Mickey went to the club after he had visited Cathy’s flat and finished brushing out his wigs and pressing his dresses for the evening show. His close friend Leyla, a large-boned Mancunian with a deep throaty voice and impossibly large breasts, sighed heavily as he consoled Mickey.
‘Poor old Casper, eh? What do you reckon the score was there? Do you think he was up to something?’
Mickey shrugged.
Leyla, always letting his mouth go, said loudly, ‘Well, you spent a lot of time with him. Didn’t you suss anything? I mean, you and him was mates . . .’
Mickey grabbed him by the chin and, pressing his face close, said nastily, ‘Why don’t you just shut up, Leyla, give your brain a breather?’
Leyla’s heavily made-up eyes were wide with shock - which was what Desrae noticed when he walked in.
‘What the fuck’s going on here?’
Leyla said quietly, ‘Just a girlish tiff, that’s all.’
Mickey stood up and said, in a high breathy voice, ‘Sorry, Leyla. I think I’m overwrought, what with Casper and everything.’ His eyes filled with tears and his bosom heaved and both Leyla and Desrae were all over him, petting him and telling him to sit down and relax. He’d had a big shock, as Desrae pointed out over and over again.
Mickey allowed them to fuss him, but when Desrae left the room to get them all a large brandy, he stared at Leyla malevolently and whispered: ‘You keep your thoughts to yourself, OK? Otherwise you might just find yourself in big trouble.’
Leyla, real name Ronald MacVey, felt the first stirrings of fear. Michaela had always been a bit different from the other girls, had always kept his distance. After work, the others often made their way to a club in Tavistock Street where they loved to party in full drag and make-up, and put on a show for the straight men and women who enjoyed drag watching. Michaela had never done that. Now he thought about it, Michaela rarely mixed with his co-workers outside the club. A few of the other girls thought he had a secret lover, a real name. It happened like that sometimes. They got a politician or a TV star and afterwards kept a low profile.
Now, though, Leyla wondered what the hell Mickey was involved in that would make him utter such violent threats? Surely Casper had just topped himself? It happened a lot in the sex game. It got to you in the end. Maybe he couldn’t hack it with the toms no more. Maybe he had had a thing with Michaela. Whatever it was, it was frightening Michaela, and he was bloody terrifying Leyla.
Cathy and Richard were in her flat drinking more tea and trying to think where Casper could have hidden anything he knew to be dangerous. The floorboards had been pulled up and all the shops turned inside out but there wasn’t a thing to go on.
‘I’ve had my boys pull his house apart, same again. Not a fucking sausage. Maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree,’ Richard said gloomily.
‘So there was no note, to say why he topped himself?’
‘Maybe the post mortem will show up something. Assisted suicide isn’t unheard of, you know.’
Cathy’s eyes widened. ‘You mean, he was murdered?’
Richard scratched his chin. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? And if Terry Campbell is involved then I wouldn’t rule out nothing. What time is Peter from the shop supposed to be here? He could give us a lead maybe.’
Cathy glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘About an hour ago. Peter’s only young, and I think he’s frightened of the Old Bill so go easy on him. He only came out about a year ago and he’s nineteen top whack. He’s very effeminate, too, so don’t intimidate him, OK?’
Richard grinned. His deep-set blue eyes looked positively evil as he answered: ‘Why would I intimidate him?’
‘You look frightening at the best of times. When you smile you can look terrifying, and you know it. You play on it. Only people like me and Susan P know that deep down you’re like a teddy bear.’
He rolled his eyes and groaned. ‘Well, don’t let that get around my men, will you? I’d lose all me street cred overnight.’
Before Cathy could answer the doorbell rang. She came back accompanied by Peter’s boyfriend, a small rotund man in his fifties called Brian Hacker. Brian was a businessman dealing in overseas investments - namely time shares. He had a permanent smile that displayed many gold teeth and was so black-skinned he shone like a well-oiled piece of ebony.
‘Where’s Peter?’ Richard demanded bluntly.
‘He’s gone, taken his clothes, everything. He’s also taken my jewellery and petty cash.’ Brian looked very upset. ‘I always keep about a grand in the flat. For expenses, you know. That’s gone. He’s gone.’
‘Do you think he’s fucked off, or do you think someone has removed him from the premises?’
