The man hesitated for a moment. ‘Yes, I think so.’
Annette took off her white coat. Beneath it, she was wearing only her underwear: black stockings, held up by a pair of frilly garters, a low-cut bra and a flimsy pair of knickers. ‘Would you like to know what’s on the menu?’
The man made no immediate reply, but there was definite evidence of interest.
Annette’s day of attending to the sick people had begun.
3
The Merchant City Health Centre
‘. . . has been identified as fifty-one-year-old Richard McAlpine, a Glasgow solicitor. It is not known why he was in . . .’
The background noise in the pub temporarily swelled to a level that drowned out the sound of the TV.
Jack Morrison, who until then had been paying it little attention, glanced up at the face filling the screen. Not a very handsome man. A coarse, round face scarred by acne, a broad, flat nose, a few scraps of grey hair framing a bald pate. Hardly the usual image of a solicitor, more like a mugshot of one of his clients. Jack almost expected a side view to follow, revealing new dimensions of ugliness in the profile. Instead he saw a piece of waste ground, an empty site between two buildings, bordered by a high wooden fence, partially flattened.
The announcer’s voice became audible again: ‘. . . to have attacked his victim with extraordinary fury. The police believe that he was struck down in the street, with a hammer or some other blunt instrument, and then dragged into the waste ground, where he was repeatedly stabbed with a knife. Police doctors have identified more than forty stab wounds, most administered after death.’
A senior police officer appeared on the screen. ‘The killer must have been drenched in blood and it seems unlikely that he could have escaped notice. We are therefore appealing . . .’
Losing interest, Jack turned away. It was just another murder. If the victim had been a child or young woman, it might have attracted public interest for a day or two, exploited by the tabloid press to whip up some spurious moral debate. But the murder of a solicitor was liable to cause the public more satisfaction than outrage. Or so it seemed to Jack, who had recently paid the legal bill for his divorce.
Jack was not by nature a callous man, but at that moment he had something else on his mind.
He finished his whisky in a single gulp. Should he have another? That might be counter-productive. He looked at his watch. Quarter past two. Now that the working population had mostly finished their lunch break, the streets would be quieter; there would be less chance of him being recognised. The crowd in the pub had already thinned considerably.
If he hadn’t been working that evening, he could have gone after dark. That would have been much better.
Before entering the pub, he had wandered about the area for some time, looking in shop windows, examining all the leaflets in the ticket centre at the City Hall, generally going round in circles. It was time to make a move. He went to the toilet, then walked out of the pub. Then he turned into the next entrance, a few yards from the pub door. Luckily there wasn’t a security door and he didn’t have to hang about in the street waiting to be admitted.
The close was dark and smelled as if it had recently been used as a public toilet. Jack climbed winding stairs, past a dirty window overlooking an overgrown back court, to the floor above the pub. There was only one entrance on the landing. A broad storm door had been swung back and the sign on the glass-panelled inner door read: BLACKFRIARS PAWNBROKING COMPANY. Jack continued up the stairs to the top floor and another single entrance. This time the storm door was shut. It was clean and newly painted, in contrast to the seedy appearance of its surroundings. The attached sign read: MERCHANT CITY HEALTH CENTRE.
Before ringing the doorbell, he had another attack of doubt. What if it was a genuine health centre, an up-market private clinic? How would he explain himself? Then common sense returned. An up-market clinic in this building? Using an advert, packed with innuendo, like the one that had led him here? He pressed the bell.
There was a buzzing sound and the storm door unlocked. He pushed it open and found himself in a brightly decorated entrance hall, where a plump, middle-aged woman smiled at him from behind a desk. ‘Hi there.’
‘Hello,’ said Jack, taking a step forward.
‘Shut the door behind you, love.’
‘Oh, sorry.’ He pushed the door closed and went up to the desk, trying to think of something to say.
‘Sauna and massage?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Have you been here before?’
‘No.’
‘What’s your first name?’
