Killer Princesses: Gripping and gritty, a twisty and tantalising thriller...

by Jennifer R Hollis

  Jade: Yes, they were both supervisors at the supermarket where I work. On my department - checkouts.

  Officer: Did you know them well?

  Jade: Not outside of work, they seemed nice though.

  Officer: How so?

  Jade: Janice bought me lunch sometimes, didn’t get cross with me when I made mistakes, gave me the overtime slots first.

  Officer: Why did she do that?

  Jade: *Pause* I think she knew I was struggling with money.

  Officer: Apologies Jade, I didn’t mean to upset you. Let me cut to the chase. Do you know any reason why anyone would want to harm Janice or Caitlin?

  Jade: No.

  Officer: Did you see or hear anything on the evening of Friday 3rd August that was out of the ordinary?

  Jade: No, but I wasn’t at the supermarket or their houses.

  Officer: Where were you, if you don’t mind me asking?

  Jade: That night, I can’t remember. Let me… *Pause* I was at home. As I said, I don’t have much money. I was at home in my room, I think.

  Officer: Anyone else in the house who can verify this Jade, did you make any calls?

  Jade: No, I think all my housemates were out. I can’t remember if I used my phone. Probably not.

  4: The Silent Vigil

  Sunday 30th September 2018 - Ethan

  As Jade stepped into the derelict building, Ethan stood still under a lamp post on the corner of the street. He wondered what on earth she wanted inside the boarded-up shop that hadn’t sold anything for at least twenty years.

  He hadn’t planned to follow her there. He’d sat on a bench in the park opposite her house, to see if she’d told him the truth about going out later. He’d seen her crying through her bedroom window before she’d drawn the curtains. Then he’d been curious about where she was going, dressed in clothes he’d never seen her wear before. He hadn’t meant to scare her by the dustbins - he was only keeping an eye on her, making sure she was safe.

  He stumbled towards the small card that Jade had dropped outside the building and picked it up with shaking hands. It seemed to be a business card of sorts, but the colours and words seemed to blur in the dusk; the sun had just set.

  Ethan crept back towards the lamp post and it all became clear. The card had a white background with the word ‘Princesses’ printed in pink italic letters on it. On the right, a fluffy white cartoon cat winked. On the left, there were more words: ‘Good fun guaranteed. For men. The Castle. Central Croydon.’

  His mind raced. The card had come from Jade’s pocket. She had just entered an old building called The Castle in the centre of Croydon. He thought of her constant tiredness and how irritable she had become. The phone calls that she wouldn’t answer in front of him and her strange choice of clothes. Her run-down house-share and low, part-time, salary.

  He stood still in shock as the world spun around him. He hadn’t breathed in a while and, as he gasped, he felt winded. He grabbed the lamp post and turned away from the building.

  He felt furious with himself for not realising what was happening and angry with her for doing something so disgusting. Surely, he thought, she was being forced into it. But then why hadn’t she asked him for help? His family had plenty of money, and he would have emptied his bank account for her if she’d asked.

  Another bitter thought entered his head, more disturbing than any others he had: Maybe this is what she wants? Perhaps she likes doing this?

  He turned and ran away, each thought that entered his head more harrowing than the last. He didn’t know where he’d been or how far he’d run. It could have been minutes or hours, but he finally arrived at his front door, and let himself in. Thankfully, his parents were already in bed.

  He collapsed onto his bed and tossed and turned as he thought of the ways he could save Jade. Eventually, he fell into a troubled sleep, full of dreams of her in danger.

  A soft, repetitive knock on his door woke him the next morning. He felt dizzy and nauseous, as the memories of the previous night came flooding back to him.

  “Ethan, I’ve brought your breakfast. You were so late back last night.”

  His mother poked her head around his bedroom door and glanced at him, her eyes wide with concern, and her lips pursed. He accepted the breakfast tray with a weak smile but didn’t offer any explanation.

  He forced himself to eat the omelette, the cereal and toast. It tasted dry and bland in his mouth, but he needed energy.

