Personal Protection

by Tracey Shellito

  “That’s what you get for showing up the inadequacies of the help and being bloody smug about it,” he summed up.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re your own worst enemy.”

  “Don’t bang on. My ribs and head are reminder enough.”

  He winced, eyes flickering uncomfortably over my face. He decided I was suffering enough without making me sit through one of his lectures.

  He took a pull at his coffee. “It could just be a pissing contest. But it seems like too much of a coincidence. I take it they knew the other reason you were working at the Paradise?”

  “Not at first. After Brian Senior spoke to me about it I don’t think my looking into the attacks on the girls was much of a secret.”

  He tipped his chair back to retrieve a stub of pencil from a drawer and a legal pad which had clearly been doing duty as a recipe book.

  “Where are these pricks now?” He found a fresh page.

  “The hospital, I presume; they came off worse than I did.”

  “I’ll get Craig to look into it. Do you have their names?”

  “Only the bouncer, I don’t know his friends, they didn’t work at the club.” I spelled it out for him. He pencilled it in his usual careful hand, ripped out the page and pocketed it.

  “I’ll pay our friend a visit. Even if he isn’t responsible he might know who is. Nothing like the threat of a little pain to sharpen the memory. Want to play bad cop to my good cop?”

  “You certainly know how to show a girl a good time.”

  “Just keep it to yourself. I don’t want to spoil my reputation as a nice boy.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “I’ll find out which ward he’s in and we’ll arrange a visit. You looking the way you do might actually be an advantage. Tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Can’t be too soon for me.”

  “Just don’t get carried away.”

  “Moi?”

  He rolled his eyes, freshened his coffee and took another sip. “All right, let’s hear the rest.”

  I shared my thoughts about the possibility of it being a hate crime. He listened carefully without interrupting, then paused before he replied. Never a good sign.

  “I’m not saying it isn’t possible, but...”

  I started to protest but he forestalled me. “It’s true that the victims appear to be lesbians, though until we conduct the interviews we won’t be sure. And as yet we don’t know enough about Lisa Moran to know where her sexual preferences lie. The bouncer mouthing off probably had no more involvement in Lisa’s death than us. But in light of your latest revelations… Go carefully. Don’t accuse him of anything! It’ll probably come out that he chatted her up and she rebuffed him. You know how straight men are: ‘If a woman doesn’t fancy me she must be a dyke!’ Vic is probably just a hettie prick pissed off because he didn’t get a shag.”

  “I know it’s pat. It would just be nice to wrap up a case simply.”

  “I’m not discounting it. You may be right. All I’m saying is investigate. Don’t judge.”

  “Whether it’s true or not, all it does is add to the number of possible suspects.”

  “Don’t get despondent, Randall. You’re new at this game. Sure it’s easier when there are fewer suspects. A case of proving whodunit, how, where and when. Means, motive and opportunity. But it gets dangerous when they know you’re closing in. They start thinking of desperate solutions to get out of the hole they’ve dug. We become collateral damage.”

  “OK, I get that. But don’t we have too many suspects in this case? And not just for the murder? And perhaps more than one perpetrator?”

  “Perhaps. But believe me, it’s better when it’s like this. Lots of possibilities to look into. I know you don’t want to hear this, especially since you have a personal stake in things, but the longer we can legitimately work the case the more money it brings in.”

  “That sucks, Dean. These women are afraid! They need a quick answer to their problem. They don’t have much spare cash. They want to know that the person who did this can’t do it any more. Whatever it takes to stop it.”

  “If you’re thinking of doing something rash, I’m having nothing to do with it.”

  “What happened to letting me kick skittles of shit out of the culprit and providing me with an alibi?” I challenged.

  “Now there’s murder involved. I won’t let it become two and see my best friend go to prison into the bargain.”

  We glared at one another over the table.

  “Should I referee?” Craig wondered, draped round the doorpost.

  “No,” we both said.

