by Ted Tayler
“After seven years you’re unlikely to unearth the murder weapon,” said Theo.
“Stranger things have happened,” said Gus, “this wasn’t an opportunistic attack. Someone planned it with military precision. They knew what Laura did for a living. They knew she was working a short Sunday evening shift and somehow learned she would be alone once Camille left. Why was Maggie Monk an hour late?”
“A witness we interviewed told us that was Maggie all over. She was always busy, rushing from appointment to appointment. I cannot see how someone could have known for sure she’d be late.”
“We can’t answer that question as yet, but let’s assume they knew they had a thirty-minute window. How did the killer reach the massage parlour in the first place? Did they follow Laura on foot, then wait outside until Camille was out of sight? How did they know they could gain access? Perhaps our killer was a frequent visitor. Someone who knew that if the door was locked, Laura only opened it for a familiar face if someone arrived without a phone booking.”
“If she recognised them and let them in, then they could have attacked her when they reached the door to the room upstairs,” said Theo. “As soon as they were in the confined space, the killer could carry out the brutal attack. It makes sense. It was personal, as we believed at the outset. The problem was everyone close to Laura in her personal life, and Gem in her working life had an alibi.”
“One more thing, Theo, if it was a client, he had to pay cash at the Reception desk before entering the room. No pay, no play. Did the money in the cashbox tally with the clients they saw?”
Theo had nothing to say.
“Nobody thought to check, did they?”
“I don’t recall whether we had paperwork to check it against, Gus. Mrs Monk didn’t visit her parlours every day to collect the takings. The parlours may have maintained a level of petty cash for essentials. The girls took their share of the extras they provided and stowed the balance in the cashbox. Maggie Monk told us nothing was missing.”
“Maggie was unlikely to tell you any more than she had to, Theo. It’s a cash business and therefore, flexible and prone to manipulation. She would go to great lengths to hide her true income and that of her staff.”
As they turned into the car park at Gablecross, Gus spotted Neil Davis leaving with a passenger.
“Was that Jake Latimer with Neil?” he asked.
“Jake must have returned from the court earlier than planned. I hope that doesn’t mean there’s a problem.”
“Neil won’t be back for an hour or two,” said Gus, “I’ll let you get on with your day, Theo. Many thanks for the additional background and letting me ramble through my various theories. We’ll keep you in the loop with our progress, or lack thereof. I plan to visit your local eating places now to see if Egon Ronay is still flipping burgers.”
“Bon appetit. Keep in touch, Gus.”
“One more thing, Theo. Were there any CCTV cameras in the area that might have captured the killer as they arrived at Gentle Touch, or as they left after the murder?”
“If there wasn’t a record of it in the murder file, then we didn’t find any,” said Theo.
Gus Freeman wondered how hard he and Jake Latimer had looked. A missing child would have merited a massive fingertip search for days. Laura Mallinder didn’t warrant too much effort.
Theo Hickerton went inside and climbed the stairs to his office floor, and Gus followed the signs towards the Greenbridge Retail Park; the walk would do him good. He only needed a snack; he was eating out in style tonight. Until Neil was back from his trip around the hot spots, he could use the time working on the identity of the mystery visitor.
“That was your boss, wasn’t it?” Neil Davis asked DS Jake Latimer.
“Thank goodness we missed them,” said Jake, “he will want to know why I’m not still in court. Our main witness was a no-show.”
“Dodgy tummy or intimidation?” asked Neil.
“The latter, I shouldn’t wonder. No doubt your guvnor goes on about the old days when the criminals were just local blokes who had gone off the rails. The bad apples didn’t fall very far from the tree back then. Organised crime is just that. Bloody well-organised with a command structure that’s nationwide. We’re fighting a losing battle, mate.”
“Maybe, but we’re still fighting,” said Neil.
DI Hickerton and his Sergeant appeared to be paid-up members of the Browbeaten Brigade.
