Murder in the Merchant City

by Angus McAllister

  As he and Les stood together, facing the gantry, Les released a shuddering exhalation; it was intended to indicate, Jack supposed, the extremes of lust.

  ‘You sound like an elephant havin’ a shit.’

  ‘It shouldnae be allowed!’

  ‘Elephants need to shit, just like anyone else.’

  Jack liked Les well enough; he would probably be a sound enough citizen when he grew up. He turned to serve Candy the drinks.

  ‘Thanks, darlin’. What’s your name?’

  ‘Jack.’

  ‘No, that’s the drink. A Jack Daniels. What’s your name?’

  ‘My name’s Jack.’

  ‘Is your second name Daniels?’

  ‘No.’

  She gave a drunken giggle. ‘I’m gettin’ really confused.’ She opened her purse and offered him a twenty-pound note. It was possibly one of those he’d got from the cash machine and given her only a few hours before. Now it was going into the Centurion’s till on its way back to the bank. If banknotes could give an account of their circulation, some interesting journeys might be revealed. ‘Get a drink for yourself, Daniel.’

  ‘Thanks a lot.’

  She continued the flirtation when he returned with her change. The bar was now getting busier, but Les found the time to tell Jack what he’d like to do to Candy. It made up in fervour what it lacked in originality.

  From time to time, Jack glanced over at the table where the women were sitting. If Candy hadn’t been among them, he wouldn’t have paid them much attention. Three good-looking girls having a night out. Were they all on the game? Under normal circumstances, it would never have crossed his mind.

  He still couldn’t figure out Candy’s behaviour. She had treated him with total ease, flirting with him, buying him a drink, but without a single sign of recognition. Was she playing an elaborate game?

  Then he realised that the explanation was much simpler. She hadn’t recognised him. To her, he had been just another customer, one of many faces that had briefly passed her way that day. If he seemed at all familiar, she probably thought he was just a barman who had served her before.

  Maybe he had. If he’d met her the day before, or the previous week, would she have been just another customer to him?

  That wasn’t how Les saw it. ‘I think you’re ontae a good thing there,’ he said to Jack, as Candy waved goodbye on her way to the next pub. ‘Let us know if she’s too much for you. I might be able to give you a hand.’

  If only you knew, thought Jack. But you won’t be able to afford it unless you give up the fags.

  5

  The Most Beautiful Girl in the World

  On the following Monday, less than a week later, Jack went back to the Merchant City Health Centre. He hadn’t meant to return quite so soon. When withdrawing money at the cash machine he checked his balance, and the virtues of self control became even more apparent.

  This time he was much less nervous; the premises, after all, were discreetly located in an area where he was unlikely to be recognised. The same woman was at the front desk, but didn’t appear to remember him. Jack managed not to feel slighted. He preferred to be anonymous.

  He made his way to the changing room. The property had once been a large flat, built in the last century, and occupied the entire top floor of the building. At the far end of the hall the door to the lounge, once the house’s main living room, lay open; through it, he could see a girl, one he didn’t recognise, sitting upright, her legs crossed, taking short, frequent draws at a cigarette. Also at the far end, the kitchen had been amalgamated with another public room and a bathroom to accommodate a sauna, steam room, showers and toilet; an adjoining utilities room, filled with metal lockers, served as the changing room. In the area nearer the front door two bedrooms had been subdivided into massage cabins.

  He was alone in the changing room as he undressed, donned his robe and transferred his money into the little plastic wallet. As he was securing his locker, his back to the door, he heard another man come into the room.

  He turned slowly, then relaxed on seeing a stranger. It was very unlikely to be otherwise, but running into Candy at his place of work had made him sensitive to the possibility of coincidence. The feeling of relief was quickly followed by one of slight embarrassment. The other man was similarly diffident. He was older than Jack – in his mid-forties at least – and a little plump. His receding hairline showed touches of grey and he wore glasses. An unlikely consort for the sort of women on display here; an impossible one, in fact, without the formidable matchmaking properties of hard cash. The man stepped aside to let Jack out of the door, nodding briefly, his eyes fixed on the floor.

