A Reconstructed Corpse by Simon Brett Page A

insisting, ‘that child abuse is exactly the kind of subject
Public Enemies
should be tackling.’
    â€˜Oh yes,’ the presenter countered. ‘If it’s the right sort of child abuse.’
    â€˜What do you mean – the right sort? Surely child abuse is child abuse?’
    â€˜No, I mean, if we’re going to have child abuse on a programme I’m involved in, then it’s got to be sexy.’
    â€˜But, Bob, for heaven’s sake – child abuse is sexy by definition.’
    â€˜No, it isn’t. It’s
sexual
by definition. I’m talking sexy.
Public Enemies
doesn’t want to show yet another kid, shot in silhouette or with the face electronically scrambled, moaning on about how her stepfather touched her up. The public’s sick to death of it – they can get all that at home.’
    â€˜But child abuse is a criminal offence, and it’s a major contemporary social problem.’
    â€˜Leave major contemporary social problems to BBC2 and Channel Four – we’re talking mainstream television here. Through this Martin Earnshaw thing we’ve got
Public Enemies
into a ratings position other factual programmes would kill for, and I’m not going to have that threatened by your mimsy-pimsy
Guardian
-reading conscience.’
    â€˜It is not just my conscience, Bob, it’s –’
    â€˜Anyway, there are other programmes that have cornered the market in child abuse. God, I don’t want to go into the ring with Esther Rantzen. I do have some standards.’
    That final assertion was arguable, Charles Paris reflected, as Roger Parkes picked up the argument again. ‘You take my word for it – research shows that child abuse is something the viewers are really concerned about.’
    â€˜I don’t want them bloody concerned! I want them fascinated, I want them frightened, I want them hooked! While I’m on the screen, I want them to keep watching, I want them to keep their hands off the bloody remote control, for Christ’s sake!’
    â€˜But –’
    â€˜And they’re not going to keep watching yet another hushed-voice account of some kid’s suffering at the hands of the family pervert. I tell you, nowadays child-abuse victims are as much of a turn-off as . . . fly-blown babies starving in Africa. Nothing’s going to get the viewing public excited about child abuse victims . . .’ Bob Garston paused as a new thought came into his mind ‘. . . unless of course we reconstructed some of the actual acts of abuse . . .’
    â€˜But no, we couldn’t do that,’ he concluded regretfully. ‘Might look as if we were being exploitative.’
    â€˜But couldn’t we –?’
    Bob Garston signalled the end of the conversation by looking up at Charles. If he ever had known the actor’s name, he’d certainly forgotten it. ‘Right, you’re going to be needed for more filming this week.’
    Charles managed to bite back the instinctive reaction, ‘Oh, good.’ Instead, he asked, ‘Why, have you got new information through from the public?’
    Bob Garston wrinkled his nose without enthusiasm. ‘Not that much. Plenty of calls, of course, but all pretty bloody vague. No detailed stuff or positive sightings.’
    â€˜So there isn’t much else you can do with me, is there . . .?’
    â€˜Don’t you believe it. We’re on to a winner here. We’re getting some pretty positive research from your appearances on the show.’
    â€˜Oh, thank you,’ said Charles, flattered – as any actor would be – by a commendation of his performance.
    Bob Garston’s next words, however, took some of the shine off the compliment. ‘No, apparently the viewers get quite a charge from having a reconstruction of someone who’s actually been dismembered.’
    â€˜Oh,’ said Charles Paris.
    A wistful longing came into Bob