Genna looked at me. ‘You know about that?’
I nodded.
‘Not all that long,’ Genna said. ‘A few years, maybe.’
‘How much did she use?’
Genna shrugged. ‘She was always trying to quit, so sometimes she got it right down to hardly anything, but then she’d get back on it again and start using more.’
‘Do you know where she got it from?’
‘Could be anyone. It’s not hard to buy stuff round here.’
‘What about money? I imagine it’d be hard to maintain a habit on just a barmaid’s wages.’
‘Fucking right.’
‘So where did Anna get the extra money from?’
Genna shrugged. ‘No idea …’
‘Did she earn anything from modelling?’
Genna just laughed.
‘How about prostitution then?’ I said.
She stopped laughing. ‘I wouldn’t know anything about that …’
‘About what?’
She shrugged.
‘Come on, Genna,’ I said gently. ‘I just need to know, that’s all.’
She looked at me. ‘Anna wasn’t a whore, OK? I mean, she didn’t do it all the time or anything. She just … well, she just needed the money sometimes. A lot of them do it, you know …’
‘Addicts?’
‘Yeah … it’s the only way they can get enough cash.’
I nodded. ‘Would Anna have worked through an escort agency or anything?’
‘Christ, no. She’d just … well, sometimes she might pick up someone in here, but most of the time I think she just worked the streets.’
‘Would she do that after work?’
‘Yeah …’
‘Do you think that’s where she was going the night she disappeared?’
‘Probably. I mean, we all knew, you know … she’d finish work, get herself all tarted up in the toilets, probably shoot up at the same time, then she’d put on her coat and fuck off.’
The door to the smoking area swung open then, and Psycho Billy leaned through and called out, ‘Fuck’s sake, Genna, how much longer are you going to be?’
‘Yeah, all right,’ she called back. ‘I’m just coming.’ As Billy went back inside, she dropped her cigarette on the ground and said to me, ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Did you see anyone following Anna that night?’ I asked her.
‘No.’
‘Did she have a boyfriend?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Pimp?’
Genna shook her head. ‘Anna didn’t have anybody. She knew plenty of people — work colleagues, customers, dealers — and it wasn’t as if she didn’t get on with them, or that they didn’t like her … I mean, she wasn’t lonely or anti-social or anything. She was just … I don’t know …’
‘Solitary?’ I suggested.
Genna nodded. ‘Yeah … it was like she lived in her own little world, her own little bubble … do you know what I mean? You could be with her, talk to her, spend a night working with her, and it’d all seem fine … but then afterwards, later on, there’d just be this empty space in your head where your memories of her should be.’ Genna looked at me. ‘Does that make any sense?’
‘Yeah,’ I said slowly. ‘Yeah, it does.’
She sniffed and sighed. ‘Look, I really have to go — ’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘And thanks, you know … thanks for taking the time to talk to me. I really appreciate it.’
‘OK,’ she said hurriedly, turning to go.
‘Did you tell any of this to the police?’ I asked her.
She paused. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘They never asked me anything.’
‘Right … well, thanks again, Genna. And if you think of anything else, my number’s on the card I gave you — office and mobile. Call me any time.’
‘Yeah …’
‘And good luck with it,’ I said.
‘With what?’
‘Staying clean.’
She looked at me for a moment, instinctively rubbing at the faded old needle tracks on her arm, and then, without another word, she turned round and left.
I didn’t stay there much longer. Another quick drink and a cigarette while I mulled over what Genna had told me, and then I was on my way. The rain had stopped altogether now, and although the night was still cold, the air felt fresh and clear. As I headed back down the street, I could hear the heavy bass thump of music in the distance — doomp-doomp, doomp-doomp, doomp-doomp, doomp-doomp — and I guessed the nightclubs were beginning to come alive.
I looked at my watch. It was 10.45.
Later than I’d thought.
And now that I was out in the fresh air, I was also beginning to realise that I was a little bit drunker than I’d thought. I started thinking about a taxi then. I knew it was the sensible thing to do, but it would mean leaving my car here overnight, and that would mean having to come back and get it in the morning. But if I didn’t get a taxi, if I drove home in this condition and got stopped by the police …
That’s what I was thinking about, not really paying attention to anything else, when three things happened almost at once. The first thing was, I spotted the silver-grey Renault parked halfway down the street, and although there was undoubtedly a gap of about half a second or so between seeing it and realising that I’d seen it, I really don’t think that half-second delay made any difference. The second thing was, as I paused to think about the Renault, a voice called out to me from the shadows of an alley on my left.
‘Got a light, mate?’
And the third thing was, as I turned instinctively to the sound of the voice, a heavily-ringed fist hammered into the side of my head.
After that, it’s all a bit vague. I half-remember staggering back against a brick wall, almost knocked out by the blow, and then I think someone hit me again, this time low in the belly, and as I doubled over in pain, someone else grabbed me by the arm and kind of half-swung, half-dragged me into the alley, and then I think I must have lost my balance and fallen over — or maybe they hit me again — because the next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground getting the shit kicked out of me.
It was too dark, and it happened too quickly, for me to get a look at them, and I didn’t get to hear their voices either, because they never said a word. They just piled into me — kicking, punching, stomping … all in furious silence, and all I could do was lie there and take it. After a while my body didn’t seem to belong to me any more. It was just a thing, a lump of meat, and whatever was happening to it was happening a long way away.
I don’t know how long the beating lasted — probably no more than thirty seconds or so — and I have no recollection whatsoever of the kick to the head that finally knocked me out … all I know is that some time later I woke up in the alley, slumped against the wall, covered in blood and hurting like hell.
I was cold and wet.
It was raining again.
I checked all my pockets, but nothing was missing. Wallet, phone, keys, money … it was all still there. As I took a deep breath, sucking down the ice-cold air, I felt something bubbling in the back of my throat.
I coughed, bringing up blood.
It hurt.
I spat it out.
‘Fuck,’ I said.
Then I leaned over and threw up.
7
I drove home via the back roads, keeping to a steady 40 mph all the way, and somehow I managed to get back without crashing the car or getting stopped by the police. Lights were showing in the windows of Bridget’s flat, and her boyfriend’s car was parked outside the house. And when I went inside, I could hear the sound of soft music playing upstairs.
I let myself into my flat, went into the front room, and poured myself a glass of whisky. I drank half of it, topped it up, then lit a cigarette and went into the bathroom. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I was surprised to see that my face wasn’t too badly mashed up. There was an ugly red swelling on the side of my head where the first punch had landed, a deep gash above my left eye, and a nasty-looking cut on the bridge of my nose. But apart from that, and a split bottom lip, it was nowhere near as bad as it could have been.