Free Irrefutable Evidence: A Crime Thriller by David George Clarke Page B

hair and matching bushy eyebrows, vivid blue eyes and a florid complexion from over-frequent sampling of his extensive collection of single malts, he was used to getting his own way. At five foot six but built like a bulldog, McPherson was having none of it. He pulled his warrant card from his pocket and held it up.
    “Detective Inspector Robert McPherson of Nottingham City and County Serious Crime Formation. These are my colleagues Detective Sergeant Neil Bottomley and Detective Constable Jennifer Cotton.”
    “And that interests me because …”
    McPherson narrowed his eyes, but bit his tongue.
    “We need to talk urgently to a Mr Henry Silk of Lambton Court Gardens, Hampstead. We have reason to believe that he is working on your set.”
    “Working on my set!” yelled Peters. “He’s more than working on my bloody set. He’s the lead actor in today’s filming. Filming that costs a lot of money and which you are interrupting. Tell me, Inspector, to whom do I send the bill for this unacceptable delay?”
    “If you’d calm down, sir, we can probably get this sorted out very quickly,” lied McPherson, knowing full well that it would be anything but quick. “Now, perhaps you could point out Mr Silk.”
    “God! What planet do you live on, Inspector? I can only assume from that request you’re not one of the legions, millions should I say, of fans who are riveted nightly to this programme. Fans who will be extremely unimpressed by police harassment on the set of their favourite show.”
    McPherson had had enough. “If you want to make a complaint sir, I suggest you go through the normal channels. Now—”
    He stopped as Jennifer tapped him on the shoulder.
    “He’s over there, guv, the one dressed in the black uniform trousers and white shirt.”
    “Fetch him, Cotton, will you?”
    “Now look here!” protested the director as Jennifer walked off. He reached out to stop her but McPherson blocked him.
    “I didn’t get your name, sir.”
    “Jonty Peters. I’m the director and I shall indeed be making a formal complaint.”
    “Well, Mr Peters, I should advise you that obstructing the police in the commission of their duty is a serious offence, as is assaulting a police officer, which you just came very close to doing. I’d also advise you to back off or this might well take all day.”
    Peters had met his match. “Look, I’m sorry, Inspector,” he said, wilting. “You must understand that I’m under a lot of pressure here. If we don’t move forward with the filming, the whole schedule is stuffed. Already the weather is not playing ball and now …”
    Arsehole, thought McPherson.
    “We’ll be as quick as we can, sir,” he said, walking away, followed closely by Bottomley.
     
    Jennifer walked over to the group of actors. The women glanced at her, logging in microseconds her trim, well-toned figure, her pretty, open features, her short but stylish dark brown hair and her no-nonsense, well-cut pants suit. The men merely registered a good-looking twenty-five-year-old as their eyes roamed her figure.
    Henry Silk was talking quietly to one of the younger actresses and had his back to her as she approached.
    Jennifer coughed. “Mr Silk?”
    Henry turned and let his eyes stay on hers, the corners of his mouth lifting in a slight smile. She was an attractive young woman, to be sure, but there was something else about her, something vaguely familiar. But then again, he’d met so many women of that age, and the older he got, the more they seemed to come out of a mould.
    Jennifer felt rather intimidated to be face to face with not only Henry Silk, but also with a number of other familiar faces from the soap she regularly watched. She took a breath and held up her warrant card.
    “Detective Constable Jennifer Cotton of the Nottingham City and County Serious Crime Formation. Would you mind coming with me, sir? My colleague, Detective Inspector McPherson, would like a word.”
    Henry shrugged his shoulders and