Alex Gray - A Pound Of Flesh

He was still smiling as he crossed the reception area, quite oblivious to the eyes that followed him from behind the desk or to the involuntary shudder the receptionist gave as she watched the handsome mechanic open the rest room door and close it behind him again.

Andie’s Sauna was smaller than she thought it would be, Doreen Gallagher decided, shuffling her bottom further to one side to accommodate the two young girls who were sitting next to her. One of them was vaguely familiar, a pale faced wee thing who kept turning to look out of the window as if she were expecting somebody to arrive at any minute. The manager, or at least that was what she had called herself, had already interviewed the girl’s pal who was now flicking over the pages of a much-thumbed copy of Now magazine while masticating a wad of gum. Doreen frowned as the pale girl twitched her body around again . Here, sit at peace , she wanted to growl at her as if she were the lassie’s mammy. But the very knowledge that this was what she would sound like prevented her from opening her mouth.

‘Mrs Gallagher?’ A middle-aged woman wearing a smart white coat stood there, one hand on the door of the next room. A clipboard in her other hand was meant to give a businesslike impression, Doreen imagined, but she couldn’t see anything written on the pages held in place by a metal clip.

‘It’s Ms,’ Doreen corrected the woman, straightening her skirt as she stood up. Head held high, Doreen followed her into the room. Best to get things right from the off, she thought, taking in the peeling paint around the skirting boards and the faded screen over in the corner that had once been decorated with a delicate chinoiserie but was now dull and broken at its hinges.

‘Take off your clothes behind the screen. Okay? Then come out with just your knickers on,’ the woman said in a bored tone that reminded Doreen of a visit to the VD clinic.

Doreen’s heart sank as she removed her black tights. The ravages of years of drug abuse could clearly be seen in these patches of discoloured flesh. Would that matter, though? Nearly every pro she knew was a user after all, and this place was hardly a palace, was it?

Doreen tried not to shiver as she left the confines of the rickety screen and stood expectantly in front of the sauna manager.

What did she see? A forty-something-year-old prostitute whose slender body and well made-up face were perhaps her only assets. Maybe. Or did she look beyond that and see eyes that were glazed against hurting too much, hair that had been dyed repeatedly, taking any sign of its natural colour away, and a shivering woman whose need for another fix was becoming all too apparent.

‘Aye, you’ll do,’ the woman said after a few moments of wordless scrutiny. ‘Get dressed and I’ll tell you what your shifts’ll be, okay?’

Lily sat alone now in the waiting room, alternately eyeing the door where they’d gone and watching the street just in case anyone should see her here. At last the dark-haired woman emerged, a half-smile on her face that told Lily she’d been successful in getting the job.

She rose to take her turn but the white-coated woman raised a hand to stop her.

‘Naw, hen, sorry. Ye’re too young for us. Come back when you’ve got a couple mair years under yer belt, eh?’ The snigger that accompanied these words made Lily blush and she practically ran out of the shop, colliding with the woman in the raincoat, the one who had been sitting beside her for so long.

‘Hey, watch where ye’re goin’,’ Doreen yelled, then, seeing the girl’s stricken face held out a hand. ‘Aw, it’s you, hen. Here, did they no’ take ye on, then?’

Lily bit her lip in an attempt to stop the tears coming but one slid down her face anyway.

‘Och, come on, wee hen, dinna start that. Look, d’ye fancy a cuppa something? I’m Doreen, by the way,’ she added, her arm now around the younger girl’s shoulder.

‘Aye,’ she whispered. ‘Aye, I’d like that fine thanks, missus.’

Doreen Gallagher fished out the packet of cigarettes and handed one to the girl who shook her head.

‘Naw, thanks all the same. Don’t do ciggies,’ she smiled at Doreen who returned the smile with a short laugh. It was a joke that needed no elaboration. They were both street women whose drug habits were far more harmful than anything tobacco could do to them.

Soon Doreen Gallagher was sitting in a run-down cafe opposite the young girl who had now introduced herself as Lily. The older woman’s face grew thoughtful as they sipped their tea. It was the image of a pile of folded notes in her hand that made her smile suddenly. The woman, that journalist, she paid for information, didn’t she? Wee Lily might be a bit of a rookie when it came to being on the game but perhaps that was all to the good. If she had someone keeping an eye open for things on the street …?

‘Hey, wee yin,’ Doreen said suddenly. ‘How’d you like to make some easy cash?’

‘Detective Superintendent Lorimer?’ a well-educated voice asked.

‘Speaking.’

‘Sir, this is DS Jackson, Lothian and Borders. It’s about Mrs Pattison.’

Lorimer’s eyes grew dark as he listened to the detective sergeant. Why on earth had nobody checked up on this before? Had he been too caught up in the politics of the case to think of this, perhaps? As the story unfolded it became clear that Catherine Pattison had told him a barefaced lie when she had claimed to have been at home the night of her husband’s death. All three of her children, the Edinburgh cop went on, had been at their grandmother’s home in Barnton. A chance remark by one of the kids to the family liaison officer had opened up a whole new can of worms. Plus nobody had logged the fact that the initial call to Mrs Pattison was to her mobile. In all the excitement of finding the deputy first minister murdered it had slipped the notice of someone in Lothian and Borders that no one had answered the Pattisons’ landline number. Lorimer ground his teeth in a moment of frustrated anger. Things like that were elementary and should never have been overlooked. But there was no time for recriminations as he listened to what the officer from Edinburgh was telling him.

‘So far the wife is saying absolutely nothing. She’s been instructed by her lawyer, of course,’ the DS told him. ‘What do you want to do?’

What Lorimer wanted to do right now was to hop on a train back to Edinburgh and wring the bloody woman’s neck! He knew she’d been wasting their time, but hadn’t ever thought that the reason she’d sent them on wild goose chases was to cover up lies about her own whereabouts that particular night.

A quick glance at the clock on the office wall told him he’d be in time to catch an express train if he hurried. The alternative at this time in the afternoon was a lengthy queue of traffic all along the motorway. He could pick up a squad car at Haymarket and be at the Murrayfield house in just over an hour’s time. There were meetings scheduled from now till after seven o’ clock but he supposed Rita Livingstone could cover them just this once.

‘I’m coming across,’ Lorimer said at last. ‘Tell them I want her to remain in the house. And keep the kids and the granny there too, understand?’

Mrs Cadell scrubbed at the copper pot with a vigour that surprised her. Though well into her seventies, the old lady could still muster up a cold fury that translated itself into such small actions. Stupid girl, she thought, Stupid, stupid girl! It could all have been so easy if only that Glasgow man had left Catherine in peace. Edward was what people used to call a cad. A love rat, these awful soaps called them nowadays. The old lady’s mouth twisted in a moue of distaste. This horrible business was becoming just like an episode from one of these ghastly programmes.