Ted Lyle is what you call a cowardly bastard. He should’ve kept that surveillance laptop in his car. But he was afraid in case the law got wind and nabbed him. So he kept it in Gemma’s. They’d figure it was all her doing and blame the scam on her was how he was looking at it. Naïve, but there you go; that’s Ted for you – not one of life’s great thinkers.
He’d left it under Gemma’s coat, recording, while he stayed in the bar.
All very well and good. Until Greg Swags walked in.
Charlie Swags had two sons. Tony, in his mid-thirties, had about eight years on Greg. Tony’s one of these guys who’d gained his position in life on the back of what his dad had achieved. Thought it gave him standing. Fancied himself as a bit of a hard case. People were afraid of him only because they knew that if they went up against him, they’d have to deal with Charlie.
Greg was different. He never got involved in Charlie’s operations. Didn’t know about the camera set-up. To Greg, Ted Lyle was in the hotel waiting on a working girl in the normal course of business.
They got talking. Small talk mostly, Greg saying he’d just dropped off his fiancée and called in for a beer on the way home, and ‘How’s things with you?’ crap that I won’t bore you with. But somewhere in amongst all this, Gemma’s name gets mentioned. Greg says he knows her, in a way that suggests they’re good friends, and eventually, when he downs his beer, he tells Ted Lyle he hasn’t seen Gemma in a while, that he’ll go up and see how she’s getting on.
You can never plan for things like this. I had no idea Greg was that friendly with Gemma. Certainly not enough to make him take the trouble of going up to see her.
Anyway, that’s the way it went. Greg goes upstairs and Ted heads for the Gents. Ted’s got a bowel problem. The cunt’s forever in the bog. When he comes out, he passes reception and overhears the receptionist taking a call in the office behind the front desk. And by the state she’s in, it’s obvious that she isn’t taking a reservation.
She’s saying something like, ‘Speak up, miss. Which room number?’ Down goes the receiver, and the receptionist’s running into the porter’s office screaming, ‘There’s a girl being murdered in 720. There’s a girl being murdered in 720.’
Ted jumps into the lift and when he reaches Gemma’s room, the door’s open and Greg’s lying on the floor. He’s not what you’d call covered in blood, but there’s enough of it on him to suggest he’d come into contact with Gemma, who’s lying on the bed in bits. And Ted’s thinking he must’ve had a bad pint, because suddenly it doesn’t wanna stay down. Which means he’s in the bog again. But he can’t stay in it for long. The law’ll be on their way, and he does not want Charlie Swags asking him questions like, ‘Why the fuck didn’t you get Greg out of there before they arrived?’ Ted knows that when questions like that turn up, he’s wishing he’d brought a toilet with him. So it’s, ‘Greg, get the fuck up,’ while having enough of his wits about him to grab the hidden camera. And up Greg gets, drowsy at first, then one look at Gemma and his legs are giving out on him again, Lyle going, ‘Don’t look at her, don’t look at her,’ while following his own advice, and that was that.
They were out of there before the law arrived. Down the fire escape and through the car park. Greg gets in his car, Ted in his, then he remembers the surveillance laptop. No problem. Mr No Problem’s got it all figured out. There’s fuck all to worry about after all. The evidence of who killed Gemma’ll be on the laptop. Everything’ll be all right.
But the laptop is gone. It’s not in Gemma’s car. Things aren’t all right after all.
And a cop is turning into the car park with his foot to the floor and his siren blaring and banging into Greg’s car as he tries to make for the exit. Lyle legs it and Charlie Swags is back on the phone raving like a lunatic. Now to give you some idea of what I’m talking about here: that nut I mentioned earlier who was on the loose in Dublin. Some TV shrink had said: ‘It’s not so much that he attracts his victims, he abstracts them,’ which led to him being called ‘Picasso’. A reporter later nicknamed him ‘Ripcasso’ but it never stuck. Everybody’s running around with a nickname in this town, ‘Chilly’ Winters among them. And because Winters was still being unreasonable, now, for the first time in twenty years, by the way Charlie was adding it up, it soon became clear that Winters had an opportunity to hit him where it hurt. ‘You grab my kid, Charlie, I’ll grab yours.’ Has a certain logic to it. Winters knew Greg was no killer. Winters was acting out of revenge. And that’s what was getting Charlie going.
I’d never heard Charlie in such a state. Usually he’s the coolest bastard you’d ever come across under pressure. ‘This is bad, Red,’ he was going. ‘This is bad. Winters has enough to put Greg away for life.’
‘Look, Charlie,’ I said, ‘you’re worrying about nothing. Picasso’s victims are bound to carry his hallmark. When he strikes again, Greg’ll be in custody at the time and Winters’ll have to let him go. I’m amazed he’s even holding him. Greg Picasso? The idea’s ludicrous.’
