The Mermaids Singing (16 page)

‘So what are you trying to say here?’

‘I don’t think Handy Andy gets turned on by gay men. I think he likes them straight.’

Sergeant Don Merrick decided he’d never felt more fed up. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he had Popeye on his back over the guv’nor’s new assignment, he was now a servant of three masters. He was supposed to make sure that Inspector Jordan’s orders were carried out when she wasn’t around, and he was also supposed to be working for Kevin Matthews on the Damien Connolly case as well as liaising with Bob Stansfield on the work that he and Inspector Jordan had already completed on the Paul Gibbs case. To top it all, he was spending his evening in the Hell Hole.

Never, in his opinion, was a club more aptly named. The Hell Hole advertised itself in the gay press as ‘The club that dominates Bradfield. One visit and you’ll be enslaved. You’re
bound
to have the time of your life in the Hell Hole!’ All of which was a coy way of saying that the Hell Hole was the place to go to pick up partners if sadomasochism and bondage was how you got your rocks off.

Merrick felt like Snow White at an orgy. He didn’t have a clue how he was supposed to behave. He wasn’t even sure if he looked right. He’d opted for an old, ripped pair of Levis that normally only saw the light of day when he was doing odd jobs around the house, a plain white T-shirt and the battered leather jacket he used to wear on his motorbike in the days before the kids came along. In his back pocket were his official handcuffs, there in the hope they’d lend some verisimilitude to his pose. Looking round the dimly lit bar, Merrick spotted so much distressed denim and leather that he expected to see an SOS flare rising above the dance floor. Superficially, at least, he thought he might just look the part. Which was worrying in itself. As his eyes grew accustomed to the low lighting, he caught sight of a few of his colleagues. Mostly, they looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

The club had been virtually empty when he’d first arrived just after nine. Feeling incredibly conspicuous, Merrick had asked for a pass-out and gone back on to the streets. He’d wandered round Temple Fields for the best part of an hour, stopping in a café-bar for a cappuccino. He’d wondered why some of the gay clientele had been giving him strange looks until he realized that he was the only customer wearing leather and denim. Clearly he’d transgressed some unwritten dress code. Uncomfortable, Merrick had swallowed the scalding coffee as quickly as he could and got back out on to the streets.

He felt seriously vulnerable, alone on the pavements and walkways of Temple Fields. The men who passed him, either singly, in couples or in groups, all eyed him up and down speculatively as he passed, most glances pausing at his crotch. He squirmed inside, wishing he’d picked a pair of jeans that didn’t hug his body quite so tightly. As a couple of black youths walked past, arms entwined, he heard one say loudly to the other, ‘Great ass for a white guy, huh?’ Merrick felt the blood rise to his cheeks, unsure whether it was anger or embarrassment. In a moment of dreadful clarity, he realized what women meant when they complained of being treated as objects by men.

He returned to the Hell Hole, relieved that the place had filled up now. Loud disco music throbbed, the beat so strong Merrick seemed to feel it inside his chest. On the dance floor, men in leather adorned with chains, zips and peaked caps moved energetically, showing off their Nautilus-hardened muscles, thrusting their groins into empty air in bizarre parodies of sex. Stifling a sigh, Merrick pushed his way through the crowd to the bar. He ordered a bottle of American beer that tasted unbelievably insipid to a palate trained to expect the nutty sweetness of Newcastle Brown.

Turning round to face the dance floor again, Merrick leaned against the bar and surveyed the room, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with anyone in particular. He’d been standing like that for about ten minutes when he became aware that the man standing next to him wasn’t actually trying to be served. Merrick glanced round to discover the man’s eyes fixed on him. He was almost as tall as the detective, but with a broader, more muscular build. He wore tight black leather trousers and a white vest. His blond hair was cut short at the sides, longer on top, and his body was as tanned and smooth as a Chippendale. He raised his eyebrows and said, ‘Hi. I’m Ian.’

Merrick grinned weakly. ‘Don,’ he replied, raising his voice to combat the music.

‘I’ve not seen you in here before, Don,’ Ian said, moving closer so that his naked arm pressed against the worn leather of Merrick’s sleeve.

‘It’s my first time,’ Merrick said.

‘You new in town, then? You don’t sound local.’

‘I’m from the North East,’ Merrick said carefully.

‘That explains it. A bonny laddie from Geordieland,’ Ian said, with a bad imitation of Merrick’s accent.

