Blood Red Roses (3 page)

When Jonny left, she headed for the toilet. She reached the cubicle just in time. A mix of vodka and champagne hit the pan. She pressed her face against the cool toilet seat, her body shaking.

Jonny had made her promise not to tell the police about Donna's job here and the guy who kept coming back again and again to see her dance as Rose. He also made her promise to carry on doing what Belcher wanted.

‘They said you're good,' Belcher had told her when she'd finished with the four guys. ‘Very satisfying.' He said the words like he had a hard-on himself. ‘You're the new Rose.' He poked a fat finger in her face. ‘And you can tell Donna that from me.'

She wanted to shout at him. ‘Donna's dead you stupid bastard. She's dead!'

But she had said nothing, her stomach tight with fear.

‘The sicko will come back,' Jonny's eyes had glinted revenge as he left. ‘He'll be looking for another Rose. And I'll be waiting for him.'

 

Mrs Harper opened her front door as Rhona came up the stairs. In her arms were a dozen red roses.

‘These were delivered this afternoon,' she told Rhona with a wide smile.

Her neighbour had set her sights on seeing Rhona ‘settled down' as she put it, and took a keen interest in her love life... when there was any.

Rhona waited until she was inside the flat before she looked at the card. It simply said ‘For you'.

The rush of pleasure the words brought surprised her. She hadn't thought about Sean all day. She never mixed work and pleasure.

While the bath filled, she fed Chance and poured herself a glass of wine. Her kitchen window looked down on the gardens of a convent. In daylight it offered a tranquil scene. At
night, soft light lit up a statue of the Virgin Mary that stood in the centre of the lawn.

The tolling of the convent bell for prayers was part of her life. Rhona loved its certainty, although for her there was no certainty in life, except death.

She slipped low in the water, enjoying the heat on her skin. Sex with Sean had been good. Better than good. Thinking about it now brought a second rush of pleasure.

The question was, did she want to get involved? Great sex was one thing. A proper relationship was another.

The buzzer went at midnight. Rhona knew it was Sean before she answered.

When she let him in, he stood uncertain in the hall.

‘I woke you,' he said taking in the dressing gown.

‘No,' she answered. ‘I was reading.'

She was greedy for him but still she didn't move.

‘Rhona...'

Then she was in his arms, her mouth on his. Her body screaming for him.

Later they lay in the dark, his heart beating gently against her cheek.

‘We're good at this.' His voice was light.

He was like her, she thought. Alone but not lonely. Self-contained. Maybe it would work?

‘We could give it a try?' He echoed her own thoughts.

Rhona touched his nipple and felt it harden.

 

Bill Wilson had interviewed the girlfriends again and got nowhere. They were adamant they had seen no-one they recognised on the hen night. Only when he asked them how they knew Donna, did they stumble. The stories they told him didn't ring true. Especially Tracey's.

She sat in front of him now, her eyes bloodshot, her brow slick with sweat. She was nursing a hangover or dealing with a drug habit or she was shit scared. Bill suspected the latter.

‘There's something you're not telling me, Tracey.' He hated seeing the lassie in this state and it sounded in his voice.

She didn't look at him, her hands plucking at the denim mini skirt. But he sensed her weakening.

‘We met at work... at a club called...
Eden
.'

He'd heard of it. He waited for her to go on.

‘Lap-dancing. Donna performed as Rose.'

‘Performed?'

‘She used a rose in the routine.'

He didn't ask her to explain the routine. He had a pretty good idea already.

‘There was a guy. Came almost every night for weeks.'

‘You saw him?'

‘No. Rose... Donna told me about him though.'

‘What did she tell you?

‘He always brought his own rose. Made her dig the thorns into him.'

Bill felt the surge of excitement that came with the first breakthrough. Rhona had been right. The rose was important. Maybe even a direct link with the murderer.

‘Did Donna say what he looked like?'

She shook her head. ‘He was young. Worked out. That's all.'

‘Thank you Tracey.'