‘Ah . . .’ He tried to think of an alias, then gave up. ‘Jack.’
‘Right, Jack,’ said the woman. ‘Let’s get you sorted out.’
Through the open door of the lounge, the girls saw him coming, hesitantly making his way down the corridor towards the changing room, giving off waves of nervousness. He clutched his towel and wallet as if they were soft toys from which he could take some childish comfort.
‘I think we’ve got a virgin,’ said Annette. ‘Whose turn is it?’
‘Not mine,’ said Candy.
‘I should bloody well hope not. Otherwise the rest of us’ll never get a look in.’
Candy laughed. ‘I cannae help it if I’m irresistible.’
‘How about you, Claudia?’
Throughout the exchange, Claudia’s usual expression of boredom and contempt had never faltered. She shrugged. ‘Be my guest.’
‘On you go, Annette,’ said Candy. ‘Give him your nice-girl-nextdoor act. He’ll think he’s wi’ his childhood sweetheart.’
‘Fuck off!’
Annette kept her voice low. All the customer would see as she approached was her welcoming smile. As she left the lounge, she saw him open the door of a closet in his search for the changing room. She quickened her step. If he caught sight of Claudia’s gear, he might run away. ‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hello.’
‘This your first visit?’
‘Yes.’
Annette suppressed her annoyance. That stupid cow at the door was supposed to show the new customers round, or call on one of the girls to do it. Not leave him floundering about, having to find his own way like a regular.
‘The changing room’s over here,’ she said, indicating the door. ‘I’m Annette, by the way. What’s your name?’
‘Jack.’
‘Right, Jack. You’ll find a robe in your locker. While we’re here, let me show you where you can find the sauna, steam room and showers. Take as long as you want there.’ She took him on a brief tour. ‘When you’ve had your shower, come through to the lounge and choose the girl you want.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No problem. See you later.’
She returned to the lounge. He wasn’t too bad, she thought. Early thirties, not going to fat, still had most of his hair. Quite good-looking, in a shy sort of way. Like most of the girls, she preferred to deal with regulars: you knew where you were with them and there were no nasty surprises. But this one seemed all right.
The customers were free to select any girl they wanted. However, a new one would often choose the girl who looked after him on his arrival, so they took it in turns to play hostess.
Back in the lounge, Claudia had lit another cigarette and Candy was playing the fruit machine.
‘You’ll spend all your money before you’ve earned it,’ said Annette.
Candy pressed a button and the wheels spun. ‘It’s due tae pay oot. I can feel it.’
‘Aye, and Christmas is coming.’ It was the beginning of February. ‘Mind you, Sylvia put enough into it yesterday.’
The mechanism stopped, followed by silence. Candy gave the machine a thump with her fist and returned to her seat. ‘Next time, definitely.’
‘Only one person makes money fae that thing,’ said Claudia.
‘Watch it,’ said Annette. ‘She’s probably got the place bugged.’
> ‘Probably,’ said Claudia. ‘But who gives a fuck?’
‘Is that no’ what we’re here for?’ said Candy.
‘No’ necessarily. I’m a specialist.’
Annette and Candy sat down, at opposite ends of the long leather sofa. The TV, turned down low, was showing an old film, and in the silence the dialogue became audible. It had been a slow day so far. Two customers for Candy, one for Annette, and none for Claudia. The hoped-for lunchtime rush hadn’t materialised. Maybe it would pick up later and there would be an influx of business men who had sneaked off work early.
They sat and waited. ‘I think your new guy’s got lost,’ said Candy. ‘We’d better send out a search party.’
‘I’m sure he’s OK.’
‘Maybe he only came to use the steam room.’
‘Not another one.’
There was one regular customer who showed up every week, spent a couple of hours in the steam room, and then went away. If he had figured out the real nature of the place, he gave no sign of it. When he first appeared, Candy had tried to broaden his horizons in her usual subtle way, wandering into the changing room half naked, showering in the next stall, sitting beside him in the steam room, her towel falling away in all the right places. But none of it had any effect. Either he wasn’t interested, or was especially slow on the uptake. Or maybe he was just too mean to go to a legitimate health club, where the entrance fee was probably higher.
