You know how it is, Mr Martin. Punters come, and punters go-'
`So they say,' Martin interjected, with a slight grin. The manager acknowledged, feebly, his slip of the tongue.
`Aye, but the last thing you're going to do is ask their name, if you want them to come back. Paul Ainscow, you said? Means nothing to me.
Martin shook his head. 'I don't buy that. This guy had a business connection with Tony Manson. We're certain he knew Cocozza. We followed him here twice, and on the first occasion Cocozza was here too. So were some other people whose names you sure wouldn't want to know. This wasn't any other punter, mate. This was one of the home team. Just to jog your memory, take a look at this.'
He handed over a blown-up photograph of Ainscow in a dinner jacket, copied from a group shot which Mcllhenney had found in Ainscow's empty house. The manager took it from him, and nodded after barely a glance. 'Aye, okay. He's been here. Has he done a runner, then?'
'Never you mind. You just keep your mouth shut about this visit. Did he use the girls here, or was he only here for meetings?'
The manager glanced nervously at Maggie Rose, then back towards Martin. 'He spent time with the ladies.'
`Any favourites?'
`He used to like Linda.'
'Hall,' said Martin. 'You mean the one you told us you'd never heard of!'
The man flushed. 'What else could ah say? You know the score.'
`Forget it. Was it only Linda?'
`No. Sometimes he'd take on two or three at a time. A beast for his executive relief is Mr Ainscow.'
`Any of those girls here now?'
`Aye, most of them.
`Right, send them in.'
‘But what if they're workin'?'
`Then they'd better finish up whatever they're doing now, or we'll go and fetch them. I don't think their punters would like that.'
Five minutes later three sullen, dishevelled, stale-smelling women filed into the room. Martin felt Maggie Rose, seated beside him at the manager's desk, give a small shudder of distaste. The women pulled up chairs and sat opposite them.
`Good afternoon, ladies.' Martin introduced himself and Detective Inspector Rose. 'We're told that you've all — how do I put it? — provided services at one time or another to Mr Paul Ainscow. We're very anxious to speak with him on a number of matters, but we can't find him. He's vanished from his home and from his business, without trace. How well did you ladies know Mr Ainscow? We gather he was a fairly regular visitor.'
The three sat, heads bowed and impassive.
`Come on,' snapped Maggie Rose. 'This isn't for the record. Did Ainscow ever say anything about himself to any of you? Did he tell you anything about his life, his haunts?'
The biggest of the three hostesses, a redhead like Detective Inspector Rose, looked up from her contemplation of the centre of the desk. Slowly she shook her head. 'The only things that Ainscow ever says tae us is things that you wouldna want tae hear, miss. He's nobody's favourite punter, that man. Tells ye what he wants, does it, and he's away. Definitely no one for the chat.'
`When did you see him last?' asked Martin.
'A wee while back. Ah cannae really remember.'
`And you three ladies were his regulars.
All three nodded. 'Aye,' said the self-appointed spokes-woman. 'Apart from poor wee Linda that is. Damn shame that. `See men!' she added, with a sudden blazing vehemence.
'So that's all you can tell us? Nothing else, nothing personal?'
The redhead and the woman on her left shook their heads. But the third, a short fat peroxide blonde, looked across the table, hesitantly chewing on her lip.
`Yes?' said Maggie Rose.
`Well, ah don't think he jist came here.'
`Why d'you say that?'
The phony blonde hesitated again, glancing at her companions for signs of approval or disapproval, but seeing neither. 'Well,' she said, almost in a whisper. 'Once he was givin' me a hard time. He was hurtin' me and ah told him, but he said that he didna have this problem wi' big Jo down in Leith.'
Big Jo?' echoed Martin, the green eyes flashing suddenly.
`Aye, there's a wumman works in the Leith place. Big girl fae Glasgow, name o' Joanne. Ainscow seemed tae think that she could dae it every way he ever heard of.'
Martin smiled softly. Now, there's a thing. Maggie, I think we'll make it Leith next stop, to look up my old friend Big Joanne. From what I remember of her, she liked to know all about her punters. And if the big lass asked, they tended to answer. Let's head on down. Thanks for your help, ladies. You deserve the night off. Can't see you getting it, though. Must be tough being in a recession-proof business!'