Ripped (43 page)

'The
thing
is,'
Eddy
Stewart
said,
'they
recognised
the
body
right
away
–
Merchant
being
who
he
was.
And
when
Peerse
heard,
he
remembered
Merchant
had
a
bit
on
the
side
and
pulled
her
in.'

He
stopped
talking
again
and
waited
as
if
for
Murray
to
admit
something
before
he
would
go
on.

'Frances
Fernie,'
Murray
said.

'That's
right.
And
she
made
a
bad
impression,
she
was
scared,
they
were
sure
they
were
on
to
something.
Only
she
has
an
alibi.
She
claims
she
was
with
some
guy
all
night.'

'What
guy?'
Murray
asked,
but
he
knew
the
answer
before
Stewart
spoke.

'Your
brother
Malcolm.
That's
why
I'm
phoning
you.
They've
been
holding
him
since
this
morning.
He's
"helping
with
enquiries"
– you
know
the
routine.
It
doesn't
look
good.'

12
The Beating

SATURDAY,
SEPTEMBER
8
TH
1988

'Small
world.'

'You're
not
a
lightweight
any
more,
Murray.'

The
doorman
whose
stock
in
trade
was
a
memory
for
faces
could
not
hide
his
pleasure
at
remembering
this
one
after
so
many
years.

'I'm
not
seventeen
either.
You've
maybe
moved
up
a
division
since
then
yourself.'

The
doorman
appreciated
the
joke;
he
was
a
man
who
liked
his
jokes
to
be
kept
simple.
'And
the
rest.
About
a
hundred
and
twenty
pounds
since
they
days.'

It
was
late
and
this
was
the
last
of
the
possibilities
his
contact had
given
him.
The
approach
had
not
been
impressive
–
a
dingy
passage
then,
since
he
had
not
taken
the
lift,
two
flights
of
cold
stairs
passing
on
the
first
floor
a
car-insurance
office
on
one
side
and
Wood
Art
Novelties
Ltd
on
the
other.
Perhaps
it
was
the
contrast
with
that
exterior
which
had
helped
to
make
the
club
fashionable.
A
group
of
three
men
and
two
youths
came
into
the
vestibule.
One
of
the
men
said
as
he
passed,
'Hey,
George,
Louie
sent
us,'
in
a
fake
Bronx
accent
which
made
George
laugh
although
the
chances
were
he
had
been
treated
to
it
before.

'The
thing
is,'
he
said,
turning
back
to
Murray,
'you're
not
a member.'

He
was
a
big
man
and
they
had
kitted
him
out
in
the
kind
of suit
worn
by
gangsters
in
forties
movies,
wide-shouldered,
loud,
and
with
a
lot
of
room
in
the
legs.

'I
don't
want
to
gamble,'
Murray
said.
'Just
have
a
drink
– maybe
something
to
eat.'

'I
couldn't
let
you
go
upstairs.'

'That's
all
right.'

'Anyway
it's
full
of
bloody
Chinamen
up
there.'

'I
don't
want
to
gamble.'

'Something
to
eat
and
drink?'

'That's
it.'

In
the
long
room
most
of
the
tables
were
empty
and
a
single
couple
danced
with
melancholy
absorption
to
a
pianist
playing
at
being
Sam
playing
it
again.
There
was
a
lot
of
glitter
in
the
decor
and
an
effect
of
chrome
and
red
leather.
There
were
imitation
machine-guns
on
the
walls
and
fake
bullet
holes
to
match
and
black
and
white
blow-ups
of
stylised
threat
and
ritual
dying
in
which
George
Raft,
Bogart
and
Cagney
featured.
One
end
of
the
bar
had
a
cold
table
and
beyond
that
a
servery
labelled
The
Steak
Out.

The
barman
explained,
'They
got
a
professor
from
the
Art School
to
design
it.
And
students
–
some
of
them
helped
him
.
But
he
was
a
real
professor.'

'Did
he
design
the
doorman's
suit
as
well?'
Murray
asked.

The
barman
grinned.
'The
big
fellow
hates
that
gear.
He
thinks
it
makes
him
look
like
an
idiot.'

'He
could
have
something
there
.
What's
the
food
like?'

The
barman
recited
until
Murray
interrupted,
'What's
the
difference
between
that
and
the
other
one?'

'A
couple
of
quid.
It
comes
with
cheese
and
strips
of
bacon
on
top.
They'll
give
you
a
side
salad
if
you
want
it.'

Although
he
was
not
on
expenses,
Murray
had
to
eat.
It
had
been
a
long
day
since
Eddy
Stewart
had
phoned
to
tell
him
about
Malcolm.
Tomorrow
was
Sunday
when
he
would
visit
Mother. –
Let me tell you about Malcolm, Mother. He's helping the police with their enquiries. He may be able to help because a woman called Frances Fernie claims he spent Friday night in bed with her. I don't want you to worry though or get too upset about that; it's quite possible she's lying. Why would she do that? Because if she wasn't sleeping with Malcolm, it's just possible she was murdering John Merchant – that's right – that John Merchant. There isn't any kind of doubt she slept with Merchant. She talks like a country girl, but she's been around one city or another for some time; lots of people don't have a good ear for changing how they sound. I don't know why she should claim Malcolm was sleeping with her. I don't know how they could have met. – What do you think, Irene?

At
midnight
the
comedian
did
his
act.
All
the
tables
except
one
were
full
.
An
aggrieved
couple
were
steered
away
from
the
empty
table.
That
was
the
one,
Murray
decided
.
The
comedian
was
a
long-time
performer
who
had
recently
made
a
record
that
had
sold
well
enough
to
move
him
upmarket.
In
the
accent
of
Moirhill,
he
told
jokes
about
football,
blacks,
Irish
and
Pakistanis.
The
pianist
had
been
replaced
by
a
group.
People
danced.

–
She
has
the
body
of
a
dancer.
A
lot
of
men
must
have
wanted
to
sleep
with
her.
She
slept
with
John
Merchant,
an
important
man.
Polish
peasants
wanted
to
kill
him,
but
he
was
lucky,
he
knew
a
dirty
joke
and
people
like
to
laugh.
Now
he's
dead.
He
came
a
long
way
to
be
tortured
to
death.