Deadly Code (Rhona MacLeod #3) Page 3

  A guy with long hair and a longer coat stood on the corner, money rising and falling from his flicked hand with monotonous regularity. He had the look of a Jesus who had just ejected the money lenders from the temple and now wasn’t sure what to do with their small change.

  Rhona tossed a coin into the embroidered hat at his feet. If he spotted her contribution to his welfare he didn’t acknowledge it.

  The pedestrian precinct of Third Street was already teeming with people, hanging out and being cool, and that was only the beggars. An alcoholic told the truth on his cardboard sign: Okay, I won’t lie, I need a drink, please give. Honesty seemed to be paying off.

  Rhona took her time, reading restaurant menus posted in glass cases on the sidewalk, trying not to be intimidated by the waiters and waitresses, all definite members of the beautiful people’s club.

  ‘Madam, you like Italian?’

  This one was particularly handsome and sexy. It was obvious why he was told to hang about the entrance.

  Rhona succumbed and shortly afterwards found herself sitting in an alcove, sipping cool white wine and wiping up deliciously fragrant olive oil with freshly baked bread. Okay, so you could do this in Glasgow, but it wasn’t quite the same. Rhona felt guilty at the thought. While she waited for the main course, she took another look at the message on the back of the ReGene card.

  Looking forward to your paper. Could we meet some time while you’re here? Dr Lynne Franklin.

  It told Rhona nothing except that ReGene had a fancy address in Los Angeles and a second address in the Bahamas. Whatever the company did, it made money at it. Rhona slipped the card back into her wallet and concentrated on the arrival of the main course.

  Noticing her Scottish accent, the waiter hung around and gave her his family history, including the low down on his Italian relatives who ran a Glasgow restaurant. By the end of the meal, he had asked whether she was dating anyone. It was while she was saying (somewhat reluctantly) she was, that a girl came in. She was tall, much taller than Rhona, with the blonde good looks of a Beach Boys album cover. Rollerblades made her even taller, so that after her perfectly performed halt she stood six inches above Rhona’s waiter, who she had obviously come to see.

  Trying not to think of a Steve Martin film, Rhona removed herself from the middle of the ensuing confrontation and took her check to the counter to pay. The equally handsome man on the till gave her a perfect smile and wished her a good day.

  On the Santa Monica promenade, things weren’t any better. Replicas of the restaurant girl whizzed past on rollerblades. Male rollerbladers looked like Rambo in very small shorts.

  Santa Monica didn’t look like Glasgow but according to Andre the two places had one thing in common. You could buy anything on this promenade, including drugs and sex, provided you had the money.

  She glanced at her watch.

  It would be four in the morning in Glasgow. Sean would probably be back from his gig at the club.

  Rhona pulled out her mobile and pressed the familiar number, imagining the signal waving its way around the world. It rang out half-a-dozen times before she hung up.

  When she got back to the hotel there was a message waiting for her at reception. Andre would be round at ten o’clock the next morning to take her to the MacLeod tent at a Highland games. Rhona tried to imagine what Chrissy would say about that. It didn’t bear repeating, even in her head.

  Before she went to bed, she set up her computer and checked her email. Nothing.

  No phone calls from home, no emails. It was true, living in hotel rooms made you disappear.

  Rhona didn’t notice the gold-edged envelope until she climbed into bed. Lying on the bedside table, it looked too smart for an advertising leaflet.

  In that, she was wrong. It was an advertising leaflet. A really classy one. The embossed card inside suggested that, alone in Santa Monica, Dr MacLeod might like some intelligent and charming male company for dinner and seeing the sights. No prices quoted. Obviously if you had to ask the price, you couldn’t afford the man.

  Rhona tucked the card back in the envelope, but not before she’d noted the name and phone number on the back. Jason, it seemed, was the one on special offer.

  Rhona switched off the light, wishing she had someone to share the joke with.

