nice little threesome in mind?’
    I swung round to see a young Asian man in familiar uniform – baseball cap set at an angle, athletic letter jacket two sizes too big shrugged on over a dark polo shirt, low-slung baggy trousers falling in folds on over-sized trainers.
    But it wasn’t the outfit that caught my attention. It was the gleaming chrome handgun cradled in his hands.

5
    S tephanie stopped in her tracks, clearly reliving the shock of that moment. As a trained FBI operative, Vivian McKuras had faced danger and loaded guns and taken them in her adrenalin-fuelled stride, but even she was taken aback by Stephanie’s revelation. Till then, the woman’s story had seemed a pedestrian tale of low-level fame gilded with the rosy glow of Vivian’s idea of British life mainly garnered from Mystery Theatre. But it had been starkly transformed by the introduction of a big shiny handgun.
    ‘He was toting a gun?’ She wanted to be clear about this before she put out an APB on this British DJ.
    ‘With the emphasis very much on toting,’ Stephanie said. ‘The thing about Joshu is that he was always a complete tosser.’ Seeing Vivian’s frown, she clarified. ‘A wanker. A jerk-off. All mouth and trousers.’
    ‘Even so. He was carrying a gun the first time you met him. That must have been pretty scary. As I understand it, that’s not exactly commonplace in the UK.’
    Stephanie stared at a patch of wall over Vivian’s shoulder. ‘There was a moment when I couldn’t make sense of what I was looking at. This shiny thing in his hands. He was almost cradling it. Then it dawned on me that it was an actual gun. And yes, I was scared. And yes, I showed it. And he just stood there giggling.’ She shook her head and dragged her eyes down to meet Vivian’s. ‘He was high, of course. Which made it considerably scarier.’
    ‘What did Scarlett do?’
    ‘She rolled her eyes and said, “For fuck’s sake, I told you not to walk around with that. Some five-oh is gonna see that and take you down.” Then she told me to chillax because it was only a replica. Which, as it turned out, was very Joshu.’ She sighed. ‘He was always on the fringe of the action. Never a serious player. He knew the big-time