  He had a plan. There was no point in being angry or upset, that wouldn’t help or save Jade. And going to the police straight away wasn’t an option. If he did that, it could put Jade in danger with the people behind this ‘Princesses’ organisation. Or, she might even have to enter police protection and move away, with a new name and life away from him. That wasn’t an option.

  Instead, he would investigate. He’d find out who was behind it and then go to the police himself. No-one would be watching him, or know it was him who had informed. A few hours before he went to the police, he would tell Jade what he was about to do. He’d keep her safe at his house while the police arrested the people who’d exploited her.

  No one would ever know she had been a part of it, and she would be free. He could lend her money, put her up in his parents’ spare room. Perhaps then, she may even see him in a new light.

  The little business card was his first piece of evidence. He retrieved it from his coat pocket, where he’d scrunched it in rage the night before. He felt a creeping heat and redness rise up his chest, emanating from a bubble of anger in the pit of his stomach. With a deep breath, he suppressed it. Jade needed him.

  “Princesses,” he whispered to himself, as he looked at the pink slanted writing along the top.

  “‘Princesses’ in The Castle,” he mumbled, as he re-read the address underneath.

  “And what have you got to do with anything?” he asked as he looked at the cartoon fluffy white cat with a pink collar. It winked up at him from the right-hand side of the card.

  Ethan turned to his laptop and grimaced as his search for ‘princesses escorts’ returned over 38 million results. He narrowed the results down to London, but there were no ‘Princesses’ based in Croydon. He couldn’t find anything with the same pink writing or white cartoon cat.

  All he managed to find was a more detailed history of the building itself, which had been a B&B, a barber’s and a sweetshop. The front of the building was listed, which explained the presence of the old signage. There was no owner or leaseholder mentioned, apart from Croydon Council.

  He closed his laptop and grabbed his coat; there was no time to lose. Within half an hour, he was queuing to speak to one of the officers in the Town Hall Records department.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said the tired-looking lady behind the desk. “All I can tell you is that the front of the building is listed. And that no-one has successfully applied to rent it for over twenty-two years.”

  “Why haven’t they been successful? Don’t you, I mean, doesn’t the Council want the rent money?” asked Ethan, and the woman sighed again.

  “To be honest, I don’t think the Council is letting anyone rent premises on that road. They’re hoping to empty them all and sell the whole row to a big buyer.”

  “So, it’s Council owned then?”

  “Yes. Well, sort of, sir, judging by the records I’m looking at here. It’s complicated, but it is our responsibility.”

  “Do you inspect it, make sure there’s nothing dodgy going on there?”

  “I do know a few people in building control. They are stretched because of the cuts, you know. I’m afraid they prioritise making sure nothing dodgy is going on in buildings which aren’t abandoned. And let me tell you, sir, that keeps them busy enough.”

  Ethan paused, taking in the information. The woman looked at him, her eyebrows narrowed.

  “You know, if there’s something you’re worried about, you could tell the police. It’d still be quicker than waiting for a Council ins
pection.”

  “N-No,” stuttered Ethan. “I’m just curious about whether the building could be used again. School project.”

  He turned and walked away before the printout of the record had finished. The woman sighed again and threw the sheet of paper into the bin, then turned to her next enquiry.

  Feeling let down by the internet and the authorities, Ethan decided to hang around The Castle. It gave him an odd sort of satisfaction to watch over it. He took hundreds of pictures and noted down any patterns he spotted.

  Over the next few days, he noticed that the girls tended to arrive before sunset. Often, they came alone. But a couple of times, they appeared in small groups, chatting away in a language Ethan didn’t recognise.

  Sometimes there were other people on the street when the girls entered and exited the building, but they didn’t seem to notice or pay any attention. What happened behind the listed shop front was well and truly hidden in plain sight.

  After darkness, the ‘customers’ appeared. Some of them loitered around the building until the street was clear before entering. Twice he saw a larger group of younger men appear. They too waited on the road with bottles of beer, entering the building one by one.