She met his eyes. Hers were tearful. He thought of his own teenage daughter, as safe as he could keep her. It made Bill want to weep too.
Mr Belcher wasn't impressed to see Rhona and DI Wilson enter his club. He was even less impressed when they said they wanted to forensically examine the private room Rose danced in.

‘Rose is gone. I sacked her.'

‘Rose's real name was Donna Stevens,' Bill told him. ‘And Donna is dead, Mr Belcher. She was murdered.'

Belcher's face was a mix of emotions and sympathy wasn't one of them.

‘What has that got to do with my club?'

‘We think her murderer met her here.'

Belcher gave Bill a sharp look. ‘You don't know that...'

‘We have trace material,' Rhona interrupted. ‘If we find a match in the room...'

‘I won't have my club involved in this.'

Bill ignored the bluster. ‘I want a list of all your regulars and their contact details.'

Belcher was growing paler by the minute. ‘Our customers are mostly casual.'

He was lying. It was written in big letters across his face. Rhona suspected there would be names on that list that didn't want to see the light
of day. Bill didn't care.

‘And include a list of all credit card payments.'

Belcher showed them to room five, then scuttled off to call his lawyer.

‘I'll manage here,' Rhona told Bill.

‘You're sure?'

‘Give me an hour.'

The room was too warm and smelt of perfume and stale cigarette smoke. It didn't look clean either, which suited Rhona fine. She locked the door and went on to sample every inch of the hideous green carpet.

The roses for the performance were usually supplied by the management. But one customer brought his own. A crushed petal from that rose could be a link to Donna's flat.

 

She needed the money. That's what Tracey kept reminding herself. She had told the police. She'd done all she could.

Belcher had insisted she use Donna's area of the dressing room as though it was a move up in the world. In the mirror her face was a mask of glossed lips and blackened eyes. Tracey rubbed the rose-scented oil into her skin and put on the red thong and bra.

Room seven had become the Rose room for tonight, Belcher told her. He did not explain why. Her first customer was waiting.

It was the blonde guy from the foursome. He looked sheepish, scared even. She remembered his embarrassment. His cock had shrivelled when she'd unzipped him.

‘I wanted to apologise for my mates,' he began.

‘You could have done that without paying.'

His eyes ran over her, fastening on her breasts.

‘If you just like looking...'

He nodded.

She reached round and unhooked the bra. Her breasts fell, oiled and heavy.

Two glasses of chilled champagne stood on the table. He handed her one. She touched her nipple and made it harden, watching his reaction. At least he only wanted to look.

The heavily carpeted corridor was deserted but Rhona sensed people behind the row of closed doors.

Belcher came hurrying over as she re-entered the bar. His attempt at a smile made him look like a gargoyle in the purple light. His lawyer must have told him to co-operate ... up to a point.

‘You've finished? Good.'

‘Is Tracey here?'

The smile disappeared. He made a show of checking the reservation book.

‘I'm afraid Tracey's dancing at the moment.'

Rhona took a seat at the bar.

‘I'll wait.'

His eyes darted about. He was working out whether that would put the punters off.

‘If you'd like to wait in my office?'

‘Here's fine.'

Belcher gave up and nodded at the barman who slid the drinks list across the counter. Rhona glanced at the prices. It wasn't only private dance routines that cost the earth in here.

The smile was pasted back on Belcher's face.

‘On the house of course.'

Rhona ordered a mineral water and took a good look round. The clients were all male except for herself and a girl wrapped round a pole. Rhona recognised the girl as one of the devils from the hen party. Her eyes were glazed, her movements were fluid. The pole was holding her up.

Young men circled the stage, faces eager and aroused. Round the walls the men who didn't fancy being seen were in dark booths. Now and again Belcher appeared and led a group through the green door for their private session.

By the time Bill came back, Rhona had been chatted up twice. Once by a guy old enough to be her father. The second time by a guy young enough to be her son. She was glad to see Bill.

