by Val McDermid
‘That depends,’ Merrick croaked.
‘On what?’ Ian asked suggestively, moving so close that Merrick could feel the other man’s erection against his leg.
‘On how much I trust the person I’m with,’ Merrick replied, trying not to let his revulsion show in voice or expression.
‘Oh, I’m very trustworthy, me. And you look like the reliable kind too.’
‘Are yez not a bit worried, like, about strangers? With this serial killer doing the rounds?’ Merrick asked, using the opportunity of putting his empty bottle back on the bar to move away slightly from Ian’s insistent body.
Ian’s smile was cocky. ‘Why should I be? These guys that are getting topped don’t hang out in places like this. Stands to reason that this isn’t where this mad bastard’s picking them up.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I’ve seen the pictures in the papers, and I’ve never spotted a single one of them out on the scene. And believe me, I know the scene. That’s how I knew you were the new kid in town.’ Ian moved closer again and thrust a hand in Merrick’s back pocket. He ran his fingers over the hard outline of the handcuffs. ‘Hey, that feels interesting. I’m starting to get a picture of what you and me could be like.’
Merrick forced a laugh. ‘For all you know, I could be the killer.’
‘So what if you are?’ Ian said, all self-assurance. ‘I’m not the type this fucking nutter goes for. He likes closet queens, not macho men. If he picked me up, he’d want to fuck, not commit murder. Besides, a good-looking guy like you doesn’t need to kill somebody to get a fuck.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe so, but how do I know you’re not the killer?’
‘Tell you what, just to prove I’m not, I’ll let you top tonight. You’ll be in charge. I’ll be the one with handcuffs on.’
Carry on like this and you won’t be wrong, Merrick thought to himself. He reached down and gripped Ian’s wrist hard, removing his hand from the pocket. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Not tonight. Like you said, I’m the new kid in town. I’m not going home with anybody till I know a bit more about them.’ He released Ian’s wrist and stepped back. ‘Nice talking to you, Ian. Thanks for the drink.’
Ian’s face altered in an instant. His eyes narrowed and the smile changed to a snarl. ‘Wait a minute, Geordie. I don’t know what sort of poxy Watch With Mother clubs you’re used to, but in this city, you don’t get into a clinch with somebody and take drinks off him if you’re not prepared to come across.’
Merrick tried to get away, but the press of bodies round the bar made any movement difficult. ‘I’m sorry if there’s been a misunderstanding,’ he said.
Ian’s arm shot out and gripped Merrick firmly just below his bicep. The pain was excruciating. Merrick found a moment to wonder what sort of person actively sought out pain like this as part of their sexual pleasure. Ian thrust his face so close that Merrick could smell the bad breath he’d learned to associate with amphetamine abuse. ‘It’s not a misunderstanding,’ Ian said. ‘You came here tonight for sex. There’s no other reason to be here. So sex is what we’re going to do.’
Merrick swivelled on the balls of his feet and jabbed his elbow sharply underneath Ian’s ribcage. His breath burst out of him in a sudden ‘whoosh’, and he doubled over, letting go of Merrick’s arm in the reflex of clutching at his solar plexus. ‘No, we’re not,’ Merrick said mildly, moving away through the space that had cleared around him as if by magic.
On his way across the room, one of the other undercover officers fell into step beside him. ‘Nice one, Sarge,’ he said out of the corner of his mouth. ‘You did what we’ve all been wanting to do ever since we got in here.’
Merrick stopped and smiled at the constable. ‘You’re supposed to be doing an undercover. Either fucking dance with me or fuck off and let one of these poofters chat you up.’
Leaving the constable open mouthed, Merrick walked over to the far side of the dance floor and leaned against the wall. The commotion he’d left at the bar had died down. Ian pushed his way through the crowd, still holding his stomach, and left the club, shooting venomous glares at Merrick.
