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April nodded sagely. “The woman has ice in her veins.”
    I molded my features into a neutral expression. “What makes you say that?” I encouraged.
    April threw her coffee into the trash bin. The wreckage of it steamed.
    “In the last three months she has fired two good on-air talents, as well as a damned fine producer. She’s a hard bitch – and she seems to like being that way.”
    I was about to probe more when I saw April’s gaze flick past my shoulder and an instant later I heard the heavy fall of footsteps on the carpet. I glanced behind me. A grey-haired man was coming towards us. He looked like a hippie. He was in his fifties or sixties with a ragged little scruff of a beard, and a glittering diamond earring in one ear. His long hair was pulled back into a ponytail. His shirt was a loose-fitting tie-dyed thing that looked like it had been salvaged from a second-hand store, and his boots were scuffed and as tired looking as the man who wore them. He waved to April and she smiled back brightly.
    I turned to meet the man. He had his hand extended.
    “You must be Jericho James,” the guy said. His voice had a rich timber to it.
    “I must be,” I said. We shook hands.
    I felt April’s touch. She leaned close to me so that I could sense the heat of her body. Her hip pressed firmly against my leg. She draped herself over my shoulder in the intimate familiar gesture of a girlfriend.
    “Jericho, this is Grover.”
    I nodded. “Hi,” I said. “First or last name?”
    “Both,” the man said without affectation. “Everyone just calls me Grover.”
    April’s breath was a warm tickle against my neck, the scent of her perfume enveloped my senses. “Grover is the station’s best producer,” April explained. “He will be working with us tonight. He used to be an announcer – back in the day.”
    I studied the man with renewed interest. He certainly had the voice for it.
    “Well it’s good to meet you,” I said. “But I thought Cecily was going to be our regular producer.”
    Grover smiled. “Ain’t nothing regular at this station, bucko,” he said and dragged his fingers through the straggle of his beard. “The only thing you can count on for sure – is the unexpected.”
    I sensed there was deeper meaning to Grover’s comment, but this wasn’t the time or the place. It was almost midnight.
    “Did Miss Collett brief you both about the show tonight?” I asked.
    April shook her head. Grover stared vacantly upwards like the answer was written on the ceiling. It wasn’t. I checked…
    “She wants us to take more fantasy calls tonight,” I explained. “She wants us to mix up the questions coming in so we’re not talking about the same issues over and over again. When we go on the air, you need to announce that we welcome calls from people who have their own BDSM stories to tell, okay?” I had directed the question to April. She nodded her head without any change of expression.
    “And you need to send the calls through to the studio with an emphasis on the most interesting ones,” I faced Grover. The guy nodded his head. “Oh, and last night we had a call from a woman named Sondra ,” I said carefully. I was addressing Grover, but from the corner of my eye I watched April’s features suspiciously for the slightest twitch of reaction at the mention of the name. “If she calls again tonight, Miss Collett wants the call put straight through. No delay. Okay?”
    Grover nodded. April nodded.
    It was time to go to work.

Chapter 7.
     
    April sat across the studio desk with a secret smile on her face while she tapped at the keyboard. I glanced at the clock on the wall as it counted down the last seconds before midnight. Without missing a beat, April turned to the microphone and her voice became like a sultry summer breeze over the airwaves.
    “Good evening lovers and the lonely, this is your girl April coming to you live from downtown Boston with the Aussie man every girl wants to talk to –