  Jack took a shower and was making his way to the lounge when one of the cabin doors opened. A client came out and headed for the shower area. He was followed by a woman who walked towards Jack on her way to the lounge. She greeted him with a warm smile. ‘Hi there.’

  Jack stopped dead and stared after her as she went through the doorway before him. He thought she must be the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. Tall, elegant, with a perfect face topped by blonde wavy hair. In a completely different class from Candy, who seemed cheap and obvious by comparison. If you saw her in the street, she would also attract attention, but as an impossible fantasy.

  He followed her into the lounge. Annette was there along with the girl he had earlier seen from the corridor. He had been hoping to see Annette again, but now he hardly noticed her, unable to take his eyes off the blonde girl. She sat down on one of the two armchairs and he sat on the other one, continuing to stare.

  ‘Hello there,’ said Annette. ‘How are you?’

  Realising that he was being rude, Jack turned to face her. ‘Fine,’ he said. It looked as if she remembered him at least. Or maybe she said that to every man who looked as if he knew his way around. The nervous girl put down her cigarette and got up from the sofa. ‘Would you like somethin’ to drink?’

  ‘A glass of orange juice, please.’

  She poured the drink and returned with it. ‘I’m Sylvia,’ she said. ‘This is Annette and this is Miranda.’

  He sat and sipped his drink. Annette and Sylvia made small talk with him, but Miranda remained silent. She just sat and smiled. From the moment he had first seen her, Jack knew that she had to be his choice, but found that he was lacking the courage. A girl like that couldn’t be there just for the asking. There had to be a mistake.

  He was impelled into action by the arrival of the man he had met in the changing room. For Miranda to go with him would be unthinkable, an obscenity. He looked across at her, trying to avoid the eye of the other girls. ‘Are you free for a massage?’ He found that his voice had gone hoarse.

  ‘Of course,’ said Miranda. ‘This way.’ She got up and walked to the door as if she were treading a catwalk.

  Though she tried to hide it, he could see Sylvia’s disappointment. He managed to avoid looking at Annette at all.

  As Miranda was leading him to the cabin, a newcomer approached them on his way to the changing room, a slightly-built man of about thirty-five. When he saw Miranda with Jack in tow, he stopped short.

  ‘Hi there,’ she said, giving him an identical greeting to the one she had originally given Jack. This somehow made it seem a little less special.

  The man stared at her with an intensity that should have been disconcerting, though she took it calmly enough. ‘Hello, Miranda,’ he said. ‘Are you busy?’

  ‘Afraid so,’ she said, continuing on her way. ‘See you later.’

  As they passed each other, the man fixed on Jack a look of absolute hatred. For a moment it quite unsettled him, then his attention returned to Miranda and the man was quickly forgotten.

  When Miranda came back, the customer didn’t give her a chance to return to the lounge, but ran out to the corridor to meet her. There was no need, there being no other customers who could have jumped in before him, but Annette was glad to see him go. He created tension in the room.
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  ‘Bloody bitch,’ said Sylvia. ‘Is naebody else gonnae get a look in? Charlie’ll murder me if I don’t take mair hame than last time.’

  ‘You don’t want that guy. There’s something funny about him.’

  ‘I know what you mean. You ever had him?’

  ‘Fat chance. It’s always Miranda. I think he’s in love.’

  ‘He’s no’ the only one. Fuckin’ cow.’

  ‘Aye, but there’s more to it with him,’ said Annette. ‘He gives me the creeps.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I couldnae talk tae him. I just played the machine till you came back. What like was that other guy?’

  ‘Hard work. Did you smell his breath? You’d think he’d swallowed a dead rat.’

  Sylvia laughed. ‘I take it you didnae have a long neckin’ session?’

  Annette shuddered. ‘Don’t even talk about it!’

