There was no one left to dispute Montgomery’s story. He admitted a lot in the hope that a show of honesty and contrition would validate his denial of involvement in Gloria’s death.
But the Crown charged him with murder and the jury agreed.
The evidence regarding Bill and Sam’s deaths was inconclusive. Montgomery was right, the scene had been a forensic man’s wet dream and now that they knew to look, his fingerprints and DNA were all over the place. But Montgomery had never denied being in Bill’s office when the shots were fired, though he vehemently refuted pulling the trigger. At the very least, he had watched the two men die and made no attempt to call for help. That was enough to convince the jury of his ruthlessness and he was found guilty on two more counts of murder, though Eilidh thought Montgomery’s defence might succeed in getting them overturned on appeal.
Whatever the truth, James Montgomery was going away for a very long time to a place where policemen were welcomed with a special kind of glee. There would be no family visits and no one waiting for him if he ever came out. It was justice of a sort, but I kept thinking of his fading wife and wondering if she could ever reconcile the price paid for discovering her sister’s fate.
The Divines stopped in front of a building I knew well, though I’d only visited it once before.
Shaz grinned.
'Recognise it?'
'You’ve got to be kidding me.'
'No joke, William.'
We’d unknowingly had the same destination in mind, but if I’d not been led there I might easily have walked past. Bill’s old club was no longer the blank-faced dive where we’d met on that first night. It had undergone a paint job and a glowing peppermint-green sign proclaimed it BUMPERS.
Jacque looked admiringly at the building’s fresh facade.
'And who do you think the new management are?'
I shook my head.
'I can honestly say I’ve not got a Scooby.' The Divines’ excited smiles registered. 'You?'
They chorused Yes! Jacque caught me by the elbow.
'Come on, William, or you’ll miss your treat.'
The doorman smiled at the women then put his broad body in front of me.
'Are you a member, sir?'
'It’s all right, Dave, he’s with us.'
Dave looked unsure, but he stepped out of the way and let me through. The lounge where I had performed my act and the girls had danced for the policemen was transformed.
Banks of purple couches now grouped around its edge and where the mirror ball had half-heartedly rotated, a massive crystal chandelier shimmered from the ceiling. Airbrushed photographs of big-breasted women with wet, open mouths hung around the walls in oversized gilt frames. I thought that the models looked mildly pained, as if they had eaten something that disagreed with them. But all of this decoration was merely an adjunct to the room’s focus: a mirrored stage pierced by a silver pole.
'No offence girls, you’ve done a grand job, but I’m not sure this is my kind of place.'
'It never was, William,' Shaz nodded to a waitress. 'But wait till you see this, it’s right up your street.'
I’d thought I’d seen her face before and been mistaken so many times that I had learnt not to trust my senses. But when she stepped out from the darkness I knew that this time she was for real.
She strode across the small stage wearing a smart black business suit edged with white cuffs, raising her hands palm out, showing they were empty, then conjured forth a red silk handkerchief from nowhere. Her slender fingers folded the silk in on itself and made it disappear. She held her hands up once more as if amazed by their emptiness. Her eyes opened wide as she ripped off the white cuffs one by one and threw them behind her, then repeated the trick, conjuring the red square from nothing. Her smile was bright and daring as she moved with the music, slowly peeling off her conservative jacket, flinging it in the same direction as the cuffs, revealing a lacy black bra beneath. Once again the handkerchief suddenly appeared between her fingers. She waved it in the air, folded it away, then looked down at her skirt, raising her eyebrows cheekily as she slid down its zip, dropping the skirt to the floor and kicking it off-stage. Now she was wearing nothing but her underwear and shoes. The red hanky was relentless. It appeared again in her hand and once more she folded it into extinction. The trick was simple, something a precocious six-year-old could master, but I was mesmerised. I shook my head, a smile working its way across my face as her bra and knickers each hit the deck in turn and she stood before us naked. I got to my feet, ready to applaud, but she wasn’t finished yet. The naughty magician glanced down at herself, put her hand towards her sex and once more drew forth the red scrap of material.
She flung her hands in the air, made the hanky vanish for the last time and bent into a bow.
There was a dismal mid-afternoon round of applause from the half-empty tables. I got to my feet, started clapping my hands as hard as I could and cheered. Shaz and Jacque smiled at me, pleased I’d enjoyed their joke. They couldn’t know that it wasn’t the handkerchief trick I was applauding, but another more spectacular illusion. Sylvie looked in my direction and our eyes met.
We were the only people in the dressing-room. Sylvie cleared a space amongst the discarded fragments of costumes — the used tissues, abandoned makeup, kirby grips and hairbrushes — and pulled herself up onto the counter with her back to the mirror. I drew up a chair and sat opposite her. The sign above Sylvie’s head said
She took a pack of cigarettes from her robe and offered me one. I sparked both of us up.
She inhaled and gave me a smile through the smoke.
'So, William, mad at me?'
