‘So it appears,’ said Donoghue, ‘Jimmy the Rodent and Toni Durham were friendly enough to go for a drink and a meal together at Sylvester’s about fourteen days ago, shortly before she disappeared. Toni Durham has convictions for opportuning and theft. I think the case is beginning to shape up. Jimmy the Rodent is a known felon, with convictions for murder and violence, especially for knife attacks, he’s a known associate of a girl who has disappeared and was also known to a girl who was murdered, significantly by being stabbed. The girl who was murdered was a smackhead and seemed to have the remains of a large amount of heroin on her person which had Jimmy the Rodent’s dabs on. Smells, doesn’t it?’
‘Like a pile of rotting leaves,’ said King.
‘So we need to locate Jimmy the Rodent, have a chat with him. Let’s talk to the girls on the street. I’d like to know more about the Black Team, see if any of the girls might know where Toni could be, see if any of them knew Stephanie Craigellachie. I’ll put Abernethy on it, he’s on the back shift.’
‘Toni,’ said King, rising from his seat, ‘will be in a shallow grave somewhere.’
‘I think she will too,’ said Donoghue. ‘So it’s a double murder.’
They lay side by side in Montgomerie’s bed. They hadn’t closed the curtains, three up and facing a swing park you don’t need lo, and they watched the sun slowly sink over the city. Montgomerie lay on his front, exhausted, Collette again having been ‘exciting’—like he thought, a fish out of water, with screams. She now sat propped up against the headboard smoking a cigarette.
‘You always been a cop?’ she asked.
‘More or less,’ he said sleepily.
‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning I read law at Edinburgh. Was going to practise.’
‘What, until you got it right?’
‘That joke is so old that it’s pushing up daisies.’ Frankly he’d never thought it that funny in the first place.
‘So why didn’t you…er…practise?’
‘Didn’t like lawyers.’ He closed his eyes. Sleep wasn’t too far away. ‘Smug, self-satisfied bunch of people. I met people who were quite open about the fact that they were studying law for the sole reason that nobody ever meets a poor solicitor. People like that far outnumbered those who had a committed interest in the law and wanted to study and apply it.’
‘I suppose,’ she said. ‘But is that so different from me saying that I’m studying History because I want to take the sugar boat?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s a Greenock expression,’ she said, ‘comes from the days when sailing ships used to bring sugar cane from the West Indies to the refinery at Greenock and then go away again for another load. If somebody leaves town we still say that they’ve taken the sugar boat. I wanted to take the sugar boat, so I studied History. The subject doesn’t matter so long as I got a ticket on the boat. I mean, the only thing to do in Greenock is to get drunk and make babies. There’s no work.’
‘That’s different,’ he said. ‘That’s surviving. The guys that forced me out of Edinburgh were into nest-feathering. I came back to Glasgow because I love the city and became a cop because I care about people.’
He felt her run the tips of her fingers down his spine, but all he could think of was a small room with a broken bed, a box full of books, and games of noughts and crosses pencilled on the wall.
Chapter 6
Wednesday, 20.00-23.00 hours
‘I’m a woman,’ said the cigarette-smoker, standing on the corner, shoulder-bag, long hair. ‘We run against time. Time presses heavily on us.’
‘We just don’t seem to have so many years to play around with as men have,’ said the second. Abernethy thought she had a hard face.
‘I think I knew Stephanie,’ said the first, the cigarette-smoker. She dragged hard on the nail and blew the smoke out in a plume.
‘We think she used to stand in the alley, just over there,’ said Abernethy, feeling the women advancing on him.
‘Aye, that’s her,’ said the first. ‘She was—what? Early twenties? Time was running out for her. If she didn’t break out soon she never would. She was heading for the bus station.’
‘Or the Green,’ said the second.
‘Ugh!’ The first shuddered.
‘What do you know about her?’ Abernethy looked southwards, down the length of Blythswood Street, concrete and glass, older buildings south of the water, hills beyond. His sports jacket was tugged by a warm breeze.
