What Goes Around

by Ann Bloxwich

  Alex glanced at his notebook again. ‘What about Vicky Wilson? I understand she came backstage to see him.’

  Neil nodded. ‘Yes, Vicky was one of what I call his little pets. Most of the time, Ray likes to love them and leave them, but now and then he gets his hooks into a woman who hangs on his every word and treats him like a God. He keeps them around for a while, getting them to spend their money on him and in return they do everything he asks. Vicky was sweet, but she had a nasty tongue on her. I was standing by the dressing room door when I heard her having a go at the security man. She said some vile things to him, I’m surprised he didn’t throw her out.’

  ‘Do you know his name?’ Alex asked, but Neil shook his head.

  ‘No, not someone I’d seen before. He might be part of John’s crew. I’m freelance nowadays, so I work for whoever hires me,’ Neil said.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Alex said. ‘Did you see Vicky leave?’

  ‘No, I was onstage doing my last spot. The only people left here when I came back out, besides Ruby, was Si. He was getting a lift with the DJ, so he was out the front by the disco booth. Everyone else had gone home. The lads went out through the front doors, they like to talk to the women after the show, not necessarily to chat them up, they’re just nice guys. Ray crawled out the back way as usual, he’s too important to mix with the audience, unless he wants something of course. Vicky went with him as far as I know. I didn’t see her again.’

  Alex closed his notebook. ‘I think that’s it for now, but I may have to come back to you at some point. Can I just ask what Ray did for you to hate him so much? It’s written all over your face, to be honest.’

  Neil took a deep breath, stood up and walked over to Alex. He opened his kimono and let it fall to his waist, turning his back on Alex as he did so. He lifted up his vest and Alex sucked his breath hard. Neil’s back was a mass of welts and scars, almost like a noughts and crosses board.

  ‘What the hell happened?’ Alex looked at the puckered skin on Neil’s back. He couldn’t see where one scar ended and another began.

  Neil let his vest drop down and put his kimono back on, tying it tightly at the front. ‘Like I said before, Ray has a temper. We used to work together a lot, toured abroad and everything. I got him his big break, introduced him to the right people, you know how it goes. Anyway, about three years ago, we did a show together, a charity one. He was high as a kite on something or other, he likes a quick snort now and again. I don’t know how he managed to do his spot to tell you the truth. He came up to me afterwards and asked if I’d lend him some money. He said he owed it to some shady characters, and they wanted it back. I said no, I have Mum to think about. She’s in a residential home and every penny goes towards her care. He seemed fine about me refusing, and we went our separate ways. I arrived home around midnight after dropping Ruby off and Ray was parked outside my house in his flash car. If I owed anyone money, that would be the first thing I’d get rid of.’

  Neil paused for a moment, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Alex told him to take his time.

  ‘He asked me again to help him out, I refused again but he kept asking, begging even. In the end, he said he would let me fuck him – his words, not mine. I was so taken aback that I laughed. That was my big mistake. He lost his rag, he grabbed me by the throat and started shaking me like a rag doll. Back then he was doing steroids and was strong. I couldn’t make him let go. He threw me on the ground and started kicking me, I wrapped my arms around my head and curled up as small as I could. He was snarling like a wild animal, I thought he was going to kill me. He tore my shirt off my back, beat me with his belt then lit a cigarette and burned me. Then he opened his trousers, pulled out his cock and he pissed on me. Can you believe that? I was so humiliated I just lay there, not moving or speaking. Once he was done, he told me to keep my mouth shut or he’d pay my mum a visit and give her a taste of a real man.’

  Alex was appalled. ‘You should have reported him.’

  ‘How could I, given that he’d pretty much threatened to rape my elderly mother?’ Neil shivered at the thought and a tear slid down his cheek.

  ‘How come no-one saw him? Surely your neighbours would have heard the commotion or seen something through their windows?’

  Neil smiled bitterly. ‘I live in a rough part of town where you keep your nose to yourself unless you want trouble, and I’m no snitch.’