“Where are you taking me on this Magical Mystery Tour, Jake?”
“The railway station on the right was at the heart of old Swindon,” Jake told him as they passed by, “the original red-light district area was here around Station Road. The road layout has changed since then, and when that happened, the girls moved up to Manchester Road. A decade ago, we had forty-odd prostitutes here, and we made great efforts to take them off the streets and offer them treatment for addictions to hard drugs.”
“Was that successful?” asked Neil, looking for signs of activity on the street.
“You might find a few on the streets at night. For the past ten years, the area has had its fair share of criminal problems that have nothing to do with the sex trade. Until recently, it hasn’t been a priority.”
“Is it on the increase again?”
“In Broadgreen, yeah, but it’s not disproportionate to areas in other parts of the county or compared to other force areas of a similar size. We do what we can; teams venture out each week with outreach workers from a local charitable trust. Women can access a sexual health clinic, get food, clothes and emergency alarms. Street sex workers are at constant risk. Women like Laura Mallinder and the others who work in massage parlours can be in danger too, but it depends on the extras they provide. For every parlour such as those owned by Maggie Monk, half a dozen exist where anything goes.”
“I’m concerned that several of Maggie Monk’s girls have gone that route,” said Neil, “I haven’t mentioned it to Gus Freeman yet. What we’ve learned of Laura Mallinder suggests she stayed clean throughout her involvement with the parlours. No drugs, nothing more than the specified menu and no pimps. She was one of the lucky ones. A lot more have been exploited and encouraged to numb the pain with drugs. Once they’re addicted, the pimps turn them out for all types of deviant nonsense. The girls with the clues we need that lead us to Laura’s killer could be dead if they’ve spent several of the past seven years on the wild side.”
“I wouldn’t call Laura lucky, but you might have a point, Neil. Up to thirty pop-up brothels are being opened each week in Swindon,” Jake Latimer said. “In any one week, fifty sex workers market their services in properties for a few days before moving on. Most are eastern European, and the brothels link to criminal gangs which traffic women from Poland and Romania. Swindon is just one of dozens of locations nationwide targeted by gangs running these brothels. Many of these women move between addresses within the town and outside it. Of these fifty sex workers, we estimate they populate twenty to thirty brothels in short-term to medium-term rental properties.”
“Catch me if you can, Jake,” said Neil. “It must be a bugger to be a client shopping around. You could end up with the same girl in a dozen different houses.”
“My missus reckoned we needed more variety in our sex life before she left me,” said Jake. “I don’t think she meant sex with the same bloke in a dozen locations. She just wanted it with someone other than me.”
Neil sympathised, but he decided not to rub Jake’s nose in it by telling him he and Melody were happily married and expecting their first child. Jake had already moved on with his whistle-stop tour of the red-light district.
“Officers look to intervene and offer safeguarding and check if organised crime is involved, as often as we can. The number of reports of suspected brothels in Swindon doubled over the past three years. We’re currently monitoring one hundred and eighty women involved in sex work predominantly in Swindon. Owners are often unaware their rental or investment properties are used in
this way. They are alerted when neighbours report unusual behaviour to us. These brothels get set up quickly, booked online, and their services advertised via the internet. You wouldn’t see adverts in the local papers, nor do you catch women touting for business in the street. It’s web-based. The human traffickers also use hotels and guesthouses in the countryside near Swindon.”
“The current scene feels a far cry from what you faced when Laura was alive,” said Neil, “yet you never made significant progress in uncovering any suspects.”
