DVD Extras Include: Murder (The Mervyn Stone Mysteries, #2)

by Nev Fountain

  ‘Why on Earth would anyone want to steal it?’

  ‘More to the point, why on Earth would you want it back?’

  ‘Well I use…well, I use it.’

  ‘Gosh. Whatever for?’

  ‘Novelty paperweight…’

  Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to turn it off. He realised why these DVDs sold so well, skating on half-remembered anecdotes about tiny events from years past. He was already nostalgic for a time one whole week ago, a few minutes before his world went strange and mysterious and complicated. Again.

  ‘Come to think of it—that thing on the table. That bloody statue. I don’t want it back at all. I don’t know why I kept it in the first place. Bloody fans, forcing rubbish on me and filling my house with crap.’

  ‘What was the director’s name again?’

  ‘Horrible bloody thing. Ugly as sin. Stuck on the mantelpiece for years. Makes her look like a whore.’

  It was funny how listening to the commentary brought into sharp focus things that were only dimly apparent at the time of recording. He remembered it started as a lot of fun, and he was having fun most of all, but at the back of his mind he was vaguely aware of Marcus saying less and less, getting increasingly isolated and uncomfortable and aching to drag the conversation back to something he could talk about with confidence. Something Marcus Spicer-related.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Robert’s voice was suddenly audible; loud inside the studio. That was a shock. ‘Mervyn?’

  That wasn’t on the CD!

  Mervyn turned round. Robert Mulberry was in the doorway, his face a collage of confusion and outrage.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Robert rushed across to the desk and switched off the CD.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing here?’

  Mervyn slipped effortlessly into his ‘confused old buffer’ role. Or was he really a confused old buffer and he just slipped out of that role sometimes? Best not to think about it.

  ‘Oh hello Robert, I’m sorry, I thought I’d just pop in. I’d lost my phone. I was thinking I might have left it here during the commentary.’ He pulled it out of his pocket and waggled it. ‘Found it! Phew! Lucky me!’

  ‘You left your phone here?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘The police pulled this place apart. They didn’t find a phone.’

  ‘Well no. It was tucked behind a…thing. One of those tall things in the studio. They must have missed it.’

  ‘Didn’t you phone me last week on your mobile?’

  Mervyn couldn’t answer.

  Robert went to the internal phone on the corner of the desk. ‘Right. I think you’d better leave. I’ll get security to escort you out.’

  ‘That’s hardly necessary.’

  ‘Hello? Can you put me through to the front desk?’ He paused with the phone tucked under his neck, waiting for a response. ‘Just how did you get in here, anyway?’

  Mervyn decided to take a chance. ‘A friend let me in the building. Just like you let in Lionel.’

  Robert froze. He turned and looked at Mervyn like he’d just been slapped in the face.

  ‘What do you know about Lionel?’

  ‘You signed Lionel in last week. You remember. The day Marcus was murdered?’

  The phone in Robert’s hand was emitting an irregular buzz as a tiny voice tried to speak to him. ‘What? Sorry, false alarm. Sorry. Bye.’ He put the receiver slowly on to its cradle. ‘How did you know I talked to Lionel?’

  ‘I know lots of things.’

  ‘You haven’t… Have you mentioned this to anyone?’

  ‘Should I?’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing to tell.’

  ‘Isn’t there?’

  ‘I have nothing to be ashamed of.’

  ‘Haven’t you?

  ‘You won’t get out of this by just putting a question after everything I say.’

  ‘Won’t I?’ Mervyn decided to blink first. Let’s try honesty—it might work. ‘Look Robert, truth to tell, I got myself in here to look around because I want to find out the truth about Marcus’s death. I’m not being prurient or ghoulish; he was my friend and I want to do it for him—and his wife. She asked me to look into it, and here I am. I know it sounds stupid—’

  Robert frowned. ‘No, it doesn’t sound stupid. I heard about what happened at the convention last year. I heard how you solved those murders.’

  ‘Of course you did. Can’t keep anything from you fans.’

