'Those filthy detestable engines of lust.'
'You mean the 'What the Butler Saw' machines?'
I could sense his whole being twisting in pain. 'Yes them. And not the ones from the pier. The ones in those private rooms where filth boils over like a cauldron of hot tar, where men come willingly to submit to the mortification of a bridle and other upholstery of the Devil ...'
I started to snigger.
'Oh yes, you can laugh, you can laugh! Jeer away! But be warned, those who begin by mocking the degradation of the human spirit soon end up supping themselves from the cup of vileness!'
'That's a bit rich coming from you, isn't it!? What about supping from the shoe of vileness? Look, Father, you had a little tingle under your cassock and went to see some dirty movies. Big deal!'
The priest banged his fists against the side of the box. 'Oh you fool, you unutterable, execrable mean-spirited fool!' he cried in abyssal anguish. 'You loathsome dolt, you —'
'Hey, who's holding the gun here!'
He exhaled like a schoolmaster finally broken by the lifetime of ignorance from his charges.
'Louie, Louie. I didn't look at these things, you fool! I was in one of them! I was ... was ... the gimp! Oh my God, Louie, what have I done?'
He wailed like a lorry full of sheep when the scent of the approaching abattoir reaches them. And then he added quietly, breathless, as if his spirit was now so crushed it didn't matter what he said, 'The girl is called Judy Juice.'
I withdrew the gun and stood up, adding as I left, 'Say three Hail Marys and give up the Vimto.'
I spent the next three nights, red-eyed and weary, trailing the gossamer thread of rumour that fluttered behind the name Judy Juice. I knew the name, of course, but it was obvious now that the girl in the leopard-skin coat at Jubal's party had not been her. It should have been obvious then, too. How could she have been when the real Judy Juice wouldn't give him the time of day? It was just a clever trap, maybe not even all that clever — one of those gaping manholes Jubal left lying around in his conversation and which I had obligingly walked into. I had to hand it to him: he was a polished operator.
Everyone I spoke to had heard of her, but no one could say where she was at the moment. They said she was bitch, they said she was a babe, they said she was gorgeous and equally they said she was vile; but they didn't say where she lived. Some people said she was slime and others said she was smart, smarter than all the men who longed to paw her; and being a bitch was all really just an act. Some said she put herself about and others said she never went near any man except on screen. They said she was easy but from the resentful looks in their eyes you somehow doubted it. They said she'd been raped as kid and that's why she hated men and others said it wasn't true and why would she need an excuse like that anyway? Some said she was beautiful and all said she was contemptuous. Some said she stayed in the hotels, a different room every night, depending on who was paying and the house Johns at the hotels said they'd never once seen her. Some said she lived on the council estate at Penparcau and others said she was rich and owned a house on Llanbadarn Road. One person said she lived at Borth and someone else said she had a houseboat at the harbour. Another person told me she lived out at the caravan park on the south bank of the Rheidol and the security guard there told me it was true but he hadn't seen her for weeks. In short, after three nights in which I got no sleep and even less joy, the only thing I knew about her for sure was the one fact everyone in town agreed upon. The thing between her and Jubal.
Everyone you talked to said Jubal was a bag of slime, but everyone you talked to smiled and cringed like a beaten dog whenever he appeared. Jubal the movie man with his hunchback and his pea-size head and his glasses thicker than portholes. Hi, Jubal! How's it going, Jubal? Saw the latest flick, Jubal, fantastic! You're looking great, Jubal! It might not be true to say every waitress was an out-of-work actress and every waiter had written a script, but Jubal slept with a lot of waitresses and it was difficult to see what else they found attractive in him. He wasn't scared of a challenge either. They said he'd promised to make Mrs Bligh-Jones a star, but it hadn't happened yet so maybe the job was too big even for him. Yeah, Jubal was the movie man in Aberystwyth, and so vain and girlish were the hearts of the townspeople he could have anything he wanted, any woman and any thing. Except Judy Juice's heart. He tried buying it, he tried bribing, he tried threatening and cajoling. But nothing worked so she got all the parts she wanted; passed the auditions without ever having to disrobe, or even turn up. It was the only thing in Aberystwyth money or influence couldn't buy.
