stopped him. "Dwery wants you back at the station ASAP. The press is
foaming at the mouth."
"Fuck the press. I need to walk."
BACK IN LONDON, Robert Blackpool read the newspaper report. It amused
the hell out of him. The Fleet Street stories were the best. All
that murder-of-passion and death-of-a-dream nonsense. They'd gotten
hold of a couple of pictures as well. They were grainy, a bit out of
focus, but immensely satisfying. Emma being wheeled into an ambulance.
Her face was a mess, and that pleased Blackpool very much.
He'd never forgotten the way she'd turned on him.
He thought it was a pity that Latimer hadn't beaten her to death. But
then, there were other ways to pay back.
Picking up the phone, he called the London Times.
Pete was livid when he read the article the next day. Robert Blackpool,
expressing deep sorrow at the death of a talented young artist like
Latimer, related an incident that involved himself and Emma. From his
slant, she had shown vicious jealousy over his relationship with her
roommate. When her attempts at seduction had failed, she had tried to
attack him with a pair of scissors.
The headlines were bold.
THIRST FORLovEDR=EmmA TO VIOLENCE
It didn't take long for people to gobble up the reports. Opinions were
now torn as to whether she had acted in self-defense or in a jealous
rage when she had shot her husband.
Grabbing the phone, Pete dialed.
"You tucking lunatic."
"Ah, and good morning to you." Blackpool chuckled. He'd been expecting
the call.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, spreading a story like that?
I've got enough of a mess to clean up."
"It's not my mess, mate. If you ask me, little Emma got just what she
deserved."
"I'm not asking you. And I'm telling you to back off."
"Why should I do that? I can use the publicity. You're the first one
to say press sells records, aren't you?"
"I'm telling you to back off."
"Or?"
"I don't care to make threats, Robert. Just take me at my word when I
tell you that scrounging up nasty secrets isn't healthy for anyone."
There was a long, humming pause. "I owed her this one."
"Perhaps. That isn't my concern. Your numbers have been slipping the
last couple of years, Robert. Record companies are notoriously
fickle. You wouldn't want to have to go digging about for a new manager
at this stage, would you?"
"We go back, Pete. I doubt either of us wants to break up an old
friendship."
"Remember it. Keep stirring things up and I'll drop you like a dirty
sock."
"You need me as much as I need you."
"Oh, I doubt that." Pete smiled into the phone. "I doubt that very