A Rush of Blood

Twenty

‘Have either of you had word from the hospital yet about your mystery girl’s condition?’ Ray Wilding asked.

‘I’ve just checked,’ Alice Cowan replied. ‘She’s stable, and more lucid, but she’s not responding to questions yet. The doctor in charge says we needn’t even try to interview her before this afternoon.’

‘That leaves you sat on your hands. Has the press office issued your public appeal yet?’

‘Yes, they put it out first thing this morning. It’ll be in the Evening News, and on broadcast media by lunchtime.’

Wilding frowned. ‘Couldn’t they have done it last night?’ he grumbled.

‘Alan Royston said it was too late to catch anything. He’s been around long enough to know what he’s doing, so I didn’t argue.’

The DS grunted. ‘Not everyone would agree with that. I’ve got a pal who works on local radio; he’d have put it on air straight away if he’d been given it. How did you word it?’

‘I didn’t; Griff drafted it.’

‘I put in as much as we want used,’ Montell offered. ‘Young girl, dyed blond, reasonably well nourished, possibly eastern European, brought into surgery after being found dazed and incoherent in the street nearby. Anxious to trace anyone with any knowledge of her, in particular the Good Samaritan van driver who brought her in, and maybe saved her life. OK,’ he said, ‘the last part may be an exaggeration, but it’s headline material.’

‘As in “Good Samaritan lifesaver vanishes”, you mean? Next thing you know the red-tops will be inviting the punters to buy him a pint when he’s found. There’s no mention of possible sexual assault, I notice.’

‘Are you kidding, Ray? Even if the guy is absolutely genuine, it’s odds against him coming forward. If I’d included that, there would be absolutely no chance.’

‘Yeah, granted,’ Wilding conceded.

‘One thing we have got, though, is a quick response from the lab. I hadn’t expected anything much today, but I’ve just had an email. Nothing firm yet, but interesting nonetheless. Apart from her slippers, all the girl was wearing was her cotton dress, a bra, and pants. She didn’t wash her knickers very often, and wasn’t too worried about getting stripped for action either, for they’ve found semen stains on both garments, from more than one donor. They’re not going into numbers yet, but either this girl was gang-banged, or. .’

‘She’s on the game,’ Alice Cowan declared. ‘Now there’s a surprise,’ she added, her voice heavy with irony.

‘In that case,’ said Wilding, ‘maybe some of the local girls will know who she is. Go ask some questions.’

‘Now?’ Cowan challenged. ‘Where are we going to find prostitutes at this time of day?’

‘The massage parlour girls you won’t find that easily, but there’s someone else you might ask. Have you ever heard of Joanne Virtue, Alice?’

The DC frowned. ‘I can’t say that I have. Who’s she?’

‘Big Joanne is the nearest thing we have to an oracle down here in Leith. She used to be a hooker herself, although she’s out of that life now.’

‘I take it Virtue was her work name,’ Montell said.

‘Nope,’ the sergeant chuckled, ‘it’s the one on her birth certificate. When she was on the street, they used to call her the Big Easy. Life throws up some oddities, and she’s one of them. Joanne’s never been an informer as such, as in grass, but if something happened that she thought was wrong, she’d tell us about it. Ask her if she’s heard about any new talent, maybe not being treated right, and see what she says.’

‘Where do we find her?’

‘At work, probably. After she passed on her street corner to a younger model, she managed a massage parlour for a while, for a wee hood called Kenny Bass. But she moved on from that. Last I heard she’d got herself a job as a receptionist with a funeral undertaker. Makes sense when you think about it. Who better to make that first, sympathetic impression on the newly bereaved than a retired whore with a heart of gold?’