“I know what you’re thinking. You reckon Theo and I didn’t try hard enough because of what the victim was doing. That wasn’t the case as far as I was concerned. We got dragged off the case to clamp down on young people carrying knives in Swindon. Two sixteen-year-olds were arrested on Thames Avenue that weekend for possession of knives and drugs. The pair were first spotted outside Morrison's supermarket at around half-past eight on Friday night and stopped by uniforms twenty minutes later. They got released on bail until the middle of July. That was concerning offences of possession of an offensive weapon, possession of class C drugs and, for one, possession with intent to sell drugs. That incident was the last straw. It was the latest high profile incident involving knives and young people. It was only a matter of time before one resulted in death or serious injury. We changed the policy. Young people aged sixteen or under found carrying a bladed article faced the certainty of being charged and brought before the courts. That crackdown was in line with government guidelines. There was a hardcore of young people carrying knives, and we adopted a robust approach. We worked with schools and youth organisations to get across our message. That’s why Laura’s case didn’t get the attention it warranted.”
“A knee-jerk reaction, as usual,” said Neil. He knew what Jake Latimer meant.
“The spotlight gets shone on a hot issue, and everything else slips into the shadows.”
“Exactly, if we had the right level of resources, it wouldn’t happen. Back then, knife crime represented only one per cent of criminal activity in the town. For two months it got out total attention.”
“Look what good it did,” said Neil, “knife crime’s a damn sight worse today.”
“If you’ve spoken with Theo Hickerton this morning, he will have told you we did a cursory annual review on the Mallinder case. We remain committed to finding the person responsible. We need the public’s help to bring Laura’s killer to justice. Each year we urge anyone with information to come forward. Theo reckoned it had to be a close relative, a neighbour or a friend who had committed this murder. They may have been a client or perhaps worked at the massage parlour. Seven years on, there’s still nobody who feels able to contact us in confidence.”
“Gus Freeman has a knack of getting facts from the public they haven’t voiced in the past,” said Neil. “I wouldn’t bet against him unearthing a vital clue once we trace our missing witnesses. Apart from calling on the public for help, what else did you try during these cursory annual reviews?”
“We used the latest advances in DNA testing each year when we re-examined various exhibits removed from the scene,” said Jake Latimer. “We hoped they would offer us a lead to Laura’s killer. Once again, it was always a dead-end.”
“The Hub is processing the fingerprints at present. Their expanded search could offer us a lead. If it had been a random attack by a criminal with no link to the victim, our potential suspects would grow off the chart. I prefer they told us the prints didn’t match anything they have on file. It narrows the field of suspects to family, friends, colleagues and clients.”
“Didn’t have much luck with that lot in the past. I wish you luck, Neil.”
“We need to head back to the office,” said Neil, looking at his watch. “The boss wants us to leave Swindon at three o’clock. Thanks for the tour. I’ve got a far better grasp of the layout of the area and the issues it faces. We’ll be back over the coming days, and maybe weeks, as we delve deeper into the case.”
“I’m sure we’ll meet again soon. If you need someone to keep you safe on trips to our local massage parlours, call me. The wife left a while ago.”
Neil dropped Jake outside the Gablecross building and watched as he immediately drove away in his car. It surprised Neil he hadn’t reported to his office. However, it wasn’t his problem. He heard a shout from the other side of the road; Gus Freeman waved a thumb in the air. He needed a lift. Neil picked him up, and they headed for Devizes.
“Did you get the guided tour too, guv?” asked Neil.
“Yes, very informative. What did you get from the Police Surgeon?”
“I found Jake Latimer first, guv. He was back from the County Court sooner than planned. I’ll call Fitzwalter to set up a meeting.”
“It can’t be helped. Ring Fitzwalter and invite him into the office on Monday morning.”
“Got it, guv,” said Neil.
“Keep driving,” said Gus, as they passed the London Road HQ, “we need to get our files updated with what we’ve learned today. Also, I want to see how Alex got on with his physio appointment. Once we’re up to date, I hope to produce a complete schedule of our activities for next week and assign team members to them.”
Once they were inside the CRT office, Gus sat and winced at the meagre amounts of new data Alex and Lydia could offer him. While Neil updated the Freeman File with his contributions from Gablecross and Broadgreen, he listened in.
