“Miss Marks? If you have something to say, then please do. It could help us catch a killer.”
“I don’t know where you got this murder idea from… but hey… there’s one little thing, but I’m not sure if I should even tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because it was about her private life. The woman’s dead. It’s not respectful.”
“Miss Gillen’s private life?”
“Yeah…” said Marks.
“Please go on. We might need to hear it.”
“I think she was a lesbian.”
Palmer frowned. “But you just referred to her boyfriend…”
“So maybe she wasn’t so choosy anymore. Or maybe the drugs messed with her preferences or her lifestyle. Some of the jokers in here call themselves polyamorous. I think a few of them even know what it means. And who knows. I’m no homophobe. That’s why I wasn’t sure if I should even say…”
“Please, Miss Marks.”
“I noticed she had lately started to take a shine to some of the younger female intake.”
“Can you elaborate at all?”
Marks shifted on the bed and took a breath.
“I saw her with one of the newest girls Harry has taken on. Her name is Chrissie. I saw them talking in a real hushed way in the washrooms. It looked up close and personal… and I mean personal. When Aimee saw me, she blushed and looked away. They stopped talking straight away.”
“Interesting… this new girl. Who is she again?”
“Chrissie Heaton. She got a job here after working at the X-L gym. She was a personal trainer over there. I guess skin-flicks must pay better,” with a smirk.
“I’d guess so,” said Palmer.
“But here’s the thing. I saw Aimee talking with another one of the gym girls too. One of the girls who still works there. That looked kind of private too. Can you see why I didn’t want to mention it? Gossiping about the dead isn’t a good look.”
“But where did this meeting happen?”
“In the car park.”
“Could it be that these meetings were drug related?” asked Palmer.
Annabelle Mark shook her head. “I doubt it. Young Chrissie looks clean to me, and the other girl is still based over at the gym. And I don’t know any gym bunnies who take drugs, do you?”
“And these young women… Chrissie?” said Palmer.
“Chrissie Heaton.”
“And the other one…”
“I don’t know her. All I know is she works at X-L, the gym.”
“You said Aimee was taking a shine to the younger female intake. What did you mean by younger exactly.”
“Take a look at the gym. A lot of the girls who work there are what? Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen tops? Chrissie’s older than that, but not by much.”
Palmer took out the small jotter pad from her purse and started to make some notes.
“When did Chrissie Heaton join the studio?” asked Palmer.
“I don’t know. But a while back. But it wasn’t until recently I saw them getting close. So, you really think that might be useful?” said Marks. Annabelle Marks leaned across her bed and picked a stick of chewing gum from her bedside cabinet.
“It could be,” said Palmer, hiding her thoughts.
“Just don’t dob me in to Chrissie, will you? I’m not afraid of having enemies here, Detective. But Chrissie Heaton is still new. Whatever Chrissie’s into, I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot.”
Palmer closed her notepad and kept a blank, non-committal face.
“We don’t want to cause fuss for anyone, if we can help it, Miss Marks.”
“Yeah,” said Marks with a grin. She unwrapped the gum and stuck it in her mouth. “Then you’d better tell that to Harry. He’s spitting blood about the lot of you.”
