‘Hello,’ she said, ‘I’m Justine. What’s your name?’
‘Jack.’
‘Would ye like a drink, Jack?’
‘Thanks. I’ll have a coffee.’ Her speech, unfortunately, didn’t quite match her looks in sophistication. ‘I don’t think I’ve met you before.’
‘I’ve only been here a fortnight. What do you take in it?’
‘Milk and one sugar, please. Where did you work before?’
‘Naewhere. This is my first place.’
So she was completely new to the job. Jack thought about this as she was pouring out his coffee. She handed the cup to him and sat down beside him. Unlike most of the girls (apart from Annette), she didn’t immediately light a cigarette. As she sat down, the flap of her coat fell aside and she immediately pulled it up again. Apparently she was a little more modest than Candy. That was refreshing.
She chattered on in an inconsequential way. She was over-garrulous and seemed a bit naive, but in a way that added to her charm. He sipped his coffee, which he had chosen in preference to a cold drink because he had been expecting to wait for Annette. But now he was less sure. Why should he wait? It would be at least half an hour before she was free. Meanwhile, she was in a cabin with that other guy and Justine was sitting right beside him, seeming more and more desirable by the minute.
‘Are you free for a massage?’ he asked her.
‘Aye, of course. We’re in Cabin Three.’
He put down his unfinished coffee and followed her through to the cabin.
‘Make yoursel’ comfortable an’ I’ll be back in a minute.’
Jack lay face down on the narrow bed, after taking off his robe and placing it along with his towel and wallet on the floor beside him. The bed was mounted on a solid plinth and was just wide enough to serve its main purpose while still doubling as a massage table. There was a pillow at the end and a large towel served as a top sheet.
He turned over on his side, admiring himself in the wall mirror then glancing briefly at the pornographic video showing on the wall-mounted TV.
Justine returned and began to massage his back with oil. None of the girls, he was sure, were professionally trained masseuses, but they generally had a light touch and showed some awareness of the procedure’s erotic possibilities. Not Justine. She absent-mindedly pummelled his body, in a rough and perfunctory way, as if it was merely a way of keeping her hands occupied while she chattered.
‘What did you say your name was again?’
‘Jack.’
‘Oh aye. I’m Justine. That’s no’ my real name of course. The girls nearly all use different names. Annette says . . . You know Annette that works here?’
‘Yes, I know Annette.’
‘Annette says the customers prefer it. She doesnae bother aboot it hersel’, she uses her real name.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Aye, though I cannae really see the point. I’m only workin’ here for a wee while, because I need the money. I’ve got a hoose to pay for an’ a wee one tae look after. My mother takes care of her while I’m workin’. She doesnae know what I’m doin’, she’d murder me if she found oot. Still, if ye need the money, what can ye dae?’
‘I know,’ said Jack, wondering why he needed to know all this. He was aware, of course, that she was doing it for the money, rather than an irresistible desire for his body, but it was nice to pretend otherwise instead of having the reality spelled out for him. It struck him that he knew practically nothing about Annette’s personal circumstances, despite all the times he’d been with her. And now he already had half of Justine’s life story, with the rest sure to follow. He was beginning to find her prattle a little less endearing.
‘Are you married, Jack?’
‘Divorced.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame. Have you got any kids?’
‘No.’
‘Aw well, maybe it’s just as well. You’ve still got time. Maybe you’ll meet somebody nice an’ then you’ll no’ need tae come here. Would ye like tae turn over?’
With some relief, Jack turned face up. The massage of his back generally took a little longer, but usually it was more enjoyable. Now they could get down to the real business. He waited for her to raise the subject, but she carried on as before, with hardly a break, now mauling his chest instead of his back.
‘You know, there’s a lot of married men come here, but I don’t think that’s right. I mean, I know we wouldnae have so many customers if it wasnae for them, but I still don’t think it’s fair of them. There was one in the other day an’ I just says to him . . .’
‘Do you do extras?’ Jack asked.
Justine looked a little upset. Presumably she wanted to earn the money, but not if it meant being interrupted mid-sentence. ‘Oh aye, of course,’ she said. ‘What would ye like?’
‘What do you do?’
She seemed a little embarrassed by the request, but dutifully reeled off the usual price list and he made his choice. At this point, now that the real nature of the transaction was out in the open, he expected her to take off her clothes before resuming the massage, a normal part of the foreplay in a commercial encounter like this. But Justine carried on as before, every button of her white coat still in place.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘this place is all right, but I think they could keep it a wee bit cleaner, know what I mean? I like to keep my hoose really clean. I think that’s important. I’ve got a really nice hoose, did I tell you? If you ask me this place could do wi’ a good hooverin’. I’ve just got a new hoover, I bought it oot my first week’s wages.’
The wages of sin, Jack thought, is a clean carpet.
‘It’s a really good one. It sucks the dirt up really well, right up tae the edges. I could do wi’ bringin’ it in here, givin’ the place a good clean oot, but that’s no’ my job, is it? But it’s a really good one. It’s a Hoover Turbopower.’