  The man Jack had met in the changing room was back there before him. This time he seemed disposed to be talkative.

  ‘That Annette’s a really nice girl,’ he said.

  For some reason Jack had been hoping that he’d taken Sylvia. ‘Yes, she seems so.’

  ‘You were with Miranda, weren’t you? I’ve been with her as well. She’s very nice too. All the girls here are really nice.’

  Jack passed close by him on the way to his locker, and almost gagged at the stench from the man’s breath. He felt sorry for Annette, having been confined in an enclosed space with him. No wonder the other man had made it back before him. She’d probably hurried things along a bit.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,’ the man said.

  ‘No. This is only my second time.’

  ‘I suppose I’m becoming a bit of a regular. You see, my wife . . .’

  Don’t tell me, thought Jack, she doesn’t understand you. Or does it just put you off when she lies in bed wearing a gas mask?

  ‘She doesn’t keep well. It wouldn’t be fair to . . . you know . . .’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Are you married?’

  ‘Divorced.’

  The man nodded. He had finished dressing, but seemed inclined to stay and talk. Jack said nothing more, but turned back to the open locker and concentrated on putting his clothes back on. The other man seemed to take the hint and made for the door. ‘See you again.’

  ‘Bye,’ said Jack.

  As Jack was on his way out, the woman at the front desk was on the phone. ‘Yes,’ she was saying. ‘Today it’s Miranda, Annette and Sylvia . . . No problem . . . Bye.’

  It hadn’t occurred to Jack that he could phone to find out which girls were working on any particular day. There had been no need to take pot luck. He handed the woman his locker key and wallet.

  ‘Thanks, Jack,’ she said. ‘See you again.’

  My second visit and I’m already a regular, he thought. But of course she’d written his name in her book when he arrived. By the time he came back, she would probably have forgotten it again.

  6

  Special Delivery

  On the last day of his life, Arnold Bell arose at seven a.m., washed and dressed himself, helped his wife to the bathroom and back, and made breakfast for them both. Then they ate together in her bedroom. They enjoyed having this time to themselves, before the nurse arrived at nine. Especially if Ellen had had a good night and was feeling less tired than she would later.

  Rosemary, his wife’s nurse, arrived at nine o’clock and took over the care of Ellen while Arnold started work. Arnold was a partner in a city firm of chartered accountants but, since his wife’s illness, worked at home as much as possible. He had been busy for over an hour when Rosemary arrived at his study to say that they were off for their morning walk.

  Arnold followed the nurse to the hall, where Ellen was already waiting, seated in her wheelchair.

  ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘It’s quite nice outside,’ said Rosemary. ‘I thought we’d go to the park.’

  ‘It’s still cold. I hope you’re well wrapped up.’

  ‘Stop fussing, Arnold,’ said Ellen. ‘I’m not dead yet.’

  Arnold bent down to kiss her. Years of training enabled Ellen to show no reaction. She held her breath until his face had withdrawn, then exhaled slowly. ‘You’re a good man, Arnold,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  Feeling slightly embarrassed, Arnold made no reply.

  The Bells lived in a luxury penthouse flat on the top floor of a converted warehouse, having moved there from their Southside villa when Ellen became confined to a wheelchair. It was within easy reach of both the West End and the city centre, and gave a spectacular view across the north of the city – on a good day you could see Ben Lomond – as well as being on a single level.

  Arnold saw them out to the lift, then returned to his work. About ten minutes later, the buzzer for the security door sounded.

  Who could this be? Ellen and Rosemary could have forgotten something, but they had a key. He went through to the hall and lifted the handset. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Special delivery.’

  ‘OK.’ He let the visitor into the building and replaced the handset.

  His curiosity was aroused. He wasn’t expecting anything. The office occasionally forwarded urgent items of mail, but his secretary would generally phone him first.

  A few minutes later the doorbell rang. Still curious, but not in the least alarmed – it was ten thirty in the morning after all – he went to answer the door to his killer.