As soon as she left Marks’ room, Palmer headed towards the stairs, intending to head down to the washrooms where Hogarth would be talking with John Dickens. As she passed the reception she saw of one of the gym staff girls. The turquoise polo shirt caught her eye through the glass., She saw the girl standing in the corner of the studio reception, talking to someone who was hidden from view. After talking with Annabelle Marks, the gym girls were one of a few items at the forefront of her mind. Weird, she thought. Palmer had never seen gym staff in the reception – Darryl Regent, certainly, but not his employees. And the young woman wasn’t standing at the reception desk either. She was standing at the back of the room. Her brown hair was tied back from her head, in a long ponytail. Palmer stepped closer to the glass and saw the girl was talking to another young woman – and from the look of their eyes, the conversation looked serious. Palmer hid before she was spotted. She moved to the side wall and peered around through the glass to get a view of who the gym girl was talking to, but the other woman was looking away. The woman with her back turned had blonde hair with a silver-pink tint, but her face was hidden. Palmer waited a few seconds until the woman looked round. Palmer studied her face for a moment then pulled back. She noticed the woman was young and had sad blue eyes. A few seconds later, the women parted, and the one with the silver-pink highlights pushed through the double doors. Palmer saw she wore clothes like Annabelle Marks, sports casual clothes chic – this time a red hoodie and navy joggers. Palmer started walking towards the girl, her phone raised in front of her as a prop. She pretended to read the screen as she walked. Palmer bumped gently into the young woman’s shoulder as she passed her by.
“Whoops, sorry,” said Palmer.
The girl nodded and pulled the grey-pink hair from her eyes, then moved to pass her.
“Excuse me…” said Palmer. “Do you work here?” said Palmer.
The young blonde hesitated and looked at Palmer with suspicion. “Yes...”
“And do you mind telling me your name?”
“What?” said the girl with a nervous smile. “Why do you want my name?”
“Sorry, I’m with the police. I’m Detective Sergeant Palmer. Southend CID We’re interviewing employees of the studio in relation to the death of Aimee Gillen.”
Palmer saw the young woman’s face tense, but her eyes hardened.
“Sorry. I don’t know anything about it,” she said.
“That’s probably true,” said Palmer, “but we’re following protocol. We’re interviewing everyone. What was your name again?”
“Chrissie Heaton,” said the girl, turning away.
“Ah, yes,” said Palmer. “Miss Heaton. It just so happens you’re on my list for interviewing today. And seeing as you’re here, Miss Heaton, I wonder if you can spare the time now?”
“For an interview?” said the girl. “Is that really necessary?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“When?”
“Well, now would be preferable.”
“And it’ll be just you? No one else?” said the girl.
“Yes,” said Palmer.
The girl’s face stayed serious, but she gave Palmer the slightest nod, then walked away without another word. Whether she was eighteen years old or not, the girl looked too far young to be working in such a seedy business. But Palmer knew she was getting old. Her views and the modern world seemed to align less and less with reality. Either way, Annabelle Marks was right, Chrissie Heaton was definitely up to something.
“Miss Heaton?” called Palmer.
The girl stopped in her tracks and looked back.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “Will it be quick?!
“That depends entirely on you…” said Palmer.
“Then follow me,” said Chrissie Heaton. And she walked away.
The girl led Palmer on a short walk through corridors at the back of the building. Palmer hadn’t seen these before. The area was functional, a place of bare grey breezeblocks and exposed metal pipes. “Where are we going, Miss Heaton?”
“Somewhere where we won’t be seen. I’m still new here. I don’t need people jumping to the wrong conclusions.”
Palmer frowned,
but held her tongue. Soon, the girl led her to a fire escape door in the far back corner of the building. The girl seemed to know the back corridors well. She pushed the grey metal bar in the centre of the door, and it opened up into the outside world. There was an overgrown hedge all around them. No fire alarm sounded. Palmer walked outside and got her bearings while the girl pushed the door back against the frame, taking care to make sure it didn’t fully close. She picked up a pebble of concrete from the ground and wedged it in the door crack. It looked to Palmer like she had done all this before.
“Don’t you have your own room, Miss Heaton?”
“I’ve got my own room. But I prefer to talk out here.”
“Do you conduct a lot of clandestine meetings?” she asked.
The girl gave her a frosty look. It was the wrong way to start. Palmer hoped a moment of silence would allow her a reset.
Palmer looked around. There was a rough overgrown hedge around them, through which she could see the cars roaring away from the nearby roundabout towards Rochford and Hockley. The building was pressed close to the scruffy hedges. It was a lonely area, perfect for not being seen.
The girl saw Palmer’s fascination and folded her arms.