*
After three days of getting nowhere I drove east along Llanbadarn towards the mountains of Pumlumon. I pondered the case and started to wonder, as I sometimes did round about this stage, whether it was really all that it seemed to be. Maybe there was something all a bit too glib about it. Almost rehearsed, this story of a man within whose soul the repressed Bohemian dream breaks free. This plummet from the top of Mount Parnassus via the ventriloquists' ghetto and the Komedy Kamp to the swirling waters of the 'What the Butler Saw' sewer. Even though I hadn't found him, it seemed a bit too easy, a bit phoney. His trail led like the footprints of a man in deep-sea diver's boots across wet concrete. And the fact that, despite all that, I still felt nowhere nearer to finding him only confirmed my suspicions. Maybe he wanted to be trailed, but wasn't ready to be found. Maybe he was playing with me; or someone else was not being straight with me.
Rain had started to spit at the windscreen as I pulled into the lay-by and looked ahead at the sanatorium. Now that I was here I suddenly saw what a forlorn task it was. A twelve-foot perimeter wall, razor-wire on top, guard-dog patrols ... I sighed and stepped out of the car. The air was cold and fresh, the ground sodden. I squelched over the turf and wandered along the wall for a while, looking for entrances. There weren't any. At one corner there was a tower and I could see a guard watching me through binoculars. It was hopeless. I doubted even Llunos could get in. I walked back to the car. I hadn't been away more than five minutes but another car had arrived in the meantime and parked behind mine. Two men had got out and were leaning against my car. One was dressed in a police constable's uniform and the other wore a shabby raincoat. It was Harri Harries.
Chapter 13
We drove south through Ysbyty Ystwyth, towards Pontrhydfendigaid, and then turned off on to a minor road into the hills; driving too fast for any chance of jumping from the moving car.
'Why have you picked me up?' I asked. 'Or is that a stupid question?'
'It's a stupid question.'
I flexed the muscles of my forearm; the cuffs, deliberately on too tight, bit into my flesh.
'This isn't the direction of the police station.'
'Well done, pathfinder. This is not the direction of the police station.' Harri Harries turned in the front seat of the prowl car and said to the driver, 'I told you he was smart.'
He squirmed awkwardly round to face me over the passenger seat. 'You'll like this place better. It's remote and it's quiet. Far from the hurly-burly, and from the madding crowd. It's a place where two men can unwind and get to know each other. And, best of all, it's the sort of place where if you hurt yourself you can die safe in the knowledge that your whimpers won't disturb anybody's peace.'
'And you wouldn't hold the odd whimper against a dying man.'
'Every man has a right to whimper, peeper. Even you. Especially you.'
A few miles down the road we pulled off and drove up a rough dirt track. The car's suspension was not good and we jumped and jerked around like drunken puppets. But the driver seemed not to care and Harri Harries sat up front with a smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes which were cold and intense.
We skidded to a stone-splattering halt outside a building that looked like an electricity substation, surrounded by a chain-wire fence, topped with barbed-wire. The twin gates were chained with thick anchor chain and a padlock the size of a sporran. A mournful electric hum filled the air. We passed through the gate and Harri Harries pointed to the sign that read: 'Danger. Keep Out.' 'Don't say you weren't warned, shamus.'
I decided I'd seen enough and as soon as they pulled me out of the car I made a run for it. But they had been expecting this ... They were both on me within seconds, and with my hands cuffed behind me ruining my balance I was soon sprawling and eating cinders. A blackjack rained down a few times and I was groggily dragged or pushed towards the building. Crudely painted slabs of concrete cemented together to make a wall. Steel-frame window, the panes filthy and broken and replaced with cardboard. Dirty green paint that had all flaked off to reveal the desiccated wooded subframe. Signs showing stick figure people in attitudes of pain being hit with z-shaped electric rays coming down from the sky. A building whose rough brick architecture seemed to be designed solely to make lonely places in which to beat up the innocent. The deputy opened the second door and they shoved me through.
