Ian laughed and rumpled Merrick’s hair. His light-blue eyes glinted wickedly, holding Merrick’s stare. ‘You really are an innocent abroad, aren’t you? What I’m saying is, what do you like best? Handing it out or taking it?’ His hand strayed down to Merrick’s trousers. Just when the detective thought he was going to be groped in a way that no one apart from his wife had ever done, Ian’s hand slid to one side and moved round to stroke Merrick’s buttock.
‘That depends,’ Merrick croaked.
‘On what?’ Ian asked suggestively, moving so close that Merrick could feel the other man’s erection against his leg.
‘On how much I trust the person I’m with,’ Merrick replied, trying not to let his revulsion show in voice or expression.
‘Oh, I’m very trustworthy, me. And you look like the reliable kind too.’
‘Are yez not a bit worried, like, about strangers? With this serial killer doing the rounds?’ Merrick asked, using the opportunity of putting his empty bottle back on the bar to move away slightly from Ian’s insistent body.
Ian’s smile was cocky. ‘Why should I be? These guys that are getting topped don’t hang out in places like this. Stands to reason that this isn’t where this mad bastard’s picking them up.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I’ve seen the pictures in the papers, and I’ve never spotted a single one of them out on the scene. And believe me, I know the scene. That’s how I knew you were the new kid in town.’ Ian moved closer again and thrust a hand in Merrick’s back pocket. He ran his fingers over the hard outline of the handcuffs. ‘Hey, that feels interesting. I’m starting to get a picture of what you and me could be like.’
Merrick forced a laugh. ‘For all you know, I could be the killer.’
‘So what if you are?’ Ian said, all self-assurance. ‘I’m not the type this fucking nutter goes for. He likes closet queens, not macho men. If he picked me up, he’d want to fuck, not commit murder. Besides, a good-looking guy like you doesn’t need to kill somebody to get a fuck.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe so, but how do I know you’re not the killer?’
‘Tell you what, just to prove I’m not, I’ll let you top tonight. You’ll be in charge. I’ll be the one with handcuffs on.’
Carry on like this and you won’t be wrong, Merrick thought to himself. He reached down and gripped Ian’s wrist hard, removing his hand from the pocket. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Not tonight. Like you said, I’m the new kid in town. I’m not going home with anybody till I know a bit more about them.’ He released Ian’s wrist and stepped back. ‘Nice talking to you, Ian. Thanks for the drink.’
Ian’s face altered in an instant. His eyes narrowed and the smile changed to a snarl. ‘Wait a minute, Geordie. I don’t know what sort of poxy Watch With Mother clubs you’re used to, but in this city, you don’t get into a clinch with somebody and take drinks off him if you’re not prepared to come across.’
Merrick tried to get away, but the press of bodies round the bar made any movement difficult. ‘I’m sorry if there’s been a misunderstanding,’ he said.
Ian’s arm shot out and gripped Merrick firmly just below his bicep. The pain was excruciating. Merrick found a moment to wonder what sort of person actively sought out pain like this as part of their sexual pleasure. Ian thrust his face so close that Merrick could smell the bad breath he’d learned to associate with amphetamine abuse. ‘It’s not a misunderstanding,’ Ian said. ‘You came here tonight for sex. There’s no other reason to be here. So sex is what we’re going to do.’
Merrick swivelled on the balls of his feet and jabbed his elbow sharply underneath Ian’s ribcage. His breath burst out of him in a sudden ‘whoosh’, and he doubled over, letting go of Merrick’s arm in the reflex of clutching at his solar plexus. ‘No, we’re not,’ Merrick said mildly, moving away through the space that had cleared around him as if by magic.
On his way across the room, one of the other undercover officers fell into step beside him. ‘Nice one, Sarge,’ he said out of the corner of his mouth. ‘You did what we’ve all been wanting to do ever since we got in here.’
Merrick stopped and smiled at the constable. ‘You’re supposed to be doing an undercover. Either fucking dance with me or fuck off and let one of these poofters chat you up.’
Leaving the constable open mouthed, Merrick walked over to the far side of the dance floor and leaned against the wall. The commotion he’d left at the bar had died down. Ian pushed his way through the crowd, still holding his stomach, and left the club, shooting venomous glares at Merrick.
Before long, Merrick had company again. This time, he recognized his companion as a detective constable from one of the other divisions who had only joined the murder squad that day. He was sweating under the weight of heavy leather jacket and trousers that looked suspiciously like standard police motorcycle issue. He leaned close to Merrick, so he wouldn’t be overheard in the crowd round the dance floor and said urgently, ‘Skip, there’s a guy I think we should take a look at.’
‘Why?’
‘I overheard him mouthing off to a couple of blokes that he knew the dead guys. He was boasting about it. Reckoned there weren’t many that could say that. And I heard him say that the killer must be a body-builder like him, on account of lugging bodies around. He was saying he bet there were people here tonight who didn’t know they knew a murderer. Boasting, like, all the way.’
‘Why don’t you bring him in yourself?’ Merrick asked, his interest quickened by what he’d heard, but reluctant to deprive the constable of the credit of pulling in a suspect.
‘I tried to strike up conversation with him, but he gave me the brush-off.’ The constable gave a wry smile. ‘Maybe I’m not his type, skip.’
‘And what makes you think I am?’ Merrick demanded, not sure whether he was being subtly insulted here.
‘He’s wearing the same kind of gear as you.’
Merrick sighed. ‘You better point him out to me.’
‘Don’t look now, sir, but he’s standing over by the disco speakers. IC1 male, five foot six, short dark hair, blue eyes, clean shaven, heavy Scottish accent. Dressed like you. Drinking a pint of lager.’
Merrick leaned back against the wall and slowly scanned the room. He got the suspect on the first pass. ‘Got him, I think,’ he said. ‘OK, son, thanks. Look fucked off when I go.’
He shrugged away from the wall and left the constable practising his depressed look. Slowly, Merrick moved round the room until he found himself next to the man who’d been pointed out to him. He had the bulky build of a weightlifter and the face of a boxer. His outfit was almost identical to Merrick’s, save that his jacket had more buckles and zips. ‘Busy in here tonight,’ Merrick said.
‘Aye. Lots of new faces. Half of them probably polis,’ the man said. ‘See that jerk you were just talking to? He might as well have come in his Panda car. Did you ever see a more obvious busy in all your born days?’
‘That’s why I fucked him off sharpish,’ Merrick replied.
‘I’m Stevie, by the way,’ the man said. ‘Busy night you’re having with the unwanted solicitations. I saw you sort that toerag out earlier. Nicely done, pal.’
‘Thanks. I’m Don.’
‘Nice to meet you, Don. You new about here, then? Accent like that, you’re obviously not a local.’
‘Does everybody know everybody else here?’ Merrick asked with a wry smile.
‘Pretty much. It’s a real village, Temple Fields. ’Specially the S&M scene. Let’s face it, if