  Robert was still cautious, but he’d dropped the hostile glare.

  Mervyn perched uncomfortably on the console, trying to look as casual as his nerves would allow. ‘So that’s why I’m here. You can ring up security and put me out if you like, and I won’t tell anyone about Lionel because I don’t even know who he is. All I did was hear you on your phone talking to him. I don’t know what he’s done which was so bad, but it’s your business and if it’s nothing to do with—’

  ‘You don’t know what Lionel did?’

  ‘Um… No.’

  Stark bewilderment stretched Robert’s face into interesting shapes.

  ‘Seriously? You’d not seen it in any of the papers?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or television?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You seriously don’t know?’

  ‘No, I don’t. I just said.’ Mervyn looked confused and embarrassed. As usual, the Great Detective didn’t know something that was common knowledge to the rest of the world.

  Robert slumped down in the sound engineer’s chair and started swivelling it aimlessly, back and forth. ‘I can’t believe you don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t know. So tell me.’

  ‘I’ll do more than that. I’ll show you.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Robert took Mervyn to a computer in the corner and switched it on. There was a comforting chime and the screensaver swam into view. Vixens from the Void, of course—a rather nice ensemble shot of the Vixens posing and aiming their guns.

  Robert went to Google and searched for websites. He wasn’t having much luck. Time after time, he came across unhelpful little signs that said the website wasn’t available, or the URL wasn’t found. ‘Nope. That one’s been taken down… And that one… That one too.’ He went through website after website, each one murkier and shabbier than the last. ‘I’d better wipe my browser history after this…’ he muttered.

  They finally ended up looking at one in a lurid pink, called Peek-a-Boob. There was a huge exaggerated cartoon of a large-breasted woman lying on the logo, and running down the side of the screen were adverts for dating sites, featuring grim-looking women from Basildon and Norwich lying on cheap sofas with their legs open.

  ‘Here we are.’

  ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘Peek-a-Boob.’

  ‘So I see. Why? Is this what BBC employees do during the day?’

  Robert grimaced, slightly embarrassed. ‘This site collects candid footage of stars; basically the operators are a bunch of sad acts who trawl through daytime television and take screen-grabs of celebs when they’re showing more flesh than usual; extra cleavage, erect nipples, flashes of knickers…you get the idea.’

  ‘I get the idea. Why are we looking at this?’

  ‘I’ll just put a name in the search. Um… Okay. Vanity Mycroft.’

  Another screen came up, hundreds of tiny pictures of Vanity Mycroft; star of Vixens from the Void. The makers of the site didn’t exactly have to scour the world for candid photos of Vanity’s body; she was happy to supply them herself.

  There was a collage of nipples, cleavages and bottoms; a mixture of alluring publicity photos and screen-grabs of her on Vixens, taken while she was bending over or crossing her legs in very short skirts. He leaned to one side so Mervyn could see the picture he selected. It looked like a still taken from CCTV footage.

  It was shot from high up, looking down on a tiny bare room, with only one piece of furniture. A toilet.
It was a toilet cubicle. A woman was sitting on it, knickers round her ankles.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘That’s Vanity Mycroft.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Robert sighed. ‘This is what Lionel did. Let’s say he abused his position.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Lionel Bickerdyke was a security officer in the BBC. He mainly worked nights.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘He was also my flatmate. I didn’t know him well. He just answered my ad in Ariel for someone to share the rent.’

  ‘Go on…’

  ‘So… One night he took audiovisual equipment from the flat. Stuff I’d signed out to film interviews for a DVD extra.’

  ‘Well I’ve put a few pens in my pocket myself over the years…’

  ‘Oh, he didn’t steal the stuff.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good.’

  ‘He took the cameras and secreted them in the hollow ceilings of the cubicles of both women’s and men’s toilets in this building, on the third floor.’

  ‘Oh. That is a bit…’

  ‘And he took recordings of celebrities on the toilet. He filmed them while they were making commentaries for Vixens from the Void and they’d just popped into the loo.’

