Chris Simms - Shifting Skin

‘What happened that day?’ asked Rick. ‘Think back. You finished the Maori armband. You showed the customer out. Gordon Dean and this girl are sitting here.’ He pointed to the two stools. ‘Their thighs must have been practically touching. What did they say?’

Jake shut his eyes and started twiddling the rod in his nose.

‘Nothing. I took the armband guy’s cash and then said Gordon Dean was next. He stood up, squeezed round her knees. She smiled and wished him good luck.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘Just thanked her, I think.’

‘And afterwards? You’ve completed Gordon’s ladybird tattoo. You show him back through the curtains. .’

‘Yeah, she’s still sat there.’ Jake opened his eyes and looked at the empty stool. ‘Dean pays me, says he’ll call again soon. Then he wishes her luck, says she’s made the right choice, and walks out.’

‘The right choice?’ said Jon, pushing himself clear of the doorframe.

‘Yeah, the right choice.’

Despite the street being bathed in cold sunshine, a flurry of raindrops started to fall around them. Squinting, Jon looked up but could only spot a few tiny clouds in the sky. Then a breeze whipped up from nowhere and the air abruptly cleared. Jon looked back down, thinking that nothing felt quite right.

‘There’s something in this,’ Rick said, holding up a hand and testing the texture of the air between a forefinger and thumb.

Jon kept silent, desperate to get over to Stepping Hill hospital.

‘“The right choice”. What did that mean? Tattoo? Job? Decision to see him again?’ Rick frowned. ‘I want a word with that Dr O’Connor. He seemed fairly friendly with Dean.’ He set off towards the Rochdale Road.

Just give it up, will you? Jon thought, following along behind.

As they reached the Beauty Centre, the door opened and a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties stepped out. She looked like someone had just punched her mouth and, on seeing Jon’s stare, she raised a self-conscious hand to her swollen lips. She hurried past and Rick caught the door before it could shut, while Jon buzzed the intercom. ‘Dr O’Connor, it’s DI Spicer and DS Saville. Could you spare us a couple of minutes?’

‘Of course. Please come up.’ The lock clicked uselessly. Halfway up the stairs, Rick tapped a photo on the wall. ‘Her with the trout-pout we just passed? That’s what she’d had.’

Jon looked at the image of a woman with puckered, glossy lips. The words below read, Softform. For enhancing lips and eradicating deep wrinkles.

Jon shuddered. Why did women feel the need to do this to themselves? If it was to attract men, it did nothing for him.

O’Connor rose to his feet and extended a hand across his desk as they entered his office. After they’d shaken, he gestured to the pair of chairs and sat down. ‘Officers, how can I help?’

Rick reached into his pocket. ‘Doctor, we’re still following up leads regarding Gordon Dean’s disappearance.’

The doctor crossed his legs. ‘Any progress?’

‘The investigation is ongoing,’ Rick replied. ‘However, we’re still trying to fill in some of his movements after he last saw you.’

At that moment they heard the door across the corridor open, and a woman came into the room. Mid-forties, hair tied back.

Poking out from beneath her coat was the hem of a starched white dress. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Doctor. Everything’s locked up.’

‘Good, then I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he smiled.

‘See you tomorrow.’ She disappeared down the stairs.

‘Jenny Palmer,’ said O’Connor, ‘my nursing assistant. Wonderful woman.’

Rick nodded. ‘Did Mr Dean ever mention any lady friends in Manchester?’

The doctor frowned. ‘No. But wasn’t he married?’

‘Yes,’ Rick answered. ‘But perhaps not as happily as he might have been. .’

The buzzer sounded on the wall. Rick waited but the doctor waved it away. ‘Kids, I imagine. I have no further appointments this morning.’ The buzzer sounded again and he leaned forward.

‘You were saying?’

Jon got up, went over to the window and looked down at the street below. The receptionist from the Platinum Inn was staring up. On seeing Jon, her eyes dropped and she scurried off down the street. He was about to ask O’Connor what was going on but changed his mind, sensing that, for the moment, it might prove more useful to keep what he’d seen to himself.

‘You seemed quite friendly with Mr Dean. Did he ever mention a girl fitting this description?’ asked Rick, putting the photo on the table.

O’Connor took it. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ He glanced at the image again. ‘Pretty young thing, though a bit too young for Mr Dean, don’t you think?’

Rick took the piece of paper back, disappointment obvious on his face. ‘Well, thanks, that’s all.’

They stood and shook hands again.

‘Please let me know if you hear anything about Gordon,’ said the doctor.

‘Will do,’ Rick answered after a moment’s hesitation.

Jon waited until they were outside before saying, ‘The buzzer, it was the night receptionist from a motel in Belle Vue called the Platinum Inn.’

‘How do you know that?’ asked Rick.

‘Because I spoke to her a few days ago. Favour to that friend of my girlfriend — the one who thought she heard a prostitute being killed in the next room.’

‘Oh, yeah, the one who gave you that business card? What was the name on it? Alexia?’

Jon nodded. ‘What was she doing here, I wonder? She practically ran off when she saw my face in the window.’

‘Don’t know. But Tyler Young and Gordon Dean definitely had an association. I think we should get back to those tapes.’

Jon held up his hands. ‘Hang on. We agreed to pop over to

Stepping Hill and ask Pete Gray for a voluntary DNA swab.’ Rick looked away, tapping his foot against the pavement.

Eventually he turned back. ‘One hour, OK? No more.’

At Stepping Hill hospital a grey-haired porter looked at Jon’s warrant card then tapped his tunic. ‘Twenty years in the Transport Police, me.’

‘Really?’ said Jon. ‘When did you retire?’

‘Twelve years ago. Trouble with the ticker. Mind you, I’m glad I got out, reading about how things are going for you nowadays. Can’t touch those little yobs for fear of legal action, isn’t that right?’

‘There’s ways and means.’ Jon gave the old boy a wink and got a knowing smile in return.

‘What’s that pepper spray like? Does it drop them like flies?’

‘Never used it myself, but the uniforms certainly like it.’

‘Wouldn’t have minded a can of that in my day. So, who are you looking for?’

‘Pete Gray. Is he around?’

‘It’s his day off.’ The porter put a couple of boxes of medical supplies on a small trolley.

‘Could we ask you a few questions instead?’ Jon asked.

‘Certainly, if you don’t mind talking on the move. I’ve got to get this lot over to the surgical ward. A rare trip for me.’

‘Is that so?’ Jon set off alongside the man, Rick just behind.

‘Pete usually delivers everything to the surgical wards. He’s very possessive about it.’

‘Latex gloves, for instance?’

‘Everything. He wheels everything over there.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘He loves the surgical ward. Says he’d have been a surgeon if he’d had the education.’

The back of Jon’s neck started to tingle. ‘Really? I thought he was more into learning the lyrics of Elvis songs.’

The man laughed. ‘You mean his karaoke stuff? Yes, he’s certainly a bit of a ladies’ man. In fact, I reckon the real reason he always delivers to this ward is because he fancies the medical secretaries.’