Fuck it! I had more important things to worry about than my screwed-up desires.
Finding a parking space in this town after midday is impossible. I finally left the Porsche clone in the multistorey on top of Wilkinson’s. I wasn’t sanguine about my chances of it being in one piece when I got back, but I didn’t have much choice. I hiked back through the drizzling rain to the office.
Rain and the Illuminations. It never fails.
Dean was hard at work, typing a report on my desktop PC while he argued about something completely different over the hands-free phone.
There was nobody was in the tiny waiting room and the appointment diary showed me there were no client consultations for at least the next hour. I stuck a Back In Ten Minutes sign on the door to discourage potential drop-ins and waited until he was free.
Stabbing the cut-off button, he threw the headset into the waste paper basket with a curse vituperative enough to curl hair, pounded a few more words on to the keyboard, then spun his swivel chair to face me.
“I wasn’t expecting you today. They let you out early at the zoo?”
I rescued the headset and hit Save with the mouse in passing.
“Nope. I didn’t get home till after four. I thought I’d come down and buy you lunch.”
He snorted.
“Aside from the fact that your idea of lunch is Chinese take-away, the only time you ever volunteer to pay is when you need a favour.”
“They don’t call you a detective for nothing. I’m speechless at your awesome powers! I cower in the shadow of your wisdom! Teach me, master!”
“Fuck off, Randall! You’re not getting round me that easily. Besides I’ve already eaten. As if you didn’t know.”
I grinned. The take-out I’d picked up on my way was in the waiting room. I fetched it, and watched Dean grimace as I broke open the disposable plastic chopsticks and opened a carton of stir-fried bean sprouts with noodles. I could see I’d got his attention as well as piqued his curiosity.
Between mouthfuls I filled him in on what had happened last night while the printer chattered out his report in the background. His expression became grimmer as I went on. When I reached the part about this morning’s news about the missing (now deceased) dancer, he got up and began to pace.
“Do you think they’ll employ us to investigate this officially?”
“I hope so. Tori’s having a council of war with the ladies in my living room right now. I’ll try and get her name on the contract. If it comes to it, I’ll sign it myself.”
“Don’t be stupid, Randall, you know you can’t. Legally, we wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. And with this latest wrinkle we’ll probably need all the help we can get.”
My business partner was no happier with the idea of getting caught up in a murder enquiry than I was. And not because of the possible danger to his own life and limbs. The police really do hate ‘amateurs’ messing about in (or messing up) investigations, and the local plod has less cause to like us than most.
In summer we’d taken on a case that looked like industrial espionage, only to have it blow up in our faces. Several people died. If I hadn’t abseiled off the Tower in a bid to save Dean’s neck and draw the murderer out, I might have been in prison myself. Dean had been careful not to take on ugly cases, or step on any of the Constabulary’s toes since then.
“Make sure one of the girls signs the contract. And it would be better if it wasn’t Tori. Make sure we get a firm commitment from them to pay us. Cash or cheque in advance if you can get it. I know you’ve got a personal stake in this. Hell! I like Tori, even if I don’t agree with what she does for a living. She’s good for you! But we can’t afford to work for free.”
“Message received and understood.”
“From what you’ve told me, the incidents might not be connected. It’s seldom that someone vandalises, stalks, makes an attack in so public a fashion, commits murder and then rapes. Unless they wanted to throw someone off the scent. The events can’t have been reported in chronological order.”
He scrubbed his hand over his close clipped hair and poured himself a tiny cup of his personal addiction: Turkish coffee, strong, sweet and thick.
Dean liked the idea of the hard boiled PI image as propounded by Dire Straits song Private Investigations. Unfortunately, he wasn’t cut out for it. He couldn’t stand whisky and he thought Venetian blinds were passé.
Instead for ambience he relied on the smell of coffee strong enough to stand your spoon up in, bought from a European café across the road and kept in an insulated jug that looked remarkably like an authentic ragweh. (And as it happened, sold by a very cute guy. Dean doesn’t fancy him at all, but the idea that he might keeps Craig attentive. A plus I’m sure he thought of in advance.)
He took a small sip, savoured the brew and slowly let it trickle down his throat as he ordered his thoughts. He’s not a psychologist, but he is a student of human nature, a careful observer and very good at what he does. I’ve learned to rely on his instincts.
“The murder must have happened before Tori was raped, not afterwards. For the neighbours to be reporting the smell of decomposition, the body must have been there for some time. We know the girl had definitely been missing for five days?”
I nodded. He had me give him precise details from the TV broadcast again. He scribbled hasty computations on a yellow legal pad, a hold-over from his time as a solicitor.
“She must have dropped out of sight before that. Like the reporter said, with no friends or family to check up on her, that’s easily done. It sounds as if she’s been dead more than a week. Which places her murder long before Tori’s rape – that’s if both crimes were committed by the same person.”
He tapped the mechanical pencil against his perfect teeth. “And I’m not convinced they were. I’m not saying women are incapable of murder, we both know that isn’t true! They’re just less likely to kill. And they use subtle things like poison. Found weapons like scissors. Heavy household appliances. Or a weapon that has meaning to the victim. A favourite golfing trophy or paperweight. The victim was bound, gagged and badly mutilated, according to the news report?” I nodded. “Then she would have struggled. If the crime had been committed in her home, someone would have heard something. She lives in a flat. Their walls are paper thin.”