  Professional woman, alone in Santa Monica on business, seeks charming intelligent man to share dinner and …

  Chapter 4

  Chrissy was waiting outside the jazz club for Danny when the girl and boy arrived.

  ‘I’m a friend of Sean’s. I’m singing here tonight.’

  The doorman waved the girl past, but stopped the boy.

  Chrissy didn’t blame him. No way was the guy twenty-one. She wondered if the girl was his big sister and he just wanted to hear her sing. She thought about pleading his case, saying she would keep an eye on him.

  Then the bouncer told him to get lost. The boy didn’t argue, just gave him the finger and walked away.

  Danny showed up minutes later and swept Chrissy inside. The basement room was throbbing with music.

  ‘Drink?’ Danny mouthed.

  All the tables were taken so she waited for him near the bar. The club was a popular haunt with university staff, especially forensics and pathology. It was close to work and stayed open late. If you were called out to an incident in the middle of the night, you could come here afterwards and drown your sorrows. There were two mortuary technicians she recognised at a table doing exactly that.

  Danny handed her a Bacardi Breezer and slipped an arm round her waist.

  At the end of his solo number, Sean spotted her and smiled over.

  At least half a dozen women, including the two mortuary technicians, turned to look enviously at her. Sean was working his usual magic.

  When the young woman came on stage, the place went quiet. Sean took her hand and brought her forward. She wore a red sequinned dress that hugged her slim body. Her hair was swept up at the back, exposing a heart-shaped mole on her cheek. The mix of intensity and vulnerability reminded Chrissy of old footage of Janis Joplin.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Esther Dickson.’

  The charcoal eyes darted about the audience, as frightened as a roe deer caught in the headlights of a car.

  Sean played the intro.

  She hesitated and missed her entrance.

  Sean played the opening again.

  This time she came in right on cue.

  The background chatter faded as the low sensual voice filled the room. Chrissy felt a shiver run down her spine. She was good, really good. The audience was hanging on every note. Esther was more confident now. She knew she had them in the palm of her hand.

  At the end of the song, the audience clapped wildly and shouted for more. Chrissy looked at Danny. He was loving it.

  ‘Watch out Rhona.’

  ‘What?’ Danny pulled his eyes from the stage.

  ‘I said, watch out Rhona. This one only needs to sing to get a guy off.’

  Danny grinned like a man with a hard-on. ‘Yeah, baby.’

  Esther sang three songs. The whole audience was sexed out. She left the stage before they finished clapping.

  Danny gave Chrissy a kiss with a promise in it and went to the bar for a refill. Chrissy followed the singer to the Ladies. She found her leaning over the basin, running cold water through her hands.

  ‘You’re very good,’ Chrissy said.

  ‘Thanks.’ The voice was flat, as though the life had drained away with the songs.

  Chrissy examined Esther’s reflection in the mirror. She had seen this female before somewhere. But where?

  ‘Are you singing anywhere else?’

  Esther looked at her sharply.

  ‘What the fuck do you care?’

  Chrissy rummaged in her bag. She had seen her before. She was sure of it ‘It’s cool,’ she made a show of renewing her lipstick, ‘I just thought I’d heard you before.’

  Esther shru
gged and touched up her own mask of eyeshadow and lipstick. ‘Couldn’t have. I just moved here.’

  *With your brother?’

  ‘My brother?’

  ‘The young guy outside.’

  ‘Spike’s not my brother. He’s a mate.’

  The girl had stopped being defensive. Whatever Chrissy said now had to keep things that way. She didn’t get the chance.

  ‘Shut the fuck up!’ The girl hissed at the mirror.

  ‘What?’

  Esther ignored her and headed for a cubicle, slamming the door in Chrissy’s face. From inside came the sound of muttering. Chrissy knocked. ‘Are you okay?’

  The girl didn’t reply, at least not to Chrissy. The muttering went on, then the sound of retching and the thump of something hitting the floor. Chrissy banged on the door.

  ‘Hey, are you alright in there?’

  ‘Fuck off and leave me alone.’