  “Good, then keep it down. You’re interrupting my viewing pleasure.”

  He wandered back to the lounge.

  “Sorry. I was overreacting. Drugs.”

  “Me too. Though I can only blame the coffee. Damn.”

  We grinned ruefully at one another.

  “I promise not to be a shit about this if you promise not to milk the girls.”

  “In so much as it’s possible. It will take as long as it takes, Randall. You know that.”

  Sadly, I did.

  “The first of the interviews is tomorrow at ten. Will you be in a fit state?”

  After what I’d just said about the money, I’d have to be. “I’ll be there.”

  “I have an appointment. You’ll have the place to yourselves. I’ll be back at two.”

  I was about to ask him what I should do until then when he revealed, “You have a second interview at 12.30. With any luck you’ll be in a position to fill me in on whatever you learn over a late lunch. Then we’ll visit our friend in the hospital. If everyone keeps their appointments, we should have a preliminary picture of what went on in two days’ time.”

  I’ll give him one thing: jobs move quickly once he’s committed.

  “My contacts in the media will have come through with the rest of the goods on Lisa Moran by then. You arrange to speak to that bouncer and get the skinny on the club members, then we’ll have everything we need.”

  “There’s more.” I filled him in on the memorial service. I’d been so pushed for time the other day it had completely slipped my mind. “We’re invited. Tori thought we could watch who turns up in case the killer came to gloat.”

  “Along with half the police force, I’m sure,” he sighed. “Oh well, there’s no getting around it.”

  Shit, I hadn’t told him about my run-in with the Chief Super either. As well as everything else I now had to wonder whether a corrupt cop had anything to do with this mess! I absolutely was not mentioning that possibility to him until I had evidence! He’d think I was being paranoid. There’s no love lost between my partner and the constabulary, but Dean likes to believe the good guys really are good. It takes proof to shatter his illusions.

  “That Scottish twat will have us in for obstructing justice before they’ve finished the requiem mass. You did know she was a Catholic?”

  “No, I didn’t. Does that make a difference?”

  “Heathen! It will if you’re going to sit in that church.”

  He explained.

  “There is no way! No hats. No kneeling. No praying. I’ll wait outside.”

  “I never know when I’m going to run into one of your sacred cows. All right. I suppose it’s either that or try passing as a bloke. In any other company you’d fake it easy, but with those apes all six foot wide and six foot tall you’d stick out like a sore thumb. I’ll do the good deed and watch the grieving mourners. After all, you’re doing the interviews. Your nearest and dearest probably has a point.” Then, seeing my look, “What? What have I said now?”

  “She may not be my nearest and dearest for much longer.” I told him about her audition.

  “Oh, Randall, I’m sorry.”

  “It isn’t a done deal, yet. Still…

  He looked on in sympathy. There wasn’t much to say. We’ve all been there. He knew my financial straits well enough to know I couldn’t up st
icks and follow her, no matter how I felt. He set aside his mug to grip my hand across the table.

  “I know I’m not her, but if you need me, you know where to find me.”

  “Thanks. I won’t crawl back into the bottle.”

  “I never thought you would,” he lied.

  Comforting fiction. Nice to hear anyway.

  “Hi, you’ve reached Randall McGonnigal. I’m not here right now. If you don’t object talking to machines, leave a message after the tone. I’ll get back to you ASAP.”

  Beep.

  “Hello, Randall, it’s Tori. I hope you can hear me! I thought I’d call and check on you. You either took my advice and went back to bed or you’re with Dean. Either way, I hope you’re feeling better. The club has an extension till four. I’d forgotten about it till I arrived. As you’re hardly your usual self, I’m going to sleep at my place, rather than chance waking you whenever I finally crawl home. I’ve arranged for a White Knight to take me home, so don’t worry, I’m safe! I know you have an early start, conducting interviews, so I’ll see you tomorrow night. For dinner, if that’s OK with you? Eight o’clock, my place. Call me if you can’t make it. Gotta go! It’s my set. Love you.”