“I’d agree with you if I hadn’t seen the state of Tori’s place. That looked like a bomb had hit it and no one reported hearing anything about that.”
He waved that away.
“Smashing or breaking sounds can be muted by determined vandals. Carefully timed. Done when everyone was out. Disguised as furniture moving. Unlike Tori’s place, Waterloo Road flats are holiday lets, OAP bed-sits and accommodation for the unemployed. There is someone at home in most of the buildings in that area nearly all the time. It’s unlikely she was killed in situ. Someone would have seen or heard something. And the smell of blood would have come through a great deal faster than the smell of a decomposing body.”
I bagged the remains of my lunch and bulls-eyed the waste paper basket, appetite gone.
Dean continued, “I’ll ask my friends at the Evening Post and Gazette for the low-down. Perhaps they’ll be able to shed more light on how she died. Give us a time line. If Mrs Stokes is the typical Blackpool landlady, rather than being cagey she’ll be playing it for all it’s worth.”
That was probably true. The police would have more trouble shutting her up than getting a statement. Everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame.
In deference to my digestion, he changed the subject. “How are you managing at the club?”
I considered my answer.
“It’s not as straightforward as I first thought. Physically, it’s less demanding than I’m used to. Mentally and emotionally, it’s something else.”
“Rather you than me! I couldn’t manage to work in a male strip joint, even if I wasn’t going out with one of the dancers. Craig and I would last about five minutes. You have my admi
ration for your self-control and willpower.”
I wondered what he would have said if he could have seen the mess I’d got into last night. Dean’s good impression of me means a great deal, so I said nothing.
Which brought me full circle to face my frustration. There was nothing we could do about the dead girl, or the other attacks at the club, until we got the contract signed. On the other hand…
“Look, I know we haven’t got the official go-ahead to investigate this, but I was wondering… Even though Tori maintains she can’t remember much about what happened to her, she smelled of perfume that wasn’t hers and was raped with things other than what nature provided. I know this could mean the guy’s impotent, or just wanted to be even more cruel, but do you suppose it might be worth looking at her ex-girlfriends? There were only two and…”
“I thought you might say something like that, so I took the liberty.”
He looked back mildly as I stared at him.
“I couldn’t have you haring about ripping their arms and legs off before we knew if they were involved. This is your girlfriend we’re talking about! You haven’t got enough perspective. I saw you at her flat the other night, remember?”
I had to fight the urge to hit something again, which I suppose proved Dean’s point. I swallowed my chagrin that he’d taken this away from me and asked, “And?”
“They couldn’t have done it. One’s out of the country till Friday. On holiday with her parents, on a cruise for the last three weeks. The other has moved away, and I have it on good authority that she’s been in hospital with multiple broken bones since the day before Tori’s attack. Climbing accident. She fell off the side of a mountain. I’ve checked everything as thoroughly as I can. There’s no way, Randall. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll try and talk to Tori. See if she remembers anything that might help. If I can think of a way to do it without upsetting her.”
“Don’t be too hard on her, Randall. That kind of experience is something you want to block out. You can’t blame her if she just wants to put it behind her and get on with her life.”
She’d said as much to me the other day.
Dean sipped his coffee, stacked his report and watched with thinly disguised amusement as I sat spinning my wheels. He knows I’m not much for hanging about doing nothing. Finally I asked him whether there was any business here that needed my attention.
“Your former client phoned and apologised for wasting our time. He’s paid us the minimum fee for staying on standby.”
That was good to know. Money for nothin’. Just how I liked it.
“The other actual investigations we’ve got on hand are ticking over without any help from either of us.”
In other words, we were at the ‘awaiting developments’ stage. It sometimes seems to me that ninety percent of the detective game involves sitting around waiting for something to happen.
Just as I thought I’d have to brave the wet streets and squeeze back into my crowded apartment for an hour or two before checking out Tori’s flat, he threw me a bone.
“If you can manage to call back for a couple of hours this afternoon, we have a possible Principal who wants to talk Personal Protection with you. It doesn’t look like the hours will clash with the ones you’re putting in on Spink’s behalf.”
“You waited to spring that on me till now?”
“Sometimes I like to watch you squirm.”
“Cheers! What time?”
“If you could be back here by four?”
“No problem.”
He gave me the once over.
My job means I go through a lot of clothes. I have to buy three suits, same style, same colour, so I can mix and match jackets with pants as they get ruined. I never have to worry about wearing last season’s fashions. Nothing I have lasts that long. Because I was fixing up Tori’s flat, today I was wearing jeans.
“I take it this is a suit and tie job?”
“That might be appropriate. It’s the local Liberal Democrat MP.”
“Bloody hell! He isn’t exactly Mr Popular! I know why he thinks he needs a bodyguard. But his politics don’t conflict with mine… All right, I’ll be here.”
“One more thing. Are they paying you at this club?”
“The going rate for bouncers, yes.”
