by Conrad Jones
Stirling smiled and opened the door. Harry had always been open to persuasion. There were rumours towards the end of his career but Stirling didn’t judge him one way or the other. The man had given thirty five years of his life to the force. If he had applied a little pressure here and there, so what. He headed for the stairwell, which led him out onto Brownlow Hill. From the pavement, The Adelphi Hotel was a grey monolith, recessed balconies and Roman columns gave it a look of grandeur. The traffic was light as he crossed the road and walked towards a flashing neon sign, which pointed to steps that went down beneath the hotel. He looked around. The nightclub was well hidden from the main road, almost anonymous beneath the grandiose building. It was the perfect spot to acquire a victim. The clubs further into the centre were mostly on pedestrian areas where thousands of revellers packed the streets every weekend.
At the bottom of the steps, he looked up at the car park but the view of the lower floors was blocked by the slope. The car park cameras couldn’t pick up the front door of the club. As he reached the entrance, the smell of stale beer hit him. A wall mounted ashtray overflowed with cigarette stumps and a single patio umbrella was the only shelter offered to smokers. The sound of a 60’s band drifted to him but he couldn’t think of their name. When he opened the door, the volume of the music became ear splitting. He winced and stepped into the gloomy venue. To his left, a group of elderly men stopped talking, turning to look at the stranger as he entered. Stirling scowled and they turned back to their chatter. He wondered why hardened drinkers of their age would choose such a noisy venue to frequent, until he noticed a Day-Glo banner advertising a happy hour. It ran from 10am until 5pm. “Happy seven hours?” he shook his head in disbelief and headed to the bar.
“Hi, what can I get you?” the barman appeared from behind a large pillar. Stirling looked along the mirror backed bar, which ran in an L shape for at least thirty metres. He guessed that there were more than a hundred optics above the mirrors. The bar itself was interspersed by thick support pillars every ten metres or so. The club was built in the building’s foundations. A dance floor the size of a tennis court spread into the gloom at the far end of the club. He counted six CCTV cameras at a glance. Whether they were all working or not was another matter. The place looked run down and rough around the edges. “All draught beer is a pound until five o’clock.”
“I want to speak to the manager please,” Stirling said flashing his ID. The elderly barman nodded silently and picked up a telephone, which was fixed to the pillar. He ran his fingers through his white hair and tutted in annoyance. His manner was nonchalant and he eyed Stirling with suspicion.
“A bloke claiming to be Old Bill wants to talk to the manager,” he rolled his eyes at the reply. “How the hell would I know what he wants?” he snapped and hung up. “She’ll be on her way down if she can get off her fat arse for five minutes,” he bitched. “I was due my break four hours ago.” He rolled his eyes. “Four hours! She takes the piss. The lazy cow.” One of the elderly drinkers approached the bar and stood within earshot. “Oh, here we go. What do you want, nosey old goat,” he grumbled to Stirling as if he was an old friend.
“Hey,” the old man scolded. “We pay your wages. Less of you lip, sunshine!”
“Bloody coffin dodgers,” the barman said from the corner of his mouth. He poured a pint of dark ale and put it in front of the old man. The old man scowled and counted out a handful of coins, handing them to the disgruntled barman. “None of them leave a tip. It’s not like they’ll be taking it with them is it?”
“What did you say?” the old drinker stuttered. Loose skin hung from his chin making him look turkey like. Brown liver spots speckled his bald scalp and his thin lips quivered as he spoke.
“I said, I wouldn’t buy a Christmas tree if I was you,” the barman winked at Stirling. “Might be a waste of money, you old git.”
Stirling heard a door open at the end of the bar and walked towards it, glad to be away from the whining barman. A barrel shaped woman in her fifties waddled in. The expression on her round face told him that she wasn’t overjoyed at being disturbed. He took out his ID again and held it up as she approached. “I’m DS Sterling from the Major Investigation Team. I’m investigating a double murder.” Her face softened, anger replaced by concern. Her severe bob cut made her face look rounder than it was and dyed black, it exaggerated how pale her skin was. “I have reason to believe that the victims were in your club last Saturday night.”
“There would have been over seven hundred punters through here on Saturday,” she grimaced, “we’re licensed for three hundred before you ask but by the time people come and go to other clubs that’s about the right number.”
“Do all those cameras work?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll need your disks from Saturday night,” Stirling said flatly. “And I’ll need to speak to your door staff.”
“My head door supervisor is right over there,” she gestured to a booth behind them. Stirling hadn’t noticed it before as it was hidden from view by one of the many pillars. A man with a sullen expression sat pouring over a stack of papers. His head was shaved and the exposed flesh of his arms was covered in tattoos. Stirling reckoned him to be in his late forties. “He can give you what you need. Coco,” she called out. “Help this detective out will you, I’ve got work to do.” She turned and walked away without another word. The doorman stood up and stretched his arms above his head. His upper body was pumped up with nandrolone. Stirling could spot steroid built muscle a mile away.
“Detective,” he offered his hand with an unexpected smile. “Colin Cousins, head doorman. Everyone calls me Coco.” Close up, Stirling realised that he was mixed race and that would account for his nickname. His voice was deep and calm and his accent was local but well educated. “How can I help you?”
