A Pound Of Flesh

by Alex Gray

  The song played on the radio was an old one, long before his time, some soft crooning designed to lull the listener into a romantic frame of mind. But it was not the tune that lingered in his brain, but the images dredged up by the words. A full moon was glinting on the water and a dream maker playing with his mind, coaxing him into that place where the heat from his skin made his blood thick and strong.

  The image persisted long after the song had ended, the reflected moonlight shuddering in ripples against the dark water.

  Lily stood on the corner of the street, her only shelter the dark forbidding walls of the office block behind her. The night had turned colder and, as she looked up at the skies she could make out a few stars struggling to be seen against the light pollution from the city. Up there, Lily thought, was there any form of life like hers? And if there was, did they have to stand waiting for punters? Her mind drifted as the thought took hold: was anywhere better than here where corruption and greed killed thousands of innocent victims across the globe? There had to be a better place, Lily decided, a corner of her mind holding on to a glimmer of hope; even on this godforsaken planet. That tall policeman, he had a wife that he loved; she had seen that in his eyes. And, when he’d left on that wild night, hadn’t he been going back to a place where life was good and nice and warm?

  The girl swayed back and forth, humming a tune to herself as her thoughts turned to images that might comfort her. She remembered the fire in the woods where she’d sat with pals from school, its flickering flames illuminating all their faces, the crackling hissing sounds made by damp pine cones they’d tossed in. If she thought hard enough, she might even recapture that bit of warmth.

  The sound of a car engine approaching made the girl stand back from the edge of the kerb. A large white car turned the corner from Sauchiehall Street into Blythswood Street and approached the place where Lily stood, the lamplight above her reflected in the puddles. She watched it intently. At first she thought he was going to stop, ask her for a price, but as the car slowed down, Lily saw the driver simply looking at her, his mouth partly open, revealing his teeth.

  Lily shivered, all imaginary fires suddenly spent.

  His eyes were upon her, dark and menacing, as though she had made him angry, and Lily took another step back, waiting and wondering. Was he playing some sort of sex game, perhaps? The other girls had told her so many lurid stories of punters’ bizarre sexual tastes that she was prepared for anything.

  But then the car moved away and disappeared along a lane that ran between the backs of the office blocks. Lily watched the red tail lights as it travelled the length of the lane. So, no takers for Lily this time, she thought, turning away and shrugging off a dull disappointment.

  She did not hear the car door close nor see the man emerge from the car at the far end of the lane, but some sixth sense made her look towards the darkened place behind her.

  The man was coming back again and she could see his huge form like a dark shadow as he approached her, fists bunched against that massive body as though he were coming to pick her up and carry her off like some fairy tale ogre.

  Lily shivered suddenly but waited nonetheless, watching the man coming nearer and nearer, transfixed by the very sight of him.

  He was almost upon her when Lily noticed the fabric twisting between his hands and that look of utter malevolence in his eyes.

  In a split second of understanding the girl knew just what he intended.

  As the sound of a heavy vehicle approached them Lily turned and ran.

  CHAPTER 33

  It was the first morning that Professor Brightman had felt any warmth from the morning sun as he crossed Kelvingrove Park and headed towards the university. Tilting his head upwards, Solly enjoyed the brightness and his heart lifted as he paused. Smiling to himself, he walked on, glancing at the base of the trees. His smile broadened as he caught sight of clumps of snowdrops and the first tentative buds of yellow crocus. He might still have to wrap his long striped scarf around his neck, but these first signs of spring meant that the long nights of winter were nearing their end.

  His smile faded as though a dark cloud had blotted out the sun when he thought of the cases that Lorimer had entrusted to his care. Would that they were also at an end, he thought. Much still needed to be done to create a proper profile of each of the killers; a woman, he believed, who had shot dead three men and some psychotic person, almost certainly male, who had dispatched these street women to their deaths. His disquiet following that visit to the west end sauna had continued late into the night; the fear those two women in Govan had revealed and the angry dismissal he had received yesterday spoke volumes about the person or persons behind that organisation. It was well known, of course, that saunas tended to be fronts for nothing more than brothels and the police had little time to make raids on such establishments unless there was something seriously criminal going on behind the scenes. Helen James had spoken about the saunas as though they were places of safety for her street women and so they probably were, but there was something wrong with those two particular establishments.

