Vinyl is,’ Atherton said, arguing to be the one to go. ‘I’ve looked up the address, and it’s on the corner of Brook Green – the road, I mean.’ Brook Green was not only the name of an area and a green space but of the road which ran along the side of the green and debouched into Shepherd’s Bush Road. ‘Just round the corner from Ransom Productions, in fact – another connection.’ ‘I thought you didn’t believe in connections,’ Swilley sniped. ‘If you two can’t behave I’ll send you to your rooms,’ Slider said. ‘Atherton, go. He’s right, it is a long shot, but we haven’t got any short ones. Good luck. May the force be with you.’ ‘You’re not allowed to call it the Force any more,’ Atherton said, turning away. ‘It’s the Police Service.’ Vinyl Heaven was so niche it had a hand-painted fascia instead of the usual glossy plastic or glass job: a pale blue background with the name in black capitals in the middle and two overlapping LPs painted on either side of it, black, of course, with red labels.