Before long, Merrick had company again. This time, he recognized his companion as a detective constable from one of the other divisions who had only joined the murder squad that day. He was sweating under the weight of heavy leather jacket and trousers that looked suspiciously like standard police motorcycle issue. He leaned close to Merrick, so he wouldn’t be overheard in the crowd round the dance floor and said urgently, ‘Skip, there’s a guy I think we should take a look at.’
‘Why?’
‘I overheard him mouthing off to a couple of blokes that he knew the dead guys. He was boasting about it. Reckoned there weren’t many that could say that. And I heard him say that the killer must be a body-builder like him, on account of lugging bodies around. He was saying he bet there were people here tonight who didn’t know they knew a murderer. Boasting, like, all the way.’
‘Why don’t you bring him in yourself?’ Merrick asked, his interest quickened by what he’d heard, but reluctant to deprive the constable of the credit of pulling in a suspect.
‘I tried to strike up conversation with him, but he gave me the brush-off.’ The constable gave a wry smile. ‘Maybe I’m not his type, skip.’
‘And what makes you think I am?’ Merrick demanded, not sure whether he was being subtly insulted here.
‘He’s wearing the same kind of gear as you.’
Merrick sighed. ‘You better point him out to me.’
‘Don’t look now, sir, but he’s standing over by the disco speakers. IC1 male, five foot six, short dark hair, blue eyes, clean shaven, heavy Scottish accent. Dressed like you. Drinking a pint of lager.’
Merrick leaned back against the wall and slowly scanned the room. He got the suspect on the first pass. ‘Got him, I think,’ he said. ‘OK, son, thanks. Look fucked off when I go.’
He shrugged away from the wall and left the constable practising his depressed look. Slowly, Merrick moved round the room until he found himself next to the man who’d been pointed out to him. He had the bulky build of a weightlifter and the face of a boxer. His outfit was almost identical to Merrick’s, save that his jacket had more buckles and zips. ‘Busy in here tonight,’ Merrick said.
‘Aye. Lots of new faces. Half of them probably polis,’ the man said. ‘See that jerk you were just talking to? He might as well have come in his Panda car. Did you ever see a more obvious busy in all your born days?’
‘That’s why I fucked him off sharpish,’ Merrick replied.
‘I’m Stevie, by the way,’ the man said. ‘Busy night you’re having with the unwanted solicitations. I saw you sort that toerag out earlier. Nicely done, pal.’
‘Thanks. I’m Don.’
‘Nice to meet you, Don. You new about here, then? Accent like that, you’re obviously not a local.’
‘Does everybody know everybody else here?’ Merrick asked with a wry smile.
‘Pretty much. It’s a real village, Temple Fields. ’Specially the S&M scene. Let’s face it, if you’re gonnae let somebody tie you up, you want to know what you’re getting into.’
‘You’re not wrong, Stevie,’ Merrick said with feeling. ‘Even more so when there’s a killer on the loose.’
‘My point exactly. I mean, I don’t suppose these guys that got themselves killed thought they were up for anything more than a bit of rough. I knew them, you know. Adam Scott, Paul Gibbs, Gareth Finnegan and Damien Connolly. Every last one of them, and let me tell you, I wouldn’t have had them pegged for that sort of scene. Just shows you, doesn’t it? You can never tell what goes on in people’s heads.’
‘How come you knew them, then? I thought the paper said they weren’t known on the scene,’ Merrick said.
‘I run a gym,’ Stevie said proudly. ‘Adam and Gareth, they were members. We used to go out for a drink now and again. That Paul Gibbs, I knew him through a mate of mine, u
sed to have a pint with him and all. And that copper, Connolly, he came round the gym after we had a burglary.’
‘I bet there’s not many around here that can say they knew all the poor sods,’ Merrick said.
‘You’re right there, pal. Mind you, I don’t suppose the killer had anything more in mind than a wee bit of fun.’
Merrick’s eyebrows rose. ‘You think it’s fun to murder folk?’
