The Price of Fame. Rowena Cory Daniels

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      'That makes two out of three. I'm thinking Tucker will drop his daks for you.'

      'Tucker would drop his daks for anyone!'

      Monty's eyes twinkled.

      It was so good to be working again. To be working with Monty.

      The smile slipped from his face and he leant forward propping his elbows on the bench. The reflected glow of the steel lit his features from below, filling his dark eyes with an evangelistic, silvery gleam. My heart raced. I loved it when Monty got inspired.

      'Been thinking, Antsy. I brought my computer and my new digital camera gear. They're out in the van waiting for you to say yes.' He sent me a cheeky grin. 'Soon as you give me the go-ahead, I'll get started. I reckon with the software I've got I can create to-die-for effects, pull people out of old footage, digitise old stuff and clean it up. Whatever you want, I'm your man.' His eyes held mine for half a beat too long.

      I felt my body react with a kick of arousal-induced adrenaline. That was a hit below the belt in more ways than one. The invitation was clear but there was no way I was going to be his sex buddy. I opened my mouth.

      Before I could speak, Monty continued as if it hadn't happened, so I must have misread him. 'I'll start filming tomorrow, stuff we can edit for the Extra Features on the DVD.'

      I laughed. My dream project was taking on a reality of its own, yet I felt an irrational twist of jealousy. Up to this point it had been my baby and now I resented Monty trying to muscle in. On a purely rational level there was good reason to welcome him - he was brimming with ideas, our areas of expertise complemented each other and I knew we made a good team. In my time at QCA I hadn't met anyone as focused on filmmaking as Monty. No one except me, of course.

      'So how are you going to handle it?' Monty prodded. 'What's your doco's subtext?'

      I shook my head slowly. 'I'm not sure. To tell the truth I'm not pleased with my rough script. The early band members haven't come alive for me yet.'

      Veevie - Arthur's voice echoed in my head. It was like I heard him calling down the stairs to her, plaintive yet affectionate. Again, I felt that odd shift, registering it physically so that I shuddered.

      'What is it?' Monty asked. 'You look like someone walked over your grave.' I could just hear his great aunts saying that.

      Shrugging, I pressed the pads of my fingers into my closed lids - I would not scratch that scar - and chose to misinterpret his question. 'I just don't know. I thought I had a feel for the band, but the deeper I research, the more the individual members slip away from me. It's like they are based on shifting sands.'

      'Let me read the script. That way, I can be thinking about art direction and hunt up locations while you research and write.'

      We'd worked like this before, but I didn't want Monty seeing my weak first draft. When we'd made short films at QCA I'd always prided myself on writing scripts where the characterisation was strong enough to work on a stage without fancy special effects or car chases.

      'I've only done a rough. Besides, I'm not sure what my hidden subtext will be.'

      Monty studied me shrewdly. 'What's the matter? The idea is a winner.'

      How could I explain my reservations when I didn't understand them myself? When I was on the right track I would know, and that sounded too New Age to confess to Monty. I looked around for a distraction.

      The phone rang.

      'If it's your nan tell her I miss her lamb roast already.' Monty's smile was sweetly innocent.

      I picked up the kitchen extension. It was Arthur Davidson.

      'You got a pen?' Arthur whispered. I had a vision of him hiding down the hallway from his wife.

      'A pen? Just a sec.' I pointed to my satchel and Monty tossed it to me. I rummaged madly for a pen and a scrap of paper.

      'Watched your DVDs, by the way. Liked your stuff.'

      'I can do better.' I flushed. Great way to handle a compliment. Talk about foot-in-mouth disease. Normally I could lay on the charm, but this project meant too much to me. 'Right, got the pen, fire away.'

      He gave me an address.

      'Ah huh.' I was writing and nodding.

      Then he dropped his bombshell. 'That's where you'll find Joe.'

      I gave an undignified squeak that made Monty look over. Seeing my expression, he came to his feet.

      Arthur kept right on speaking. 'I just got back from seeing him. He'll talk to you but I wouldn't hang about. He's just as likely to change his mind and do a midnight flit.'

      My heart raced. 'Joe? You don't mean-'

      'I mean the missing witness, Joseph Walenski. Joe, as in O'Toole's friend.' I could hear the smile in Arthur's voice.

      'How'd you find him?'

      'Bingo! You owe me one.' Arthur hung up.

      I looked at Monty as I replaced the receiver. A buzz of excitement made my stomach knot.

      'Well?' Monty pressed.

      I waited a beat to draw it out, unable to keep the grin off my face. 'Arthur Davidson just gave us the missing witness!'

      'Whaaat?' A frown spread across Monty's forehead. 'Why?'

      I couldn't believe it. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, as Nan would say, but the police couldn't find Walenski 25 years ago, yet Arthur found him in less than a day. No, he already knew where he was. But how? And, as Monty said, why? Why give him to us?

      'I just don't get it, Monty. Even if he was part of the '80s sex-and-drugs-and-punk-rock era, Arthur comes across as white bread now, so how could he know where Walenski lives?'

      'Perhaps Arthur paid this guy not to come forward and testify 25 years ago. Perhaps he's been paying him ever since,' Monty suggested, leaning his hips against the bench and folding his arms across his chest. 'Clearing O'Toole might have implicated Arthur.'

      'Then why give me Walenski now?' I countered. 'Besides, Arthur told the police he was down the road getting pizza when the murder happened and I believe him. I can't imagine him killing Genevieve, then calmly going out to buy pizza. He's not that cold-blooded.'

      'It's always the least likely suspect who's the killer in Agatha Christie's books.'

      I grinned. 'Wonder how Arthur found the missing witness.'

      He shrugged. 'You can ask Walenski when we see him.'

      'If we don't get over there soon he might do a runner.' I grabbed my coat. 'Then we'll never know.'

      'And you couldn't bear that, could you?' Monty uncoiled, moving away from the bench.

      I felt an answering coil in the pit of my stomach.

      'Your car or mine?' he asked, double entendre intended.

      I chose СКАЧАТЬ