  Beep.

  Shit. Alone! We only had four nights before she left. I played the message a second time, just to hear her voice, then wondered if I’d be doing that when she was gone. I made myself erase the tape; I wasn’t going down that road again.

  It was five to midnight. I felt wrung out from pummelling my brain with the intricacies of the case, thinking like a detective instead of a bodyguard whose girlfriend has been raped. The painkillers had worn off. I ached all over. I stripped, took a couple more and got back into the shower. I stayed under the water till it cooled and the hurts had died to a dull ache.

  “You don’t look as bad I thought you might.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  Liu smiled and cocked her head on one side. “Give it another day and no one will notice it at all unless they’re right next to you.”

  To my surprise I’d fallen asleep the moment my head had hit the pillow. The only visible signs of the fight I’d had on waking were multihued ribs and swelling at my temple.

  “We should get on.”

  “Of course. You have Sammi at lunchtime, don’t you?”

  She made it sound like we’d be doing more than just talking. That was deliberate. I saw I would have to take a firm stance if I was to prevent this getting out of hand.

  “Liu, we have very little time.”

  She pouted.

  “Considering the unpleasant nature of the subject I thought the least we could do was have a little fun.”

  “Liu, I have a job to do. It hardly makes me sound professional! Have a heart, my partner has to listen to these tapes!”

  “I’ll behave.”

  Verbally, she did. Visually it was a completely different matter.

  “What do you want to know?”

  She leaned back. Her already short skirt rode up. I forced my eyes back to her face. She smiled.

  “I need you to tell me exactly what happened. Start with the day, date and time, then everything you can remember.”

  “It was a Saturday, in August, the very end. I’m sorry, I don’t remember the date.”

  Glad of the chance to look away, I flipped through the calendar and noted the date of the last Saturday in August. Liu continued,

  “I was on my way home from the club. It was three, maybe three-thirty in the morning. I was wrecked. One of the girls was ill. We’d had to cover more routines on stage.”

  I nodded in sympathetically.

  “The cab dropped me at the end of the street where I live. There were roadworks blocking the way further up. It was raining. I paid, then ran up the street to the house so I wouldn’t get too wet. While I was standing in the porch, fumbling my keys out of my bag, I heard footsteps. High heels. I clutched my bag and spun round, so I didn’t get hit from behind. I thought it was a mugger!”

  “You did the right thing.”

  “From you, that means a lot.”

  She did that Sharon Stone crossing and uncrossing her legs thing. I definitely wasn’t going there! Tori hadn’t even left yet. I kept my eyes firmly on her face.

  “I didn’t get a good look at her. She was wearing a coat with the hood pulled low over her face. She was taller than me and white. Definitely a woman. She hissed, “Bitch!” and threw something. I flung my arm in front of my eyes. I heard her running away and felt something dripping down my hair. Eggs! I counted myself lucky it wasn’t worse. I found my keys, fled inside, got my coat off, emptied the pockets and dumped it in the washer. Then I rinsed my head under the tap to get the eggshell out of my hair. I made sure I’d put the dead bolt on the door and went upstairs. I lit candles and had a bath and a stiff drink.”

  “Has anything like this happened to you before?”

  “No.”

  “OK, let’s go back over the events in a little more detail. You didn’t hear footsteps until you were at your door?”

  “Well…”

  “I know you were running. That tends to block out other sounds, and the rain wouldn’t have helped, but try to remember exactly what you heard when you got out of the taxi.”

  She thought about it, eyes closed, conjuring the moment.

  “I don’t remember hearing any feet but mine while I ran, but now you come to mention it, I do remember hearing a car engine as I turned up my road. Do you suppose she was following me? Following my cab?”

  “It’s possible. You say she was taller than you?”

  “Yes. Five seven, five nine. I know she was white because she wasn’t wearing gloves. I saw her hand go back to throw the egg in the streetlight. There’s one outside my house.”