  The psychology professor had tried Googling the name, Andie’s, but had come up with nothing more than a list of retail outlets and restaurants. It was, he felt, time to hand over the investigation to police officers who could make searches into companies and the like. Besides, hadn’t he been smartly warned off? Told that if the police wanted to see the owner they would have to come in person? Solly gave a sigh. Lorimer had plenty on his plate right now and an additional detail like the psychologist’s unease might prove quite unwelcome. Yet something, perhaps his own fright at the treatment he had received yesterday, made Solly decide to contact his friend at Pitt Street.

  ‘I need to speak to Mr Lorimer, please.’

  ‘Lorimer speaking.’

  ‘You said to call if I needed … ’

  Lorimer sat up immediately. ‘Is that you, Lily?’ he asked, his voice suddenly more gentle.

  ‘Mr Lorimer. Something bad happened last night. The gritter man said I had to tell you about it. A man …’ The girl’s voice cracked and Lorimer caught the sound of a muffled sob. ‘He came at me. He was, he was goin’ to kill me,’ she whispered.

  ‘Where are you now, Lily?’

  ‘At a flat. I sleep over here with some other girls. You can’t come here, though!’ The girl’s voice rose in alarm.

  ‘I would like to see you, though, Lily. Can you come into town? Meet me at the drop-in centre in Robertson Street, perhaps?’

  ‘Well …’

  Lorimer heard the doubt in her tone. Had that been a bad idea?

  ‘Could I meet you in the bookshop?’ she asked.

  ‘Waterstone’s? Sauchiehall Street? The one opposite Marks and Spencer?’

  ‘Uh-huh. I can be there in about a quarter of an hour. Downstairs in the coffee bit,’ she added.

  Lorimer looked at the clock on the wall. He could be there and back within the hour, he supposed; time enough to see the girl before his daily meeting with the press.

  ‘I’m sorry he’s not available at the moment, may I take a message?’ the woman asked.

  Solly paused, wondering. Then, ‘To whom am I speaking?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s DC Knox,’ the voice replied.

  ‘Ah,’ Solly nodded to himself. He remembered this enthusiastic member of Lorimer’s team. And surely he could entrust a little thing like this to her?

  ‘Well,’ he continued. ‘It’s like this.’ And the professor told Barbara Knox all about his two visits to Andie’s Saunas and his unsatisfactory results.

  ‘Want me to check up on them for you?’ she offered.

  Solly beamed, though there was nobody to see his sudden relief. ‘Would you? That would be a load off my mind, DC Knox. Don’t really want to bother your boss, you know.’

  The psychologist put the telephone down and immediately turned his mind to his next tutorial session. The subject of dreams had come around once more, he realised with a s
igh, remembering a similar session the previous year that had resulted in the strangest and saddest of consequences. A student with red hair, a hit man on the loose and a throwaway remark had all combined to form one of Lorimer’s more notable cases.

  Solly raised his glasses on to the top of his dark curls and rubbed his eyes as though to erase the memory. These were different students and he owed it to them to be as objective about the subject as possible.

  Barbara Knox sat quietly, thinking about the task she had offered to undertake. The professor had sounded a little uncertain. It was strange how you could always tell how a person was feeling from their voice. A psychologist, especially, would agree with that. She really ought to have permission to tackle this, but, what the hell! Barbara grinned to herself. She was good at showing initiative and besides, if what she had heard about the demise of this unit was true then she needed all the brownie points she could get for her career to maintain its upward trajectory. It would be easy enough to find out what the professor wanted to know and then to dig a little deeper.

