by Ted Tayler
“Very nice,” said Alex, “one of these houses is up for sale. I checked last night. Eight-hundred thousand pounds.”
“We had better ask Maggie if she’s doing a flit. It isn’t an estate where they would countenance an estate agency board. Far too vulgar. I wonder if her neighbours know what line of business she’s running?”
Gus walked to the front door. Alex collected his crutches and followed him. By the time Alex had reached Gus, the front door had opened.
“You had better come in,” said Maggie Monk.
There was nothing in the woman’s appearance or her clothes that gave a hint of how she made her money. Gus reckoned that the massage parlour owner was around fifty years of age. Five-foot two, eyes of blue. Well, bluey-grey and although her make-up was a layer more than Tess would have thought necessary, it gave her a smart, sophisticated look. Maggie’s bobbed blonde hair suited her and Gus had to admit she could pass for ten years younger than her birth certificate.
“Thank you for inviting us to your lovely home,” said Gus, knowing full well that Maggie had no choice. “I’m Gus Freeman, a consultant with Wiltshire Police. My colleague is DS Alex Hardy; he is a valued member of my team. Our Crime Review Team is taking another look into the murder of Laura Mallinder, an employee in one of your parlours. That occurred in June 2011. I’m sure you remember?”
“I’m not likely to forget,” replied Maggie.
“Why don’t we sit,” said Gus, “I’m guessing this will take a while. My colleague will wear holes in your carpet with his crutches if we have to stand around for any length of time.”
Maggie Monk wasn’t making things easy. Gus had ways to deal with her sort.
“May I remind you we’re investigating a murder, Mrs Monk? A brutal attack on a young woman left alone in one of your establishments. Alone long enough for someone to walk in unchallenged and stab her in the back eleven times.”
“I was there. I saw every bloody mark on her. You don’t need to draw a picture.”
“I sense a reluctance in cooperating with the police, Mrs Monk. I find that odd. You’ve prided yourself in running premises that have always maintained certain standards. They’ve never received a raid, never been the subject of scurrilous rumours of a brothel operating behind those beaded curtains. It would be a shame to see that good work undone. We can carry on this interview at the station if you prefer.”
“No, I don’t want any trouble. What is it you need to know?”
“Why were you so late that night?”
“I’m always in a rush. My girls will tell you; I haven’t got time to breathe some days. I would have been ten minutes late at most if it hadn’t been for the phone call. As I was about to leave, I received a message; it was an update from a courier service. They advised me my delivery would arrive in the next thirty minutes. I didn’t have a clue what it was. While I waited for the gate buzzer, I went through my paperwork. I couldn’t trace a thing that might have come here. Items for the parlours go direct to whichever premises need them. I waited until the time they said, but nobody showed. I drove to Broadgreen as fast as I could. Yes, I probably drove over the limit. I got there at twenty to nine. You know what I found inside.”
“I’d like you to think back to the phone call before we move on. Was it an automated voice or a human being?” asked Gus.
“Oh, a man’s voice, I’m sure of that,”
“Did he have an accent?”
“Local,” Maggie Monk replied, “from around here, but not so broad as to be able to pin to a specific area.”
“A young voice, or older perhaps?”
“It was so long ago. I didn’t pay that much attention. I was in a rush to leave the house and racking my brains to work out what delivery they meant. It was just a man telling me it would be with me within the next thirty minutes.”
“Did he identify the firm he represented? How did he refer to you? Full name? First name? You must try to remember. It could be a vital clue to the killer’s identity. Any window of opportunity would have closed if you had arrived on time. This fake message confirms the planning that the killer undertook. They deliberately delayed your arrival to increase the time Laura was on her own.”
“You’re saying I spoke to the killer?” asked Maggie Monk.
“It’s possible, given the information you’ve told us this morning. Why wasn’t this phone call mentioned to the police at the time?”
“I was in shock. You have to understand. I’ll never forget what I saw when I opened that door and saw Gem lying there.”
“Let’s go back a few steps, Mrs Monk,” said Gus, “who did he say he worked for?”
“If I’d been on time, I could have been killed. My God.”
Gus looked at Alex and nodded towards the kitchen. Alex stood and gathered his crutches from where he’d rested them against the side of his chair.
“Coffee, Mrs Monk?” Alex asked.
“You’ll find a cafetière in the kitchen. The cups are in the cupboard directly above. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need.”
“Just relax,” said Gus, “it’s difficult, but we’re making progress. Let’s take it one step at a time. Did he tell you who he worked for?”
“I’m pretty sure he said: ‘Mrs Monk, this is a courtesy call from your courier service. Our delivery driver is on his way with your order. He’ll be with you within thirty minutes. Thank you.’ That was it. He rang off after that.”
“I don’t suppose you…”
“Dialled 1471? I did, I hoped it might give me a clue to what was supposed to get delivered, but they withheld the number.”
“So, he didn’t identify himself or the firm. He knew your name. Is your private number readily available to the public?”
“He knows where I live, doesn’t he? I could be in danger. If he finds out, I talked with you.”
Alex called from the kitchen.
“Everything’s ready, guv. Can someone help carry it through?”
