Revenge of the Adventurer! 7.

We climbed the stairs. I hung back as Scruff reached the top floor. She smiled shyly at Mr. Barton, a tall, white-haired man.
"Hi."
Barton took the book from her hand and signed it.
"There you go, Scruff. I suppose you're called that because of your appearance?"
"Got it in one. I... Mr. Barton, I'm so sorry to hear Mr. Galliard's going to ruin your books..."
"Scruff!" Barton laughed. "You're the girl who posted that hatchet-job on Galliard's idiotic film on the internet! Where did you get all that information?"
"From me," I decided to make my presence known. "Scruff's my little sister. She's a good one too."
"You! Galliard's friend! You..."
"I'm not Galliard's friend. He wants me to back his film. I don't want to do that. I'd rather back you, Mr. Barton."
"My novels are mostly out of print, Miss Hill. No-one wants the Adventurer any more."
"I'm the girl with millions in the bank, Mr. Barton. The only problem is this film Galliard's making. He won't sell the character."
"I know! Galliard just wants to use the name of my character to sell his sordid little film! Well, I won't have it! I must have the Adventurer back!"
"Did you know Mr. Stock was dead?"
"Yes, of course I did. I'm sorry. He was working with what Galliard gave him, nothing more. It wasn't his fault. But morally Galliard has some responsibility. I still have readers, a few fans. Perhaps one of them read your post, Scruff, and decided to murder Stock. I just hope Galliard's next."
We both gasped in shock.
"Mr. Barton!"
"You don't know Galliard, I do. Thirty years ago he was a prospective novelist. He wrote what for want of a better phrase are called 'Sex and Sadism' novels. Sub-Bond, sub-Spillaine. Wretched, sordid books full of trash, derivative and sensationalised. He wanted me to help get him published, but when I read the first book he offered me it was so bad I refused. He tried to submit scripts to 'The Adventurer' TV show, but they were sordid little things that I wouldn't touch with a barge pole. Somehow he formed a grudge against me. My 'escapist' books sold like hot cakes and made me rich, he struggled to find a publisher for his books, and they sold poorly. Yes, there's a market for the sort of pervesion that went on in them, but they were badly written too. He was conviced that they were 'realistic'. Of course they weren't! Fiction can't be, it always distorts reality through the prism of the author's thoughts! But I never pretended to be realistic. Galliard did. And when I crashed he bought the rights to my character through a front company! This film is his revenge!"

"But why did you sell?" Scruff asked.
"I had to. I hadn't written a novel in years. I thought I'd lost the touch, so the Adventurer was just a property that wasn't bringing in money any more."
"You can't write?" Scruff was horrified.
"No, Scruff, I thought I couldn't. I started a brand-new 'Adventurer' novel a few weeks ago. It's going well apart from two characters who need to help Coventry."
"But you married him to Lana and they retired," Scruff protested.
"I know. I start the new book with Lana being murdered. Coventry's sixteen years older, in a world he doesn't understand any more. Computers, modern security systems..."
"You'll work something out," Scruff promised.
"Yes, but I can't publish the book until I buy the Adventurer back from Galliard!"
"Leave that to me," I promised. "I can be pretty persuasive."
And I was going to be. After all, this would be an excellent way to save several lives. Only one thing bothered me. Was Barton the killer?