Stevie shook his head. ‘Naw, you’re no’ following me. See, I don’t think he sets out to kill these guys. Naw, it’s kind of an accident, if you get my meaning. They’re playing their games, and your man just gets carried away, and it all gets out of hand. He’s obviously strong, he carts these bodies about and dumps them in the middle of the city, for God’s sake. He’s not going to be a seven-stone weakling, now is he? If he’s a real body-builder like me, he maybe doesn’t know his own strength. Could happen to anybody,’ he added after a moment’s pause.
‘Four times?’ Merrick demanded incredulously.
Stevie shrugged. ‘Maybe they asked for it. Know what I mean? Prick teases and that? Promising what they didnae want to deliver when push came to shove? I’ve been there, Don, and let me tell you, there’ve been times when I’ve wanted to strangle the wee bastards.’
The detective in Merrick was straining at the leash. Carol Jordan wasn’t the only Bradfield copper who’d been reading up on the psychology of the serial killer. Merrick had read cases where killers got off on this kind of justification, swaggering in front of a third party. The Yorkshire Ripper, he knew, had boasted to his male cronies about ‘doing’ prostitutes. He wanted Stevie in an interview room. The only problem was how to get him there.
Merrick cleared his throat. ‘I suppose the only way to avoid that is to get to know the people you go to bed with before you get there.’
‘My point exactly. You fancy getting out of here? Maybe going for a cup of coffee down the diner? Getting to know each other a wee bit better?’
Merrick nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said, dumping the remains of his beer on a nearby table. ‘Let’s go.’ Soon as they got outside, he could switch his radio to ‘transmit only’ and one of the back-up teams would pick them up. Then they could test Stevie’s bravado in Scargill Street.
Although it was after midnight, the street outside the Hell Hole was far from deserted. ‘This way,’ Stevie said, pointing to his left. Merrick slid his hand into his jacket and adjusted the radio switch.
‘Where is it we’re going?’ he asked.
‘There’s an all-night diner in Crompton Gardens.’
‘Great. I could murder a bacon butty,’ Merrick said.
‘Very bad for your health, all that grease,’ Stevie said seriously.
As they rounded the corner into the alley leading into the square, Merrick sensed someone stepping out of a darkened doorway behind him. He started to turn towards the sound of footsteps.
Just like Bonfire Night, was his last conscious thought as a starburst of light erupted behind his eyes.
FROM 3½″ DISK LABELLED: BACKUP.007; FILE LOVE.007
It didn’t last as long as I’d expected. Surprisingly, Adam proved more fragile than the German shepherd. Once he’d lapsed into unconsciousness following the dislocation of his limbs, he proved impossible to rouse. I waited for hours, but nothing seemed to bring him round; not pain, not cold water, not warmth. I was disappointed, I admit it. His pain had been a mere shadow of mine, his punishment not enough for the betrayal that occasioned it.
I finished what I had to do, neatly and swiftly, just after midnight. Then I took him off the rack and folded him into a heavy-duty garden rubbish sack. I put that inside a black Bradfield Metropolitan Council bin bag. It was a struggle to get the dead weight back up the cellar steps and into the wheelbarrow, but my hours pumping iron paid off.
I couldn’t wait to get home to my computer, to transform the evening into something transcendent. But I still had work to do before I could relax and indulge myself. I drove into the city centre just above the legal speed limit — not so fast I’d get pulled for speeding, and not so slow that I’d be stopped on suspicion of being a careful drunk driver. I made for the gay cruising area behind the university. Temple Fields used to be a student area, filled with small cafés, restaurants, shops and bars with low prices and standards. Then, about ten years ago, a couple of the bars became gay. Our left-wing city council responded to pressure and funded a gay and lesbian centre, which moved into the basement of an Indian restaurant. That seemed to trigger a domino effect, and within a year or two, Temple Fields had become Cruising City and the straight students had moved over to Greenholm on the far side of campus. Now, Temple Fields was home to gay bars, clubs, chichi bistros, shops selling leather and bondage gear, and a nightly rent rack right along the canal.