  7

  Life Goes On

  ‘My God,’ said Annette, ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘That man. I knew him.’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘The one on the telly. The one who was murdered.’

  ‘Good grief,’ said Norah. ‘How did you know him?’

  They were in Annette’s living room, watching the local news on television. They often kept each other company after Annette’s children had gone to bed and Norah’s husband had gone to the pub.

  Now that the initial shock was over, Annette realised that she would have to be careful what she said. ‘He was a patient. An outpatient.’

  ‘Not his wife?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s got MS,’ said Norah. ‘They just mentioned it.’

  ‘No, he was the patient,’ said Annette, wishing that she hadn’t let the news take her by surprise. ‘It was just some minor complaint.’

  ‘Another of your rich private patients,’ said Norah. ‘I see his wife had a private nurse. Was she one of yours?’

  ‘No.’ Definitely not! ‘Poor man, he didn’t deserve that. Attacked by a madman in his own home. Who’d think twice about answering the door at ten in the morning?’

  ‘Are you gonnae phone the police?’

  ‘The police? Why?’

  ‘You said you knew him.’

  ‘I don’t see the point,’ said Annette quickly. Too quickly, she realised. ‘I mean, everybody at the clinic knew him, not just me. I’ll mention it to the boss, see what she . . . see what he says.’ She tried to imagine Edna’s reaction if she suggested going to the police. It wasn’t going to be an issue.

  ‘It’s up to you,’ said Norah. ‘Look, we’ve got company.’

  Annette looked round. Andrew had come into the room. ‘What’s the matter, pet?’

  ‘I can’t sleep.’

  ‘Well, you won’t manage it here. You’ll have to go back to bed.’

  ‘Can you read to me?’

  ‘You can read yourself now. You don’t need me. I’ve got a visitor to look after.’

  ‘I’m just goin’,’ said Norah.

  ‘I was about to put the kettle on.’ Annette grabbed Andrew by the arm and led him from the room. ‘Come on. I’ll tuck you back in and help you choose a book.’

  ‘I’ll get the tea,’ said Norah.

  Ten minutes later, they were back in front of th
e television. ‘You’re too hard on him,’ said Norah.

  ‘He’s got to learn. He wants everything done for him.’

  ‘He’s only eight, for God’s sake.’

  Annette sighed. ‘I know. I’m just scared in case he’s developing some of his father’s habits. I feel I’ve got to stamp them out early.’

  ‘It cannae be easy, bringin’ them up on your own.’

  At work, Annette found that the murder caused less of a stir than she had expected. As they were changing for their shift, she mentioned it to Candy, who as usual had been out drinking and hadn’t seen any news bulletins.

  ‘What murder?’ Candy asked absently, as she struggled into her working clothes. ‘See thae crotchless panties? You never know where tae put yer leg in.’

  ‘It was on the news last night. He was one of our regulars.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said Candy. ‘I hope it wasnae Bob the Gobbler.’

  ‘No. You’d know the guy. Middle-aged, baldy, wore glasses. Terrible bad breath.’

  ‘Sounds like a real honey. Cannae say I can place him.’

  ‘He was in the other week.’

  ‘Well, he’ll no’ be in again.’

  Annette knew that Candy wasn’t really a callous person. She was just indifferent to anything that didn’t affect her directly. Claudia was a different matter. As the three of them waited in the lounge for their first customer, Annette mentioned the murder again. Candy’s reaction hadn’t surprised her, but Claudia’s did. The news of the killing – she hadn’t heard of it either – seemed to afford her considerable satisfaction.

  ‘One less of thae bastards in the world. Cannae be bad.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Annette. ‘You’re talking about your own livelihood.’

  ‘There’s plenty mair where he came from. For every one that gets the chop, another two’ll crawl oot the woodwork to take his place. I wouldnae piss on one of thae swine if he was on fire.’

  ‘I thought your customers paid you to do that,’ said Candy.