“And what is that, exactly?”
I told him.
“You’re worth more than that!”
“Thanks. When I’m doing more to justify it, I’ll ask for a raise. For now I think it’s important to be ‘one of the boys’. The manager knows if they employ us to find the nut or nutters it won’t be cheap. I’ve suggested all the girls involved ante-up towards the fee. He’s promised to put it to them tonight. Besides, staying on as a bouncer for long wouldn’t be very good for my health.”
Bouncers in this town are run by the small-time equivalent of the Mob. Independents get muscled out. Permanently. It was only because I was filling in for Leon Spink that I’d been left alone. Apart from the knife thrower. I hadn’t mentioned the incident to Dean. But that bouncer and I were going to have words.
I started collecting up the tools, wire, sensors and alarms I needed to make Tori’s apartment secure. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”
He turned back to his work and I left to make Tori’s flat safe.
Before you start thinking ‘cowboy,’ let me tell you I know what I’m doing when it comes to installing alarms. After Dean took me on as a partner, it quickly became obvious the business wasn’t going to support us both all the time. In one of my rare flashes of brilliance, I’d suggested, since I already dealt in Personal Protection – we could stretch a point and expand to protecting homes and offices – with dogs, security guards and bouncers or by electronic means.
In our spare time, we take courses, visit suppliers and manufacturers and encourage them to visit us with samples, and after a City And Guilds in electrical engineering, yours truly can now fit and advise on home protection for our clients. It’s proved a lucrative sideline. We’ve also built up contacts like White Knights, who help us out for knock-down prices as thanks for our referrals.
The rest of day flew by. I hadn’t risen until eleven, due to the late night. Being the unofficial taxi for Tori’s girlfriends, visiting Dean, changing the locks on the doors and windows in Tori’s flat, fitting motion sensors, then the client interview, took me till nearly eight. I just had time for a bite to eat and another shower before it was back to the Paradise.
“Promise me you’ll take it easy tomorrow,” Tori scolded, flicking imaginary lint from the shoulder of my suit when we reached the top of the stairs.
“As far as I can with two jobs to do, I will. The politico needs me for four hours in the afternoon. I couldn’t turn it down. The business needs the money.”
She winced. “I’ll see if I can persuade the girls to take you on.”
“Thanks. I take it you had no luck this afternoon?”
“I wish!” She wrinkled her perfect brow in frustration. “They want to do something but they don’t know what to do for the best. They’re afraid something terrible is going to happen to them in one breath, then in the next they’re sure it has nothing to do with them and they’re safe! I’m beginning to see what they mean about democracies. At least in a dictatorship a decision gets made and things get done. How on earth does anything happen in a society where they make decisions by committee?”
I grinned. I’m sure my new client would have a few things to say about that opinion.
I drove us to work, saw her to the dressing room and managed to avoid any perilous entanglements with the girls on the way back.
Walking the mezzanine, I headed for the balcony. I hadn’t been up there long when Brian Junior caught up with me.
“Thank you for giving me that address.”
“My pleasure.”
“I really think it will help. They’ve enrolled me in a class on self-defence. They think it will ‘suit the requirements of my positi
on best.’”
“It’s certainly what I’d have suggested, given that you want to go up against fools with weapons barehanded.”
He smiled nervously. “I’m sure my dad will feel better about me doing this job if he thinks that I really know what I’m doing.”
“I doubt that. Most parents worry about protecting their kids all their lives, no matter how old you get. But you might be right. It’s good that you both still care what happens to one another.”
He may not have heard the note of bitterness in my voice, because he took my words at face value. Either that or he chose not to pry.
He was making a polite withdrawal, when a nearby cry of ‘Help here’ was choked off. The pair of us moved on the disturbance. A mean drunk had his hands around the throat of one of the girls, across a table. I motioned Brian to get into his field of vision and keep him talking. I circled around behind him.
“You don’t want to do that,” young Brian said soothingly.
“Fuck off! You don’t know shit!”
The drunk tightened his grip and the girl moaned in pain.
“Come on, mate, you hardly know the lass! I’m sure she’s sorry for whatever she’s said to upset you. Isn’t that right?” He turned his attention to the girl. She tried to nod but could hardly move her head.
“Doesn’t matter if she is!” the drunk slurred.
“Why don’t you let the girl go and tell me what the problem is? I’ll do my best to try and sort it out. I’m sure there is no need for this unpleasantness.”
The drunk snarled, his attention all for Brian.
I moved in and hit him at the base of his skull. A combination of the drink and my blow put him out for the count. His hands spasmed and he released the hysterical girl before he slumped across the table.
I checked the girl’s throat. She was OK, but she’d have a necklace of bruises for at least a week. I had Brian take her to the Ladies to cry and clean herself up.
When they were gone, I checked Sleeping Beauty. He’d have a headache but he’d live. I hoisted him over a shoulder and carried him outside. The doorman called him a cab, and he came round just before it arrived. I gave him a stiff lecture before sending him home. By the time I returned to the club, the girl had a feather boa around her neck and was sitting on a more considerate fellow’s knee. Brian was keeping a close eye on the proceedings.
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