Smoke still hung in the air, as Tommy Gammon looked from Sarah to Jack, and then back to Sarah again.
“This Basil you’re asking about,” he said. “Basil Fawlty?”
He laughed at his own joke.
“No,” Jack said. “Basil Coates. Was once a big actor. Back in your Dad’s day.”
The man nodded, shrugged.
“Yeah, all right, I know who you meant, just having a laugh. Basil Coates. The old Anvil guy.”
Then, eyes narrowing, the smell of the gunpowder adding to the mood inside this workshop.
“You two coppers then?” A look to Jack. “Didn’t know they was recruiting yanks?” Another laugh. “Not sure we need any of them these days.”
Sarah could feel Jack tense, then quickly, relax.
She knew it wasn’t the first time he’d heard what passed for a witticism referring to his home country.
“Mr Gammon, Jack here, and I, well, we’ve been asked to look into things that have been happening at Basil’s house. Things designed to scare him. Things that only someone who knows the kind of tricks they used to make in movies could do …”
“Wait a minute. Are you thinking — what — maybe I—?”
Jack put up his hand.
“Thinking nothing, Tommy. Just, well, some of these tricks — these special effects — they’re all things that were in Basil’s movies. When your dad worked here.”
“Yeah,” Tommy said, a bit less defensive. “So?”
“So. Just want to see that there wasn’t anything we might be missing.”
“Missing, hmm?”
“Now that Basil’s dead,” said Jack.
Sarah saw Tommy suddenly alert — surprised.
“Dead?”
Sarah nodded.
“You’re kidding me?”
“He died yesterday,” said Sarah. “Suddenly. Heart attack. Possibly brought on by witnessing one of these … special effects.”
Tommy looked down at his cannon. The smoke now drifted up to the rafters.
“I didn’t know,” he said. “Been busy here, you know?”
He paused, as if thinking things through, then: “When exactly did he—?”
“Around two in the morning,” said Jack. “Just minutes after somebody torched a replica of the old wicker devil on his terrace. Someone who turned up at the house in a small blue van.”
Sarah saw Tommy wipe his hand over his mouth.
Jack pressed on: “Basil was sitting just by the window of his sitting room. The burning devil — must have been terrifying to watch. Doubly so for a man with a weak heart. Fact, could be argued that whoever was responsible for that little stunt is responsible for Basil Coates’ death. Imagine that’s how the police will be looking at it—”
“All right, all right, you don’t need to spell it out,” said Tommy. “I get the picture.”
“Something you want to tell us, Tommy?” said Sarah.
But before he could answer — a loud voice came from the dark interior of the workshop.
“Tommy — can we set another charge? Real quick?”
Tommy nodded in the direction of the darkness.
“Work calling. Look. I can’t talk now. Here … tell you what …”
Sarah waited.
Interrogating even the most defensive person could sometimes prove useful.
Even … essential.
“I’ve got to finish up here. You go talk to my dad. Give me half an hour and I’ll join you? Then you’ll get what you need.”
“We can speak with him? Now?” Sarah asked, surprised.
A slow nod. “Yeah. But, he’s real old, you know? Though, spite of that, he can be pretty damn surprising …”
“And where would we find him?” Jack asked.
A first smile bloomed on Tommy’s face. “Why, in his ‘office’, of course.”
“Office?”
A nod to the outside, a thumb pointing in the general direction of the busy road outside the studios.
“The pub right across there. Red Lion. It’s where he spends his days. Can’t miss him. Just about the oldest thing in the place.”
Jack took a step closer. “Thanks, Tommy. And, not to worry, we’ll tread lightly. Just want to get at what might have been happening.”
“Good. I’ll hold you to that.”
Another shout from the darkness. “Tommy! Come on, mate! You ready yet?”
Tommy rolled his eyes.
“We’d better go,” said Sarah. Then added: “See you in half an hour.”
And she and Jack backed away as the FX expert began fiddling with the cannon, another blast required.
*
Jack stopped as he walked into the pub. Classic. Amazing even: the bar, the wood benches, the bright red towels to absorb the overflow.
The walls were filled with black-and-white photos.
Pictures of actors and actresses from decades ago. Some in elaborate costumes, some “all-smiles” publicity shots. Others like the photos he used to see in the windows of the Loew’s Kings movie theatre back in Brooklyn. Always the big, colourful poster, and below, a few black-and-white pictures from the film that usually looked far less exciting.
