Fifty Two Weeks of Murder (11 page)

Chapter 14

Gordon’s Wine Bar was tucked away in the street behind Charing Cross and Embankment. Its entrance was a small archway that led underground and, despite the seemingly hidden entrance, the bar was always full. It sold wine in all its variants, Coca Cola and very little else. Low, stone archways forced everyone to crouch and the space was dimly lit, large kegs making up the majority of tables. It felt like some old throw back to the years of Jack the Ripper and horse drawn carriages and Anders loved it.

A ten minute walk from Scotland Yard, Mal had taken the team there to celebrate Duncan’s release from hospital. He’d lost a lot of blood from his wound and had spent the night under observation. He still looked groggy but tucked into his wine with enthusiasm. They’d taken over a section at the back of the bar and were raucous company. Despite having no leads on the whereabouts of Buckland, they’d had several successes stopping those who would enter his depraved competition and they’d decided to bond over wine and food.

Abi and Helen were seated with their backs to the wall and sniggered as they shared a bottle of Riesling. Anders was surprised that Abi enjoyed Helen’s filthy stories so much and smiled to see Abi throw her head back and laugh at Helen’s latest sexual exploit. Duncan had thawed slightly towards Anders and even offered to buy her a drink. She sat between Mal and Barry and they dwarfed her completely, making her feel like some kind of midget. They were listening intently as Duncan told of how Anders had rescued her.

“I’m telling you Barry,” he said, sloshing some wine over his white bandages and staining them red as if blood had seeped through the stitches. “She moved like lightning. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast, that guy never knew what hit him. Two seconds, three hits.” He waved his glass around to emphasise a point and Jesse guided the glass back to the table by grabbing hold of his arm.

“Easy there soldier. Wine in mouth not on table.” Barry gave a throaty chuckle and clapped a meaty paw on Anders’ shoulder.

“We’ll see little one. Speed isn’t everything. It’s about reading the situation, anticipating the moves, speed of mind, not just body.” Jesse chuckled and put an arm around an increasingly drunken looking Ben, his mop of curls seeming to get wilder with every glass of wine.

“If it’s about speed of thought, then you’re stuffed mate! My money’s on Ben here!”

“Is it bollocks!” cried Barry and winked mischievously at Ben. Helen grinned at Barry and joined in.

“That’s a proper swear word there Anders. None of your American nonsense. Goddammit!” she cried banging her fist on the table and imitating an American accent. “You goddamn assholes!” Abi laughed again as Jesse spoke.

“She’s right Anders. Americans have no imagination when it comes to swearing. I know. I lived there for ten years.” Anders held up her hands in acknowledgement.

“I will admit, it is much more fun to swear using the Queen’s English. There’s nowhere else I can call Jesse a dodgy, gormless git.”

“Or a wanker!”

“Tosspot!”

“Prat, pillock and plonker!” Ben had shouted the last and everyone turned to him with a smile and a laugh, making him blush with the attention. Lucy sat next to him and she drank quietly from her glass, not engaging in the conversation.

“Well bugger me,” said Jesse, giving Ben a look of delight. “You have to drink some more wine for that.” He poured a large amount of wine into Ben’s glass as he protested the large serving with imaginative use of the Queen’s vernacular.

“Piss off you bell end!”

“More British swearing! I’d say Ben was on a roll.” Helen looked on like a proud mother.

“I taught him everything he knows,” she said with satisfaction. Abi leaned forward.

“Not everything, I hope.” Helen slapped her arm and grinned. She caught Anders’ eye and indicated the table behind her. There sat a group of lads and they were clearly deciding who would go up and offer Anders a drink. They were a little intimidated by the man mountain Barry and the no slouch in the brick house department Mal. Anders sighed at Helen.

“That’s enough of that you,” she said. Lucy took the opportunity to speak for the first time. It cut a swathe across the banter and stopped it dead.

