When his father had disappeared into the side room with the policeman, Mark had waved the waiter back over and ordered another double vodka, then pulled out his mobile and called Jeff, despite the disapproving look from an elderly man sitting two chairs away.
Jeff had answered after three rings. ‘I thought we agreed—’
Mark had cut him off. ‘Listen. It’s important.’
The tenor of Mark’s voice had had the desired effect on Jeff. ‘Okay?’ he’d said cautiously.
‘I’m coming through to yours. Now.’
‘Why the fuck would you do that?’ Jeff had sounded genuinely perplexed.
‘I’ve had a video message on my mobile. It’s of me . . . and the girl.’ Mark hadn’t been able to bring himself to say the name because that would have made her real.
‘Where was it taken? In the bar?’
At that point, Mark had suddenly remembered he’d told Jeff he’d never had sex with her. Jesus fuck. The lies just kept mounting up.
‘In the street, near her place, just before she told me to fuck off,’ he’d lied again.
‘Can you see your face in it?’
‘A bit.’ Another lie because in the video you couldn’t see his face, just most of his naked body.
‘Who the hell sent it?’
‘I don’t know, do I?’ Mark had said, thinking what a stupid bastard Jeff could be at times. Christ, if he got a lawyer like Jeff on his case, he’d be done for.
‘Maybe the killer?’ Jeff had said in a frightened voice.
‘That’s why I want to lie low for a bit at your place. In case he knows where I live, as well as my number.’
‘How could he know your number? You didn’t give it to the girl, did you?’
‘No.’ Mark had asked himself the same question and didn’t like the answer he’d come up with. He’d been out of his head on coke and drink that night. He didn’t remember anything after fucking the girl. Didn’t remember passing out. Didn’t even remember if he’d smothered her. But somebody had seen all of it and no doubt when Mark had passed out, had taken his mobile number for future reference. But to do what?
‘Maybe they’re planning on blackmailing you. If they find out your father’s a judge—’
Mark had interrupted him at that point and told Jeff he was catching the next train. ‘Meet me in the Central Hotel bar.’ He’d rung off then, not keen to get involved in any further discussion, especially one involving his father and blackmail.
Now at Waverley Station, his mobile rang again. Checking the screen, he saw Emilie’s name. Mark ignored it. He would text her once he was on the train. He could tell her he’d been sent home ill, but then she might come round to see him. No, he decided, he’d make some excuse about being away on a course for a couple of days. She might buy that.
The train to Queen Street was busy. Mark found himself sharing a table with three young women, all dressed up for a night out clubbing in Glasgow. No drink was allowed on the trains after nine o’clock, but that hadn’t thwarted them.
Mark soon discovered that the Costa Coffee cups they’d carried on didn’t contain coffee, but a pink alcoholic concoction. Their subterfuge worked well, probably because, although chatty, they didn’t appear drunk and behaved impeccably when the inspector arrived to check their tickets. When he left the carriage, the girls offered to ‘share’ their lethal cocktail with Mark and he accepted readily. Even better than the booze and chat, the one opposite, a dark-haired brown-eyed beauty, removed her shoe and used her foot to massage his crotch under the table, which helped Mark forget the mess he was in, for the length of the journey, at least.
Hanging back as the train drew into Queen Street, he let the giggling girls get off. His crotch nuzzler delayed long enough to pass him her mobile number. Mark gave her a grateful smile in return.
He watched the three of them clip clop their way up the platform, either the ridiculous heels or the cocktails they’d consumed contributing to their unsteady gait. As they exited through the barrier, his admirer turned back and gave him a wave which Mark returned, wishing with all his heart that it had been her he’d met on that fateful night out.
The hour of pleasure over, reality came back with a vengeance. Not only that, his bladder seemed suddenly keen to get rid of the vodka tonics he’d downed in his father’s club, augmented by the cocktail potion. His mobile buzzed as he jumped the turnstile into the Gents. Mark expected to discover Emilie’s name on the screen again, having totally forgotten to contact her on the train. However, the text wasn’t from Emilie, but from the unknown number.
Mark’s first instinct was to stamp on the mobile and throw it in the nearest bin. Then the bastard couldn’t contact him, ever again.
But that might prompt his tormentor to contact the police instead.
Mark made for a cubicle, went in and shut the door. Feeling unsteady, either through drink or fear, Mark lowered the lid and sat down.
Then he opened the text.
The buzz of drink and cocaine was wearing off and stark terrifying reality settling back in. He was still high as evidenced by the enhanced colours and sharp vibrant sounds, but the fall was coming and fast. He’d planned to be high when he met his tormentor, but had timed it wrong.
Anger split through the sudden despair and he shouted a litany of silent abuse at the girl who had so fucked up his life. Why had the bitch taken him home? Why not Jeff or any other stupid fucker in that bar? A rush of nausea swept over him and he thought that he would throw up, there on the street.
He stopped and waited, cold sweat popping his forehead.
Gradually the inner swell subsided, but it had brought a flashback of that morning when he’d stood in his own vomit in the dead girl’s bedroom. God, would he never rid himself of these images?
Go to the police and tell them what happened.
The cool, calm voice that appeared in his head was that of his mother. It was so real, so clear, that Mark could have sworn she was standing there beside him.
He straightened up and came to a decision. He would meet his tormentor as planned, but he would tell him that he was going to the police. If he had choked that girl, then it had been an accident. And he definitely hadn’t hung her on that hook.
Buoyed by his new-found flicker of courage, Mark upped his pace.
The rain came on as he approached the meeting place. He stood at the entrance and looked down the narrow, dark, rain-splattered lane. The last time he’d come here, she had been leading the way. All he could think about as he’d walked behind her was the sex that was to follow. Now, he had no idea what awaited him here.