He’d left it under Gemma’s coat, recording, while he stayed in the bar.
All very well and good. Until Greg Swags walked in.
Charlie Swags had two sons. Tony, in his mid-thirties, had about eight years on Greg. Tony’s one of these guys who’d gained his position in life on the back of what his dad had achieved. Thought it gave him standing. Fancied himself as a bit of a hard case. People were afraid of him only because they knew that if they went up against him, they’d have to deal with Charlie.
Greg was different. He never got involved in Charlie’s operations. Didn’t know about the camera set-up. To Greg, Ted Lyle was in the hotel waiting on a working girl in the normal course of business.
They got talking. Small talk mostly, Greg saying he’d just dropped off his fiancée and called in for a beer on the way home, and ‘How’s things with you?’ crap that I won’t bore you with. But somewhere in amongst all this, Gemma’s name gets mentioned. Greg says he knows her, in a way that suggests they’re good friends, and eventually, when he downs his beer, he tells Ted Lyle he hasn’t seen Gemma in a while, that he’ll go up and see how she’s getting on.
You can never plan for things like this. I had no idea Greg was that friendly with Gemma. Certainly not enough to make him take the trouble of going up to see her.
Anyway, that’s the way it went. Greg goes upstairs and Ted heads for the Gents. Ted’s got a bowel problem. The cunt’s forever in the bog. When he comes out, he passes reception and overhears the receptionist taking a call in the office behind the front desk. And by the state she’s in, it’s obvious that she isn’t taking a reservation.
She’s saying something like, ‘Speak up, miss. Which room number?’ Down goes the receiver, and the receptionist’s running into the porter’s office screaming, ‘There’s a girl being murdered in 720. There’s a girl being murdered in 720.’
Ted jumps into the lift and when he reaches Gemma’s room, the door’s open and Greg’s lying on the floor. He’s not what you’d call covered in blood, but there’s enough of it on him to suggest he’d come into contact with Gemma, who’s lying on the bed in bits. And Ted’s thinking he must’ve had a bad pint, because suddenly it doesn’t wanna stay down. Which means he’s in the bog again. But he can’t stay in it for long. The law’ll be on their way, and he does not want Charlie Swags asking him questions like, ‘Why the fuck didn’t you get Greg out of there before they arrived?’ Ted knows that when questions like that turn up, he’s wishing he’d brought a toilet with him. So it’s, ‘Greg, get the fuck up,’ while having enough of his wits about him to grab the hidden camera. And up Greg gets, drowsy at first, then one look at Gemma and his legs are giving out on him again, Lyle going, ‘Don’t look at her, don’t look at her,’ while following his own advice, and that was that.
They were out of there before the law arrived. Down the fire escape and through the car park. Greg gets in his car, Ted in his, then he remembers the surveillance laptop. No problem. Mr No Problem’s got it all figured out. There’s fuck all to worry about after all. The evidence of who killed Gemma’ll be on the laptop. Everything’ll be all right.
But the laptop is gone. It’s not in Gemma’s car. Things aren’t all right after all.
And a cop is turning into the car park with his foot to the floor and his siren blaring and banging into Greg’s car as he tries to make for the exit. Lyle legs it and Charlie Swags is back on the phone raving like a lunatic. Now to give you some idea of what I’m talking about here: that nut I mentioned earlier who was on the loose in Dublin. Some TV shrink had said: ‘It’s not so much that he attracts his victims, he abstracts them,’ which led to him being called ‘Picasso’. A reporter later nicknamed him ‘Ripcasso’ but it never stuck. Everybody’s running around with a nickname in this town, ‘Chilly’ Winters among them. And because Winters was still being unreasonable, now, for the first time in twenty years, by the way Charlie was adding it up, it soon became clear that Winters had an opportunity to hit him where it hurt. ‘You grab my kid, Charlie, I’ll grab yours.’ Has a certain logic to it. Winters knew Greg was no killer. Winters was acting out of revenge. And that’s what was getting Charlie going.
I’d never heard Charlie in such a state. Usually he’s the coolest bastard you’d ever come across under pressure. ‘This is bad, Red,’ he was going. ‘This is bad. Winters has enough to put Greg away for life.’
‘Look, Charlie,’ I said, ‘you’re worrying about nothing. Picasso’s victims are bound to carry his hallmark. When he strikes again, Greg’ll be in custody at the time and Winters’ll have to let him go. I’m amazed he’s even holding him. Greg Picasso? The idea’s ludicrous.’
To be honest, I wasn’t in much form for this. I’d a glass of cream soda in my hand. My throat was like wire wool from a wedding do I’d been at. I’d ended up staggering home and conking out on the sofa. Half an hour had gone by since this had happened and what Charlie was telling me was the first I’d heard of it. OK, Greg had blood on him, but he’d been in a car crash, it could have been his own. No witnesses had seen him in Gemma’s room. Fair enough, reception security cameras would later show him in the hotel, going into the lift. But