Merrick felt his smile grow sick and die. ‘You a regular here, then?’ he asked.

‘Never miss it. Best bar in town for the kind of guy I like.’ Ian winked. ‘Can I buy you a drink, Don?’

The sweat trickling down Merrick’s back had nothing to do with the warmth of the bar. ‘I’ll have another one of these,’ he said.

Ian nodded and turned round to the bar, using the crowd around him as an excuse to thrust himself against Merrick. Merrick stared across the room, his jaw set. He noticed one of the other murder squad detectives watching him. His colleague gave a grotesque wink and mimed one finger pumping into the closed fist of his other hand. Merrick turned away, coming face to face with Ian, who had been served. ‘There you go, bonny laddie,’ Ian said. ‘So, you looking for a bit of fun tonight, Geordie?’

‘Just checking out the scene,’ Merrick said.

‘What’s the scene like up in Newcastle, then?’ Ian asked. ‘Bit lively? Cater for all tastes, does it?’

Merrick shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’m not from Newcastle. I come from a little village up on the coast. It’s not the kind of place where you can be yourself.’

‘I get you,’ Ian said, laying a hand on Merrick’s arm. ‘Well, Don, if you want to be yourself, you’ve come to the right place. And you’ve found the right guy.’

Merrick prayed he didn’t look as terrified as he felt. ‘It’s certainly busy enough,’ he tried.

‘We could go somewhere quieter, if you like. There’s another room through the back there, where the music isn’t so loud.’

‘No, I’m fine here,’ Merrick said quickly. ‘I like the music, if I’m honest.’

Ian moved forward so his torso leaned against Merrick’s. ‘What is it you’re into, Don? Top or bottom?’

Merrick choked on his beer. ‘I’m sorry?’ he gasped.

Ian laughed and rumpled Merrick’s hair. His light-blue eyes glinted wickedly, holding Merrick’s stare. ‘You really are an innocent abroad, aren’t you? What I’m saying is, what do you like best? Handing it out or taking it?’ His hand strayed down to Merrick’s trousers. Just when the detective thought he was going to be groped in a way that no one apart from his wife had ever done, Ian’s hand slid to one side and moved round to stroke Merrick’s buttock.

‘That depends,’ Merrick croaked.

‘On what?’ Ian asked suggestively, moving so close that Merrick could feel the other man’s erection against his leg.

‘On how much I trust the person I’m with,’ Merrick replied, trying not to let his revulsion show in voice or expression.

‘Oh, I’m very trustworthy, me. And you look like the reliable kind too.’

‘Are yez not a bit worried, like, about strangers? With this serial killer doing the rounds?’ Merrick asked, using the opportunity of putting his empty bottle back on the bar to move away slightly from Ian’s insistent body.

Ian’s smile was cocky. ‘Why should I be? These guys that are getting topped don’t hang out in places like this. Stands to reason that this isn’t where this mad bastard’s picking them up.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I’ve seen the pictures in the papers, and I’ve never spotted a single one of them out on the scene. And believe me, I know the scene. That’s how I knew you were the new kid in town.’ Ian moved closer again and thrust a hand in Merrick’s back pocket. He ran his fingers over the hard outline of the handcuffs. ‘Hey, that feels interesting. I’m starting to get a picture of what you and me could be like.’

Merrick forced a laugh. ‘For all you know, I could be the killer.’

‘So what if you are?’ Ian said, all self-assurance. ‘I’m not the type this fucking nutter goes for. He likes closet queens, not macho men. If he picked me up, he’d want to fuck, not commit murder. Besides, a good-looking guy like you doesn’t need to kill somebody to get a fuck.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe so, but how do I know you’re not the killer?’

‘Tell you what, just to prove I’m not, I’ll let you top tonight. You’ll be in charge. I’ll be the one with handcuffs on.’

Carry on like this and you won’t be wrong, Merrick thought to himself. He reached down and gripped Ian’s wrist hard, removing his hand from the pocket. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Not tonight. Like you said, I’m the new kid in town. I’m not going home with anybody till I know a bit more about them.’ He released Ian’s wrist and stepped back. ‘Nice talking to you, Ian. Thanks for the drink.’

Ian’s face altered in an instant. His eyes narrowed and the smile changed to a snarl. ‘Wait a minute, Geordie. I don’t know what sort of poxy Watch With Mother clubs you’re used to, but in this city, you don’t get into a clinch with somebody and take drinks off him if you’re not prepared to come across.’