‘She was filled in yesterday,’ said the first, ‘found in an alley with her throat slit from ear to ear. It’s the talk of the street.’
‘What do you know about her when she was alive?’
‘She was OK,’ said the second. ‘She’d come down and talk at the end of the night.’
‘Down where?’
‘The corner down there. About one in the morning, we meet up, smoke a few cigarettes, after it gets quiet. We talk about what sort of night we’ve had, maybe spread the money about.’
‘Spread it about?’
‘Aye. I mean if one girl’s been rolled by a punter, had her money nicked, we’d chip in a tenner each, especially if she was earning so she’d pay it back easily enough. It’s a dangerous job, this, nearly as dangerous as being a cop. See, there’s nowhere for us to stash our takings, so at the end of the night we’d be getting into cars with strange men with a good few hundred quid in our handbags. At that time of night there’s a fair chance the punter is after your money and not your body. That’s the first time I ever got talking to Stephanie. Everything had gone wrong for me that night and I mean everything, first a condom burst on me, then there was the guy who wanted me to act like a ten-year-old girl; I wouldn’t, so he bounced my face off the dashboard of his car a couple of times. Then at the end of a long night I was driven on to a piece of waste ground south of the river, rolled and had my money stolen.’
‘Well, they say things happen in threes,’ said the second.
‘You’re really helpful at times,’ said the first. Then she addressed Abernethy. ‘So I went back to the street, found the girls in a group, told them what had happened and saw Stephanie. I’d never met her before, but she was the first to dip into her bag. Nice girl she was.’
‘So she usually stopped about one in the morning.’
‘Yes.’
‘Some girls drag it out till five in the morning but they tend to start later. Stephanie started at about six in the evening and finished at one in the morning. She’d swap notes and listen. In fact she was the one who told me about the violent guy in a fancy car.’
‘Aye, I was there,’ said the second. ‘She said just watch for him and don’t get in his car.’
‘What sort of car?’
‘American. A big cream-coloured American car. Couldn’t mistake it. See, Stephanie had got in and this guy had given her a good doing. He didn’t take her money, he just slapped her around a good bit because he didn’t like working girls. Stephanie warned us about him. See, some girls are dead spiteful, some girls would take a doing like that and say nothing, just stand there watching other girls getting into the same car and knowing exactly what’s going to happen to them, thinking: If I had to take it, she can too. But not Stephanie, she wouldn’t be like that.’
‘So what happens after you’ve been attacked? Do you report it to us?’ Both girls shook their heads. ‘No point. Your word against his, no witnesses, you don’t know his identification anyway. If you’ve got away with your life then pick yourself up, have a good drink, put it down to experience and start work again.’
‘I see. Stephanie, she never talked about a man called Dino? Possibly it’s a woman but we think it’s a man.’
‘Dino?’
‘Dino?’
‘Not to me,’ said the first.
‘Me neither. She did talk about a man, though.’
‘Oh?’
‘Aye. Seemed to be her angel,’ volunteered the second.
; ‘Angel?’
‘Some girls have got angels, you know men they’re either good or bad, it’s hoping that you meet a good one that keeps girls going. See, the street, it’s amazing how it brings out the good and bad in men.’
‘You mean the God Squad,’ said the first. ‘There’s as many women in that as men.’ She dragged hard on the nail.
‘No, not them.’
‘Who are they anyway?’ asked Abernethy.
‘Religious nuts who are locked down tight with Jesus, they come on to the street each Friday evening handing out religious tracts, wanting us to go to church on the Sunday. It’s all very well but singing hymns never paid the rent.’
‘Or your supplier,’ said Abernethy and both girls fell silent. ‘So tell me about the good guys.’
‘Well, there’s the guys that beat you up and steal your money, and there’s the queer hawks that want you to play games and then there are the guys who want to protect you.’
‘Pimps?’