  ‘Why do you still work with him? You must be terrified. I know I would be,’ Alex admitted.

  Neil lit a cigarette and watched as the smoke curled upwards. After a moment he spoke again. ‘I’ll admit that for a week I couldn’t even go outside, but the drag community is fabulous. We look after each other, a lot of us have had abusive relationships or come from broken homes. I was meant to be doing a gig in London for a dear friend, but I cancelled it. He kept ringing me and when I didn’t answer he turned up on my doorstep. Next thing I know I’m in London in his spare room, being cared for by some of the most wonderful queens in the business. It was the best therapy I could have had. It was a month before I could work again, and I got such a warm reception that I knew I’d be okay.’

  ‘What happened when you saw Ray next?’

  Neil took another drag on his cigarette. ‘I’ll admit I was terrified, but the beauty of being a drag queen is that your make up acts like an invisible shield you can hide behind, it protects you from anything and everything. Neil Stone might be scared of Ray Diamond, but Kitty McLane certainly isn’t. I’m damned if I’m going to let him stop me being who I am.’

  ‘Would you like to report it now, to me?’ Alex asked. ‘I’ll throw the book at him.’

  Neil shook his head. ‘No need, it’s in the past now. Ray Diamond will get his comeuppance one of these days, of that you can be certain. I only hope I’m there to watch.’

  22

  Dawn flipped her visor down to protect her eyes from the harsh winter sun and turned the radio up. She was in good spirits and hummed along to the music, as she relished the thought of interviewing Ray Diamond. She’d met blokes like him before, they loved to brag about their conquests. He was more likely to let his guard down if he was showing off.

  Dawn glanced at Mo sitting next to her, singing along to the radio. Even though she was wearing her usual work attire of black trousers, white shirt and black jacket, Mo still looked like a teenager.

  Dawn knew it was Mo’s first big interview since she had joined Alex’s team, and guessed she was eager to prove herself. They got on very well, and Dawn marvelled at Mo’s perceptiveness. It was like having Dustin Hoffman on the team, and Dawn sometimes referred to her as Rainman, much to Mo’s amusement. Having Mo on the team meant that paperwork didn’t have time to build up; she typed at lightning speed and could produce reports almost before they’d been asked for. She always noticed the finer details, the ones that might possibly escape a casual observer. Mo only had to glance at a crime scene and she’d be able to recall exactly where every single item was from memory.

  ‘This must be the place,’ Dawn said as she indicated left and pulled over at the side of the road. She’d double-checked the address before they set off, not quite believing that someone like Ray would live in such a prestigious neighbourhood.

  Wyndham Lane was a long leafy road on the outskirts of Wolverhampton, with open fields beyond, just off a stretch of road known as the Dog Leg due to its many twists and turns. It was popular with confident commuters wanting to get to Stourbridge, but without the long queues through the city. All the homes in the lane were formidable to say the least, many of them having the long sweeping driveways and symmetrical trees lining the way.

  They were both impressed as they drove through the tall wrought-iron gates that stood proudly open at the mouth of the property, but their admiration quickly faded as they realised that the high stone wall that shielded the house from the rest of the road had been hiding what could only be described as a total disaster.

  Whate
ver Ray did with his time when he wasn’t strutting his stuff, it certainly wasn’t looking after his property. The long, honey-coloured gravel driveway that swept up towards the house in a gentle curve was pockmarked where weeds had pushed their way up through the stones. The miniature fir trees that lined the driveway all appeared to be dead or well on their way to dying. What few flowerbeds there were had been left to their own devices, all life choked out of the flowers by the weeds that had taken them over.

  The only orderly thing were three cars, a van and a motorbike parked neatly in a row against the hedge bordering the left-hand side of the garden. The fishpond in front of the house had a shop mannequin half-submerged upside down in it, the legs making a crude V sign. Green mould coated the mannequin. A bright-red Porsche Carrera was parked close to the edge of the pond, the driver’s door wide open and loud music blaring from it, which could be heard from inside Dawn’s car.

