Watcher (6 page)

Danube Street Casino, Edinburgh
Sunday 23 December, 4.40 a.m.

Glasgow Joe leaned in to kiss me as he stopped to check that I was all right. The money in my pocket made everything all right. He swept me up and turned me round as I threw the cash in the air. The notes whirled around us like a snowstorm – I was Kailash’s daughter. I knew how to put on a good show for the punters.

Bancho came out of the security room. With only an hour to go before his planned raid he was edgy. The smile slid from my face, and I bent down to pick up the notes, carefully collecting them and putting them in the old wallet.

‘Get Kailash,’ barked Bancho. ‘I want to see the dungeons – rumour is that she’s got slaves.’

‘Arsehole – come back with a warrant,’ I hissed.

‘What does Kailash want?’ Joe turned around to find her. She was leaning against a colonnade, her jet hair curled expensively around her shoulders, and a sheer black Dolce&Gabbana dress clinging to every curve.

‘I’ve never denied owning slaves, Duncan, but there’s quite a waiting list. See Malcolm; he’ll put your name down.’ I was jumping from foot to foot, but Kailash locked eyes with me and it was a look that told me to calm down. ‘There are a lot of exhibitionists in tonight – the thrill of being observed by a real policeman means I can push the price up,’ she purred. She turned on her heels – he was being given one chance at what he wanted. If he failed to take it, Kailash would shut the doors faster than a Venus flytrap. Everyone concerned knew there was no way Bancho would get a warrant to inspect these premises – the powers that be had no idea who the police would find there or what the tabloids would make of it; they themselves kept Kailash out of the courts because they spent so much time there.

On the other hand, the Ripper’s victims seemed to be plucked from the city’s disenfranchised community of foreign, probably illegally trafficked prostitutes. Sex slavery. Perhaps, despite their unconventional ‘partnership’, Bancho didn’t trust Joe to check out Kailash’s operation with the same dedication he applied to brothels in Leith.

‘I’m coming!’ Glasgow Joe shouted. ‘I hate watching these fucking deviants getting their arses skelped,’ he muttered under his breath, and scratched his head as if such behaviour was beyond his comprehension. I knew it was. Joe’s sexual taste didn’t run along these lines; he was strictly a meat and two veg kind of guy. He grabbed my arm. ‘Don’t act smart down there – Bancho’s been mouthing off to the authorities that Kailash has sex slaves. I’ve told him he’s wrong but she feels insulted. She’s ready to knife him, Brodie, so we don’t need you shit-stirring as well. I don’t think it would be so easy to get Kailash off another murder charge.’

I pulled free. But I went along with their game, even though they didn’t know I was in on it. ‘It wasn’t so easy for me the first time,’ I growled, rather content that we were now back on an even keel and old habits of bitching at each other were to the fore again.

The dungeons were full tonight with ‘customers’ cramming in one more whipping before the traditions of Christmas demanded that they stay with their families. The dungeons were rooms with bars on them like the type you would see in a Wild West jail. It was a great design. Most fetishists were happy to share their perversion within their private world, and Kailash could check the employees were safe.

‘What’s the score here?’ I asked, pointing to a middle-aged, lumpy woman who was painting liquid latex onto a man. ‘And what’s with the straws?’ The man had thin tubes for breathing protruding from his nose. The dominatrix overheard me and proceeded to demonstrate by putting her thumbs over the bottom of the straws. Her victim, who was in chains, his hands manacled above his head, struggled. She took her boot and jammed the pointed heel into his bare foot. I winced. The man screamed silently, unable to make a noise because of the gag.

‘That’s enough, Betsy,’ Glasgow Joe warned as the male slave passed out.

‘This is what I mean, Joe – how can you say she doesn’t have more information about foreign sex slaves?’ Bancho hissed.

‘Because Betsy is married to a solicitor from Melrose – he’s a misogynistic bastard according to her, so she comes up once a month and spends his money here in the shops during the day and then helps out here at night, earning a bit of pin money that he knows nothing about. The slaves are quite happy to cooperate with Betsy.’ Glasgow Joe sounded tired as he explained matters.

‘Anything you need to ask about – ask me,’ said Kailash, who was standing behind Bancho long before he had any idea that she was there.