‘That’s the kind I’ve got,’ said Jack, feeling the need to say something.
‘Is that right? That’s really amazin’.’ She appeared astonished and delighted at the coincidence. ‘It’s a really good one, isn’t it?’
‘It certainly is.’
On she enthused about the formidable cleaning properties of the Turbopower. Jack realised that his passing remark had been all that was necessary to convince her of his interest and bring about her second wind on the subject. Then, just as he was about to ask her if she had forgotten something, she finished pasting oil on to his legs, wiped her hands clean with a tissue and began to unbutton her coat. At last she stopped talking and looked at him shyly as she continued to undress. Underneath the coat she only wore a bra and panties, which she proceeded to remove as well. She had a beautiful body. She really was a stunning-looking girl. As Jack’s nerves began to recover from her continual yattering, he entered a more forgiving mood. It was good to have a chat with the girl, for them both to be at their ease. She had overdone it a bit, overdone it quite a lot in fact, but now it would be worth it. She brought out a condom from her handbag and tore open the covering foil.
Then, as they changed places and she lay down on her back, she said, ‘The only trouble wi’ thae Hoovers is gettin’ new bags for them. There’s that many different kinds, I cannae understand why they need that many. When you go intae a shop, they never have the right one. Mind you, there’s a good wee place in Partick, I don’t know if you know it? They say you can use a bag more than once, but I don’t like tae, it goes a’ soft an’ clatty. An’ see gettin’ the bag fitted properly? Why do they make it that difficult? The first time I tried tae fit a new bag, it wasnae on properly an’ it blew dirt all ower the place. What a mess it made! I’m tellin’ you . . .’
Jack felt his desire fade and wished that he’d waited for Annette.
Annette returned to the lounge, expecting to find Jack waiting for her as usual. Instead she found Candy sitting on her own.
‘What happened to Jack?’ she asked, trying to sound casual.
‘Your boyfriend, you mean?’
‘My regular.’
‘Whatever you say. Why, was he here?’
‘I met him in the corridor earlier.’
‘I never saw him. He musta gone aff wi’ Mary Poppins.’
‘The bastard. All right, don’t tell me you told me so.’
‘I told you so. What are you worried aboot? Naebody’s gone back to her for seconds yet. Edna’s bound tae catch on.’
‘I suppose so.’
More customers arrived and Annette didn’t see Jack leave. When she thought about it later, she was surprised at her reaction on finding out that he’d gone with another girl. He was paying for that privilege after all. What right had she to expect him to sit there faithfully while she was screwing another customer?
Normally it wouldn’t have bothered her at all, but this time it did.
14
The Way Ahead
I need blood.
It’s too long since the last killing. My research continues, my list grows longer and longer. But what’s the point if I’m not doing anything to shorten it?
I still take some comfort in reliving the first two murders. I remember every detail and regularly play them back to myself. I read through my newspaper clippings again and again. As I expected, the police have no leads and public interest has already begun to wane.
I get a great deal of satisfaction from all of this, but it’s not enough. The problem is finding a way to improve my procedure. The more I think about it, the more essential it seems that the subjects should be given a chance to know their fate and the reason for it. But so far I haven’t thought of a way to do that. I could send them anonymous letters, telling them of my intention. But this would put them on their guard, and some might even take my letter to the police. No, that’s a stupid idea; it could lead the cops straight to me.
But how do I get them alone, under my power, safe from outside observation and interference? Last time I was able to kill him in his own home, but that won’t always be practical.
There are several contenders for first place on the list. They need to be dealt with urgently.
Then at last I get the break I need. I see the way ahead, how to trap one of the offenders. And he’s one of the worst, fighting for top place. Nailing him would be a triumph.
And the method is ideal. It has been given to me, gift-wrapped, out of the blue.
15
The Subplot Thickens . . .
The more Jack thought about his situation, the more it seemed to him that there was only one solution. He should put his relationship with Annette on a more conventional basis. He should ask her out on a date.
This had occurred to him before, but it had seemed like a bad idea. She would certainly refuse. He would only succeed in spoiling a perfectly good professional relationship. He had felt that a rapport was developing between them, but that might only mean that she was very good at her job.
Then several things happened to help him reconsider the idea.
The first was his encounter with Justine. There could not have been a better counter-example to confirm his attraction to Annette.
He was given further cause for thought after a night out with some of his fellow students. He’d had the occasional drink with them before, usually in the students’ union or in the city centre, near the university. But now there was a move to celebrate the end of their exams more daringly by ‘hitting Byres Road’.
Jack regarded this as less of an adventure than did some of his classmates, who were still enthusiastically learning many of the adolescent lessons that he had mastered years before. But they put pressure on him to go along, particularly young Alison Steele who was one of only three girls in the class and looked upon Jack as her protector. Jack knew that she had a regular boyfriend who lived out of town, and he had no illusions about his role.
