A Taste for Malice (30 page)

What about the condom? That was a masterstroke in her plan. If truth be told, the one flaw that allowed Jim to see what was really going on. He hadn’t worn a condom that night. She must have kept his semen warm in her mouth, climbed the stairs to the bathroom and then spat it into a condom from the bathroom cabinet.

If her actions hadn’t such a hurtful outcome, he might be impressed at her cunning.

Then there was the police. How did they get to his door so quickly? They had barely began to argue when they turned up.

Moira must have phoned in when she knew he was on his way home from work, hoping that by the time they arrived he would have had enough time to meet Angela’s revelation. And blow a fuse.

Jim’s mother was right. He sat up. He couldn’t just lie here and twist in his own despondency. He had to do something. But what?

The police weren’t interested. He’d been to see them three times. Each time he’d been shown the door. The report the two constables filed on him wasn’t complimentary. He was recorded clearly as the aggressor and if he made any more allegations of kidnap he’d be charged with wasting police time.

He started at the beginning of Moira’s story and began picking at it. Was there anything that came out of her mouth that was truthful? They had been in her house. Was it really her house? Was Erskine even her son?

Back at my place I power up the laptop and link it to my printer. I open the file and press print. As the machine chugs away at the paper I think about Mr Connor’s expression as he watched me pack the computer up.

‘Once we’re finished with it, I’ll get it back to you.’

‘Right,’ he said and looked out of the window.

‘Don’t know how long that might be though. It has to be logged as evidence and then we have to wait for trial.’

‘There’s gonnae be a trial?’

‘We don’t know for sure, but the rest of the evidence points to it,’ I said. Just one more lie to add to the day’s tally.

The doorbell rings.

It’s Kenny.

‘Dear me, Ray McBain as I live and breathe. Caught in the act of masturbation,’ he says with an air of schoolboy delight when he sees the image on the computer.

‘It’s not what …’ I realise as the words trip from my mouth that it doesn’t matter what I say. This will go down in Kenny history as the Time He Caught McBain Wanking.

‘Interesting little fetish you have here as well,’ he says in the manner of someone appraising an antique.

‘It’s a fetish?’

‘Of sorts. Bukkake.’

‘Is that not a mushroom?’

He sat on the chair next to me. ‘Imbecile. It’s Japanese. The literal translation is to splash.’ I look at him amazed that he knows this stuff. He studies my expression. ‘So if you weren’t having a wank what were you doing?’

‘First off, it does nothing for me. Secondly, I’m on a case.’

‘Explain.’

‘This is where the Kenny Criminal Investigation thing falls down. This is a police thing and I can’t be telling you all this stuff.’

‘Who’s to know? And besides,’ he leans back in his chair, ‘you want to know where to find Jasmine?’

I tell him everything.

‘Call me at confused dot com,’ he says. ‘You have a dead nurse who is your only lead. A girl who ran away from you at the hospital. A woman with a face full of come and another woman trying to get this laptop back.’ He blows air out of his mouth. ‘Put the kettle on will you?’

I make him his coffee and sit back down.

‘What do we do now?’ he asks.

‘I, not we, follow each trail back to where they meet. Then we find Hepburn and lock her the fuck up.’

‘That’s a bit woolly, my man. Give me some specifics.’

‘Fuck you and your specifics. I need to go and visit this Jasmine.’

‘Can I drive?’

The reason that Kenny wants to drive is that Kenny has a new car. It’s a Mercedes. Black. Leather seats.

Once inside he pats the steering wheel. ‘The Germans certainly know how to build cars.’

I just look at him. ‘By fuck, am I in the wrong job.’

We coast along the road in silence as I try to make sense of the various strands of evidence. Just what is happening here eludes me for the moment. All of these women are connected in some way, and one of them will lead me to Audrey/Lucy Hepburn. I’m sure of it.

We’re just off Paisley Road West in a council estate. I scan the street on the way in. No sign of a red Clio. The house is red brick, mid-terraced and has a small, neat front garden. The door opens at the first knock.

‘Yes?’ a woman says from the partially opened doorway.

‘Can I speak to Jasmine, please?’ I ask.

The woman has the same shape of face and eyes as Jasmine and the same bleached hair, tanned face look, except her hair’s styled shorter and she’s about four stones heavier. She’s wearing a pink halter-neck top. There’s a gap between her top and her trousers, from which juts an apron of belly, complete with piercing. I want to tell her that it is less than flattering, but I’m barely the real police, who made me the fashion police?