“Out here, the walls don’t have ears.”
“It looks to me like you’ve been out here before. Why would you care about the walls having ears? You’re new in this place after all. You’ve got a clean slate. Starting from fresh.”
“I’ve been here six weeks or so. I’m still learning the ropes. I don’t want people to get the wrong idea and think I talk to the police.”
“About what?”
“About anything.”
“But why would that bother you, Chrissie? Why did you want to meet out here? Is something wrong?”
The girl blinked and looked away.
“No.”
Palmer nodded but didn’t believe a word. But if she carried on like this, the girl would never tell her anything.
“Aimee Gillen. I presume you know that she died here two nights ago.”
The girl blinked again before she met Palmer’s eye.
“Yes, I know.”
“And did you know Miss Gillen?”
Chrissie Heaton frowned. She paused, then shrugged. “I knew her reputation.”
“That’s not what I asked, Chrissie. Did you know her? As a friend maybe?”
“Hey. I’ve only just started here, I don’t know anyone well.”
“I’ll be less specific then. Did you know her at all? Did you ever talk to her?”
“Look… I talked to everyone. But yes, I talked to Aimee too.”
“Tell me. Were you close?”
“What do you mean?” said Chrissie. She looked sheepish all of a sudden. Palmer wondered if Annabelle Marks had called it right.
“I just meant, had you become… friends.”
The girl’s eyes turned sharp as needles. “No,” she snapped. “Not at all. I told you, I didn’t know her at all. You think I’m lying, is that it?”
But her face betrayed the lie.
“It’s okay to need a friend when you start somewhere new. It’s human, Chrissie. We all do it. And old staff befriend new staff sometimes. Most of the time they mean well, and you can get close to them for a while, until you settle in, then you don’t need them anymore. But sometimes, the people who do the befriending might have an ulterior motive.”
Palmer let the thought linger and ferment.
“What are you saying?” said Chrissie.
Palmer was fishing. She had to be careful.
“I’m just asking if it went wrong – it happens, after all. Did something go wrong when you got to know Aimee?”
The girl shook her head and looked away.
“You’re making assumptions and you’re well off base. I didn’t know Aimee Gillen beyond a few hellos. And whoever told you otherwise has got their facts plain wrong.”
“You were seen talking to her, Chrissie. You were seen more than once.”
The girl’s face turned pale her eyes wide.
“No. You’re wrong. Who said that?”
Palmer shook her head.
“Don’t you dare spread that rumour. It’s a total lie!”
“Why is that so bad? I don’t understand. Was Aimee Gillen pressuring you in any way?”
“No. You’re wrong – badly wrong – and I want you to leave me alone.”
“This is a murder investigation, Chrissie,” said Palmer. “I have to ask questions. And to be honest, your behaviour is making me want to ask more.”
The girl gasped and tears burst from her eyes. She covered her face with her hands and stomped past Palmer towards the fire exit door.
“Leave me alone,” said Chrissie Heaton. Palmer watched her leave and didn’t intervene as the girl pulled the door open and walked into the grey service corridor.
“Chrissie,” said Palmer. “I’ll be here if you need any help.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
The girl stomped away down the corridor. Palmer grabbed the door and called after her.
“That’s fine for now, Chrissie. But I’ll be watching you…”
Chrissie Heaton didn’t answer. Palmer watched the girl stumble nervously before she turned a corner and disappeared.
Twelve
Within a few hours Crime Scene had come and gone. The sauna was soon to be released back to the studio, but Aimee Gillen’s living quarters remained restricted to police until Dickens and Marris had carried out their comprehensive checks. Hogarth had got little from them – neither man was ever keen on giving a running commentary in the middle of their work – but he knew their focus had shifted to the dead woman’s bedroom. The change gave Hogarth a sense of where things were moving. It had to mean the cause of death wasn’t just about the sauna’s heat overcoming a drug addled, feeble body, and the change of focus suggested Marris and Dickens saw things the same way. He was reading runes, looking for smoke signals. He was getting desperate. It was time to interview the main players. By interviewing the man at the top of the tree Hogarth hoped he would get cooperation from the rabble. So Hogarth decided to pay a visit to Harry King’s office, at the top of the building.