  On the first night, Ethan saw Jade again. She looked so small against the broad street and tall lamp posts. She paused outside, lit a cigarette and entered the building. Horrible images tormented him, and he almost ran away. But he endured and sat on the flat roof of one of the opposite buildings for hours until he watched Jade leave.

  He thought he saw Jade again on the second night, but it was another young girl with blond hair. He craned his neck and looked through the dirty window of a late-night greasy spoon, across the road from The Castle. He was sure he recognised the girl, but he couldn’t get a good enough look before she entered the building.

  On the third night, a Wednesday, the air was much milder. Ethan sat once more in the best watching place he’d discovered so far - the flat roof of the opposite building. He squinted through the dwindling sunlight as a young girl hurried down the street, her eyes fixed on the road beneath her. She had brown hair, so he knew it wasn’t Jade, but she still looked familiar to him. As she got closer, he took a deep breath in dismay. He recognised her, and at the same time, he realised who the other familiar-looking girl was.

  His head spun as he fumbled to activate his camera. He needed to capture a picture of the girl to prove he hadn’t imagined it.

  Surely, he thought, this couldn’t be a coincidence. Jade and the two other young girls he’d recognised all worked at the Melwood supermarket.

  Excerpt: Interview with Ethan Hutchins. Tuesday 4 September 2018, 15:00

  Officer: Thanks for talking to us, Ethan. I’ll cut to the chase. How well did you know Janice Locke and Caitlin Murphy?

  Ethan: Not well at all, sir. I only started working at the supermarket in June this year, after my exams. They were sometimes supervising the department when I was working, but we didn’t speak.

  Officer: Did you speak to them socially?

  Ethan: No, I never socialised with them. They’re a bit older than me.

  Officer: Do you know any reason why anyone would want to harm Janice or Caitlin?

  Ethan: No, I didn’t know anything about them.

  Officer: Ethan, we have to ask this as a matter of course. Where were you on the evening of Friday 3rd August?

  Ethan: It’s OK. I was at the pub, the `Spoons by the supermarket, with some of my cousins and their friends.

  Officer: You were there all night, Ethan? You didn’t go out at any point?

  Ethan: No, I got there around 5 pm and my cousin helped get me home at about midnight. I’d had a few too many.

  Officer: Thanks, Ethan. Anything else comes to mind; please call me.

  Post-interview officer’s notes: Pub landlord confirms Ethan’s story; he advised Mr Nicholas Hutchins to escort Ethan home just before last orders at 11:30 pm. Will provide CCTV if necessary.

  5: Lost And Found

  Thursday 4th October 2018 - Debbie

  Debbie Gomez awoke with a start, ten minutes before her 6 am alarm. She was out of breath, and the back of her neck felt damp with sweat.

  As her breathing returned to normal, she tried to remember the nightmare. There was a gun and lots of blood, and there were two bodies on the ground. But were the bodies Janice and Caitlin, or Karen and Dawn? The details slipped away from her as she sat up and rubbed her face with her hands.

  Debbie’s husband Joe slept silently, unaware of how deeply the death of two colleagues and friends still affected her. She hauled herself out of bed, careful not to wake him, and tiptoed past her children’s rooms towards the stairs.

  She paused to look at herself in the small hallway mirror and sighed. Every time she looked in it, an older, more tired person looked back at her. Her skin was paler and puffier than usual and her long, dark bob lacked its usual bounce. She turned to the kitchen to make her children’s lunches, hoping it would distract her from her thoughts.

  An hour later, she returned to her bedroom and opened the blinds, letting the dim morning light enter the room.

  “What time is it?” asked Joe, as he stirred in the bed.

  “Almost seven. But don’t worry, the kids are having breakfast and I’ve left their lunches in the fridge.”

  “You’re a star,” he mumbled, and she kissed his forehead in return.

  “Are you OK to drive the kids to school before work?” asked Debbie, “I have to start at opening time again.”