‘Sorry, guys. She is not in,’ she says in that exaggerated way some people do when they are making an effort not to speak in slang, where every syllable is carefully uttered. Her eyes move from me to Kenny. Her smile wavers when she looks at him. ‘Sorry, gentlemen. If you will excuse me,’ she’s shutting the door as she speaks. ‘I’m in the middle of my favourite TV programme.’

Kenny brushes past me and puts a hand out to stop the door from closing.

‘What programme’s that, doll? I’ve got you down as a woman who likes her Casualty, or Holby City. One of those programmes where people end up in the hospital.’

She is quicker to pick up on the threat in the words than I am. Her face pales under her tan and her hand moves to her throat. ‘No, The Bill is more my sort of thing.’ If she’s intimated by Kenny she’s doing an okay job of hiding it.

I turn side on to Kenny and glare at him. My eyes are telling him that this is not the way I do things. He shrugs and steps back as if to say, okay we’ll do it your way.

‘When are you expecting her back?’

‘You know these young girls. Do as they please nowadays,’ she laughs. Her laugh is high and nervous.

‘Do you know where she’s gone or when she’s coming back?’ I ask.

‘Not a clue.’ Another laugh which is just as brittle as the first. ‘Whenever she feels like it I s’pose.’

‘Who’s she with?’

‘Dunno.’

‘So you’re telling me your daughter is out God knows where, with God knows who you don’t know when she’ll be back?’

‘She’s a bloody grown up, mate. She can look eftur hursel’.’

‘Sure she can,’ I say. ‘That’s why we’re at your door.’ Her turn to get the glare. Short of barging past her into the house and holding her down until she tells us something, we’re not going to get anywhere here. ‘I’ll be back.’

We’re walking up the path to the car and Kenny speaks out of the side of his mouth. ‘Bastard. I wanted to say that.’

‘Say what?’ I turn to look at him.

He stands tall, stretches out his chest and speaks in a Germanic accent, ‘I’ll be back.’

We sit in the car for a debrief.

‘That was shite, man,’ says Kenny. ‘Thank fuck I’m not in the police.’

‘What would you have done?’

‘Pretended I was going to slap her around until she told me.’

‘We can’t go around intimidating the public.’

‘How are the conviction rates?’ Kenny asks as he starts the car.

‘Could probably be better.’

‘I rest my case, your honour.’

Just then a small blue car pulls up in front of us. It’s a Vauxhall. From here I can see that the inside has been given the girlie treatment, pink fluffy dice, pink steering wheel cover and pink seat covers. A girl gets out of the car, locks it, hoists her handbag straps through her arm and over her shoulder and walks down the path of the house two doors down from the one we were just in.

‘Where to now, big stuff?’ asks Kenny.

‘Turn off the engine,’ I say. This girl looks like she could be the same age as Jasmine. Before I’ve articulated the need for action I am out of the car and walking towards her. I reach her just as she pushes open her door.

‘Excuse me,’ I say.

‘Aye,’ she turns. She has long brown hair that looks like it’s been polished. Her outfit is similar to Jasmine’s mother, but on this girl it all fits.

‘Are you friends with Jasmine from number 62?’

‘Who’s asking?’ She pulls her door shut and faces me.

‘Strathclyde Police. Is she a friend of yours?’

‘That skanky bitch? You must be joking, mate. If she was on fire I’d be throwing lighter fuel over her.’

‘Boy trouble?’ I ask.

She gives a smart-alec smile in response and asks, ‘What other kind of trouble is there?’

‘Her mother says she’s not in,’ I look over at the door as if Jasmine might materialise in front of it. ‘Do you know where she might be?’

‘Do I know where she is? I can give you the bloody postcode, mate. She’s with my ex-boyfriend and she’s bloody welcome to him. Bloody waster.’

I pull out my notepad. ‘Name and address?’

She tells me while a smile shines on her face. Ah sweet revenge. ‘That’s Darren with a double R. And you need to watch out for him. Mean bastard. Muscles out to here,’ she holds her hands out wide, ‘and he’s a black belt. We were finished anyway. She’s welcome to him,’ as she says this she pulls her hair behind her ear.

‘So why are you sounding so pissed off?’ I smile at her energy.