The new customer reappeared, dressed in a towelling robe. Annette got up to meet him. ‘Have a seat, Jack. Would you like a drink? We’ve got coffee or orange juice.’
‘I don’t know if I’ll bother, thanks.’
Candy looked at him provocatively, licking her lips. ‘You want to try our orange juice. You don’t know what you’re missing.’ She patted the sofa beside her, inviting him to sit down.
‘All right then.’
Annette went over to the drinks table and poured a couple of inches of diluting orange into a plastic cup, topping it up with water. She gave it to the customer and resumed her seat. He sat between Candy and Annette, staring in front of him, sipping his drink, his legs pressed tightly together. Claudia was watching the TV and gave no sign of having noticed his arrival.
‘Let me introduce you,’ said Annette. ‘This is Candy and this is Claudia. And I’m Annette, as I said.’ Candy gave him a big smile; Claudia looked round briefly and nodded, before turning back to the TV screen. The customer nervously nodded back to each of them.
There was a silence. Candy lounged back on the sofa. The top buttons of her coat were undone, and the bottom flap had fallen back to reveal a length of thigh. Annette knew that Candy wasn’t deliberately muscling in. Coming on to customers was so instinctive that she probably didn’t realise she was doing it.
‘When you’re ready,’ Annette said, ‘just choose the girl you want.’
The man nodded stiffly, still staring in front of him. Then he finished his drink in a single gulp and turned to Candy. ‘Are you free?’
‘No, but my prices are reasonable. This way.’
Candy got up and left the room, and he followed her, avoiding the eye of the other girls. A man with a conscience, thought Annette, who feels sensitive about rejecting us. He would learn. The only thing she was sensitive about was going home with enough money to feed the kids, pay the mortgage, put petrol in the car.
‘Never mind,’ said Claudia. ‘Bob the Gobbler might show up.’
Annette laughed. ‘He’ll take Candy too.’
‘Probably. But I’ll no’ greet in my beer over it.’
This was about as talkative as Claudia ever got, and they settled down to wait for the elusive rush.
Annette couldn’t be annoyed at Candy. She hadn’t done it deliberately. She was too good-natured to dislike, and you always got a laugh when you were on with her. Now Miranda, on the other hand . . .
It was just her bad luck to share her shift with two favourites in a row, Miranda the previous day and now Candy. Candy had worked in the place for several years, and for most of that time had been the unchallenged top girl. She had worked three shifts a week – if she hadn’t overslept after a heavy night – and gone home with more money than the other girls had earned in twice that time. Now she was slightly older, had put on just a little weight, and was having to put in an extra shift to keep up her earnings. Then Miranda had arrived and pushed her into second place. Candy, in fact, had as much reason to resent Miranda as any of the others. But there wasn’t a resentful cell in Candy’s body. She just made sure that she was always on a different shift from Miranda.
Another customer appeared at the end of the corridor. He looked familiar and seemed to know his way around. Annette was fairly sure that he didn’t belong to Claudia’s select band of regulars. With any luck, she’d be able to collar him before Candy returned.
4
The Centre of the Universe
After all the time he’d spent working up his nerve, it had all been over very quickly. It was the first time he’d had sex since splitting up with Margaret, and he hadn’t been receiving much prior to that. Mainly, he discovered eventually, because he’d been sharing her with someone else. Since then he’d had a few dates, but nothing that had developed into a sufficiently close relationship. It had been too long.
And it was so easy. That girl Candy was the best-looking woman Jack had ever been with, and there she was on offer, just for the asking. As long as you had the money. A woman who normally wouldn’t have given you a second look was yours, just because you handed her a few pieces of printed paper.
