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

by Jennifer R Hollis

Joanne made her way down to the interview room and looked through the glass at the two people sitting within. Paula was right, Stacy did look terrified. Ethan had his hand on her arm and was talking to her in a hushed whisper. Joanne pulled open the door, breaking their conversation.

  “Ethan and Stacy, I believe,” greeted Joanne, as she held out her hand to both of them. They both returned the handshake without making eye contact.

  “I’m DS Harris, and I hear you’d like to speak to me about organised criminal activity in the local area?”

  Ethan nodded in response, but Stacy’s knees and feet started shaking. Her face reddened around the blemishes on her cheeks.

  “Are you OK, Stacy?”

  “She’s fine,” started Ethan, but Joanne immediately cut him off.

  “I’m asking Stacy, not you. Stacy, is there something I can get you? Would you rather do this alone, or with someone else here?”

  Stacy took some deep breaths and looked up at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact with Joanne.

  “I-I’m OK,” she stuttered and turned to look at Ethan. “I do want to, I need to tell you, but I don’t even know where to start. I’m worried I’m getting myself into more trouble.”

  “May I?” asked Ethan. Stacy and Joanne both nodded.

  “The thing is, Sergeant, Stacy and some other girls from the supermarket have got caught up in a gang, a criminal gang.”

  He paused as Stacy started crying into her hands.

  “It’s not their fault. They’re not bad people; they’re forced into it. They’re made to do bad things, like selling drugs and, well, they’re made to, you know, be prostitutes, too. That’s why they haven’t come forward; it’s because they’re scared.

  “But now Stacy wants to tell you what happened to her. And I have loads of information on this gang, what they’re up to and who they are. So, if we tell you all this, you can arrest them, right, and protect the girls?”

  Joanne sat back in her chair, struggling to take it all in. Could this be the same gang that forced Jack Dimont out? That was growing in strength and remained elusive to the police?

  “OK, thank you, Stacy and Ethan, for coming in today. You’ve done the right thing bringing this to us. We will take this very seriously, and offer you the protection we need, once we have all the details from you. You’re already much safer than you were ten minutes ago.

  “What I’ll do now is find a colleague who works with young people like you, Stacy, who’ve been through similar things. We’re going to ask you some questions and have a chat on our own. Then I will talk to you, Ethan, about this information you have. Will you both stay right here?”

  To Joanne’s relief, they both nodded without protest, so she left the room and ran back towards her desk.

  “Don’t let them leave!” she shouted at Paula on the front desk, as she sped up the stairs. She hurried to Vincent Okafor’s office and opened the door without knocking. She recounted Ethan’s opening words, and the next steps she was going to take.

  “My God, Joanne,” grinned Okafor, as he stood up and rubbed his chin. “The poor girl, of course. But it looks like we’ve got an informant on the rival gang, at last.”

  “Yes, sir, and a potential corroboration of Debbie Gomez’s theory about the girls at work,” she commented. “Stacy Mackenzie works at the Melwood store. And in Debbie’s latest interview, she suggested that we speak to three girls, including Stacy.”

  “Jesus, you’re right. I’m going to watch your initial interviews with them, Joanne. Set her up in the correct room, please.”

  Thirty minutes later, Joanne and Denise, a colleague from the safeguarding team, sat with Stacy in the interview room. Denise’s calming voice and experience helped ease Stacy into a conversation.

  “After I dropped out of college,” started Stacy, “I got a part-time job at the supermarket, but only twelve hours a week. It wasn’t enough money, but this guy was hanging around the estate one day. He started talking to me, and when I told him I was looking for work, he said he knew somewhere that needed bar staff.”

  “OK, Stacy,” said Denise, in a slow, reassuring voice. “I understand. Did you accept the offer?”

  “I gave him my phone number, and someone else called me, a man, and told me where to go. So, I went to this building, an old abandoned one in town, and there was this cash bar inside, selling cheap alcohol. I worked there, and it was OK, they gave me food and lifts home and stuff. Until one night, as I left, the man searched my bag and found loads of money. I didn’t put it there, honest, but he said I’d been stealing, that over £2000 had gone missing since I started working there.”