By half past one on a Tuesday morning, there were still quite a few men out on the streets. I drove around a couple of times, concentrating on the area round Crompton Gardens. The square was dark; most of the streetlights had been vandalized for reasons of sexual privacy, and the council was too strapped for cash to repair them. Besides, none of the local businesses was complaining; the darker the square, the more desirable the area, the bigger their profits.
I looked around cautiously. Nothing stirred. I wrestled the bag to the lip of the boot, then half rolled, half carried it on to the low wall. I tipped it over the edge with a rustling thud and closed the tailgate as quietly as I could. I took a penknife out of my pocket, leaned over the wall and slit the bags open. I pulled them free of the body and crumpled them into a ball.
Just after two, I parked Adam’s car a couple of streets away from his house then walked back to my jeep, stuffing the bags in a litter bin on the way. I was in bed by three. In spite of my burning desire to carry on with my work, I was overwhelmed with exhaustion. Not surprising, considering the effort I’d expended. I was asleep as soon as I switched off the light.
When I woke, I rolled over and looked at the clock. Then I checked with my watch. I had to accept its corroboration. I’d been asleep for thirteen and a half hours. I don’t think I’ve ever slept for that length of time, not even after general anaesthetic. I was furious with myself. I’d been looking forward to sitting down at my computer to relive and rebuild my encounter with Adam till it more closely resembled my deepest fantasies. But now I barely had enough time to shower and eat.
On my way into work, I picked up a late city final edition of the Bradfield Evening Sentinel Times. I’d made page two of the paper:
NAKED BODY FOUND
The mutilated body of a naked man was found in Bradfield’s gay village early this morning.
Council worker Robbie Greaves made the grisly discovery as he made a routine rubbish collection in the Crompton Gardens area of Temple Fields.
Now the city’s gay community fears this may be the first act of a gay serial killer like the man who recently terrorized London’s homosexuals.
The body was found among shrubs behind a wall in the park, a notorious night-time meeting place for gay men looking for casual sex.
The man, said to be in his late twenties, has not yet been identified. Police describe him as white, 5ft 10ins, muscular build, with short dark wavy hair and blue eyes. He has no distinguishing marks or tattoos.
A police spokesman said, ’The man’s throat had been cut and his body mutilated. Whoever committed this callous crime is a violent and dangerous man. The nature of the victim’s injuries mean the killer must have been covered in blood.
‘We believe the man was killed elsewhere and the body dumped in the park sometime during the night.
‘We would urge anyone who was in the Crompton Gardens area of Temple Fields last night to come forward for the purposes of elimination. All information will be treated in the strictest confidence.’
Robbie Greaves, 28, the council worker who discovered the body, said, ’I’d only just started work. It was just after half past eight. I was using my grab to pick up litter. W
hen it touched the body, I thought at first it was a dead cat or dog. Then I lifted up the bushes and saw the body.
‘It was horrible. I threw up, then I ran to the nearest phone box. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life and I hope I never do again.’
Well, at least they’d got one thing correct. The body was killed somewhere else and dumped in Crompton Gardens. As for the rest of it… If this was any indication of the police’s skills, I didn’t think I’d have too much to worry about. That was fine by me. The last thing I wanted was to be arrested, since I’d already chosen Adam’s successor. Paul, I knew, was going to be different. This time, it wouldn’t have to end in death.
7
All his acquaintances afterwards described his dissimulation as so ready and so perfect, that if, in making his way through the streets… he had accidentally jostled any person, he would… have stopped to offer the most gentlemanly apologies: with his devilish heart brooding over the most hellish of purposes, he would yet have paused to express a benign hope that the huge mallet, buttoned up under his elegant surtout, with a view to the little business that awaited him about ninety minutes further on, had not inflicted any pain on the stranger with whom he had come into collision.
Carol turned off the main drag and cut through the back doubles to emerge in Crompton Gardens. ‘Adam Scott was found just there,’ she said, pointing to a spot halfway down one side of the shrubbery.
Tony nodded. ‘Can you drive slowly round the square, then park up against the wall where the body was found, please?’