  ‘Oh my God…’

  ‘And he made DVDs of them, and sold them to several unscrupulous fans who put them up on anonymous websites.’

  Mervyn boggled. ‘He did that?’

  ‘I’m afraid he did.’

  ‘How many celebrities did he…um, film?’

  ‘The police don’t know for sure, but about a dozen.’

  Mervyn gave a silent whistle. ‘Who did he record?’

  Robert sucked his cheeks.

  ‘Come on Robert, you just said it was in all the papers.’

  ‘Well we did a commentary about three months ago—and we contacted Liz O’Rourke to take part—’

  ‘Oh my god! “BAFTA Betty”?’

  Elizabeth O’Rourke was an esteemed actress who’d made a huge name for herself in heart-warming ITV dramas about lone women struggling against cancer, or arthritis, or MS, or just generally being a struggling lone woman struggling against stuff.

  Every time she strapped on some callipers and donned a surgical gown she got another wheelbarrow full of awards. Like many esteemed actresses, she’d had a brief shameful role in Vixens from the Void before she’d got properly famous.

  ‘She’s nearly 70!’

  Robert held his hands up helplessly. Vixens fans want to know how stars look naked. It doesn’t matter what age or shape they are. Or even if they’re that well known. It’s a curiosity thing.’

  ‘It’s a sick, prurient thing, you mean.’

  ‘I’m not arguing, Mervyn. I think it’s horrible too.’

  Robert continued. ‘Liz is talking about suing the BBC for millions; talking about loss of dignity and damage to her reputation as a respected doyenne of stage and screen.’

  ‘She should have worried about that when she did that insurance ad with the cartoon rhino. All right. Who else from Vixens from the Void?’

  ‘Race Keynes came into to do “The Bride of Krell” commentary.’

  ‘Race Keynes? The silicon enhanced seductress and footballer’s friend? The one with that fly-on-the wall show on Channel Five? She was in Vixens?’

  ‘Oh yes. You probably won’t remember her. She played a tiny part in the last series, one of those cloned child geniuses you created in the episode “Children of the Revolution”.’

  ‘Really? One of those kids? My, she’s a big girl now.’

  ‘She’s majorly pissed off about what’s happened. In fact, she poured out her story of how her body’s been violated over at least eight pages of the News of the World.’

  ‘Complete with pictures no doubt, in case the readers can’t remember what her violated body looks like.’

  ‘You got it.’

  ‘I would have thought she’s the kind of person who wouldn’t mind being filmed like that.’

  ‘It because she’s “that kind of person” that she’s so annoyed. She’s already done an “on the toilet” webcam for the website of Jazz—the lads mag?—which hasn’t been streamed yet.’

  ‘Streamed?’

  ‘On the web. That’s what they say when they put things on the web.’

  ‘Not the most fortunate of terms.’

  ‘Anyway, she’s worried they’re going to cancel the exclusive contract she’s got with Jazz, so she’s suing too. The whole thing’s an utter mess. The BBC is going to get tied up in legal knots for years, and everyone is going to be looking at us and pointing fingers. We’ll be lucky if we’re allowed to record messages for our own answer machines after this.’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘What?’

  Robert sucked his pen. ‘Now don’t get agitated.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I did say he put cameras in both toilets…’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Men and women…’

  ‘Oh God, no. Don’t tell me…’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Robert found a photo of Mervyn sitting on the toilet. Mervyn was there, pen in mouth, reading his crib sheet for a previous DVD commentary. He was actually making notes on the toilet roll. Thankfully his shirt-tail hid his embarrassment.

  ‘How come I didn’t know any of this?’

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t.’

  Mervyn stared at the screen. ‘This is a bit of a shock to me.’

  ‘You’re lucky you found out from me,’ said Robert grimly. ‘Liz O’Rourke found out about it when a fan stopped her on the street and gave her a sitting-on-the-loo screen-grab to sign.’

  ‘Was he a number-one fan, or a number-two fan?’