“I’m investigating a double murder. We have reason to believe that our victims came to town last Saturday night,” he paused and pointed to the car park across the road. “We know that they parked their car over there but we need to know where they went to and who they went home with.” He shrugged. “The surveillance tapes from the multi-storey show the women standing at the top of the steps here. I need to look at your footage from that night.”
“A lot of people come in here on a Saturday,” Coco said in a concerned tone. “But we have a lot of regulars. Have you got a photograph?”
“Yes, sorry,” Stirling mumbled, taken aback by the man’s polite cooperation, which was rare amongst doormen in the city centre. He took two pictures from his inside pocket and handed them to him. “They went out frequently together, usually just the two of them.”
Coco looked at the pictures and raised his eyebrows, “She’s dead?” he shook his head. “She was a nice lady.”
“You recognise them?” Stirling asked surprised.
“This one I know,” he held up the picture of Jackie Webb. “I recognise the other one vaguely but I’ve never spoken to her. They have been in here a few times. I am pretty sure that they were in here on Saturday but I couldn’t be certain. The CCTV will tell you for definite.”
“How do you know Jackie Web?”
“I wouldn’t say that I know her. I know her face. Some of my doormen know her better,” Coco frowned. “She was a bit of a player.”
“We think that she may have been an escort.”
“She was,” Coco said matter of factly. “No doubt about it. When she was out in the club, there was no funny business but she did tout some of my men on the odd occasion. She often gave her card out.”
“Mobile beautician?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“That’s how you’re sure she was an escort?”
“Yes. Some of the lads enquired about her services but she was high end. Way too expensive for my lot!”
“Can you remember if she left here with anyone on Saturday?”
“She would spend all night flirting but I have never seen her leave here with a m
an, Detective,” he shrugged. “Her friend on the other hand, was totally different. I don’t recall her ever flirting with anyone.”
“Did you see them leave on Saturday?”
Coco thought about it for a second and then shook his head. “I’m sure that I didn’t see them leave. There were a couple of stag and hen parties in if I remember rightly. I spent most of the night by the DJ box.” He shook his head. “Without knowing what time they left, I’m speculating. Let’s go and look at the CCTV, shall we?” He turned and walked across the dance floor towards the DJ box. They skirted around it to a door, which was marked as ‘private’. Coco took out a bunch of keys and opened the door, stepping aside to allow Stirling in first. The lights were tripped by a sensor as they walked in. “Impressive isn’t it?” he said watching the expression on the detective’s face.
“It certainly is,” Stirling nodded. A bank of nine screens showed images from all around the club. “Everywhere but the toilets is covered?”
“I wish,” Coco sighed. “The cameras are remote and swivel through ninety degrees but these bloody pillars give me a headache.” He pointed to three of the screens. “We had a major problem with cocaine dealers when I took over the door. It was mainly because the doormen were on the take. I sacked the lot of them, hired good men and got rid of the dealers. Don’t get me wrong, we still have an issue with it but we’re realistic enough to know that we’ll never be rid of it completely. I position men in the blind spots, that’s the best we can do.”
“It looks like a good set up to me.”
“The club belongs to the hotel and it’s part of a big chain. Anything bad happens in here is bad for business,” Coco nodded and typed his password into the keyboard. He typed the relevant date in and the screens flickered and the images changed. The screens showed the club on Saturday night when it was at full capacity. “What time do you think they were outside?”
“Half past nine-ish.” The images flashed by nine o’clock, ten and eleven before they caught a glimpse of the women. “There!” Stirling said excitedly. “Right by the edge of the dance floor. They were here.”
“Okay, let’s see who they talk to,” Coco said zooming in on the women. They were approached several times, chatted to a few other women but nothing important happened for a while. “Here, Jackie goes dancing with this guy here.” He focused in on his face. “I’ll print a picture of his face for you.”
“Thanks. Do you recognise him?”
“No. Sorry.” Coco grimaced. “What’s the other woman called?”
“Jayne.”
“Jayne is the wallflower left watching her friend dancing.” The images whizzed by and showed nothing except Jackie Web gyrating around a dark haired male. Jayne was approached a few times but rebutted any advances quickly. All apart from one.
“Wait there,” Stirling said. “Stop that there.”
“Got it,” Coco slowed the tape down and zoomed in again. Jayne was chatting happily with a tall dark male. “By the look on her face she was interested in him.”
“He goes off to the bar there. Can we follow him?”
Coco flicked to another camera. “We lose him here. He’s behind the pillar there. We can’t see what he orders from the bar but he’s walking back to Jayne here,” he paused as they watched him handing Jayne a glass, “That is a clear shot of his face,” he turned and grinned at Stirling. He clicked on print screen and a laser-jet whirred into life. Stirling picked up the photographs and nodded. The images were good enough to circulate.
“Do you know this guy?”
“No.”
“They don’t look like they came together do they?”
“There’s been no interaction between them.” Coco slowed the image again. Jayne and Jackie spoke briefly on the dance floor but the men didn’t even acknowledge one another. “I don’t think the men know each other. Now if we fast forward, we can see if they leave with them.”