‘How'd it go?' he said.

‘Fine. I asked to speak to Tracey.'

‘And?'

‘She's dancing.'

Belcher was showing in the next group. Bill stepped in front of him.

‘Get Tracey in here now.'

Belcher's mouth opened and shut a few times.

‘I'll send her out.'

When he re-appeared he was alone, an irritated look on his face.

‘Tracey's gone.'

‘If this is a wind up...'

Belcher shook his head. ‘She was in seven, the Rose room for tonight. With a single guy. The room's empty and she's not in the dressing area.'

Rhona pushed past him, a sick feeling in her stomach.

The door to seven stood open. An oily scent of roses hit her at the entrance. That and the musky smell of sex.

 

One girl dead and another girl missing. Rhona didn't want to think that something bad had happened to Tracey.

If she was as scared as Tracey, she would probably run. Which is what she hoped Tracey had done.

Bill extracted Tracey's address from the pole dancer and they drove round there. Neither of them expected to find Tracey at home.

The basement bedsit, complete with barred windows, was near the Kelvin Hall. The door was opened by a short balding man in his fifties. He took a long look at Bill's ID card before he let them in.

Tracey had gone out a couple of hours ago, he told them. She hadn't come back. Rhona didn't like the man, but thought he was probably telling the truth.

Tracey's room was untidy and smelt musty. The wardrobe and drawers were stacked with clothes. If Tracey had run, she hadn't taken much with her.

Bill went out to the car to call the station while Rhona took a closer look.

A half-empty bottle of vodka sat on the dressing table beside the picture of a small boy of about three on a swing. He was so like Tracey, he had to be her son. The child obviously didn't live here. Could Tracey have gone to wherever he was?

Rhona heard Bill in the hall.

‘I've put out a call on Tracey.'

Rhona handed him the photo.

‘Tracey had a kid?'

‘Looks like it. I think you should ask for a forensic team to go over this room too.'

‘Tricky. This isn't even a missing person case yet.'

‘Okay. I'll do it myself, unofficially for the moment.' She didn't add until we find a body. By the look on Bill's face, he was thinking the same thing.

It was dark as they drove back to the lab. Bill's
wife called him on the way, reminding him to come home and eat. For a moment, Rhona wished someone was waiting at home for her.

The lab was deserted. Everyone including Chrissy had left. Rhona set to work, enjoying the silence.

The pathologist had confirmed strychnine had been used to kill Donna. The large dose she was given killed her quickly, probably because of a weak heart. Otherwise Donna's agony might have lasted even longer.

A rose expert had promised to get back to Rhona on the breed of rose found in Donna's flat. Something special could prove easier to track down.

An hour later she had what she was looking for. Minute traces of blood on three of the rose's thorns. If the guy who liked his sex rough was Donna's murderer, they had his blueprint.

 

Jonny Simpson wasn't due back at work for a week. His honeymoon week, the supervisor reminded Bill.

Bill thanked him and put the phone down.

Tracey's feelings about Jonny Simpson had never been fully explained. And now Bill couldn't ask her. Nine times out of ten the murderer was someone the victim knew. Men regularly killed their wives and their girlfriends. Jonny had lied about the rose. He was jealous of someone or something.

As far as Bill was concerned there were two men in the frame for the murder. Jonny and the mystery guy who visited Donna regularly at the club.

Rhona had a DNA sample from blood on the rose. It would prove whether Jonny had handled the rose but it wouldn't prove he killed Donna.

Bill didn't like to think about the third scenario. That the murderer had chosen Donna at random. With no other motive than the desire to kill.

Jonny's room above the fire station was empty. His mates hadn't seen him since the news about Donna. His best man, Alistair Banks, also a fireman, had no idea where Jonny was.

‘He said he needed to get away for a couple of days. Sort his head out. He was devastated about Donna.'

‘Did Jonny say anything about Donna seeing someone else?'

Banks looked genuinely surprised.

‘No way. You should have seen them together. Donna loved him.'