  “Of course, but you’re working too much, love. Remember, you took the supermarket job to have more time with the kids and a less stressful life.”

  “Yeah,” laughed Debbie humourlessly, “and look where that got me. It just feels like there’s this dark cloud hanging over me, over the supermarket.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes, but then she looked at the clock and realised she was running short of time.

  Debbie put on her uniform, brushed her hair, and kissed her husband and two teenage children goodbye. It was a routine Debbie now insisted on since the murders. A shiver ran down her spine as she thought about Janice’s husband and children. They didn’t get a chance to say anything before their wife and mother died on their doorstep.

  She travelled to the supermarket, zombie-like. She only emerged from her daze once she’d climbed up the stairs to the staff area.

  “Stinks around here, doesn’t it?” a voice croaked behind her, disrupting her thoughts.

  “Oh!” gasped Debbie with a small jump, as she pushed her jacket and bag into the locker. “Yes, Edith, it sure does. I’ll see you downstairs.”

  “Maybe you will,” chided Edith, with a smile.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” sighed Debbie. She wouldn’t put it past Edith, the store’s oldest employee, to go on strike without good reason.

  “Well, the police are here again. They went in there two minutes ago.” Edith pointed at the Manager’s office with a proud grin. “They’re with Steve and Gillian now, so I suppose they might want to talk to you next.”

  “Right,” said Debbie as her mind raced. Her palms felt sweaty, and her shoulders tensed.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything then, any updates on the case,” queried Edith, eagerly.

  “No, I haven’t. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to tell you,” replied Debbie, with her eyes fixed on the door to the Manager’s office.

  “Oh, keep your sodding secrets then,” croaked Edith. “Bloody supervisors won’t tell us anything even after thirty-five years of service,” she muttered as she shuffled away.

  Debbie followed Edith down to the shop floor. There was no sign of her best friend, Karen, who was due to work alongside Debbie. Instead, the shorter, rounder Marie stood at the Supervisor’s desk, scribbling over Debbie’s schedule.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Debbie with a frown.

  “Good morning to you too, Deborah,” replied Marie. She didn�
��t look up from the schedule, to which she’d applied liberal amounts of Tipp-ex.

  “You and Karen might be a bit busy today, so Gill called me in. Lucky, really, given the state of this,” Marie muttered.

  “Where’s Karen then?” asked Debbie, as her fists curled.

  “I don’t have a tracking device on her. Though, come to think of it, someone should.”

  Before Debbie could retort, another voice spoke behind her.

  “Deborah Gomez?”

  “What?” she replied through clenched teeth, her arms raised in the air as she spun around.

  “Deborah, I’m Detective Sergeant Joanne Harris. I’m here with Detective Chief Inspector Okafor. He’d like to talk to you upstairs. Both Steve and Gillian are aware.”

  “Oh, yes, of course, that’s fine,” mumbled Debbie, as Marie smirked to herself.

  DS Harris directed Debbie into the staff training room next to the Manager’s office. DCI Okafor was already seated, his large hands raised to his receding hairline as he looked down at a stack of papers in front of him.

  “Hello,” he said, looking up at Debbie as she sat down. He had a reassuring voice and a kind, trustworthy face. But, the lines around his eyes and mouth told their own story; he was under a lot of stress.

  “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me today, Deborah.”

  “No problem. Please, it’s Debbie.” She clutched her hands together.

  “And thank you again, for answering our questions at the beginning of this investigation. You gave us really useful information, even though you were grieving for your friends.”

  “Have you found them, the people responsible?” asked Debbie. Her voice shook as her body trembled.

  “No, we haven’t,” Okafor sighed, raising one hand back towards his head. “I’m afraid that’s not why I’m here. Let me cut to the chase. We have pursued several potential leads and lines of inquiry in this case, but they have not yet yielded results. This false start is not uncommon in out-of-the-blue cases like this, though of course, it is very frustrating for the families and friends of the victims. Now, we’re not back to square one, but we are refocusing our efforts to catch the person or persons responsible, which rest assured we will do.