‘But—’

‘Time and principal photography waits for no man.’

Insch closed his eyes, massaged his temples, teeth bared between thin trembling lips. ‘Cool wet grass, cool wet grass. . .’

Nothing ever changed.

Chapter 18

18

‘She broke in through there.’ Insch pointed at a window about six foot off the ground. A set of black bars were bolted over the opening, a ‘WET PAINT!!!’ sign hanging beneath them.

Steel puckered her lips, looking up at the bars. ‘Nothing like bolting the stable door, eh? ’

Insch turned his back on her and marched off down the corridor, soured mouth working on another carrot stick. Strange seeing him walk like that, all rangy and long-limbed, instead of the lumbering mass he used to be.

Logan followed him. ‘So how long have you been with Crocodildo Productions? ’

‘I’m not: doesn’t exist any more. The props department is just down here.’

Steel scuttled up beside them. ‘What? No. Come on, that’s no’ funny!’

‘As Zander says: no one appreciates the art any more. What’s the point going to all that effort to create something beautifully written and acted and shot, when all anyone ever does is fast-forward to the sex? ’

‘But that’s the good bit!’

‘The final straw came when someone sent him a link to an illegal porn download site. They’d made a compilation of all the . . . finale shots from every one of his movies. All his effort and creativity reduced to that. No wonder he gave it up.’ Insch stopped in front of a door marked ‘DEPARTMENT OF VARIOUS THINGS’ and swiped his ID card through the reader fixed on the wall beside it. The little red light went green. He nodded towards a security camera mounted in the corner, with a clear field of view down the corridor. ‘We had all this fitted after the break-in. Insurance company insisted.’

Steel scratched at her right boob. ‘But he can’t give up, he was. . . It’s not right.’

Insch hauled open the door. ‘Of course, I’d always wanted to work in film, so when I bumped into Zander at the Rotary Club we got talking. He invited me onboard for Crocodildo’s last cinerotography project: The Girl with the Dildo Tattoo. We won twelve Woodies for that.’

Steel curled her top lip and backed off a couple of paces. ‘Eew. . .’

He scowled at her. Then dipped into his bag and produced another carrot stick. ‘I wasn’t in it, I was second unit director.’

‘Oh, thank God for that. The thought of you, in the nip, humping away at some poor woman. Flaps of skin flippity-flopping all over the shop. . .’ Shudder.

She had a point.

‘Have you finished? ’

A shrug. ‘Tell you, if I could bleach away the mental image, I would.’