“Can you actually have sex?” she asked. All eyes turned to Anders, the atmosphere suddenly turning cold. Anders sipped from her glass as she eyed Lucy coolly, debating how to handle it.
The usual
, she thought.
Directly
. Mal went to speak, but she lay a placating hand on his forearm.

“It’s fine. I’m always happy to answer any questions you may have. How else can we lose the stigma? I’m functional down there, so yes, I can have sex.” Lucy sniffed.

“Shallow though, isn’t it? Down there?” Anders grinned, determined to play this lightly.

“The results vary, but I’m satisfied with what I have. I’ve never had any issues.” 

“That’s because you’ve not met someone like me.” This from Barry. He gave a wink to show he was on her side and she appraised him openly before shaking her head in sorrow.

“Sorry Barry. From what I hear, it’ll be like rattling a stick in a bucket.” He guffawed with laughter and the group joined in, the tension broken.

“Do you mind if I ask a question?” Helen slurred her words as she spoke, leaning on the table and soaking her sleeves in some spilled Riesling.

“Of course,” said Anders, happy to do so.

“You don’t look like a transsexual. You don’t sound like one either. You’re a stunner. How are you so different than the ones we immediately think of? We only know you weren’t born a woman because we read your file before you joined us, otherwise we wouldn’t have known.” Anders shrugged, brushing aside the complement as they always made her feel uneasy.

“There are many transgender women who are more attractive. There’s a scale, just like there is with all people. You have attractive men, like Ben and then less attractive men, like Jesse here.” Ben blushed as Jesse bristled with mock indignation. “I knew what I was from a very early age. I managed to get some hormone blockers that stopped my testes producing testosterone. It stopped any secondary sexual characteristics before I could undergo surgery.”

“That’s vaginoplasty right?”

“Vagino-what-now?” asked Barry. Anders turned to him and gave a devilish grin.

“They slice your penis open and scoop out the flesh…” He held his hands up in horror, his tattoos seeming to recoil in fright as well. Mal laughed at his discomfort.

“It’s body mutilation is what it is,” said Lucy sourly. She’d put down her glass and stared at Anders with open hostility. “It’s not gender correction. It’s a pure fantasy of overly passionate autogynephilia. You’re attracted to the thought of yourself as a woman and need to be treated psychotherapeutically as you would any mental illness.”

“Here comes the militant Bible bashers,” muttered Jesse as tension rose once more around the table. “Been to your Bible classes again Lucy?” he asked. She gave him a look of distain.

“I have raised it, yes. We had a very interesting discussion.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way Lucy,” said Anders. “My intent is to go about peaceably with my life.” Lucy snorted contemptuously and Mal once again went to reprimand her. Anders kept her hand on his arm, gently reminding him that it was her fight as Lucy spat a reply, drink making her angry, blotches of red colouring her cheeks.

“God creates people as male and female. It’s a divine mandate against gender variance. Your gender is determined by biological sex, not by your own perception. Your DNA is XY, not XX.”

“Jesus himself discussed the need for tolerance on how to love your fellow man. Many philosophers have seen the journey of transgenderism as a journey of faith through the darkness and desert.”

“Your mental disorder is a challenge to overcome, not to acquiesce to.” Anders shrugged.

“I did see it as a challenge I needed to overcome and did so many years ago. Redemption through transformation. Isn’t that what the bible preaches?”

“It’s against God. Pope Benedict said as such when he declared that it would lead to the destruction of mankind.”

“Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Shinto, the Shona, pre-Christian Philippines, the Wicca, even Dionysus, the patron God of intersex, born of Zeus. Loki often turned to female form. The ancient Egyptians worshipped Nile Gods who were men with breasts. Even Conservative Judaism has said that reassignment surgery is permissible. Pope Benedict retired a long time ago. His views are archaic. The Christian church welcomes transgender individuals and has done so for a long time.”

Lucy changed tack, determined to win the argument.

“Feminists don’t even agree with it,” she said, loud enough for all in the bar to hear. Abi tried to calm her down, but Lucy was filled with wine and righteousness. A dangerous combination.

