In the glare of the flashlight Sergeant Peter Jenkins saw his face – white, with staring eyes and half-open mouth. It was on his mouth that Jenkins’ horrified eyes were fixed. The man’s lips were drawn back in a wolfish snarl and from the corners of his mouth ran thin streams of blood.
The balance of power at Amicus was shifting. Max Rosenberg had used the duo’s British affiliate for his own ends, channelling funds from the UK to prop up the ailing Vanguard operation, which had not produced an original feature since 1961. Until now, the geographical distance between him and Subotsky had been a boon to their relationship but with each new flop, it was becoming more of a bugbear. As Rosenberg saw it, he was the one who was called upon to raise the funds, but he was losing faith in Subotsky’s commercial judgement and he was in New York, with no recourse to any second opinions; Subotsky, for his part, was becoming tired of being overruled and undermined by his partner, simply because it was he who held the purse-strings.