  She parked and walked over to the Porsche, sticking her head inside for a moment. It stank of weed and booze and she stepped back hurriedly.

  Mo climbed out of the car too and looked at the front of the house. It was Georgian in style with large sash windows on either side of the wide front door. There was a small balcony above the door which looked as if it had been recently added but was in keeping with the rest of the house. Mo stood very still as she scanned the house and cars from left to right and back again. Dawn smiled to herself, she knew that Mo was capturing every minute detail.

  ‘Come on, let’s get this over with,’ Dawn said, crunching her way across the gravel to the front door and indicating for Mo to follow. Dawn had never met Ray Diamond but, according to Heather in the canteen, he was the best thing since sliced bread.

  Heather had almost fainted when Dawn had said where they were going, and had brought in a promotional photo which she thrust at her, begging her to get his autograph. Dawn had looked at the photo and rolled her eyes in disbelief. To say it was cheesy was an understatement. In the shot, Ray knelt sideways on, with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. He was wearing only a pair of white jeans, with the top button left undone and the zip down. A tuft of pubic hair peeked out of the opening. He held a bottle of water high above his chest, the contents trickling down over his six-pack. His trademark honey-coloured hair billowed out behind him, fluffed to within an inch of its life. To make it worse, he appeared to be sporting a pair of white angel wings. Dawn thought he looked like an extra from a cheap porn film.

  Mo rang the bell and a deep chime sounded inside. It was a good five minutes before the door creaked open and a mousy-haired, harassed-looking woman peered around it. Both officers held up their ID cards for inspection.

  ‘Hello, I’m Detective Sergeant Dawn Redwood from Wolverhampton MCU, and this is Detective Constable Maureen Ross. We need to speak to Mr Ray Diamond please.’

  The woman didn’t look surprised, as if having the police call round was an everyday occurrence. She opened the door wider and motioned for them to come in, hitching the basket of laundry she was carrying further up on her hip. She looked around twenty-five years old and wore a yellow T-shirt which matched her rubber gloves. Her baggy black jeans were held up with a brown leather belt.

  ‘I’m Michelle Simmons. You’d better come in. Excuse the mess, I’m a bit behind today. You’d best come through the kitchen to avoid getting paint on your clothes.’

  Michelle tucked a lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail back behind her ear and walked off towards the back of the house, her black trainers squeaking on the wooden floor, leaving Dawn and Mo to follow behind.

  Michelle walked along the corridor to the left of the staircase, which swept around and upwards in a gentle curve. The hall was in the throes of being decorated. The walls had been recently plastered and there were several pots of paint stacked up beneath the window. A pair of stepladders stood near the door and a slim, dark-haired man was balanced on them, brush in hand and a look of concentration on his face as he painted the architrave above the door. He glanced at them as they passed but said nothing.

  The kitchen was bright and airy, the large window allowing shafts of sunlight to stream into the room. It was fitted out with every modern convenience you could think of, and it was spotlessly clean. Both the washing machine and tumble dryer were on the go, and whatever Michelle had cooking in the oven smelled heavenly.

  Mo commented on it and Michelle smiled as she told her that she had been trying out some new bread recipes. ‘Not that any of them will appreciate it,’ she added, as she tipped the full laundry basket onto the kitchen floor by the washing machine.

  ‘Bunch of heathens. I usually freeze it and have it myself when Ray’s not here, the cheese loaf is lovely with tomato soup. Ray’s got some friends over at the minute, but I think they’re going home soon.’

  Michelle opened a door at the side of the kitchen and showed them into a huge room that was separated into two by folding doors which stood open.

  The décor in the room was stunning. Michelle explained that Jason, the decorator, had only finished it the week before. The walls were white, with inset panels in a pale green that looked like polished plaster. The three floor-length sash windows were dressed in dark green damask, held with cream tie backs. The high ceiling had plasterwork fruit and leaves around the edges, and a magnificent chandelier in the centre. The floor was stripped oak, polished to a high sheen.