“Morgan says that you all have the mentality of a rapist. You reduce the female form to an artefact. You’ve bypassed the lifetime of sexual repression us real woman have had to endure.” Anders laughed at that.

“I’ve been a woman longer than I have a man. I’ve had a lifetime of prejudice when feminists such as Morgan and Raymond promote a monolithic, ideologically driven representation of us, pushing transgender women and men even deeper into a repressed minority.” Lucy, spurred on by Anders’ calm and reasonable tone sneered at her.

“Easy for you to say when you look like that, a poster child for those too caught up in their sex addled minds.”

“On the contrary, sex was never part of the equation. I was still a virgin when I underwent my reassignment. You’re buying into diagnostic tools that were added to psychology in nineteen eighty and have served to stigmatise transgender individuals long after homosexuality and other such taboo’s have become accepted as norm.” Lucy glowered at Anders as everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats at the exchange.

“You’re no woman. After all, real women don’t close up if it doesn’t get any use,” she said venomously. It was low blow, aimed at riling Anders, but she gave an easy shrug.

“I have to dilate, yes,” she said, her voice betraying no shame or embarrassment. Abi gave a loud snort.

“Me too love, I’m pretty sure I’m all sealed up, it’s been so long!” Helen coughed loudly, spluttering on her wine as she burst into peals of laughter.

“I’m not joking,” cried Abi, enjoying Helen’s reaction. “I reckon my hymen’s grown right back!”

“Hang on a minute,” said Jesse, taking the opportunity to steer the discussion further from Lucy. “Are you telling me that you took some blockers or other before you hit puberty? So you’ve never actually been through puberty?” He laughed at that, cracking himself up and easing the tension even more as conversation tentatively flowed back into the group. Soon the argument was forgotten and laughter rippled around the table again. Anders caught Abi’s eye and gave her a brief nod of gratitude. Abi gave a cheeky wink in reply. Lucy had isolated herself with her comments and slunk off unnoticed, giving Anders a sour glance as she shared a joke with Mal.

Eventually, Anders declared that she needed some sleep, so grabbed her jacket and stood up carefully, letting her legs decide how drunk she was before saying her goodbyes and heading for the stairs.

“I’ll come with you,” declared Mal, standing up and banging his head on the low brick arches.

“That’ll help with the hangover,” declared Duncan drunkenly as the group bid the pair goodnight.

Out on the street, a chill wind harangued them both as they pulled their jackets closely around them. Charing Cross station sat opposite, but Anders fancied a walk across the river to Waterloo. It would take ten minutes and freshen her up a bit.

“Mind if I walk with you?” asked Mal. Anders slid an arm through his and let herself be guided through Embankment and up the steps to the bridge crossing the river. Though he was her boss, he had an easy, gentlemanly manner about him and she could see that he cared for his team.

“I’m sorry about Lucy,” he said. “She was out of order.” Anders gave a wry grin.

“Nothing for you to apologise about. It’s her issue, not mine.”

“Well, I’m sorry anyway.” He gave a sidelong glance at her, clearly wondering whether he should ask what was on his mind. She saw his look and raised an eyebrow, daring him to ask.

“Why are you so open about it? No one would ever have to know?” She considered the question for a while as they walked through the small crowd of tourists on the bridge who were snapping pictures of the London Eye or Parliament. The bridge had large, smooth paving stones on the walkway that had large gaps between each slab. She had to mind her step or her heels would slip into the mud filled spaces and she idly walked along them as if doing hopscotch. Eventually she spoke.

“I don’t shout it from the roof tops, but it’s not something I’m going to hide from. Say now you just met me, what would you think?” Mal shrugged.

“I’d think there was an attractive woman.” She slapped his arm playfully and continued.

“We got to know each other over several months and one day I told you I was transgender. You’d look at me differently. You’d think I was different, that I had changed, but really it was your perception that had changed. I was still very much the same. The more people realise that it’s a matter of their perception, the better. Besides, it rarely comes up. It’s not something I really think about any more, it was such a long time ago.”