Chris Simms - Shifting Skin

Jon sprang to his defence. ‘No, it was fair enough. I wasn’t being straight with him.’ A look bounced between them. ‘If you know what I mean.’

‘I think so,’ she smirked.

Jon took a gulp of his drink. ‘Actually, the lead has to do with the tests I asked you to run. So come on, what’s this hot news you have for me?’

She reached for her briefcase. ‘You asked me to run an ACEV on the fingerprints and a DNA analysis on a plastic cup.’

‘That’s right.’

‘I didn’t come back with anything conclusive on the fingerprints.’

‘You said you’d recovered a partial from the inside of that glove we found by the third victim’s body.’

‘Yes, but it was only a partial. Comparing it to the couple on the cup you gave me resulted in, as I said, nothing conclusive. A couple of points matched, but that’s nowhere near enough, as you know. However, I ran the print through NAFIS. You do know the owner has a record?’

‘Yes, don’t worry.’

‘OK. Are you ready for the good news?’

‘Go on.’

‘The DNA test from the plastic cup was successful, although not with anything from the scene of the third victim.’

‘But?’

‘You still owe me another drink, yeah?’

‘Yes! Come on, what is it?’

‘I ran it against the DNA samples recovered from Carol Miller and Angela Rowlands.’

‘And?’ Jon crossed his fingers.

‘It matches the DNA found on the vaginal swab from Angela

Rowlands.’

Jon clenched his fists tight as he leaned forwards. ‘Yes! This means a guy I’ve got my eye on has been in contact with two of the Butcher’s victims. Nikki, I could kiss you.’

Before he could move, she brought her lips up against his. A hand slid along his jaw, round the back of his neck, and he felt the softness of her tongue probing his lips. For a second he remained still, his nerves zinging. Then he pulled back.

Her eyes slowly opened. ‘You really haven’t been smoking.’

‘I’d better get those drinks,’ he whispered hoarsely. Nikki smiled.

He stood at the bar, mind racing. A raw desire for sex was threatening to overwhelm him and he knew that staying for another drink would lead to the point of no return.

The barman came over. ‘Same again?’

Jon hesitated, hand on the fiver in his pocket. ‘Yes, please.’ As the drinks were poured, Jon tried to focus on Nikki’s revelation. It had to make Pete Gray the prime suspect. They had enough to haul him in there and then. He paid for the drinks and carried them over to the table. But the look of hurt on Rick’s face refused to fade in his mind. After putting the drinks down, he said, ‘Nikki, I’m really sorry to do this, but I’ve got to catch Rick up and let him know the news.’

She looked at him, a half-smile on her face. But when she saw he was serious, her expression turned sour. ‘Go on, then, off you run,’ she said, waving a hand dismissively towards the door.

In the glow of the streetlights the drizzle swirled in the air like pollen. It drifted helplessly, pushed and pulled by erratic currents of air, finding its way beneath the umbrellas of the few people walking the pavements, coating their clothes in a damp layer.

Fiona paused long enough outside the bar to scan its windows for drink offers. Then she rounded the corner into Minshull Street. A couple of girls were out and she walked towards the first, who was sheltering under the overhang of a seventies office building, the doorway of which stank of piss.

After listening to Fiona’s question, she sucked deeply on her cigarette and shook her head. Fiona thanked her and set off towards the other girl. She was huddling in a doorway on the other side of the street.

Fiona was halfway across the road when she noticed a car rapidly approaching. She had to jump over a large puddle to make it on to the pavement in time. A split second later it drove into the water, sending a cold sheet splashing against the backs of her legs.

‘Whore!’ a male voice yelled through the vehicle’s open window as it sped away.

‘Fucking wanker!’ the girl screeched back, jabbing her middle finger up.

Fiona tried to brush the worst off, but her trousers were soaked.

‘You all right?’ asked the girl.

‘I’ll survive,’ replied Fiona a little shakily. ‘I was coming over to have a word. I’m looking for Alexia.’

‘You just missed her. She’s had enough for the night, said she was off to the bus station to get some chewing gum, then going home.’

‘Really? A girl around my height, about twenty, reddishbrown hair?’ Fiona asked, already setting off towards Chorlton Street.

‘Brown, red, bleached — she changes it all the time.’

Fiona half jogged along the side street. Soon the bright lights of the recently revamped bus station came into view. A couple of National Express coaches idled in their bays behind the barriers, a miserable clutch of passengers waiting to be let on.

She approached the doors, eyes scanning the main hall. The newsagent’s was long shut and Fiona was afraid she’d missed her quarry. But then she saw the vending machines in the corner. A young girl was standing at them, counting out change in the palm of her hand.

She was taller than Fiona, but wearing heels and a miniskirt. Her thin legs were mottled with bluish marks, the same way Emily’s had been whenever she got cold. Fiona could see she was shivering, her hair soaking wet with rain.

‘The ten twenty-eight National Express service to Glasgow Buchanan bus station is now ready to board. Please proceed to bay number four.’

Fiona was right behind the girl as she pushed coins into the slot and pressed the buttons. A coil of wire rotated forward, releasing a packet of gum into the abyss. It clattered into the tray at the bottom of the machine and the girl leaned forward to pluck it out, one knee bending more than the other. As she turned around their eyes met and the girl began to move past.

‘Alexia?’ Fiona said in a whisper, having to hold back the torrent of apologies trying to escape her.

The girl paused. ‘Huh?’

‘I was in the next room at the Platinum Inn. I heard you being attacked. Oh God, I’m so sorry I did nothing to help.’ Tears made her vision swim. ‘Are you OK? I was so afraid, so afraid for you. .’

The girl was frowning. ‘What the fuck are you on about?’

‘Room nine of the Platinum Inn. I was there, Alexia.’

‘Alicia, not Alexia. And it’s not even my real name, anyway.’

Fiona stiffened, remembering the mix-up of names with the owner of Cheshire Consorts. ‘You worked…Did you work at the Hurlington Health Club?’

Her face was becoming suspicious. ‘What if I did?’

‘I’m trying to find a girl called Alexia. I think something terrible might have happened to her.’

She was moving away now. ‘Yeah? Tell me something new.’ The bitter laugh should never have come from someone her age.

Fiona crumpled into one of the plastic seats. Her surge of optimism had been sucked away, leaving her with a dry despair. Looking at the time, she got to her feet. The twenty-four-hour Spar was only five minutes away — she was sure they sold alcohol right up until eleven.

Twenty minutes later Fiona pulled up outside the Platinum Inn. The car park had three other vehicles in it. She walked towards the doors, her handbag heavy in her hand. Dawn’s smile faltered when she saw Fiona’s expression. She looked like she couldn’t decide whether to scream or cry. ‘Are you OK?’

Fiona lifted the neck of the bottle of gin clear of her handbag.

‘Fancy a nightcap? I really need one.’

They sat side by side, each holding a full glass in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. Dawn watched the twin streams of smoke twisting up from their fingers. ‘So it was all a mix-up of names?’