  Lorimer could hear the hiss of the coffee machine and the undercurrent of chatter as he rounded the balcony. His eyes roved across the customers seated down below until they lighted on the girl. She was sitting hunched up on one of the deep leather armchairs, her head turning this way and that, obviously searching to see if he would come. Lorimer stepped swiftly down the main staircase and strode over to where she was sitting.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, clutching the arms of the chair with her tiny white hands. ‘You’re here!’

  ‘Of course,’ Lorimer replied lightly. ‘What can I get you? Coffee?’ He looked more closely at the girl, noting her thin, pale face. Had she even eaten today?

  ‘Or,’ he continued, smiling his best avuncular smile, ‘how about breakfast?’

  He nodded as her eyes lit up. ‘Right, breakfast it is.’

  Lorimer sipped his black coffee watching the girl as she wolfed down her food. He’d spent a few quid, wouldn’t miss it at all, but he guessed that for Lily this was a feast. Fresh orange, a large cappuccino and a plate full of pastries disappeared in minutes, the girl’s attention totally taken with assuaging her desperate hunger.

  ‘Better?’

  She nodded, eyes on him now, wiping a few flakes of croissant from her lips. ‘Thanks, Mr Lorimer.’

  The detective shrugged. ‘That’s okay, Lily. Now. You wanted to tell me all about this man?’

  She nodded, hunching over once again as though to protect something painful deep within her body. Lorimer read the signs, knowing that whatever hurt this girl was more mental than physical.

  ‘I was out on the drag last night,’ she began.

  Slowly the story unfolded: the waiting by the kerb; the white car crawling along; the strange-looking man and then his attempt to catch her. Lorimer listened without interrupting, taking in each shudder as Lily recounted her experience. A look of pained relief crossed her face as she told how the gritter lorry had stopped and the driver had jumped down from his cab, catching her in his arms as she fled. The big man with the scarf had turned and disappeared back down the lane, but the lorry driver told her afterwards that he had got a good look at his face.

  ‘And you’ve got the driver’s name and other details?’

  Lily nodded. ‘He said I was to go straight to the police but when I told him about you he said that sounded all right. Didn’t want to call you in the middle of the night,’ she added, shamefaced as though the incident were her fault.

  ‘The white car,’ he began at last. ‘Did you notice what type of car it was?’

  Lily’s face grew doubtful. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m not very good at cars. It was really big, though.’

  Lorimer nodded then took out his pen and doodled on a napkin. ‘See this?’ he said, turning the paper towards her. ‘Did the car have something like that on it?’

  Lily squinted at the circle he had drawn, the lines creating the three segments of the Mercedes-Benz logo, then looked up at him and nodded. ‘I think so,’ she said at last.

  ‘Can you describe the man, Lily?’

  The girl bit her lip, looking uncertain for a moment.

  ‘He was very tall. Bigger even than you,’ she began. ‘And he looked different. He was kind of good-looking,’ she stopped then blushed, realising her gaffe. ‘I-I didn’t mean that,’ she stammered. ‘I mean you look nice and …’

  ‘Lily,’ Lorimer said gently. ‘Let’s concentrate on trying to picture exactly what he looked like, eh? Colour of hair, shape of face, that sort of thing.’

  The girl nodded again. ‘Sorry. He frightened me. Like one of those vampires you see on TV. They’re dead handsome as well, aren’t they?’ Her blush deepened as she tried to extricate herself from the unintended insult.

  ‘Take your time, now. Remember we can always get one of our clever folk back at headquarters to create an e-fit image from anything you and the lorry driver tell us.’

  ‘Would I have to go there?’ A worried expression crossed her face.

  ‘Not if you don’t want to,’ Lorimer shrugged. ‘But it might help us to trace this man.’

  Lily looked into his eyes as though she were making a momentous decision.

  ‘There’s this woman called Doreen,’ she began. ‘She said I’d get money if I told her things.’

  The morning simply flew past as DC Knox tapped away at her computer keyboard, her eyes gleaming. Andie’s Saunas were owned by a company purporting to be part of a health organisation, according to what she had found. Barbara had snickered at the blurb, wondering how healthy the punters felt after a quick shag. It was a registered company all right, but then any company that was trading had to give some account of itself for legal purposes. And the police were able to access such classified information pretty speedily if they wanted. Barbara scrolled down, wanting to see the names of the directors. She sat upright, suddenly, her lips parting in astonishment as she read the three names.