Brian thought for a few seconds, then: ‘I think he’s fucked off, meself. He looked frightened this morning. I can’t explain it, but he wasn’t right, you know? I think something or someone has scared him away. We were happy enough, no big love affair but we got on well and had a rapport of sorts. I took care of him, and he took care of me. I like a bit of the exotic now and again; Peter provided it.’
He looked at Cathy as he said the last part and she nodded.
‘Have you any idea where he could have gone?’
Brian thought hard. ‘Originally he’s from a place in Essex called Little Dunmow or something like that. His sister still lives out that way, but they weren’t close. You know what the gay community is like: most of us leave our families behind with our old lives. It’s difficult for some people to accept the real us, especially family. I know his parents have nothing to do with him. In fact, his father threatened him with a shotgun last time he visited his mother. Peter was a sensitive boy, really felt things. He was very cut up about it.’
Richard lit a cigarette. Blowing the smoke towards the ceiling, he asked, ‘Did he have any other friends he might have gone to?’
Brian shook his head. ‘Not that I know of, and that’s the truth. The boy was small-boned, very feminine-looking, you know what I’m saying? One look at him and you knew he was a pillow pusher. Even his voice sounded like a bad recording of Judy Garland. He took a lot of flak because of that, kept himself to himself. He’d already had a few beatings, see. Other than working in the shop and being with me, he didn’t really have another life. I took care of him, made sure he was OK.’ His voice broke and he coughed to hide his distress.
Richard rolled his eyes at the ceiling. ‘So there was no one else?’ he persisted insensitively. ‘A lot of the boys had their daddies, men like yourself, but they also have a lover on the quiet. You’re sure there was no one else?’
Brian thought for a few seconds before answering.
‘That boy was a loner, man, and in all honesty I don’t have no truck with boys who have secret lives. That’s how you get AIDS, man, you hear what I’m saying? He wasn’t promiscuous, I know that, I’d lay my last penny on it. He had me and I was enough for what he wanted.’
‘Did he leave anything behind at all?’
Brian shook his head. ‘It’s like he never existed. Not even a pair of pants in the laundry basket. I checked.’
Richard stubbed out his cigarette. Then: ‘Do you know of a man called Terry Campbell?’
Brian nodded. ‘Heard of him certainly, but I don’t know him. I like the exotic, man, I admit that, but what Campbell offers ain’t my cup of tea.’ He paused for a second and then said seriously, ‘You telling me that Peter was involved with
him
?’
Richard saw fear and repugnance in the man’s eyes and shook his head. ‘Not directly, no, but the man he worked with might have been. Casper, his co-worker, topped himself.’
Brian’s eyes widened, showing yellowing whites. ‘Is that a fact? Nice old man too. Always polite when I went into the shop. He put the hit on Peter, you know. Peter told him no. Casper wanted him to do a bit of video work, but the boy was shy, man, really shy. That wasn’t his trip at all. He was effeminate but not a performer, you know what I’m saying?’
‘Well, thanks for your help, we appreciate it,’ Gates said. ‘If Peter gets in touch, you make sure you let us know, OK?’
Brian nodded. ‘Gonna miss that boy, he was good company in his own way. Never argued, never caused no upset. Just a nice boy, you know what I’m saying?’
Cathy touched the man’s arm and said gently, ‘You’re right there, he was a very nice young man.’
Brian stood up to leave, then turning towards Gates said seriously: ‘He ain’t gonna get himself hurt, is he? I mean, if that Campbell is involved then something dirty is going down. I have a few faces in Brixton and Tulse Hill if you need a bit of extra muscle, know what I’m saying?’
‘I know what you’re saying and I’ll bear it in mind,’ Gates told him.
‘That boy wouldn’t leave me without a word unless he was in big trouble, and he wouldn’t rob me, man, because he knew he didn’t have to. I would have given him the money if he’d asked. And I certainly never kept anyone in my home longer than they wanted to be there, you understand me?’
‘We’ll find him, don’t worry,’ Richard promised.
Brian nodded. ‘I sure hope so. I hate to think of him running scared, and if Campbell is involved then he really has something to be scared of, doesn’t he?’ As he walked to the door he added an afterthought: ‘I don’t know if this will help, but I heard through the grapevine that Campbell has a flat in Norwood. I remember someone saying something about it a while ago. He bought it for his sister. You know she’s black, not light-skinned like him?’