‘That girl there looks Eastern European,’ he said, squinting his eyes at her. The one he was talking about was a stunning dominatrix who would have been at least six feet tall in her fishnet-stocking soles. Tonight she wore over-the-knee latex boots with seven-inch heels. I winced when I saw the nipple clamps.

‘Contessa.’ Kailash beckoned the girl, who flicked the black eight-tongued whip over her client’s butt before she left the cell. He squealed and I looked twice at him. I thought I recognized him, but it was hard to make out his features. He squirmed in the corner, presenting his naked, flaccid butt – Joe shuddered and I couldn’t blame him.

Contessa, gripping the whip, marched over to her employer. ‘He wants a word with you,’ Kailash inclined her head in DI Bancho’s direction, and then started to laugh softly with Joe. I’d met her before – she was notoriously bad-tempered and born for this sort of work. It was unlikely that any attempt at questioning by the police would go down well.

But the Ripper had pulled off what years of community vice work had failed to produce: cooperation. A sex worker from Eastern Europe she may be, but Contessa knew that this time police officers, even ones as smelly, dishevelled and desperate as Bancho, were on her side against a common enemy. They huddled in a corner as I waited for the explosion that never came; instead of kicking the detective’s butt (which I was secretly hoping for), Contessa kissed Bancho on both cheeks before returning to her dungeon.

‘I’m done here,’ Bancho said, walking up the stairs. Turning he faced me, ‘And you? You can walk home.’

Silently, I wished them good luck at catching the Ripper.

Princes Street, Edinburgh
Sunday 23 December, 3 p.m.

The boots bit into my ankles, and it was with throbbing feet that I puttered over to the side, hands flailing wildly as I tried to stay upright on the ice. The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl were singing ‘Fairytale of New York’, and it rang out around Princes Street Gardens. Connie had dragged me down to Winter Wonderland – the most romantic outdoor ice-skating rink in the world.

I’d found out that ice-skating is a dangerous business as soon as I’d started. I was certain I’d cracked my coccyx from the last fall. Jack was waving a Kielbasa sausage with sauerkraut all wrapped up in a hot-dog bun – the temptation was too much to ignore. Unable to stop, my body slammed off the barriers, every bone rattled. Winded, I reached out and snatched the sausage out of his hand.

‘Mind my fingers.’ Jack flapped his hands theatrically in the air. ‘I got mustard and ketchup – I don’t know which you prefer.’ I didn’t get the chance to find out; the hot dog was teetering on the edge of my lips when a shower of ice came down on top of us. ‘Connie!’ I screamed as she dug her blades into the ice and came to a sliding stop, shaving the top layer of the rink off and depositing most of it on Jack Deans – the residue ended up on my hot dog.

‘Whaaat?’ Her eyes widened with innocence as Jack wiped the melting chips of ice from his face. ‘When you said a friend was coming Christmas shopping with us, I thought you meant Joe – why is
he
here?’ Connie turned her back on Jack, ignoring him completely as she continued whining in my face. ‘
He’s
not coming to Lavender’s wedding, is he? Promise me
he’s
not coming – cos I don’t want Glasgow Joe to be in a mood, I’ve been looking forward to this wedding for ages.’

‘Lavender only set the date six weeks ago,’ I told her. (I didn’t want to point out that we had all only known her for about five minutes; it might sound like I was surprised at how little time it had taken her to become part of the group. Truth be told, I was – and a little jealous, as I wasn’t that sort of person myself.) Taking advantage of her change in mood, I was in the process of escaping, gingerly. I inched along the barrier; luckily, Jack walked beside me – anywhere he was, Connie was sure not to follow.

‘Ten quid says that by the end of today she’ll be eating out of my hand,’ he whispered to me. We both half turned and watched her skating backwards, arms stretched out like the wings of an aeroplane, the point of her tongue poking through her teeth in studied concentration. He’d raised one bet I didn’t want to win.

We left the rink. Next on the itinerary was the Edinburgh Ferris Wheel, adjacent to Sir Walter Scott’s monument in Princes Street Gardens. The shrine to Scott resembled an illuminated wedding cake – wedding cake always makes me sick, and not just because I hate fruitcake. I was trying to overcome my fear of heights by confronting it. Standing in the queue with jostling, excited teenagers, it felt like one of my dumber ideas. Connie refused to allow Jack to come on with us, hissing that he would unbalance the basket and make it unsafe, cleverly playing on my weaknesses. Her behaviour towards Jack was outrageous really; I was looking forward to getting her on my own to tick her off or bribe her. I hadn’t yet decided which tactic would be the most effective.