He gave in and, realising the implications of being the only one who lived locally, even gave his Turbopower a workout.
After a couple of drinks elsewhere, they settled in Tennent’s. There were eight of them altogether, Alison being the only female, and Jack being the only one over twenty. Jack had bought a round earlier and it was some time before it was his turn again. Before then, Alison, feeling the effects of trying to keep up with the boys, decided to rest her head on Jack’s shoulder. Jack didn’t object, finding it much more enjoyable than listening to the nonsense coming from the others.
He was suddenly roused by a loud clinking of glasses, a few inches from his ear. He looked round to see Morag, who was collecting pint tumblers from a table behind him. He had noticed that she was working that evening, but so far hadn’t had an opportunity to speak to her.
‘Hi, Morag,’ he said. But she was already on her way back to the bar, a cluster of glasses in each hand.
He thought nothing of it until he went up to the bar to buy his round. Morag was the only member of the bar staff free, but he seemed to have some difficulty in attracting her notice. Eventually, after he had called her name several times, she came slowly over and took his order. Jack was feeling the effect of the drinks, but nevertheless detected a definite coolness in her manner.
‘Havin’ a nice night?’ she asked. She was smiling, but it seemed to be costing her some effort.
‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘They’re all from my class at the uni. The exams have just finished.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘It’s hard work keeping up with all these young ones.’
‘You seem to be doin’ all right. I never thought of you as a cradle snatcher.’
‘What?’ said Jack, the drink making him slow on the uptake. ‘No, you’ve got the . . .’
But Morag had already gone off to the till with his money. She returned with his change and he ferried the drinks back in several journeys. She could have given him a tray, but this possibility seemed to have escaped her.
Back at the table, he resumed his role as Alison’s pillow. Then, after another couple of drinks she revived and began to flirt with him. He responded, and soon they had settled into a prolonged kissing session, like a pair of teenagers. It was all very innocent, but Jack rather enjoyed it, including the reaction of the other male students. In the back of his mind, he realised that Morag couldn’t have failed to notice, but so what? There was nothing between them. He wasn’t accountable to her.
By closing time, Alison was having to cling to him in order to remain on her feet. Outside, they flagged down a taxi and Jack helped her into it. One of the other students went with her, promising to see that she was safely dropped off.
Jack just wanted to go home to bed, but the others clustered round him. Two of them, who hadn’t bought a second round, had bought a carry-out. He gave in and led them down the road to his flat.
Jack didn’t drink much more, but next morning lack of practice and the age gap between him and the others had taken their toll. After checking that the bodies on his couch and floor were still breathing, he went back to bed until his minimal duties as host required further involvement.
Fortunately, he wasn’t due at work until six o’clock, and after seeing off the last of the stragglers around midday, he cleared away the fish-supper wrappers and empties, and settled down to an afternoon of intensive rest. He had no energy left to do anything, but plenty of time to think.
The previous evening’s events had helped to put a few things into focus.
He’d had an inkling that Morag fancied him, but now he was sure. She had been jealous. He could see why Alison might cause that reaction. Morag was attractive enough, but so was Alison, as well as being younger and more economically built. Of course Morag’s reaction was quite misplaced. There was nothing between Alison and him, nor would there ever be.
The situation between him and Morag could easily be put right. There was no need for him to pay for sex. But he didn’t want Morag. He didn’t want Alison. He wanted Annette.
The flirtation with Alison had pinpointed what was wrong with his commer
cial relationship, apart from its ruinous effect on his bank account. He wanted to be seen with Annette, to show her off, kiss her in public, sleep with her, instead of just having sex. He enjoyed her company and wanted more of it.
By the time he got to work he was feeling a little better. During a brief lull mid-evening, young Les Wilson handed him a newspaper, folded open at an inside page. ‘Have you seen that?’
Jack noticed that it was the North Clyde Advertiser, a free newspaper circulating in the area. A copy was delivered to his home every week, but more often than not he threw it out unread. He looked where Les was pointing and saw half a dozen photographs showing different men coming out of what seemed to be the same shop doorway. Some of the photographs had been taken by day and others at night, by flash. Each showed a close-up of the man’s face, the features clearly identifiable.
‘They’re tryin’ to close that sauna in Partick. You’d better watch out, or you might get your photie in the paper.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Jack, a little too quickly. Les was only joking. He couldn’t know.
‘Only kiddin’. He seems to have a bee in his bunnet, the owner of that paper.’
Les went off to serve a customer, and Jack read the article beside the picture, trying to make his interest seem casual:
THE TRIUMPH OF DECENCY
Since the start of our campaign, our photographers have noted a distinct drop in the number of degenerates indulging their vice at Partick’s Rosevale Sauna. We are not surprised to note that exposure has bred repentance, however reluctantly, and this week we are publishing even more photographs of those for whom the message has yet to sink in.
Murder in the Merchant City Page 7