To be honest, I wasn’t in much form for this. I’d a glass of cream soda in my hand. My throat was like wire wool from a wedding do I’d been at. I’d ended up staggering home and conking out on the sofa. Half an hour had gone by since this had happened and what Charlie was telling me was the first I’d heard of it. OK, Greg had blood on him, but he’d been in a car crash, it could have been his own. No witnesses had seen him in Gemma’s room. Fair enough, reception security cameras would later show him in the hotel, going into the lift. But none of it added up past the fact that Winters had found a Swags on the scene and was holding him for no other reason than that. Hardly hard evidence. It was all a bit hazy. An hour or so later Charlie got back to me with: ‘Winters even went to Greg’s flat and took his dog, Red.’
‘His dog? Why?’
‘How the fuck should I know? He’s hardly likely to tell me.’
I still didn’t know what was going on.
But as far as Charlie’s first phone call was concerned, to me it was just a frantic father seeing all sorts of possibilities that didn’t exist, with me trying to explain why they never would.
‘What do you want me to do, Charlie?’
‘Find Picasso.’
‘Find Picasso? Charlie, what the fuck do I know about catching serial killers?’
‘If anybody can catch him, Red, you can. You always do what you put your mind to.’
‘I wouldn’t hold out too much hope on this one. The law’s been after the cunt for the last eight or nine years and look how far they’ve got. Anyway, you’re not even thinking straight, Charlie. It’s the laptop you want. Not Picasso.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because it recorded him killing Gemma. Which means he doesn’t know about the camera. If he did, he wouldn’t’ve killed her on it. And to steal it, he’d first have to know about it. Besides, a guy like that hasn’t evaded the law by going around drawing attention to himself breaking into cars and setting off their alarms. With the amount of rooms in that place, any number of people could’ve seen him.’
‘Gemma Small’s car wasn’t broken into, Red.’
This was getting confusing.
‘Look, Charlie, a girl took it.’
‘How do you know?’
‘You said Ted Lyle heard the receptionist taking a call from a “miss” telling her that Gemma was being killed. How could that miss have known what was going on in Gemma’s top-floor room unless she’d been watching it on screen? She couldn’t have been in the room. She couldn’t have been outside looking up. If she had, she’d’ve run into reception, not phoned. She’ll hand it in. Who the fuck’s gonna sit on that type of evidence? Besides, the family of one of his victims put up a reward. That’ll make her hand it in if nothing else.’
‘What if she doesn’t?’
I was hoping he wouldn’t ask me that. ‘You’re thinking she might play the scam? Blackmail Gemma’s clients?’
‘I would in her shoes.’
‘Small-time thieves aren’t you, Charlie.’
The laptop held at least a couple of dozen of Gemma’s clients. Guys with money. Even a small-timer could squeeze each of them for fifty grand a head. There’s over a million in itself.
It was a pity we hadn’t told Gemma about the scam. She could have threatened Picasso with the camera and made him back off. But we couldn’t have her going around knowing about it in case it got exposed. Not with Charlie’s name behind it. After we’d pulled Gemma from the hotel that night, Charlie would have had her done in. Though he didn’t know I’d planned on her being found dead with that suicide note in her pocket. As far as a small-time thief was concerned, one might hit Gemma’s clients for small-time amounts. But we’d clean the cunts without them even seeing us. One or two usually crack though. Gemma would be hauled in for questioning. Fuck that. That sort of carry-on can get messy. We couldn’t tell her – that’s all there was to it.
‘Ted Lyle’s here with me, Red. He said if a girl has it, it might be a Lucille Kells. He can’t think of anyone else who’d have keys to Gemma’s car. He’s positive it wasn’t broken into.’
The one name I didn’t want to hear. If I’d known Lucille was gonna be brought into it, I’d’ve held back on the analysing. I certainly wouldn’t have mentioned that ‘miss’ part. Not that I’d’ve got away with it for any length of time. Charlie knows me. He knows how quickly I come up with likely possibilities, the way I was doing, thick head or no thick head. He’d have worked it out himself eventually. It would’ve given me a bit of time though to figure a way to keep him from going after her.
‘Listen, Charlie, all we’re doing here is speculating. Gimme Kells’ details,’ I said, as though I’d never heard of her. ‘I’ll check her out and get back to you.’
‘Don’t let me down, Red. If there was ever a time I need you to come through for me, it’s now.’
‘I’ll do what I can, Charlie, you know me.’
Down goes the phone. The quick way to find out whether Lucille had it was to give her a call. I rang her mobile. She answered. I said something to keep her on the line, rang the built-in phone in my laptop, heard it ringing and knew she had it with her.
If Charlie thought to do what I’d just done, he’d know she had it for sure.
There was one way out of this. If I could get the laptop and send Winters a printout of Picasso killing Gemma, Greg would be released. All I’d have to do is find some way of making Charlie believe that Lucille’d had fuck all to do with it. But first I’d have to get that laptop back before Charlie sent a squad of men over to take her flat apart looking for it.