The footage showed the women dancing and chatting to their suitors. From the sequence of events, Stirling saw Jayne take three glasses of a dark liquid from the man. Each one seemed to make her shoulders stoop as if it was sucking the energy from her limbs. “Does she look like she’s having a good time?” Stirling frowned. Stop the tape there. “Look at her face.”
“She looks totally spaced out,” Coco agreed. “Her head looks too heavy for her neck.”
“She was driving.”
“So she was drunk,” Coco shrugged. “Lots of people still drink and drive.”
“She was a Special Constable.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“No.”
“In which case, she was spiked.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Stirling nodded. “Run it and let’s see if she leaves with him.” The images flickered on, covering about forty minutes before Jackie could be seen staggering across the dance floor to the ladies. Ten minutes later, Jayne Windsor heads for the exit, escorted by the mystery male. He appeared to be holding her up by the elbow. Her face was a picture of confusion. “There she goes. That’s all I need. You’ve been a great help. Can you burn this onto another disk for me?”
Coco shook his head and frowned. “No, sorry but you can take the originals.” He hit the eject button and two disks slid out of the system. “Take them and I hope they help you to catch whoever killed them. Do me a favour and hang the bastard, will you.”
“If only I could,” Stirling said taking the disks, “Thanks again for the help.” He shook Coco’s hand and headed across the club. He looked at the photographs again and studied the faces. “We’re coming for you,” he muttered to himself. Something told him that the uniformed officers at the multi-storey would have images of one of the men getting into Jayne Windsor’s car with them.
CHAPTER 15
Tod Harris stepped out of the hotel into the muggy evening air. The sun was on the wane but its heat remained long after the yellow orb had begun to melt into the sea on the horizon. He crossed the Parc de L’ Aguera, sticking to the paths that would take him past the skateboarders. Their daredevil antics fascinated him and were worth the detour. They made it look so easy. It reminded him of a time not so long ago when he would go to Southport with his friends on long summer days where they would cruise along the pier on their skateboards looking for girls. It was harmless teenage fun back then. It was natural. Hunting for women was natural for males. It was a carnal instinct. Brute force had been replaced by civilised conversation, aesthetics and aftershave. Women now had the choice to say no. That’s where it all went wrong. They used their sexuality when it suited them. Men were subjected to a barrage of beauty day and night from the press and television but the message was clear, look but don’t dare touch. Tod didn’t see things quite that way. He lit a cigarette and watched the boarders doing their tricks for a while. It took his mind off the newspaper reports that he had read. His first reaction had been fear, pure panic but now he had taken time to mull over the facts, he wasn’t as concerned. The police were working in the dark and there was no way that they could connect things to him. Hopefully the reported fire would have destroyed any evidence. Hopefully.
He felt hungry and decided to leave the boarders to their own devices. He walked along a curved path that took him to the narrow lanes of the Old Town. He could see the last glimmer of the sun on the sea and a warm breeze tickled his skin. The lanes were bustling with tourists and locals alike. The tourists were shopping and bar hopping, enjoying the myriad of tapas available, while the locals soaked up the atmosphere on the way home from work with espressos and cognac watching the people go by. Tod wanted to eat. He wanted to eat, drink and find a woman. His self imposed abstinence had come to an end. His fear was dissipating and being replaced by the carnal urges that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. He couldn’t control his sexuality, who could?
As he moved through the crowds, the aroma of food cooking was mixed with the occasional waft of perfume and he wasn’t sure which was the most prov
ocative. He took a left off the main artery onto Pintor Lazano and felt the relief of leaving the crowds behind. He wandered around the evocative cobbled streets for a while, browsing in shop windows admiring the leather and silver craft shops and the females who were attracted to them. He could see a blue domed church at the top of the hill surrounded by white washed houses. It was a tiny piece of authentic Spain nestled between forests of tower blocks to the east and west. It was an easy place to lose himself and pretend that nothing had happened. His hunger took control once more. A neon sign advertising San Miguel lager blinked and as he neared it, the aroma of garlic drifted from the bar. He smiled to himself and headed for one of the empty tables outside. The waiter was at his table in a second, placing an ashtray and a beer mat in front of him.
“San Miguel please,” Tod said as he settled.
“Large?”
“Si.”
The tables around him were full. He heard Spanish, French and Italian being spoken. Four young English women were sat adjacent to him, giggling and laughing. From the volume of their conversation, he guessed that they had been drinking most of the day. A mixture of cigarettes and perfume drifted from them on the breeze and he inhaled deeply. He could almost taste them. The lane was quiet, only a few families were ambling along it. An elderly couple linked arms and studied the bar’s menu. They decided against eating there. Tod watched the husband shaking his head, put off by the group of rowdy English women and they wandered up the lane towards the busier streets, pausing to window shop at a small silversmith a few buildings away. A lone male stopped and stood next to them. He was a local, short and had a wiry build. Although he was looking at the jewellery, he was also eyeing the woman’s handbag. He looked around to see if anyone was watching him. Tod locked eyes with him for a second before the waiter returned blocking his view.