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After allowing the new information to sink in, Reilly asked, “Now, do you still deny it’s your library?”
Summers glared at Reilly. As did Frederick Dawson, his brow furrowed, his concern evident.
“Mr Reilly! Mr Briggs!” Summers said, his attitude no longer condescending. “I had no idea my library was being used for immoral purposes.”
“Did you not? You’ve no idea who’s having sex across your desk?”
“None at all. Believe me, I shall get to the bottom of this.”
“So will we.”
“I have to tell you gentlemen that I do spend a lot of time out of town attending conferences,” said Summers.
His condescending grin was really beginning to irritate Reilly.
“You’re saying that all of the illegal material has been filmed in your absence?”
“Most certainly. I can tell you, as I have done on many occasions, I am not connected to any paedophile ring, nor have I any interest in the type of filth you’ve shown me.”
Reilly noted a return of confidence in the agent’s manner.
“Yes, I appreciate that. But you see, we have a wee bit more incriminating evidence. If you look at the bottom left-hand corner of the screen, you’ll notice the time and date. It tells me, as it should you, that the production – despite being reasonable quality – is an amateur one. It’s been made on a video camera, not a film camera.”
Summers’ face tightened and the colour drained. “Er, yes, I had noticed.”
Briggs took over. “So, can we clarify it is your library?”
“Er, yes, Mr Briggs, it is.”
“Good. Because it just so happens we still have your diaries with us.” Reilly reached down the side of his chair, placing the books on the table in front of them.
“You’ll notice,” continued Briggs, “that when the pornographic film was made, you were not out of town at all. In fact, the exact date and time shows us you had a meeting. At home. Doesn’t say who with. Would you like to enlighten us, Mr Summers?”
Derek Summers was ashen.
Reilly noticed his hard swallow. At last, he felt he had the bastard.
“You seem to have lost your tongue. Which is a pity, because you’ve quite a lot more explaining to do, so you have. For example, why are four men with a taste for young girls, who worked for you, now dead? What’s happened to the children who were abducted and forced to take part in the sex films? Who killed David Vickers? Who’s the man with the warts?”
Both Briggs and Dawson remained silent, but the solicitor’s expression was grave.
Summers bowed his head, shaking it.
Reilly slammed his hand down hard on the table.
Summers jumped.
As Reilly piled on the pressure, his voice rose. “What I really want to know is, where’s my partner’s son? Detective Inspector Gardener, the man with the hat. He has a son who’s missing now. He went to the same school as David Vickers. Who’s now dead! So too are the teenage girls in the film, I imagine.”
Dawson’s head bobbed up and down and from side to side as he glanced from Briggs to Reilly to Summers.
“I want to know where my partner’s son is.” Reilly pronounced each word and banged the desk more than once. His control went AWOL as he dragged Summers out of his chair by the scruff of his neck. “Where is he?”
Summers cracked under the relentless pressure. “No, please, stop him.”
Dawson clambered out of his seat and waved a finger. “I really must protest your attitude towards my client.” The agent’s brow was a mass of sweat. His eyes dilated.
Briggs finally intervened. “For Christ’s sake, Sean. Let him go!”