  It took Chrissy five minutes to find Sean. The band was taking a break and he had gone outside for some air. When she brought him back to the toilet, the cubicle was empty.

  ‘She was on something.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Sean said firmly.

  The thought crossed Chrissy’s mind that he knew more about Esther than he was letting on.

  ‘She was swearing at the mirror.’

  A half-smile played Sean’s lips. ‘Maybe she was swearing at you.’

  Chrissy wasn’t giving up. ‘I’ve seen her someplace before.’

  Sean looked mildly irritated. ‘I’m only interested in where she is at this moment. We have a second half to do.’

  Chrissy gazed past Sean.

  Esther had appeared at the door. *Is there a problem?’ she said truculently.

  ‘Not with me,’ Chrissy shot back.

  ‘Could you give us a minute?’ Sean said quietly.

  ‘Fine.’ Sean did know more about Esther Dickson than he was letting on. Chrissy headed for the bar and a stiff drink.

  Esther was back on stage ten minutes later. She seemed calm, dreamy even. An addict after a fix?

  Chrissy stood with Danny’s arm about her and listened to Esther’s haunting voice. Sean had given her the girl’s version of events on his way to the stage. He might be convinced, but she wasn’t.

  In the shadows near the bar she spotted the boy with the spiky hair, who had somehow sneaked in. He wore the same expression as Danny. Whatever substance the girl had in her voice should be powdered and marketed.

  But magic voice or not, the story of a migraine attack just didn’t make it with Chrissy.

  She was sure she’d seen Esther before. And she had the feeling the girl was bad news. Bad news Rhona needed to know about.

  Chapter 5

  Things were quiet now. He could tell by her eyes. Spike took Esther’s hand and slipped it through his arm.

  ‘Chips?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She waved the money Sean had given her. ‘Let’s make it a fish supper.’

  The all-night cafe was empty apart from a few stragglers who needed the sustenance in order to get home.

  She sat down and handed him the plastic menu with a flourish. *No expense spared.’

  After the feast he said, ‘You were great.’

  When she asked how he knew, he told her he’d climbed in a toilet window.

  She laughed. ‘Did anyone see you?’

  She laughed even more when he said, ‘Only the guy wanking off in the cubicle I landed in. And he wasn’t going to tell anybody.’

  ‘And I thought I was singing in a respectable jazz club.’

  ‘Wanking is respectable,’ he told her, ‘unless you’ve been brought up …’ he came to a halt, a shadow crossing his face.

  She reached out and took his hand. ‘Like you?’

  ‘Like me.’ He went quiet.

  ‘Heh?’ She squeezed his hand. ‘We’re doing fine.’

  She was always positive when the voices weren’t there. He suspected something in her past had made her ill like this but Esther never spoke about it and he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to talk about his past either.

  They had met in Safeways. She was shopping, he was there to steal something to eat. She spotted him slipping a tin of corned beef in his pocket and made him put it in her trolley. When they got to the counter, she paid for it.

  Outside she asked him where he was staying and he took too long to lie, so she took him home. In his head he made her the big sister he never had. It didn’t always work.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s go home.’

  Spike stood up, happy. He loved it when she spoke like that, as if they would be together forever. He had played out the scenario a million times in his head. It didn’t matter that he was only sixteen. He could look after Esther, hold her when she was frightened, even maybe …

  He shut down his brain at that point. He hated himself for even thinking about making a move on her. He would never do that. Never.

  Her voice punctured his thoughts.

  ‘Sean was great. Even when I almost blew it in the toilet.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Someone came in when … when things were bad. She told Sean I was taking stuff.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  She smiled at his worried face. ‘It’s okay. I told him I had a migraine and was sick. He believed me.’

  He hated when the voices came and he wasn’t with her. Sometimes he felt they were waiting for him to go away, just so they could torment her.

  They were passing a block of red sandstone tenements. On the ground floor, plants filled a window box and trailed down in a burst of flowers. Their scent hung heavy in the night air.

