‘If I can find it.’
‘Might be helpful to have your fingerprints, too. Just for the process of elimination.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘We have unidentified partial prints on the handcuffs used to restrain Stuart Bloom. If they did turn out to be the ones Hanratty gave you...’
‘I’ve got nothing to hide, Inspector.’
‘Which is why I’m grateful for your cooperation. Was Mr Madden the cameraman on the shoot?’
‘Yes.’
‘Any notable extras among the cast? Stuart, maybe, or his friend Derek?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Well, thanks for getting in touch.’ Clarke ended the call. She was standing by the open doorway of the room commandeered by Fox and Leighton. Fox was seated in front of his computer, headphones on as he listened to the Newsome interview.
‘Must be nice to have everything given to you on a plate,’ she said, knowing he couldn’t hear her. He was jotting in his notebook, a look of absolute concentration on his face. A dapper-looking man of around sixty was being led up the staircase by a constable. Ralph Hanratty, she presumed.
‘Your timing is impeccable,’ she told him, holding out her hand.
36
Hanratty was seated in the interview room, Tess Leighton across the table from him, when Clarke returned with his requested mug of black sugarless tea.
‘Shabby chic,’ was his summary of his surroundings. Hanratty himself was a peacock by comparison — tailored suit with crimson lining, white shirt and emerald-green tie, gleaming black brogues. His dark hair had had the grey taken out of it. There had maybe even been some cosmetic work done to his face. The skin looked tight, the eyes a little narrower than seemed completely natural. He had brushed a large folded handkerchief across the seat of his chair, and was now rubbing at the rim of the mug, prior to his lips touching it.
‘You used to own Rogues, Mr Hanratty,’ Clarke began. Leighton had opened a new notebook — identical to Fox’s, Clarke noticed — and was ready with a ballpoint pen.
‘That’s correct.’
‘You knew Stuart Bloom and Derek Shankley?’
‘Socially? Not really.’
‘They were regulars at your club, though?’
‘Along with a few hundred other beautiful people.’
‘What were your thoughts when Stuart went missing?’
Hanratty flicked a speck of dust from one trouser leg. ‘I’m not sure I had any particular thoughts.’
‘I’ve seen some photos of Rogues in its heyday — it was quite something.’
Hanratty smiled. ‘It certainly was.’
‘Must have been vexing that the authorities showed so much interest.’
‘It went with the territory, my dear. The council were always trying to find us breaking noise limits; and as for the officers of the law...’ He rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘Despite some of your own rank-and-file of the time being among my best customers.’
‘Care to name any names, sir?’
‘I’m not that type, dearie.’
‘These raids, though — you were always warned in advance, no?’
‘Omertà,’ he said, miming running a zip across his mouth.
‘That’s not really acceptable in a murder inquiry, Mr Hanratty.’
‘Well then, let’s just say that the names have been erased from my memory. I met hundreds and hundreds of people; I can’t be expected to remember them all.’
‘But it’s possible that some of the very officers who would raid your club were also part of your clientele?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘We happen to know someone tipped you off, sir.’
‘And you can prove that?’ Hanratty smirked. ‘Of course you can’t. And none of it has any bearing on poor Stuart’s death.’
‘So why do you think he died?’
‘I’ve not the faintest idea.’ He gave Leighton a look. ‘Make sure you record those words exactly as spoken.’
‘You work as a porn merchant these days, is that right?’ Clarke asked.
Another roll of the eyes. ‘Online erotica,’ he corrected her.
‘DS Leighton here did a quick check of Companies House. Seems the other major shareholder in your business is William Locke — would that be the same Billy Locke who was co-owner of Locke Ness Productions?’
‘It would.’
‘So presumably you know Jackie Ness?’
‘I know he needed good-looking people for his films, and sometimes found them at Rogues.’
‘Mr Ness was one of your clients?’
‘God, no. But word would get around that extras were needed for certain scenes. When you tell people they’re going to be in a movie, they sign up gratefully, despite there being no fee, no expenses — sometimes not even a hot meal.’ He paused. ‘Though of course there were benefits.’
‘What sort of benefits?’
‘Let’s just say people tended to be a bit glassy-eyed after.’
‘You’re talking about drugs?’
‘Not unknown in the film industry.’
‘Might explain why Stuart and Derek looked so giggly in the clip I watched. The biggest dealer in the city at that time would have been a man called Cafferty, is that right?’
‘You tell me.’
‘We know he was a friend of Jackie Ness’s. Would he also have supplied your club, Mr Hanratty?’
‘No illicit substances in Rogues, Inspector.’ Hanratty held up both hands in a show of innocence.
‘One young person died of an overdose, I believe...’
Hanratty wagged a finger. ‘Be careful of libel. There was never any evidence those drugs came from anywhere near my club.’
‘The victim had been to your club, though, as had the others who fell ill.’ Clarke paused meaningfully. ‘Bit of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?’
‘World’s full of coincidences,’ Hanratty said blithely.
‘Coincidences and connections,’ Clarke stated. ‘Tell me, did you ever appear in one of Ness’s films yourself?’
‘Never.’
‘But you did help out on occasion. For example, Colin Speke asked if you had any handcuffs he could borrow.’
Hanratty glowered at her. ‘Where are you going with this?’
‘You know that Stuart Bloom was found with his ankles cuffed? Doesn’t that strike you as a little... perverse?’
‘I ran a club that was popular with the gay and lesbian community. I wasn’t operating a fucking dungeon!’
‘But you did toy with the idea, didn’t you? A little bit of mainstream bondage? That was why you were able to lend Speke the handcuffs for the film he was helping to make.’
‘And I got them back, too!’
‘Did you?’ Clarke nodded to herself. ‘Mr Speke couldn’t quite remember. So what happened to them?’
‘I’ve honestly no idea.’
‘You kept them, threw them out, loaned them to someone else?’
Hanratty gave a hoot of laughter. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is too fucking delicious. You’ll do anything to throw people off the scent, won’t you?’
‘How do you mean, sir?’
‘Handcuffs means police — everybody outside these four walls knows that. You get wind of a pair of toy fucking handcuffs that might have been within half a mile of Jackie Ness and his crew, and suddenly you think you just might be able to make a gullible public swallow the lie. Who will you leak it to, Inspector? See, you may have used the internet to find out all about me, but that works both ways. When poor Stuart’s body was found, I began to devour the various news reports. And then your name came up, and you’d recently been in trouble for passing confidential information to a journalist at the Scotsman. You’ve been a naughty young lady, Detective Inspector Clarke. So you take your story to the papers and I’ll take mine, and we’ll see who’s the more credible. Nobody believes you any more; nobody trusts you.’