‘No, no,’ said the first, who seemed to Abernethy to like to be doing all the talking. ‘I don’t mean that. See, I’ve got an angel, he’s a businessman. He comes to Glasgow from England, two sometimes three times a month. The first time he came looking for a girl to take to dinner. Sometimes it pays to be well-dressed because there’s a chance you’ll get offered a meal. You get these guys, middle-aged, got a bit of money, all they want is female company. They’ll pay you to let them take you for a meal. It tends to bring out the protectiveness in them, the father figure bit. My angel looks me up when he’s in town and hands me a wedge of smackers and says, “Right, that’s you off the street for the next two nights.” He offered me a job in his company.’
‘Why didn’t you take it?’
The girl shrugged. ‘I’d feel I was exploiting him; you know—exploiting his goodness.’
‘You feel you’re not good enough to deserve a break in life?’ asked Abernethy.
The girl looked at him with widening eyes and he knew he’d touched a raw nerve.
‘I’ve got an angel too,’ said the second. ‘He wants to marry me. I remind him of his late wife.’
‘So you think Stephanie had an angel?’
‘Yes. She talked about him, never mentioned his name, though.’
‘I see.’ Abernethy nodded. He had been surprised by the girls. He had not really known what to expect, he’d seen them on the occasions they were lifted and taken to the ‘tank’, held for a few hours and charged with opportuning, and because of that he had anticipated aggression and hostility. In the course of events he had to admit to himself that they were nice girls, they were, really nice. At least the ones he had talked to had been pleasant young women. He had been strolling up and down Blythswood Street for an hour and a half talking to the girls, some who had known Stephanie and some who hadn’t. They had all proved pleasant girls but it became apparent to Abernethy that they all had one thing in common: not one had a good self-image. It didn’t seem to be a self-image that was brought about by the way they had chosen to earn a living, it was much more deeply rooted, already well-established and entrenched. The girls had seemed to gravitate to the street and to being exploited, as if to reinforce an opinion that they were there to be used if not abused, like this girl who didn’t think she deserved a break in life. None the less, they were pleasant, Abernethy had to admit that, they were courteous, even if their speech was hard they still possessed essential courtesy. If they didn’t value themselves, they did value other people. What had seemed to him to be a daunting task as he approached the Square had in fact turned out to be a pleasant assignment.
He said, ‘She knew a man with a black Mercedes?’
‘Yes, she did,’ said the first girl. ‘And he was no angel, take it from me.’
‘Gave her a doing over,’ said the first.
‘I saw it.’
‘The assault?’
‘No. I saw him draw the car to a stop, wait for her. Leave the car and pull her in when she came. I was a good distance away but other girls were nearer and saw it more clearly. She was on the street the next night wearing dark glasses and not being able to speak properly. He’d slapped her around a good bit.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘He was a cocky little hard man,’ said the first, ‘stocky but solid, good head of hair.’
‘I saw him around,’ said the second. ‘He’d been scarred, like lumps had been torn from his face.’
‘She never mentioned him.’
‘Never.’
‘Did she have a pimp?’
‘No.’ The first girl tossed away the dog-end and pulled another nail from the packet and lit it with a gas lighter. ‘Some girls do, most don’t. There’s guys they come up the street, just been made redundant, offer to watch your back for ten per cent of your takings. You tell them to get on their bikes, I mean how can they watch your back when you’re a mile away in somebody’s car. Mind you, once they get their claws into you then you’re hooked for good. Bit like the money-lenders, once you say “yes” you’re finished.’
‘But there was nobody watching Stephanie’s back?’
The girls shook their heads.
‘Was the Black Team into her?’
There was a silence.
‘The Black Team is into everybody,’ said the second, finally.
‘They rolled you?’
‘Yes. Once. I can recognize them now so I get off my mark.’
‘You’ll need to point them out to us,’ said Abernethy.
The girls shook their heads. ‘I don’t want any more doings than necessary. They’re real hard women. Besides, if you get rid of them there’s others that will move into their place. Women like that grow like weeds on this hill.’