Cathy shook her head.
‘Yeah, black as night, man. I heard another rumour too: that his sis has two children, and some people say they’re Campbell’s.’ He grimaced. ‘And they call me and mine weird, man! But I never wanted no one I was related to, you know what I’m saying?’
Cathy showed the man to the door. When she walked back into the lounge, Richard commented: ‘If he’d said “you know what I’m saying” once more, I think I would have done him a permanent damage.’
‘It’s just his way. I liked him. He’s obviously worried about Peter and so am I. Do you think the boy knows anything?’
‘He either knows something or suspects something. Until we locate him, we can’t speculate. I’m interested in this stuff about Campbell’s sister. I heard the rumours years ago. Campbell is light-skinned, looks Mediterranean, but his father was black. The sister is stunning, apparently, and he’s always been that bit too close to her. The parents were divorced. His father was an old-time bouncer: big, black and mean. His mother’s only a little woman, but a real hard bitch. I remember having dealings with her years ago when Terry was first spreading his wings. Started out pimping for his cousin and gradually progressed to the big time. His real name is Trevale, he prefers Terry, for business purposes anyway. He’s a Jamaican white man and thrives on it. Straddles two cultures and uses them both to his advantage. I think his mum needs a visit, as does Peter’s sister. I’ll get on to it now. Want to come with me?’
Cathy nodded. ‘This is all really weird, isn’t it? I mean, we don’t actually know if anything’s wrong, do we? It’s all supposition.’
Richard gave one of his rare unforced smiles, and Cathy was reminded of how good-looking he could be when he wasn’t acting his usual hard-faced self.
‘Look, Cathy, where Campbell is concerned nothing is ever cut and dried. He’s everyone’s worst nightmare. He’s scum, but he’s clever scum. The lives he’s ruined can’t even be counted. I remember the first time I came across his handiwork. It was a young boy working the Cross. We’d brought him in for soliciting. The poor little fucker had tried to pull an off-duty Vice copper. Anyway, the long and the short of it was he was scarred up like you’ve never seen. I mean, this kid had been tortured in the name of fun. With cigarettes and knives and all sorts. If I told you it all you’d throw up, Cathy. I know I nearly did. I felt sorry for him, he was completely destroyed.
‘Well, it was all Campbell’s doing, and a while later we raided a bloke’s house in Cheam, of all fucking places, and saw the boy being mutilated on a video. I have never wanted to harm anyone as much as I did that day! We’ve been after Campbell a few times but he always slides off the hook. Now, though, I intend to get the fucker, get him once and for all.’
Richard looked so upset Cathy had an urge to go to him and comfort him. The thought nearly made her smile because he was a big strong man who looked after everyone else. Instead she said softly, ‘You’re a nice man, Richard Gates, you know that, don’t you?’
He looked up at her. ‘Well, let’s keep that between ourselves, shall we?’
‘I’ll get my coat.’
‘You do that, it looks like it might rain.’
He helped her on with it, enjoying the feel of her close to him. Enjoying having a legitimate reason to touch her.
Together they left her flat and made their way to the Railton Road and Trevale’s mother’s house.
Chapter Forty-One
Terry Campbell looked at the boy beside him and smiled. The boy didn’t smile back. He was staring at Terry’s mobile phone, and trying to figure out a way to get his hands on it. He had no idea where he was, or what was going to happen to him. All he could remember was having a drink with this man, and then waking up here.
Johnny Cartwright was nearly eighteen, though he looked much younger than that. He wore his hair long and flowing, his eyes were a deep green and his teeth were white and even.
He knew he was good-looking. He had been making a living on the streets of London for over two years and in that time had heard a lot about Terry Campbell. When Campbell had approached him the night before, Johnny had decided to take the proffered drink and then scoot at the first opportunity. He’d heard whispers about what happened to the boys Campbell took up with.
But at the same time, he was not a man you insulted. You just avoided him as best you could.
Now Terry walked to the corner of the room and opened a small fridge. Inside there was beer and wine and also bottled milk shakes. He took out a strawberry one and handed it to the boy. Then he went to the window and stared out of it.