  Stacy started crying, and Joanne felt a sting in her own eyes, too. It was a classic exploitation technique used against the most vulnerable people. Denise’s soothing voice filled the gap again.

  “It’s OK, Stacy. I’m sure you didn’t take the money. What happened next?”

  “They said I had to pay it back, but I didn’t have it, because I never stole it in the first place. But they said I had to repay my debt, or they’d send bailiffs to my Mum’s house. They knew where I lived, from when they drove me home.”

  “How did they make you repay it, Stacy?”

  “They said I had to work at their other business, at The Castle on the old street in Croydon. They said I had to work there for free until I paid off my debt.”

  Joanne felt an overwhelming sense of pity for the young girl in front of her.

  “What were you made to do at The Castle, Stacy?”

  “They m-made me,” stuttered Stacy, as she wiped huge teardrops from both her eyes. “They made me have sex with whoever came through the door, and I didn’t want to, please don’t arrest me, I didn’t want to do it. They said if I didn’t, that they’d make my younger sisters pay.”

  “Stacy,” repeated Denise. “You are not in trouble. We are not going to arrest you, OK? You are so brave, so helpful.”

  “I’ve done more, though,” cried Stacy.

  “It’s OK Stacy. Please tell us,”

  “Last month, they stopped sending me to the Castle. Now I sell drugs in New Grange for them. I didn’t want to, and I hate drugs.”

  Denise looked at Joanne and gave her a nod.

  “OK Stacy,” said Joanne, trying to match Denise’s tone. “You’re doing so well. I need to ask you a few questions about the organisation itself. You mentioned a man who gives you instructions, can you tell me about him?”

  “He’s old, forty-ish. He’s not too tall, bald and he has an accent, like someone off EastEnders. I don’t know his name, but it’s always him who rings, tells me where to go and now he drops the drugs with us too.”

  “And is he in charge, is he the leader?”

  “No, there’s only one leader,” whispered Stacy, and suddenly, she looked scared again. “People call her the Boss. I don’t know who she is, but I heard her the other day, she was shouting down the phone to the man. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but it was definitely a woman.”

  “When did you hear her?”

  “A few days ago, I think. In the last week, for sure.”

  “Thank you, Stacy. Now one last thing before Denise has a further chat about witness protection. This organisation that’s been exploiting you. Does it have a name?”

  “Yes,” whispered Stacy, “but we’re not allowed to say it.”

  “Please Stacy, what is it?”

  “‘Princesses’.”

  Joanne froze. Her head span as she recalled Janice Locke’s last ever message. ‘We know something dodgy is going on at work, linked to ‘Princesses’. It must all be run by someone at the store…’ In the space of a few seconds, the Melwood murders and the organised crime crackdown had collided. Had a 17-year-old girl just given them the key to unlocking both cases?

  “DS Harris,” prompted Denise. “Have you any other questions for Stacy?”

  “Sorry, no, I don’t. Thank you, Stacy, you’ve been ever so helpful.”

  Joanne wa
tched them leave, raised her eyebrows and looked at the mirror. She wondered if Vincent, who was behind it, also felt like he’d been knocked sideways by a weighty object.

  Before Joanne knew it, Ethan Hutchins was sitting in front of her with a folder full of paper notes and pictures. She listened as he talked through the various properties used by ‘Princesses’. He knew the shift patterns of the exploited girls, the names and the addresses of the middle-men.

  “When did you become suspicious of this, Ethan? And how did you discover this information?” asked Joanne, when he paused for breath. She already knew the answer - she’d seen it on the CCTV tape from Halloween.

  “Back in September, some of Jade’s behaviour worried me. So, one night, I followed her and saw her walk into the Castle. She dropped this card, with the ‘Princesses’ name on. There’s a photocopy in the folder, and I’ve been…”

  “You’ve been following women without their knowledge or consent ever since? Collecting inadmissible evidence without alerting the police to major criminal activity?” asked Joanne, as she leant forward towards him.