“This place … is history,” Jack said.
“Guess all the Ealing cast and crew used to come over here.”
Jack looked to the left.
“Even a garden in the back. Get a good summer’s day during a production … if only these walls could talk.”
“You’re impressed?”
“Very.”
“Well, a party and costumes await us back in Cherringham, so we’d better find Billy Gammon, and see what he knows.”
He watched Sarah walk up to the young barmaid.
“Hi, we’re looking for a Billy—”
The barmaid rolled her eyes.
“Table back near the fireplace. Fire’s not lit. That’s his regular place.”
Sarah smiled and made her way to the back. Jack followed.
A passageway led to the back tables and the garden beyond, but midway, they passed a single table by the stone fireplace, a horseshoe shaped seat girding it, the upholstery tattered and split in spots, revealing white tufts below.
And Billy.
Flipping through the Daily Mail.
Jack stood beside Sarah. The man seemed to take no notice of them, looking almost as much a part of the scenery as all the burnished wood and framed photos.
“Mr Gammon,” Sarah said.
*
For long moments he only listened.
Eyes narrow, hooded with old skin that gave him a wise look, even though he had begun working on a second pint.
Must be of strong stock, Jack thought, sipping at his own orange and soda.
At his age, why the hell not have a pint or two before lunch?
He nodded here and there as Sarah talked of Basil, the so-called pranks, then his death.
Jack added: “The pranks, Mr Gammon. Designed to scare Basil. But all taken from his films. Hmm? And some, like that bathtub of blood, requiring someone who really knew what they were doing.”
He paused.
“Someone who had done it before.”
Big gamble here, he thought.
“We’ve already talked to Tommy. Just now — over in the studios. He was pretty upset to hear about Basil. Fact — he’s going to join us any minute. He said you’d talk to us. Tell us the whole story.”
He thought he saw a bit of a flash in those ancient, rheumy eyes.
And that is when, after so much silence, Billy Gammon began to talk.
*
“First of all, none of this ‘Mr Gammon’ shite, if you will. Always been Billy and it suits me just fine.”
He took a sip of his beer. Actually, Jack saw, more of a gulp.
“And as to your enquiries — that what you types call them? — well, you may want to look over your shoulder, to that wall there.”
And when Jack did, he saw a collection of photos, all clearly from Ealing’s horror movies, at the height of Anvil’s success.
And — Jack quickly realised — all featuring Basil.
“See those films? I worked on every damn one of them. And those ‘pranks’, yeah, well, ‘effects’ is the proper name. The blood. That wicker man? Oh, and even that big snake you talked about? All my ideas, not that any damn director or producer would give me credit.”
Another swig.
“See that poster there? The Mummy’s Return! They’re remaking it, you know. Not here of course. Oh no, this place, far too small now. Up at Pinewood — they got the big stages up there. Movies all got to be big, big, big these days.”
Jack nodded as he saw Sarah slip out her small notepad.
Good idea. With Billy suddenly barrelling on, good to capture as much as they could.
“Yeah. The Mummy’s Return. Three months in Cairo, we did. Bloody hot it was too. I had to learn a lot about the ancient world for that, I can tell you. How to kill people, you know?” A laugh. “That, and how to revive the dead.”
Jack saw Sarah look from the photos back to Billy.
“So … Hill House, in Cherringham. The effects. Did someone ask you to do them? Set up those effects to scare Basil?”
And at that, Billy laughed, actually slapped his thigh.
“Someone ask me? Hah — bloody right, they did. Oh yes, they asked me all right!”
Jack waited while Billy leaned forward, took a gulp from his pint. Then he nodded towards the wall behind Jack.
“See that photo? The one in the centre?”
Jack turned to look. There, in a framed ten by eight, in faded Kodak tones, was Basil, in full vampire gear. For a moment he didn’t know who the other two people in the photo were.
A man holding a silver cross. And a woman with black hair and matching flashing, dark eyes.
Alyssia.
And was she ever something …?
“Who asked me?” said Billy. “You wanna know who asked me? Ha!”
He killed the last of his pint and put the glass down with a sharp crack of glass on wood that had been dotted with beer over a hundred years.
“Was Basil himself who asked me.”