As soon as the wheel swung into action, I knew my scheme was flawed: fear of heights can be dangerous. I remembered reading on Wikipedia that acrophobics have the urge to throw themselves off high places despite not being suicidal – I’d soon find out if I fell into that category or not. It seemed an especially bad idea when the wheel stopped at the very top; I hadn’t noticed that the wind had got up until then. Connie leaned over the edge and the basket swung round and round. I got the same feeling when I watched the part in
Carrie
when she was prom queen one minute, then the next covered in pig’s blood. Everything is fine, breathe deeply and just look down, I told myself. I could see the Princes Street shoppers a hundred and fifty feet below me. They swarmed like ants in and out of stores, desperate for a last-minute bargain and oblivious to the drama of me, terrified, playing out above them. Connie was leaning out of her seat and shouting and waving.

‘Cal! Cal!’ she shouted for some reason, flailing her arms around – a lunatic oblivious to her own safety. A chill ran down my back like an ice cube. I tried to grab Connie and get her to sit down but I was afraid that any sudden movement would send her over the top of the ferris wheel. I had seen too many disaster movies; racing thoughts showed me Connie tumbling through the air until she landed, a broken doll gone from my life forever. I didn’t know that there was a feeling around that made you think that your heart could puncture your ribs at any moment – until then. A mouth as dry as a desert river bed meant I couldn’t scream her name. If loving a child gave you this much fear, I was glad I had decided to remain childless – Connie was more than enough.

Shuffling along the seat redistributed the weight in the basket, causing Connie to lean out even more. Sensing my discomfort she was playing up. ‘Cal – look up! It’s me, Connie!’ Her voice had risen by several octaves. By this time, other passengers had begun to notice she was in danger of falling. Out of the corner of my eye I could see them pointing with one hand and covering their mouths in disbelief. I’d had enough and lunged and grabbed the back of her coat, breaking two fingernails in the process. Roughly, I hauled her in.

‘What the hell are you doing? Do you have a death wish?’ As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized I sounded just like Grandad.

‘Are you blind, Brodie?’ She took a deep breath and waited for my answer, which wasn’t forthcoming. ‘Didn’t you see him? Cal?’ She nodded expectantly, waiting for recognition as we finally got off the ride. The blank look on my face finally registered with her and she rolled her eyes at me. ‘He’s a friend of Moses’ and if we hurry we’ll catch him!’ She grabbed my arm and pulled me, leaving Jack to follow. I could tell Connie was getting on his nerves. I wasn’t sure if she was intent on getting rid of Jack, or if she truly had a crush on this Cal guy. I thought it best to check it out because there was no way she was dating a Dark Angel. I realized again I was acting like Grandad – he hated me going out with Glasgow Joe, but surely that was different?

Princes Street was still busy. Six Russians from the St Petersburg Brass Band were playing a quick march, which was exactly what Cal did when he saw us coming. I recognized him at this distance; he was the guy selling drugs with Blind Bruce in George Street outside Susie Wong’s. Oddly, a woman in her fifties held his arm. It took me a few minutes to work out that she was probably his mother – even Dark Angels have mothers.

The young man was well away by this time, but I had other plans than following a spotty youth anyway. I wanted to relive my childhood through Connie. It was a long shot, but everyone else had bought her a fantastic present and I didn’t want to look like Scrooge, so I reckoned that, if I dragged her around Jenners, with Jack behind us still, perhaps I could see what made her eyes light up. Visiting Santa had been a tradition that Mary McLennan and I had. She took me to see him on two separate Saturdays because I refused to believe he would remember what I wanted. Connie was almost as tall as me and wearing about a ton of lip gloss and I doubted I could make her go to the grotto under any circumstances. We wandered around for a little while and I tried to see enthusiasm at every opportunity – but with Kailash and Malcolm there for her every whim, and a whole new ‘family’ dancing at her feet, Connie was never going to get thrilled about a cuddly toy or a pair of slipper-socks.