  “Uh, yeah, but,” he spluttered, clearly shocked by her reaction.

  “You have spied on these women and their lives. Do you realise that amounts to a crime? If you wanted to protect Jade, you should have spoken to us the moment you saw her walk into the Castle. We could have protected her and gathered this evidence quickly and legally. Instead, you undertook this reckless personal project, Ethan. I urge you to reflect on that.”

  He sat back in his chair, looking embarrassed and confused.

  “Last thing, Ethan. Did you ever discuss ‘Princesses’ with Janice Locke, Caitlin Murphy or Dawn Smith?”

  “No, I haven’t told anyone what I’ve found out, apart from Stacy and you,” he grumbled.

  “My God,” muttered Joanne. Ethan wasn’t aware that, according to Janice and Caitlin, one of his colleagues from the store was the elusive ‘Boss’ that he’d been looking for.

  “Thank you, Ethan,” she said, as she got up to show him out.

  “We will not take the case against you any further for now, but I must insist that you do not discuss this conversation, or any of today’s events, with anyone else. Discretion is necessary to protect Stacy, Jade and the other young women mentioned in this folder.”

  He nodded sulkily and scurried down the corridor towards the exit.

  “Brutal, DS Harris, but he needed to hear it,” said Okafor. With a grimace, he beckoned her into the viewing room.

  “Sir,” she said as she entered the room. She tried to find the words to summarise what they’d discovered, but they didn’t come. Okafor stepped in.

  “So,” he started, his hands gripping the back of a chair. “We have a woman running ‘Princesses.’ She saw off Jack Dimont and has since taken over the South Croydon area, selling drugs, running both brothels and unlicensed bars. She recruits girls from the New Grange estate who work in the supermarket. Janice and Caitlin found out about the girls and the name ‘Princesses’. They suspected someone, a colleague, of being behind it all.

  “Assuming they were right, then it was that very colleague who murdered them to protect the secret. Dawn was onto it too, according to Debbie Gomez. And now Dawn is dead as well; it could well have been a murder staged to look like a suicide. And this person, this woman who is running ‘Princesses’, is still at large. The organisation is still thriving, and Stacy Mackenzie heard her on the phone a few days ago. Which means…”

  “Which means it’s not Debbie,” concluded Joanne. “What do we do, sir?” She asked, and she clutched her hands together to stop them shaking.

  “What are the next steps?”

  “Oh, there is plenty to do Joanne, plenty. I have a working theory that explains all this. It requires some extra CCTV footage and some sensitive personal information, to prove or disprove it. But we should be able to obtain both in good time.”

  “I don’t follow, sir,” said Joanne, scratching her head.

  “Leave it with me,” Okafor replied. “But as an immediate next step for you, I’d like you to organise the release of Debbie Gomez. She didn’t leave her house on the 3rd of August. She didn’t get out of the car on Halloween. And she really was foolish enough to take home the bag she found in the locker, to try and solve her friends’ murders herself. I think she’s been telling the truth, and pointing us in the right direction, sort of, all along.”

  25: The Big D

  Sunday 23rd December 2018 - Karen

  Karen traipsed, zombie-like, around the supermarket. She couldn’t remember how many days she’d worked in a row, but she did know that there were less than two days until Christmas. She wasn’t at all ready for it. There was no festive food in her fridge, no presents under the tree, no cards had been posted to relatives.

  Christmas preparations weren’t the only thing that Karen had neglected recently. For the last six months, she’d kept a secret from her closest friends and family. Her marriage, her relationship with her children, and even her friendship with Debbie had all suffered as a result.

  She thought, as she often did, of Debbie, stuck in a cell alone. She wished she’d done more to stop her friend implicating herself in those awful crimes. Her feet carried her around the aisles and back to the busy checkout area. Despite the crowds, though, Renee and Marie seemed to have ample time to chat by the Supervisors’ desk. Karen repressed the urge to shout at them both, and instead approached with a smile; she needed to ask a huge favour.