“I’ll go,” said Maggie, “I never expected this, Mr Freeman. I thought that I’d put this behind me.”
She carried the tray through from the kitchen. Alex made his way back to his chair.
“Where did I get to?” said Maggie, as she retook her seat, “oh yes, my private number. I use my mobile number for everything to do with the business. That’s what appears on any adverts I take out in trade magazines and directories. Each of the parlours is listed in the telephone directories for clients to contact the girls and make appointments. My landline is ex-directory. Living on a gated estate helps restrict the number of people who can turn up unannounced on my doorstep, but you need to avoid being bombarded by cold callers.”
“I can understand that,” said Gus. “ex-directory will reduce the number of people who had access,” said Gus. “Friends and family have it; I suppose? What about tradespeople? Do you get newspapers, or milk delivered to somewhere outside the main gate? How would you deal with a window cleaner, a plumber, or an electrician if they wanted to know whether you were at home and available for them to visit? Would they have your landline number, rather than your mobile? You could be anywhere in three counties if they called that number.”
Maggie Monk made her way through the list of things Gus had fired at her.
“I buy my newspapers, magazines, milk and everything else at the supermarket. Nothing is delivered here regularly. I collect my post from the Post Office. If I need something fixed, I sometimes use the landline. I can see how silly that is now with hindsight. When I arrange the annual visit for my boiler to be serviced, for instance, I ask the man to call ahead to tell me what time he’s arriving. Then I can be sure I’m letting in the right person.”
“So, given time you could compile a list of people who might have your home number, or who gleaned it by noting your number after you dialled back?”
“Yes, I would need to think about it for a while, but I could do that. Do you think one of those people will be the killer? Someone I fre
ely let into my home?”
“Again, it’s possible. But unless you specifically told people never to pass on your number under any circumstances, a devious person with murder in mind could extract it from them without attracting suspicion.”
“Have you had any building work done, since you moved here, Mrs Monk?” asked Alex.
“The house was new when I moved here eight years ago,” Maggie replied, “there were a few teething problems that the builders came back to rectify. I’ve had no work done since.”
“Are you happy here?” asked Gus.
“I don’t plan to move. The countryside is beautiful, and I’m central to all of my premises.”
“When you compile that list, Mrs Monk, could you also provide us with the details of the staff who worked for you in the months leading up to the murder? Proper names and the names they used in the parlours. Would you include their most recent address, if they’ve moved on from your employment?”
“How soon do you need this information, Mr Freeman? It could take me a while.”
“We will call to collect it on Thursday morning at ten o’clock. We can go through other questions with you then.”
“What more do you need from me?”
“Details surrounding how the parlours operate. Also, the names of clients in the parlour that evening, plus a list of Miss Mallinder’s regulars. We will need to interview every one of them.”
“Is that it, then?”
“You were keen to tell us about the room and what you saw, Mrs Monk. Perhaps it would be a good time to hear that now.”
“I rushed inside, climbed the stairs two at a time. I knew Gem, or Laura as you knew her, would be mad at me for leaving her alone. I was angry with myself for hanging around for that blessed delivery. It couldn’t have been that important. I should just have let them press the buzzer on the gate. When it didn’t arrive, it made me angrier than ever. Then the door to the massage parlour in the alley was unlocked. I’ve told them to keep it shut so many times. I passed the desk in Reception and paused; I found the first door closed. I thought Gem was with someone. I checked in the drawer to see if the cashbox was still there. Anyone could have run up those stairs and stolen it when we had nobody on Reception. Nothing was missing; it was dead quiet. I tapped on the door. It wouldn’t be the first time that an elderly client had fallen asleep during his massage. Gem didn’t answer, so I eased the door open. I didn’t want to disturb whoever was inside. That’s when I saw her — sprawled across the carpet, covered in blood — stuff scattered around the room as if there had been a struggle. I wanted to run, but my legs gave way. I crawled back to the Reception desk and phoned for the police.”
“You saw nobody as you made your way along the alleyway and into the parlour?” asked Gus.
“No, everywhere was dead quiet.”
CHAPTER 7
“What did you make of that?” asked Gus as they waited for the main gates to open.
“I found it odd that no one asked why she got delayed in reaching Gentle Touch that night,” said Alex. “I would have hoped DI Hickerton didn’t merely accept that she was habitually late.”
“Anything else?”
“Do we know who built the housing estate? Laura’s brothers are in the building trade. One of them could have learned the landline number when they rectified those teething problems Maggie cited. Bristol’s only a quick dash up the motorway.”
Gus nodded.
“If the delivery subterfuge connected to the murder, then we learned that a man was involved.”
“A local man who was working alone, or with a partner. A partner who could be female. We can’t rule that out yet.”
“What did you make of Maggie’s response to the request for the client’s details?”
“I thought she might plead ignorance, or that the information was confidential. She didn’t bat an eyelid.”
“Maggie’s last comment was interesting. Just before I asked her to describe the murder scene, she asked, is that it, then? Didn’t that strike you as odd?”
“It seemed a natural reaction after the list of things you had asked for.”
“Maybe, but I wondered whether she had expected us to ask about something else. I’ll have to think about what that might have been.”