“We have to up our game next week,” said Gus, as he leant back in his chair after the updates had been exhausted. “The ACC will have our new Chief Constable on his shoulder, demanding results.”
Gus swung his chair around and began updating his computer file. Neil looked at Alex. He could tell his colleague was itching to say something.
“Er, did you forget something, guv?” he asked.
Gus had a big grin on his face when he turned.
“Never play poker, Alex,” he said, “ever since we arrived you’ve been bursting to give us the news. It’s written on your face in big letters. Lydia’s just as bad. She kept glancing your way, urging you to say something. The physio gave you the green light; I take it?”
“Yes, guv. I’ve been ordered not to overdo it, but I can reduce my use of the wheelchair day by day. The physio wants to check me over in two weeks.”
“That’s great news, Alex. DI Hickerton asked me to pass on your old team’s congratulations on the progress you’ve made so far. Theo agreed with your physio. Take it steady. One day at a time.”
The mood in the office had lifted. It was the first lighter moment since the Laura Mallinder murder file had arrived.
“I suggest you three get off home. Make sure you have a restful weekend. I’ll finish up my file updates, and I won’t be far behind you.”
Neil Davis made one final attempt to trace Stuart Fitzwalter. In the end, he left a message inviting him to call into the Old Police Station first thing on Monday morning. Alex and Lydia hadn’t need asking twice. They were in the lift and gone from the car park when Neil finally made his way outside.
Fifteen minutes later, Gus made his way home from the office. He couldn’t imagine there would be many light-hearted moments over the next few days. At least he had the prospect of an evening meal at the Waggon & Horses with Vera Jennings to brighten the cloudy horizon.
Gus parked the car and threw his keys into the tray by the door; there would be no driving for him tonight. He showered and wandered into his bedroom. As he scoured his wardrobe for something to wear his hand hovered over a light sweater that hadn’t seen the light of day since Tess had died.
This last week of April had been less warm. It was much more comfortable to work in than the heatwave that preceded it. Did it warrant something warmer for a Spring evening? How late might they be, anyway?
Gus learned it was National Gardening Week next week when he had leafed through one of the Sunday supplements. Perhaps he should start using this sweater when he was walking to and from his allotment.
If it wasn’t an immediate choice for a night out, it might be the only way to get any use from one of the last items of clothing Tess bought him.
He opted for his leather jacket over a casual short-sleeved shirt. The mirror check confirmed his thoughts; he looked good enough considering his age. Tess wouldn’t have tutted and suggested he changed before he left the house. If only his hair grew quicker. He was still wetting his fingers to persuade odd strands to lay flat to his head.
The front-doorbell interrupted his reverie. Surely, that wasn’t Vera? Eight o’clock. She must be keen. He opened the door.
Gus was happy that he’d attempted to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. His dinner date looked stunning. He remembered how Vera had looked that first afternoon when he visited London Road to listen to what Kenneth Truelove wanted to say.
Tall, slim, and elegant with green eyes that could only belong to something feline. Tonight, was something else. Vera’s mane of dark hair tumbled across bare shoulders, and the sequin top with a long sweeping skirt made Gus swallow hard.
“Wow, you look great,” he said.
Vera stepped inside and kissed him.
“You say all the right things, Gus,” she said, “good, you’re not still pampering yourself. The Waggon & Horses couldn’t accommodate us as late as we wished. I booked a table for eight-fifteen, if we leave now, we’ll make it in time.”
Gus checked his pockets.
“I’ve got everything I need,” he said, “let’s go.”
The lane near the pub was as busy as it had been the last time they visited. Vera swept into the car park and eased her Spider into the only vacant spot as one of the bar staff removed its no-parking sign.
“How do you do that?” asked Gus.
“I blame my father,” said Vera, “the clout his family name carries around here hasn’t diminished despite my unfortunate marriage. There are dozens of places in the vicinity that bend over backwards to encourage our patronage.”
