Jack thought of telling him to take his clipboard and stuff it up his arse, but opportunities to join the Guild didn’t come around every day. Despite Chymes, he still wanted to join. The cash would help. And the kudos. And he might get a few convictions, too. He needed to defuse the situation—and fast.
“Is that tea all right?”
“It’s undrinkable.”
“Excellent. Ah, Mary,” he said with some relief. “Mary, I’d like you to meet Mr. Brown-Horrocks, who is from the Guild.”
“Oh!” said Mary, who understood the difficulties of the situation at a glance and panicked into saying the first thing that came into her head: “You’re very tall.”
“Why do people think I might not have noticed?” asked Brown-Horrocks with a trace of annoyance.
“No, it’s just that Jack has a reputation for killing—”
“Thank you, Mary. DS Mary is my potential Official Sidekick and has a few interesting character traits of her own that would doubtless make good copy.”
“What are they?” asked Brown-Horrocks.
“Yes,” said Jack, looking at Mary expectantly. “What are they?”
“Well,” said Mary, thinking hard, “I live in a half-converted flying boat.”
“So does my uncle,” replied an unimpressed Brown-Horrocks.
Ashley returned, and Brown-Horrocks looked at him curiously. “What about you, Constable Ashley? Any strange character traits?”
“None at all,” replied the alien wistfully. “I enjoy car-spotting which is like train-spotting but with cars. I keep them in a book and swap the numbers with friends. I collect jam jars, beer mats, buttons, and I’m building a hyperspace-propulsion unit in my garage.”
“You’re right,” muttered Brown-Horrocks, “nothing odd there.”
“Good morning,” said Gretel as she walked in the door. “They gave me a violet security—Oh!”
“This is Constable Gretel Kandlestyk-Maeker,” announced Jack, “another member of our team.”
They shook hands. Brown-Horrocks stared at Gretel, and Gretel stared back. Being of greater-than-average height can sometimes be a lonely business.
“Six foot… three and a half?” asked Brown-Horrocks.
“Two and a quarter,” replied Gretel shyly. “It’s these boots.”
“Right,” said Jack, who was desperate to be anywhere but here. “I’m going to interview Lola Vavoom again to see if she can shed any light on Humpty’s new wife. Brown-Horrocks? I suppose you’ll stay here and await results?”
“Not at all,” he replied with a sigh. “I am here to observe you and your ‘experimental’ techniques whether I like it or not. Lead on.”
38. Lola Vavoom Returns
VAVOOM BREAKS SELF-EXILE TO CLAIM,
“I WANT TO BE ALONE”
The actress Lola Vavoom broke her self-imposed exile of fourteen years yesterday to demand that the press leave her alone. The reclusive fifty-five-year-old former star of screen and stage who has been absent from newspaper columns since 1990 demanded that the press stop hounding her every move and making her life a misery. “I thought she was dead,” admitted “Skip” McHale, The Toad’s entertainment correspondent, “but now I know she’s around and wants to be left alone, we can dig up some of her ex-husbands to spill the beans on her bedroom antics for a crisp twenty-pound note and eight minutes of fame.” Miss Vavoom is to give a televised broadcast to eight networks tomorrow evening to decry her “lack of privacy.”
—Extract from The Mole, April 22, 2004
“Did you ever see Anthrax! The Musical?” asked Brown-Horrocks as they climbed up the creaking stairs at Spongg Villas to Lola’s apartment.
“No, I think I missed that one.”
“Brilliant piece of work,” said Brown-Horrocks reverentially. “You would have thought that a musical about the experimental anthrax bombing of the Scottish island of Gruinard would be tasteless but Miss Vavoom’s performance of chirpy biological-warfare scientist ‘Boobs’ McGonagle was both sensitive and touching.”
Spongg Villas had been surrounded by journalists, all eager to speak to the actress since Thomm’s body had been discovered the day before, but Jack, Mary and Brown-Horrocks had just pushed their way through.
They reached her apartment, and Jack pressed the doorbell. It didn’t work, so he knocked instead.
Lola opened it like a whirlwind but seemed surprised to see them. She was wearing a kimono and looked faintly alluring.
“Ah,” she said, “it’s you, Inspector.” She lazily extended a hand for him to shake, then looked at Mary.
“DS Mary, isn’t it?”
Mary nodded.
“Well! Haven’t we all got extraordinary names? Quite unbelievable, don’t you think? Who’s the giant?”
“This is Brown-Horrocks of the Guild of Detectives, Ms. Vavoom, and he’s not technically a giant. He’s a big fan of your work.”
“Oh, Brown-Horrocks,” she cooed, “you are indeed my biggest fan!”
“Kjdshdieupw,” said Brown-Horrocks, struck inarticulate in her presence.
“Won’t you all come in?”
She walked away without waiting for an answer, and they followed. Her apartment smelled of lavender, and the walls were adorned with black-and-white photographs of Lola as a young woman with the stars of the screen and stage in the seventies and eighties.
“So you kept good company?” asked Jack as he pointed at a photo of her with Giorgio Porgia. She pulled down one of the blinds on the window and laughed a high, shrill laugh.
“In the early days. He was a charming man, Inspector. When one searches for exciting men who treat a girl with respect, one is willing to overlook the shadier aspects. Gentlemen like Giorgio just don’t exist anymore, either side of the law.”
The room was lit mostly by table lamps. There were several drapes hanging on the walls, and all around them were the collected memorabilia of her short yet illustrious film career. Her Milton was on the mantelpiece, in pride of place among an impressive array of other awards. She lay on a chaise longue and indicated the chairs opposite her. “Please.”
They sat down.
“A few questions, Ms. Vavoom. You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. I was rather hoping you’d have that handsome constable with you. How can I help?”
“We’d like to know a little bit more about Humpty Dumpty—and women.”
She looked up at the ceiling and placed her head on one side. “He was devoted to his first wife.”
“Lucinda Muffet-Dumpty?”