As they drove back to the Old Police Station, Gus felt they had made progress at last.
“Where to next, guv?” asked Alex.
“I reckon I should visit Bedminster and start digging into the Mallinder family history. You can have a rest, Alex. I’ll take Neil out with me this afternoon.”
“Fair enough, guv,” said Alex, “I’m sure Lydia and I will have plenty to keep us occupied.”
“Now you raise the subject…”
“Nothing’s happened yet, guv. Lydia’s keen, but I’m wary. You’ve already told us the ACC is keeping tabs on her. I’m afraid they’ll transfer her miles from here, and it will be a bugger trying to maintain a long-distance romance. It’s hard enough for a copper when the girl lives on your doorstep. I’ve avoided having my heart broken so far. I want to keep it that way. My love of motorcycling came before any of the girlfriends I’ve had in the past. They were happy to share a week in Majorca, or a weekend shopping in the Big Apple; but a bike trip through the Pyrenees, forget it. That life may be behind me now. Time will tell. It was hard making that first trip in a car after being laid up for so long. I don’t get the shakes these days but climbing back into the saddle would be a whole new ball game.”
“You know we’ll support you, Alex,” said Gus, “and I’ve mentioned several times take things steady. I won’t labour the point. I want you to remember that although Lydia isn’t strictly a serving officer, this CRT role is a stepping-stone, a probationary period if you will. Her academic qualifications may play a large part in her future role within the Wiltshire Police; they may not. There are many routes to the top. Our new Chief Constable studied Film and Media Studies at University. That doesn’t appear to have held her back. Our attitude on relationships between officers working in the same station may seem old-fashioned, but it’s for a reason. From a selfish position, I would hate this team to disband. We’re starting to gel. I can’t order you to do anything, Alex. I can only advise. If this thing between you and Lydia becomes more serious and the top brass finds out, there’s only one outcome. I’m an old romantic at heart. I knew within weeks that Tess was the one for me. If Lydia is your soulmate, then let nothing stand in your way. This is only a job. Life has to be more than that. Finding the right person to share it with is priceless.”
“I understand where you’re coming from, guv, but I’ve no idea what Lydia’s intentions are long term. I may be just another notch on the bedpost. She doesn’t give much away. Just like my physical recovery, the next few months in our relationship will be small steps I promise you.”
“Right,” said Gus, “we’ll not mention this again until the situation changes. As for the others, this conversation never happened. I don’t want it spread around that I’m an old softie. Got it?”
“Yes, guv. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Gus opted for a brief stop at the Old Police Station to swap partners. He wondered how Alex would handle this afternoon alone with Lydia. He’d issued a mild warning as any superior should do given the circumstances, but as a mere consultant, he’d encouraged Alex to follow his heart.
When did he become an expert in such matters?
“What was Maggie Monk’s place like, guv?” asked Neil as they left the first-floor office.
“Sorry, Neil. I was miles away. It was a big detached house with all the bells and whistles you expect when you pay through the nose.”
“Why does she need a place that big if she lives alone, guv? The original files said she was a widow.”
“Good point, Neil. There were no photographs of children; and no sign of any pets. Maggie told us this morning she’s happy. No plans to move. I’ll make a point of asking when we return on Thursday to collect the i
nformation she’s compiling. It might explain a lot.”
“There has to be a reason for her career choice. Nobody’s born a madam, not that Maggie Monk is a brothel owner, but you know what I mean. Women who turn to prostitution or control prostitutes haven’t had a happy childhood. Neither have they made successful marriages and surrounded themselves in the warmth of a devoted family.”
“You’re a cynical sod for one so young, Neil,” said Gus.
“I know, the perfect material for a copper. I get it from my father. That was just the comment he’d make.”
“Did your Dad ever work in Swindon?” asked Gus.
“Vice was one of my Dad’s many areas of expertise, guv. It’s no secret he had contacts on the wrong side of the law. If he wanted to get the dirt on a suspect, he learned things in the pubs and clubs across the county. He was in and out of them for a beer, on and off duty, anyway. His best tips often came from strippers and girls who stood on street corners. They’ve always got their eyes peeled for their safety. They see more than the average person who wanders along staring at their phone or the paving slabs.”
Gus filed that away for future reference. It might be worth a phone call to Terry Davis. He might have an insight on this case that no one had tapped into back in 2011.
“Sam Mallinder’s our first appointment with Laura’s family,” said Gus, “that’s Church Road, Bedminster. A two-bedroomed terraced house built in the first decade of the last century.”
Neil noticed the narrow streets and terraced properties were very similar to those that surrounded the part of Swindon where Laura’s murder happened. Bedminster and Old Town weren’t dissimilar in the way they had grown after the Industrial Revolution. They had both become tired and care-worn in the century since. Another common trait they shared was it was a bugger to find a parking spot.
“Do you think we’ll get a ticket, guv,” asked Neil as they walked a hundred yards towards Sam Mallinder’s front door.
“We can only pray the austerity cuts have decimated the traffic wardens along with everything else, Neil. I stuck that ‘Police-on-call’ message on my windscreen. We may be lucky.”
