‘What are you drinking?’ Rick asked.
‘Pint of strong lager,’ Jon replied.
They found a space at the end of the bar next to more glass bowls of the same safe sex packs he’d picked up in Taurus. Jon leaned against the counter and looked around. Immediately he spotted a group of transvestites at a nearby table. Seeing their big shoulders, square faces and bad wigs, he remembered an end-of-season party at his previous rugby club where drag was the obligatory costume. The rest of the clientele looked fairly ordinary, though dominated by men. Rick was talking to the barman and Jon had to concentrate to make out their words over the music floating up from downstairs.
‘That’s great. Thanks for your help.’ Rick slid a pint across to Jon.
‘What did he say?’ Jon asked, ducking his head and taking a massive gulp.
‘He remembers Dean. A bit of a regular. Says he often saw him in here chatting to various people.’
Jon knew more was to come. ‘What about the night in question?’
‘Usual thing, floating around up here, went downstairs for a bit.’ Rick smiled. ‘But thinks he saw him leaving at the end of the night with a working girl who sometimes pops in to grab free condoms off the bar.’
‘Any description?’
‘Shoulder-length reddish hair, five feet eight, slim build.’ Rick held up his drink and they clinked glasses. ‘I reckon if we ask about in here, we could find out more.’
Jon looked around. ‘I’ll let you do the honours.’
Rick gave a little snort. ‘Coward.’ He walked over to the nearest table, the photo in his hand. From the corner of his eye, Jon saw heads shaking.
Five minutes later Rick returned. ‘Nothing. You know what this means?’
Jon finished his drink. ‘Time to go downstairs.’
There was a small counter at the bottom of the steps. After flashing their warrant cards to the woman behind it, they showed her the photo of Gordon Dean, but she couldn’t remember seeing him.
Rick peered through the windows in the double doors before them. ‘Not too busy yet.’
Inside was a lot darker. A glitter ball hung over the dance floor and several couples were milling around to ‘Dancing Queen’. In the DJ box was a tall figure with a hairdo like Marge Simpson’s. She was wearing a satin dress covered in what looked to Jon like a collection of luminous ping-pong balls. As he and Rick made their way round the edge of the dance floor the song came to an end. But rather than another starting up, a beam of light swung across the room and settled on Jon.
Shielding his eyes, he squinted at the DJ box, the figure now barely visible behind the spotlight’s glare. ‘Fuck me, this one’s new in town.’ The voice was high, the words drawled. ‘Look at the size of him, girls. He can slip up here and butcher my snatch any time.’
As laughs of disbelief at the joke’s poor taste erupted all around, the spotlight was cut and the next song kicked in. Despite his embarrassment, Jon recognised the trumpets building in strength before the drumroll started. ‘Lola’s Theme’. Whoops of delight came from the dancefloor and a group of transvestites started sashaying around singing, ‘I’m a different person!’
When he reached the bar, Rick grinned at him and said, ‘That was Miss Tonguelash.’
Jon could feel his face was still burning. ‘I see how she gets her name.’ He looked around uneasily and saw Fiona Wilson staring at him. A slimy-looking creep was standing next to her. She lurched over, her large gin glowing faintly under the ultraviolet light mounted behind the bar.
‘Fiona.’ Jon nodded. ‘Enjoying yourself?’
She raised a forefinger and tapped him on the chest. ‘You never checked that room. I spoke to the receptionist. She told me.’
Jon noticed that Rick was looking totally bemused. ‘Rick, this is Fiona. She works with my girlfriend. Fiona, Rick, my partner.’
Her eyes slid unsteadily towards Rick. ‘You’re his what?’
‘We’re partners,’ Rick replied with a grin. She looked lost.
‘In the police,’ Jon added.
She started giggling. ‘For a moment there I thought you meant-’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Jon interrupted.
The slimy creep appeared behind her. Jon instantly saw that he was trying to appear friendly and inquisitive but couldn’t hide the look of concern that his shag was escaping him.
‘Martin Mercer,’ he said, extending a hand towards Jon.
‘Jon Spicer.’ Briefly, they shook.
‘Fiona’s certainly got an interesting taste in night venues. One minute we’re in a place on the main road, next she’s dragged me in here!’
Jon looked away from his shining teeth. ‘So, Fiona, what are you up to?’
‘Trying to find out what happened to that girl. You know, the one you couldn’t give a shit about.’ She was tilting towards aggression again.
Taking her elbow, he guided her towards the corner of the room, out of earshot of the creep. ‘Fiona, Alice mentioned you’ve been making enquiries. You need to be careful.’
Fiona curled her lips in distaste. ‘Someone’s got to try and find out if she’s OK. No one else is.’ She took a large gulp of her drink.
‘What did the woman at Cheshire Consorts say?’
‘She had an Alexia come and try to get a job with her. But she thought she was on drugs. Sent her packing.’
‘And now you’re trawling round the red-light district, searching for her? Fuck, Fiona, it’s not safe. Specially at the moment.’
Fiona leaned against the wall and rolled the back of her head against it. ‘Not just trawling. I was told she comes in here sometimes. But no one’s seen her since the night I heard someone being killed.’ Abruptly, she tipped the last of her drink into her mouth, spilling an ice cube down her front. ‘Bollocks,’ she said, leaning forwards and shaking her top so it fell to the floor.
Jon glanced at the creep. He hadn’t moved an inch, unwilling to walk away from his claim. ‘Who’s the bloke?’
Fiona’s head lolled in his direction. ‘An old acquaintance.’
‘Is that right?’ Jon didn’t believe her.
‘See you around, Mr Spicer.’ She tottered away.
The salesman whispered something to her, and they moved off towards the stairs. As they went past, Jon pointed at his own eyes then at the man’s face. I’ve clocked you, the gesture said. Next instant, they were gone.
‘She’s heading for the mother of all hangovers,’ said Rick.
‘I hope that’s all she’s heading for.’
‘So what was she on about?’
‘She’s the one who thought she heard a prostitute being strangled in the next room at that motel. She thinks the girl worked for an escort agency and now she’s trying to track her down.’
‘Sounds dodgy.’
‘Exactly,’ Jon replied. He looked around. ‘I need a piss.’
The red bulbs lighting the toilets made the narrow room disorientating. Jon peered around in the half-light for any urinals, but saw only safe-sex posters lining the walls. He realised there were only cubicles. He took an end one and started emptying his bladder. Halfway through he noticed a waist-high hole in the partition wall between his cubicle and the next. At first he thought it was where the toilet roll holder had been ripped off. But the hole was properly drilled and, besides, the toilet-roll dispenser was mounted on the back wall.
He re-zipped his fly and bent down for a closer look. He could see straight through into the next cubicle, where an identical hole had been cut in the next partition wall. He realised he was looking through a series of holes that ran the entire length of
the toilets. The music got louder suddenly as someone entered the toilets. Jon quickly straightened up.
Back in the main bar he was shocked to see Rick sitting at the bar talking to Miss Tonguelash herself. Resisting the urge to flee up the stairs, he walked over and picked up his pint.
‘Jon, this is Miss Tonguelash.’