She looks at me as if I am from another species. ‘There’s etiquette, man. You do not go out with a friend’s ex-boyfriend until a decent pre-determined period has passed. Anyway …’ she pushes open her door and gives me an impish smile, ‘…tell them I said hi.’

When I get back to the car Kenny is on his mobile. He’s listening and occasionally grunting an acknowledgement that he understands what the other person is saying. He cuts off the call.

‘I’ll drop you off at yours. Something’s come up,’ he says. His eyes are aimed straight ahead as he drives but his mind is elsewhere. I study his profile and not for the first time wonder what depths my friend reaches in his other life. The reaction from Jasmine’s mother gives only a hint, I’m guessing.

The next door I rap my knuckles on is back across in the Govan area of the city. Another tenement. Another security entrance, but the last person to use it has allowed the door to close itself and therefore it’s not properly shut. Darren with a double R lives on the top floor so I’m taking my time walking up the stairs. As I’ve said before, panting is not a good look when you’re asking questions.

The heavy bass of dance music thumps down the stairwell and gets louder as I move upstairs. When I get to the door I have to give a heavy thump so that I’m heard above the noise. The music goes off. I hear a gruff male voice.

‘Was that the door?’

I knock again for good measure. Heavy footsteps move across a hall and the door opens. A huge shape fills the space. He’s wearing a tight, white T-shirt and pair of denims low on his hips. His arms and shoulders are all exaggerated muscle, with the pipe of a vein showing on his arm here and there. His chest, moulded by his T-shirt is like twin plates of meat. From there he tapers down to a small waist. His hair is short, blond and gelled into spikes, his face clean-shaven and even-featured; handsome even. If he has a black-belt in karate it happened before the muscle, but he looks like a man who can still handle himself.

I’ve never needed to get involved in many fights. My motto is get in hard and fast and get back out again. At the first sign of trouble I’ll aim for his nose. A good-looking guy like him will be keen to save his profile. Rather than hit me back he’ll be off to the nearest casualty ward to get his nose set.

‘Can I speak to Jasmine, please?’ I’ll start off being polite.

‘You the police?’ He appraises me.

‘You a bouncer?’ I ask. Now I recognise the stance. Confidence, calmness and an air of don’t fuck with me goes a long way in fending off a threat. This is good news. Bouncers rely on a good relationship with the police in case things get a bit hairy in the pubs and clubs. Therefore he’s not going to want to antagonise me.

He smiles. ‘You got me. Come in,’ he says and moves out of the way. He guides me into a living room that is purely male and functional.

Jasmine is there and she is standing up and shouting at Darren. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she flings an arm in my direction. ‘I came here so you could protect me and you invite him in!’

‘Jas, honey. You didn’t tell me he was the polis.’

She pulls her neck in. ‘You’re the polis? How did you find me?’ Her expression grows thoughtful. ‘You didn’t say you were a policeman? What were you doing with that Kenny character?’

‘Yes. One of your neighbours. You didn’t ask. And none of your business,’ I answer each question in turn.

‘Colleen told you where I was? What a bitch!’

A smile tugs at the sides of Darren’s mouth.

‘Jasmine, have a seat,’ I say. With a look of surprise that she is actually doing what I say, Jasmine sits. Darren sits beside her, puts an arm over her shoulder and I sit on the chair opposite.

‘Am I in trouble? And how do you know Kenny O’Neill? I could pure kill that Colleen. Bet she couldn’t wait to get her own back. Cannae bear the thought of you and me together, Darren.’ Jasmine says. ‘Did she look miserable?’ she asks me. ‘Bet she was pure miserable.’ She turns to Darren and punches his arm. ‘And did you just smile when Colleen’s name was mentioned?’

‘No offence, Jasmine, but do you ever shut up?’ I say.

‘Kenny?’ asks Darren with a thoughtful look. ‘Kenny O’Neill?’ He pulls his arm away. ‘What are you doing with Kenny O’Neill? That man’s trouble.’ Darren looks angry. And a little worried.

‘Jasmine, you might well be in trouble if you don’t tell me what you know about Lucy Hepburn.’ I need to get this meeting on track before these two combust.

‘She’s dead. What else is there to know?’ she answers and flicks an invisible something from her leg.

‘Last time we spoke you gave me the details of five different women with that name. How did you know I was talking about the one that died?’