Merrick tried to get away, but the press of bodies round the bar made any movement difficult. ‘I’m sorry if there’s been a misunderstanding,’ he said.

Ian’s arm shot out and gripped Merrick firmly just below his bicep. The pain was excruciating. Merrick found a moment to wonder what sort of person actively sought out pain like this as part of their sexual pleasure. Ian thrust his face so close that Merrick could smell the bad breath he’d learned to associate with amphetamine abuse. ‘It’s not a misunderstanding,’ Ian said. ‘You came here tonight for sex. There’s no other reason to be here. So sex is what we’re going to do.’

Merrick swivelled on the balls of his feet and jabbed his elbow sharply underneath Ian’s ribcage. His breath burst out of him in a sudden ‘whoosh’, and he doubled over, letting go of Merrick’s arm in the reflex of clutching at his solar plexus. ‘No, we’re not,’ Merrick said mildly, moving away through the space that had cleared around him as if by magic.

On his way across the room, one of the other undercover officers fell into step beside him. ‘Nice one, Sarge,’ he said out of the corner of his mouth. ‘You did what we’ve all been wanting to do ever since we got in here.’

Merrick stopped and smiled at the constable. ‘You’re supposed to be doing an undercover. Either fucking dance with me or fuck off and let one of these poofters chat you up.’

Leaving the constable open mouthed, Merrick walked over to the far side of the dance floor and leaned against the wall. The commotion he’d left at the bar had died down. Ian pushed his way through the crowd, still holding his stomach, and left the club, shooting venomous glares at Merrick.

Before long, Merrick had company again. This time, he recognized his companion as a detective constable from one of the other divisions who had only joined the murder squad that day. He was sweating under the weight of heavy leather jacket and trousers that looked suspiciously like standard police motorcycle issue. He leaned close to Merrick, so he wouldn’t be overheard in the crowd round the dance floor and said urgently, ‘Skip, there’s a guy I think we should take a look at.’

‘Why?’

‘I overheard him mouthing off to a couple of blokes that he knew the dead guys. He was boasting about it. Reckoned there weren’t many that could say that. And I heard him say that the killer must be a body-builder like him, on account of lugging bodies around. He was saying he bet there were people here tonight who didn’t know they knew a murderer. Boasting, like, all the way.’

‘Why don’t you bring him in yourself?’ Merrick asked, his interest quickened by what he’d heard, but reluctant to deprive the constable of the credit of pulling in a suspect.

‘I tried to strike up conversation with him, but he gave me the brush-off.’ The constable gave a wry smile. ‘Maybe I’m not his type, skip.’

‘And what makes you think I am?’ Merrick demanded, not sure whether he was being subtly insulted here.

‘He’s wearing the same kind of gear as you.’

Merrick sighed. ‘You better point him out to me.’

‘Don’t look now, sir, but he’s standing over by the disco speakers. IC1 male, five foot six, short dark hair, blue eyes, clean shaven, heavy Scottish accent. Dressed like you. Drinking a pint of lager.’

Merrick leaned back against the wall and slowly scanned the room. He got the suspect on the first pass. ‘Got him, I think,’ he said. ‘OK, son, thanks. Look fucked off when I go.’

He shrugged away from the wall and left the constable practising his depressed look. Slowly, Merrick moved round the room until he found himself next to the man who’d been pointed out to him. He had the bulky build of a weightlifter and the face of a boxer. His outfit was almost identical to Merrick’s, save that his jacket had more buckles and zips. ‘Busy in here tonight,’ Merrick said.

‘Aye. Lots of new faces. Half of them probably polis,’ the man said. ‘See that jerk you were just talking to? He might as well have come in his Panda car. Did you ever see a more obvious busy in all your born days?’

‘That’s why I fucked him off sharpish,’ Merrick replied.

‘I’m Stevie, by the way,’ the man said. ‘Busy night you’re having with the unwanted solicitations. I saw you sort that toerag out earlier. Nicely done, pal.’

‘Thanks. I’m Don.’

‘Nice to meet you, Don. You new about here, then? Accent like that, you’re obviously not a local.’

‘Does everybody know everybody else here?’ Merrick asked with a wry smile.

‘Pretty much. It’s a real village, Temple Fields. ’Specially the S&M scene. Let’s face it, if you’re gonnae let somebody tie you up, you want to know what you’re getting into.’

‘You’re not wrong, Stevie,’ Merrick said with feeling. ‘Even more so when there’s a killer on the loose.’