  Vladimir Badica and Alexander Badica sprang out at her as though their names had been illuminated. ‘Bad Vlad!’ she exclaimed in a whisper. Then she nodded in sudden understanding as she read the first name on the list: Andrea Badica, owner.

  ‘Andrea. Andie’s!’ Barbara sighed. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book. Put a company into the wife’s name and if anything goes pear-shaped then the real owner gets off scot free. Or, she mused, maybe Bad Vlad had put it into this woman’s name for tax purposes. But who was Alexander? The son, most probably, Barbara decided.

  The owners didn’t want poor Professor Brightman snooping around. Wonder what they’ve got to hide? Barbara asked herself, grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair. The woman’s large face split into a grin.

  A bit of nosing around the Badica place might just be in order.

  Lily waited while the tall man opposite finished his telephone call. There was a way out for her, he had explained, after Lily had admitted her age.

  ‘They’ll put me into one of these homes,’ she’d cried. ‘And I know what happens in these places,’ she’d insisted, her eyes pleading with Lorimer. The policeman’s face had remained impassive. Then he’d made that suggestion, told Lily about a kind man, a minister, who helped girls like her.

  ‘If you wait here, I can ask Richard Allan to come and fetch you. He runs a place out in the country, near Stirling,’ Lorimer told her. ‘It’s on a farm and there are other girls and women there too.’

  ‘Is it a refuge?’ Lily asked.

  Lorimer nodded. ‘It’s a special sort of refuge,’ he told her. ‘Girls go there voluntarily to get over their problems.’

  ‘You mean they get them to come off the drugs?’ Lily’s fifteen-year-old face was suddenly older and wiser in a way that Lorimer found disquieting.

  ‘Yes, that can happen,’ Lorimer said. ‘They do all sorts of things to help,’ he continued, trying hard not to look at his watch. It had taken a little while to establish trust with this girl and he was reluctant to le
ave her on her own now but the press pack would be assembling in Pitt Street and he needed to return there now.

  ‘Okay,’ Lorimer said, nodding briefly as he listened to the person on the other end of the line. ‘I’ll ask her.’ Cupping his hand over the end of his mobile, Lorimer looked at Lily.

  ‘Someone can be here in about an hour’s time,’ he told her. ‘Will you wait here for them?’

  The girl’s face clouded. ‘Can’t you stay here with me?’ she asked in a small voice.

  Lorimer bit his lip. If he were to miss the daily meeting there would be hell to pay. But, on the other hand, if Lily wouldn’t wait for Richard Allan or one of his team to arrive, then what would become of her? She was obviously still traumatised by the man twisting that scarf in his hands. Lorimer’s mind flew back to the other two street women who had been strangled. If what he thought was correct, then Lily had had a lucky escape.

  There would be a crowd of reporters gathering at HQ and here he was with one young girl, dithering about what he should do.

  Words came to him, then. Something Richard Allan had said. Words that echoed lessons from his past when he had been too young to rebel against being sent to Sunday School. Hadn’t the shepherd left all his flock to go and rescue one lost sheep?

  He looked at the girl, her face turned up to his and made his decision. Duncan Sutherland would just love to take the press conference, wouldn’t he? And, besides, it might help to build bridges between them if he relinquished some of his responsibility to the red-haired officer.

  ‘Okay, Lily. Just let me make another call, will you?’

  The girl brightened immediately. ‘And maybe we could go and see about that thingummy, the photo stuff you said …’

  Jim Blackburn had made a careful study of page after page of faces in a pile of folders as well as looking at the database on a computer screen. As each image appeared, Jim had shaken his head.

  ‘That’s them all, Mr Blackburn.’

  ‘You mean he’s not in any of your files, then?’ Jim said, a sense of desolation sweeping over him.