The blank, pale wooden door was the same as the ones at the front downstairs. Understated, except for the brass name plate. Hogarth could already hear talking from inside the room before he knocked. The talking came from a female voice – sounding busy and quick fire. Hogarth knocked once more. He still got no reply and decided on taking a liberty. He pushed open the door and found Lana Aubrey pacing across a large magnolia walled office with a window view out over the drab green and grey industrial estate beyond. Aubrey stopped pacing, double-took Hogarth and frowned.
“Excuse me, will you, I’ve had an interruption here,” she said. Hogarth noticed the woman was no longer wearing her spectacles. Lana Aubrey was attractive with them on, but without them he recognised the raw beauty that must have won her the job in the first place. A few lines of age had done little to dampen her fine looks. Hogarth wondered why the woman had chosen to debase herself in the porn industry. Surely, she could have been capable of more.
“Hey, did you even knock?” said Aubrey, as she thumbed her phone to end the call. Aubrey laid the phone on the big empty desk and picked up her black-framed spectacles. As she picked them up he saw the double ‘C’ logo of Chanel embossed on their side. She slid them onto the bridge of her nose. Hogarth wondered about those glasses. Chanel? They had to be worth a packet. And the lenses seemed neither to shrink her eyes or enlarge them by any degree.
“I knocked,” said Hogarth. “I swore I heard you say to come in.”
The look in her eyes said she didn’t believe him.
“Don’t worry,” said Hogarth. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Secret?” said Lana Aubrey. “What secret?” The woman blushed. It wasn’t the first time he’d used the line. Hogarth knew everyone had a secret or ten, and no one wante
d the police to know any of them.
“Those posh glasses of yours,” he said, with a faint smirk. “You don’t need them, do you? But I suppose a pair of specs helps make you look the part. Professional, businesslike and all that.”
Aubrey’s eyes became fiery.
“I assure you, Inspector, I have always been professional and businesslike. That’s why I became the boss. The glasses are a fashion accessory. Lots of people wear plain lenses these days. Now, excuse me, but I have more than your questions to attend to. Is there anything I can help you with?”
The Chanel glasses made him reappraise her clothes. In the light of the Chanel label, he saw the quality of the cut of her skirt, and the fine embroidery of her blouse. Harry King must be paying Lana Aubrey more than he’d first thought.
“No. I wasn’t actually looking for you, Miss Aubrey. I want to speak with Mr King.”
“Harry? But why?”
“We’re going to interview everyone involved, miss. I thought he might like to get it out of the way.”
“But Harry’s busy now,” said the woman, turning away.
“Busy doing what?”
“You said we didn’t need to stop the business for this case.”
“It would be sensible to stop, but the choice was yours,” said Hogarth.
“With everyone climbing the walls down there, Harry decided to start filming again.”
“Fine. But I still need to speak to Mr King, whether he’s filming or not.”
Lana Aubrey narrowed her eyes. “I’ll call Harry and see what he says.”
Hogarth waited as Aubrey picked up the desk phone and dialled. As she did so, her mobile buzzed with another of her endless text messages. Aubrey glanced at the screen as she spoke into the phone.
“Harry. It’s Lana. Yeah, I’ve got the police inspector up here in your office. He wants to interview you. I’ve told him it’s not convenient, but... well, you know what he’s like. Yes. I know he is… you will? Really? Okay then.”
Hogarth watched the confusion on the woman’s face turn into a smile. She looked up at Hogarth. He detected more than a hint of menace in her smile.
The Darkest Deed: A Gripping Detective Crime Mystery (The DI Hogarth Darkest series Book 3) Page 11
