'He better had be,' said Penelope Latimer. 'He owns a third of the company.'

'Really? And he wrote and directed the film?'

'You've seen it? Yes, he wrote it, not very taxing on the intellect though, you agree? What's with this film anyway? Some local lilywhite giving trouble?'

Pascoe hesitated only a moment. She sounded cooperative and bright. At the worst he might pick something up from her reaction.

He told her Shorter's theory.

Her reaction was an outpouring of pleasantly gurgly laughter.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't catch that.'

'Funny,' she said. 'You think we pay actresses to get beaten up? Who can afford that kind of money?'

'If you beat them up enough, I suppose they come cheap,' said Pascoe with great acidity, tired of being made to feel foolish.

'Oh-ho! Snuff-films we're making now? When can we expect you and the dogs?'

'I'm not with you,' said Pascoe. 'What was that you said! Snuff-films?'

'I thought the police knew everything. It's when someone really does get killed in front of the camera. They snuff it – get it?'

'And these exist?'

'So they say. I mean, who wants to find out? Look, you're worried about the leading lady being duffed up, right? So if you could have a little chat with her, you'd be happy? All right. I'll dig out her address on one condition. You see her, ask about the film, nothing more. No follow up just to make your bother worthwhile.'

'You've lost me again,' said Pascoe.

'Do I have to spell it out? This is lower division stuff. I mean it won't be Julie Andrews you're going to talk to. This girl might – I don't say she is, but she might be on the game. Or she might have a bit of weed about the place. Or anything. Now I don't want to sick the police on her. So I want your word. No harassment.'