  ‘Maybe we could move,’ she said suddenly, ‘get a better flat.’

  She grabbed his arm in excitement. ‘Sean says he can run me six weeks, maybe more. With that sort of money I could put down a deposit on a decent place. Sean says once the word is out I’ll get more gigs.’

  Spike fought back the fear that slid up his throat. Now she was back singing, she might not need him any more.

  She touched his arm. ‘You’ll come with me, won’t you Spike?’ Her voice was small and lonely again.

  His fear subsided.

  ‘Of course I will.’

  Then he thought about the baby.

  ‘We’ll tell the social about the baby,’ she said, reading his mind.

  The child was half-starved. It would be totally starved if Spike wasn’t there to feed it.

  ‘She was going to shop you anyway.’

  Esther was right. The mother was always threatening to tell the authorities about him. It was only a matter of time. And the baby wasn’t his responsibility.

  ‘Okay.’ He tried a smile. ‘Okay.’

  She was happy now. They had a plan, a plan for the future.

  Above them, the street lamps sent soft lights to reflect their images in the puddles. Spike saw them there together, arm and arm.

  Nothing or nobody would get them, he decided. He would see to that.

  When they reached the tenement block, the stairwell was in darkness. He took her hand and they negotiated the broken bottles that littered the entrance. He felt in his pocket for his lighter.

  ‘Some bastard’s smashed the lights.’

  He went up the left hand side, sliding his arm along the wall, encouraging the small blue flame to light up the next step.

  When they reached their landing, Spike produced the key.

  ‘Spike.’ Esther pointed at the broken lock.

  ‘What the fuck!’

  He made a move to go in, but she caught his arm.

  ‘No.’ Her face was terrified in the flare of the lighter.

  Whoever was inside had heard them. Footsteps came towards the door. Esther ran for the stairs. Spike flipped the lighter shut and followed. They stumbled their way down. They were one level below when they heard the door open. Spike held Esther against him. He could feel the thump of her heart.

  ‘There’s nobody there,’ a
man’s voice called.

  Esther gave a whimper. As the door swung shut, Spike took a quick look. A thickset figure was framed in the doorway.

  Esther’s eyes were wide with fear.

  ‘Who was it?’

  She was shaking, her words rattling through her teeth. Spike suddenly realised she thought the intruder had come looking for her.

  ‘We have to get away from here,’ she pleaded.

  He took off his jacket and put it round her. ‘It’s okay. I think it was the Flintstone guy from next door,’ he lied. ‘He probably came to give me a kicking for taking the baby again.’

  Relief flooded her face. ‘Are you sure?’

  He nodded. ‘We’ll come back tomorrow. He’ll have given up by then.’

  Spike ran it over in his mind. His own fear of discovery had started just after he met Esther. Bags, the Big Issue seller, had shown him a photo. It didn’t look like him and even Bags didn’t recognise him from it. In the photo his hair was short and neat In the photo, he was fourteen.

  ‘Looks like a computer nerd,’ Spike had said, trying to sound casual. ‘Who’s looking for him?’

  ‘A Yank. Gave me a twenty to keep a lookout.’

  ‘Easy shit.’

  ‘Yeah. Wish he was looking for me.’

  Bags had a phone number to call. He waved it in front of Spike like another twenty.

  ‘So if you see the nerd?’

  ‘Sure.’

  If an American was looking for him, it had to be something to do with his father. A cold knot formed in Spike’s chest.

  He’d been even more careful after that. If it hadn’t been for Esther he would have left Glasgow, gone to London. They would never find him there.

  They bedded down in the park under a tree, Esther curled against him, he holding his body a celibate inch away. Eventually she slept and he listened to the soft sound of her breathing.

  She had told him once that the voices were there in her sleep, weaving their way into her dreams. He imagined people attached to these disembodied voices and routinely killed them to set her free, but they always came back to haunt her, especially when she was nervous or frightened.