  ‘I wish I could find it funny, Mervyn, I really wish I could.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Mervyn dryly, looking at the screen. ‘It’s not a bad picture of me. I’m wearing my good socks, and at least he’s put the camera high up, so he didn’t get my double chin.’ Not for the first time, Mervyn marvelled at fans’ sinister creativity, or their ability once they’d taken their pound of flesh to slice off a couple more ounces. All thoughts of the murder investigation had predictably flown out of Mervyn’s brain. ‘So what’s happened to Lionel now?’

  ‘He’s out on bail pending trial, hiding in a friend’s flat. He was just ringing up last week to collect his stuff from my house. We’re not flatmates any more, of course. I don’t ever want to talk to him again. I’m majorly mad.’

  ‘And that’s what you were giving him that day. A box of his stuff?’

  ‘Yeah… Well, no. I didn’t give it to him in the end, the events of that day put the kibosh on that. He rang me back when we were in the BBC club after Marcus’s death. I told him I didn’t have the time to bother with his nonsense.’

  ‘So you’ve still got his stuff?’

  ‘Yep. Right here.’

  Robert disappeared behind a desk, and reappeared with a sad-looking cardboard box that had ‘LIONEL’ scrawled on the side in crayon. It was filled with CDs, books and a laptop. A furry, smily creature on a spring poked out of the top of the box and nodded at Mervyn with a knowing grin. Mervyn peered into the box and picked up a CD with distaste, as if it were coated with something sticky.

  ‘You were just going to give all that back to him, just like that? Did you check through it?’

  ‘The police did,’ said Robert defensively. ‘There was nothing on those disks.’

  ‘What about the laptop?’

  Robert looked at the laptop doubtfully. Then he scratched the tiny toilet-brush-like bristle on his chin.

  ‘The police haven’t looked at the laptop…’ he slowly said at last. ‘I borrowed it off him six months ago when my Powerbook went kaput. I’ve been using it in here, in my office ever since. He hasn’t used it in ages.’ Robert’s phone rang. He looked at the display. ‘Speak of the devil. It’s Lionel.’ He took the
call. ‘Hello. Oh. You’re here? Yeah I’ve got your stuff. If you want to wait ten minutes I’ll be down…’

  Mervyn shook his head vigorously, mouthing the word ‘No.’

  Robert stared at him in irritation, but said: ‘Hang on a minute.’ He put the phone on hold. ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t you think you’d better check that laptop before you give it back?’

  ‘But I’ve told you. It’s just been on my desk.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s possible to download files on to it, even while it’s been sitting on your desk. And he’d have the password, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Yeeeesss…’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be safer for him—to keep all that stuff on your desk rather than at home?’

  Robert just looked thoughtful.

  ‘…And there’s no telling what else is on there. Who knows, you were flatmates. Did you check your bathroom for surveillance equipment recently?’

  Robert looked unnerved. ‘I’m not famous.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you count as a bit of a minor celebrity to fans?’

  Robert picked up the laptop, held it up to the light and examined it, as if by staring hard enough he could see toilet-related celebrity pictures inside.

  ‘I think you might have a point,’ he said. He pressed a button on his mobile. ‘Hey Lionel, I’m sorry, but I’m busy. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.’

  There was a squeak of agitation from the phone.

  ‘Look Lionel, that’s the way it is. I can’t help it. Something’s just come up. I’m sorry. You’re bloody lucky I’m doing this for you at all.’

  He paused, listening, his chin bristling with impatience.

  ‘Call them if you like,’ Robert snapped. ‘I’m sure the police would be very sympathetic, not to say intrigued by this laptop I’ve got in front of me. I’m not sure it won’t be me calling the police.’ Robert pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. ‘He hung up.’

  ‘Sounds like a man with something to hide.’

  ‘Sounds like it.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Mervyn got up to go, shrugging on his jacket. ‘Well this has been fascinating and horrifying at the same time. But I have to make a move. I think I have to visit the gents soon; you’ll forgive me if I wait until I vacate the BBC before I go.’