  She shivered and hugged herself.

  “I’m sorry, I know it isn’t easy for you to revisit this.”

  “I thought I was over it. Then Tori came in last week and told Sammi what had happened to her. Suddenly everyone had stories! It was horrible! We’d all had things happen to us that we just swept under the carpet hoping they would go away. That it was a one-off. That it must have been something we’d done. That we were to blame for what had happened. How fucked is that? Why do we blame ourselves?”

  “I don’t know, Liu. You’re not to blame. I do know that.”

  “I am. If I’d mentioned it earlier, maybe Tori wouldn’t have been…”

  “You mustn’t think like that.”

  She began to cry. I pulled open a drawer and grabbed a handful of tissues Dean keeps for female clients who come to report on their philandering husbands. I turned off the tape and came around the desk to kneel before her, take one of her hands, press the tissues into the other. She sniffled into them with mumbled thanks. I sat back on my heels and waited it out. I didn’t dare get any closer, even though she needed comfort. She clutched my hand until she felt able to talk.

  “You don’t blame me?”

  “No more than Tori does.”

  She tried out a smile. I returned it.

  Why do women think themselves to blame when something like this happens? I’m sure psychologists have a name for it. All I know is how angry it made me to keep hearing it when someone else was to blame. Angrier still to know that at least one stalker was another woman.

  Sammi had been in her flat when the doorbell rang. Foolishly she hadn’t checked the intercom, just buzzed her visitor up. Glad of the company? In a mood to take risks? When she opened the door, her ski-masked attacker forced his way in, bounced her head off the wall a few times, and while she was too stunned to fight back, bent her over the armchair back and raped her. When he was finished, he’d smacked her head one more time for good measure on the wooden frame of the chair and fled.

  Sammi’s attacker was a man. She was sure. He hadn’t used protection and she’d caught the clap. She was also the only one to report her attack.

  “And a fat lot of good that did,” she compl
ained. “All it got me was an unsympathetic WPC, who they changed for a bloke as soon as they found out I’d originally been a man – and he was even more obnoxious than she was.” She made a face at the memory.

  “They left me in one of those surgical gowns. It felt like hours. Sitting around, cold and aching, first in A and E with a police registered surgeon. Then an intrusive examination that hurt almost as much as the rape. Then in a police station. And all they had to say was I brought it on myself. Bastards!”

  The first thing that hits you is disinfectant. It almost but not quite covers the smell of sick people. I hate hospitals. In my job I see the inside of the places more than most. Our quarry was located in a bed near the doors on a ward near the psychiatric wing and the children’s ward. Thanks to Craig’s insider knowledge we made our way straight there from the outside, using a shortcut that avoided going through reception and advertising our presence.

  Of the three men I’d fought, only the bouncer, Villiers, had been kept in for observation. According to Craig my dropping on his ribs had sent a broken bone back to puncture a lung. They’d had to drain it and re-inflate it. I tried to feel sorry for him. He could have died! But I looked worse than he did and what they’d intended for me would have been far worse. That made my part in this affair much easier.

  Dean walked over in his smart suit, clutching his clipboard as if he belonged there. Nobody questioned him. He looked like a consultant. Anyway, it was visiting hours. I waited until he’d drawn the curtains round the bed to ensure privacy then slipped through the door into the shrouded enclosure with a suitably malevolent expression. It strained my acting abilities when I saw the bouncer’s face go from polite inquiry to pale as his sheets when I followed Dean in.

  Before he could buzz for assistance, Dean slid the pager away and grabbed one wrist. I grabbed the other and clamped a gloved hand over his mouth to stop him yelling. His body bucked against the bed.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Mr Villiers. Which is it going to be?”

  He took a long look at me and subsided.

  “Sensible choice. All we need are some straight answers then we’ll leave you to recuperate in peace. But if I think you’re lying to me you’ll be doing something else in peace. Do we understand each other?”