‘That’s no reason to let them carry on with impunity. It’s robbery with violence. Do you know if Stephanie ever got rolled by the Black Team?’
‘Probably,’ said the first.
‘She did,’ said the second.
‘She did?’
‘Yes, a few weeks ago. I saw it. All over in a few seconds, she was on the ground, her wedge lifted and the Black Team on their way before she knew what was happening. They didn’t have it in for her any more than anyone else, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens.’
‘It happens,’ Abernethy echoed. He was a young cop, early twenties, still a trace of residual acne. ‘It happens,’ he said again. ‘All right, I have another question.’
‘Come on,’ the first protested. ‘You’re costing us money.’
‘I won’t detain you long,’ said Abernethy. ‘Toni Durham. Does the name mean anything to you?’
‘Yes,’ both girls said at once.
Abernethy raised an eyebrow after the manner of DI Donoghue when waiting for an explanation or an answer, but he hadn’t Donoghue’s silent charisma and both girls smiled at the gesture. So Abernethy said, ‘Tell me what you know.’
‘Haven’t seen her for some time.’
‘Two weeks or so.’
‘What else do you know about her?’
‘Wouldn’t like to say.’
‘Well, we can talk here or we can talk in the detention room.’
‘OK, but this didn’t come from us. OK?’
‘Agreed.’
‘And we’re not giving evidence against her.’
‘But we’ll point you in the right direction.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Toni Durham,’ said the first girl, ‘she’s a Miss Fix-it.’
‘She’s behind everything the scene has to offer.’
‘The scene?’
The girl tapped her foot on the flagstones. ‘The scene,’ she repeated, ‘the hill, the streets, the massage parlours, films…’
‘Films?’
‘Films, a room, a few lights, a video camera, a system for duplicating films, a few extras like a bed, maybe a tawse, a whip made out of suede and people to act. Adults, children when you can get them.’
Abernethy stood in shocked silence.
‘You didn’t know it was going on?’
‘Not personally,’ Abernethy conceded. ‘I imagine Vice knows what’s going down.’
‘Well, you get asked to work as extras,’ said the first girl. ‘They pay more if the action’s for real, whether you’re in for a sore arse or two men at once, anything. They have a studio in Scotstoun.’
‘Scotstoun?’
‘Aye. Big tenement. Don’t ask me where exactly. I was taken there by car, told to keep my eyes down or I wouldn’t be seeing anything at all. I really needed money at the time so I agreed to do real action and had to sleep on my front for the next few nights. Never again.’
‘They do films for gays,’ said the second. ‘They use boys who are on the run from List “D” Schools, they keep them hidden from the law, feed them, give them smokes. The boys call it “flogging their doughnuts”.’
Abernethy’s mouth opened. He was still inexperienced enough to be surprised by human behaviour. ‘So what part has Toni Durham in that?’
‘She’s a talent scout looking for likely actresses. Offers you maybe a good night’s money for two hours’ filming. You don’t need an Equity card to get into her films.’
‘She never acts herself. The big money is to be made behind the scenes.’
‘Do you know where she stays?’
‘No.’
‘No,’ said the second. ‘We can’t answer too many questions, she could fix us so we couldn’t work.’
‘She could fix us period.’
‘So we haven’t talked to you about Toni Durham, OK?’
‘Understood,’ said Abernethy, ‘but thanks.’
Abernethy glanced down the street. At the corner of St Vincent Street he noticed a man, a middle-aged man, talking to a girl. The man then glanced up the street to where Abernethy stood and the two men caught each other’s gaze for a second. Abernethy hoped he never ended up like the man, middle-aged, lonely, buying your women for an hour in the evening, standing there negotiating price on the hoof in the Blythswood Street meat market. The older man looking at Abernethy thought it sad, such a young man should be negotiating with two girls. He turned back to the girl and said, ‘Well, if you should see her, just tell her Dino was asking after her.’
Condition Purple Page 10