That other girl – Annette – had been very nice too. Much less obvious than Candy, not at all the sort you’d expect to find in a place like that. He’d been about to choose her, and then had hesitated. She’d looked so prim and respectable in her white uniform that he’d wondered for a moment whether she might have worked there in some other capacity. He’d quickly realised that this couldn’t be true; however, after his period of abstinence, Candy’s blatant appeal had been difficult to resist.
He would certainly have chosen Annette in preference to that other one – Claudia. She really looked like a hard case. Quite sexy with it, but not to his taste. Also a little on the mature side.
All of this was still going through his mind when he arrived at his work just before six. The bar was still busy with the remains of the five o’clock rush, and he was kept occupied for a while. Then they hit the mid-evening dead spot, when most of the teatime drinkers had gone and the closing-time fixtures had mostly still to arrive. It was a Tuesday night and only two bar staff were on, Jack and young Les Wilson.
Jack gathered in glasses and wiped the tables while Les cleaned up behind the bar. When they had finished, the place was still quiet. Taking advantage of the owner’s absence, Les smoked a cigarette, then went on his break. Half an hour later, Jack succeeded him.
The Centurion, Jack’s place of work, was on Byres Road, at the heart of the city’s West End. Byres Road linked two residential areas: middle-class Kelvinside on the north-west, and working-class Partick on the south. It was also close to, or passed near, BBC Scotland, Glasgow University and the Western Infirmary. These elements alone created an interesting variety of people, which in turn drew in outsiders attracted by this cosmopolitan mix. In the West End, if you were only mildly eccentric you faded into the background.
Tennent’s Bar, where Jack went for his break, was at the area’s epicentre, exactly halfway down Byres Road. If you sat in Tennent’s long enough, so it was rumoured, you would eventually meet everyone in the world, plus the occasional extraterrestrial.
In the past, Jack had never quite believed this. He was shortly to change his mind.
Tennent’s was also quiet, even emptier than the Centurion. The few customers were spread thinly around its wide spaces; as well as being the most central bar in the area, it was also the largest. Jack stood at the counter, chatting to Morag the barmaid, making his single drink last as long as p
ossible.
Five minutes before his break was due to end, three women came into the pub. At first Jack paid them little attention; they sat down somewhere behind him, and the one who came up to the bar to buy a round – an attractive girl in her twenties – was a stranger to him. It was only on leaving the pub that he happened to glance over at the group and recognised one of them. Someone who had been constantly in his thoughts for half the day.
It was Candy, from the Merchant City Health Centre.
Even in the West End, this was a ridiculous coincidence. She didn’t appear to have seen him, so he quickly went out the door and returned to work.
He hadn’t escaped so easily. Half an hour later the girls arrived in the Centurion. It seemed they were on a pub crawl. Candy came up to the bar to buy a round.
Both Jack and Les were serving. Jack carried on, hoping Les would be finished first. Candy was too impatient to wait for either of them. She seemed a little tipsy.
‘Hi, handsome!’
Jack was on his way to the till. As he was passing Les, the other barman said in his ear, ‘Don’t you bother. I think it’s me she wants.’
But Jack was now free and Les was still serving. He went over to Candy. How should he react? He didn’t want to snub her, but mutual recognition could be embarrassing for both of them. And he didn’t know her real name. Better to play safe, with something equally appropriate as a greeting to a friend or a barman’s welcome to a stranger. ‘Hi,’ he said, smiling.
He could have saved himself the worry. If anything was bothering Candy, it wasn’t the protocol. ‘Come on, darlin’, we’re dyin’ of thirst here.’ She spoke good-humouredly, treating him to a smile he remembered well.
‘I’m all yours. What can I get you?’
Candy was leaning across the bar towards him; above the low-cut top, her cleavage seemed aimed at his nose. Even with the image of the hidden part still fresh in his memory, it still grabbed his attention. ‘You tell me, honey,’ she said. ‘But right now, make it two Black Labels and a Jack Daniels.’
‘Two Black Labels and a Jack Daniels,’ he repeated. She blew him a kiss as he went for the order.
Murder in the Merchant City Page 2