  Two large cream leather sofas were set at slight angles with each other to face the sixty-eight inch television dominating the wall above the open fireplace. A long oak coffee table stood in front of the larger sofa, and a dining table and six chairs graced the area near the window.

  A suit of armour stood against the wall between the windows. It had a large dildo sticking out where the codpiece should be, and a pair of knickers on its head. At the other end of the room, through the open double doors, was a full-sized pool table, around which stood three men, two white and one black.

  Dawn wondered if they were the other strippers from the night of Vicky’s murder. The black man potted a ball, laughed then moonwalked around the table. The other two groaned in disbelief and got their wallets out.

  ‘Ray, visitors for you,’ Michelle called as she crossed the room and disappeared back through the kitchen door.

  The two officers took a moment to survey the messy room properly. Dishevelled clothes were scattered here and there, hanging off the backs of chairs and in small piles on the floor. Beer bottles, empty cans and takeaway cartons littered the open fireplace, spilling their remains on the white marble hearth. The two large ashtrays on the coffee table were overflowing with discarded cigarette butts, and the whole room smelled like a wrestler’s armpit.

  Michelle reappeared, armed with an empty laundry basket. She circled the room, gathering up clothes as she went, folding the clean ones and placing them on the arm of the sofa and depositing the dirty ones in the basket. She lugged the basket away and returned with a black bin liner. She scooped up the rubbish with lightning speed – she obviously had to deal with this on a regular basis and had it down to a fine art. In less than five minutes the room looked habitable again. She lit a large candle on the mantelpiece, the scent of which soon masked the smell of sweaty feet.

  Dawn was impressed. She wondered if Michelle did house calls and how much she charged.

  ‘Ray, I said you have visitors,’ Michelle said, much louder this time.

  Half-sitting, half-lying across one of the sofas and oblivious to all around him was Ray Diamond. He was swigging from a beer bottle and absent-mindedly twirling his hair while he watched a video of his own show. The volume was so loud that Ray hadn’t noticed Dawn and Mo enter the room, so when Michelle spoke for the second time, he jumped so violently that he spilled beer all down his black frilled shirt.

  ‘Fuck! You stupid bitch, now look what you’ve done!’ he shouted, standing up and wiping his shirt, he turned angrily towards Michelle.

  Spotting Dawn and Mo
, he instantly replaced the scowl with a huge Oscar-winning smile, and Michelle took the opportunity to disappear again.

  ‘Hello ladies!’ he exclaimed, stumbling sideways and crashing into the coffee table. ‘I’m sorry if I scared you just then. Michelle should have told me I had guests. Guys, we have company!’ he shouted across the room, waving his beer bottle to get the attention of his friends. They looked over, waved back and returned to their game.

  ‘That’s Des, Si and Chad,’ he explained.

  Before Dawn could identify herself, Ray looked back at the television. ‘I’m just watching a video of my routine, seeing if I can improve it, but you can’t improve on something that’s already perfect, can you? If you ladies want to take a seat, I’ll give you a private show,’ he said, gyrating slowly but struggling to stay upright. ‘Hey, is that one of my promo pictures? Allow me to sign it for you.’

  He scattered the rubbish on the table, knocking most of it to the floor and locating a pen. He waved his hand at Dawn for her to give him the picture. ‘Who shall I make it out to?’

  Dawn told him, and he scrawled his name, adding a plethora of kisses underneath.

  ‘There you go, that will be worth a fortune one day. Now, don’t go touching yourself when you look at it, you’ll go blind.’

  He winked broadly, making Dawn feel sick. She took the photo back, holding it by the corner as if it were contaminated and placed it on the back of the sofa.

  Dawn couldn’t decide whether it was part of the act or he really was as drunk as he looked. His hair was matted and greasy, his eyes were glazed, and his clothes looked like he’d slept in them for a week. She really didn’t want to know what the stains on his white jeans were.