  “Busy day, right? I’m exhausted,” she sighed. Renee and Marie both looked back at her, their eyebrows raised.

  “Girls, look,” started Karen, as she ran her fingers through her ponytail. “I need both of you, well at least one of you, to work tomorrow instead of me.”

  “What?” snapped Marie. To be fair, thought Karen, both she and Renee looked as tired as she did.

  “I’ve worked over ten days in a row,” pleaded Karen. “And I’ve messed up, OK, I’ve got nothing ready for Christmas, for the kids. I need tomorrow to sort it all out. Ethan is in tomorrow, too; you wouldn’t be on your own.”

  Renee sighed and rolled her eyes.

  “No, Karen, we can’t do it,” replied Marie, her red face clashing horribly with her hair. “I have plans tomorrow, and I can’t cancel them, and so does Renee.”

  “Well...” started Renee, but Marie cut her off.

  “No, Renee, you are not working another day,” ordered Marie. “You need a break, that’s final. You don’t owe Karen any favours.”

  Renee looked at Marie with a perturbed and moody expression. Marie maintained her very mum-ish look and held Renee’s gaze.

  Karen caught Renee’s eye and whispered, “Please!”

  “It’s your name on the schedule, Karen,” muttered Marie, as Renee sloped off to help a colleague on the checkouts. “And it was your best friend who killed off the other people who would have covered for you, then got herself caught,” she added under her breath.

  “Debbie is innocent,” hissed Karen, for what felt like the hundredth time that week.

  “The police have got this all wrong, Marie, none of this is her fault. You must know that?”

  Marie shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows, her lips pursed into a smile. Karen resisted the urge to give Marie another slap. At that moment, an announcement rang around the store.

  “Karen Goldman to the Customer Service desk immediately please, that’s Karen to Customer Services. Thank you.”

  “Oh, what now!” muttered Karen, as she moved away from Marie and ran around to the Customer Service desk.

  “There are three supervisors here, you know, not just me. What do you want?” she grumbled, as she approached the younger girl behind the desk.

  The girl pointed at the telephone, which was lying off the hook in front of her. She mouthed ‘police’ at Karen, then turned away to deal with an approaching customer.

  “Hello, this is Karen Goldman,” she sighed into the receive
r.

  “Hello, this is Paula from Croydon police station.”

  “Right. What do you want?”

  “I’m calling to see whether you can come to the station and pick up your friend, Deborah Anne Gomez?”

  “I’m sorry,” replied Karen, shocked. “You mean she’s out? They’ve dropped the charges?”

  “All I know, madam, is that she needs picking up. Can you get her? Her husband is a few hours’ drive away and she suggested you would come.”

  “Um, of course. I’ll come right away. Give me half an hour.”

  Karen glanced towards the crowded checkouts and the swathes of customers. She felt little guilt about leaving Renee and Marie on their own as she returned to the checkouts with a spring in her step. She could pick up Debbie and then prepare for Christmas later in the afternoon.

  “Renee, Marie, I have to go,” she announced with a smile and her hands in the air.

  “Stop it, Karen, it’s not funny,” muttered Marie, as she looked over the schedule, Tipp-Ex in hand.

  “I’m not joking. That was a phone call from the police. They’ve released Debbie, so I have to go and collect her right now.” Renee and Marie froze and looked towards her in disbelief.

  “I told you she was innocent,” continued Karen with a smile. “Look, don’t worry about tomorrow, I’ll work it as planned, but I’m not coming back in today.”

  She jogged up to the staff area, emptied her locker and checked her bag and coat pockets for her phone, but it wasn’t there. Strange, she thought, because she remembered putting it in her bag that morning.

  “Karen,” spoke a voice behind her, and she turned around to see Steve, the store manager, standing there with his hands on his hips. “I thought...”

  “Oh, God, sorry, I’m not staying until the end of the day anymore. I have to go and pick Debbie up because they’ve let her go! And then I have to get Christmas ready, you know, for the kids…”

  “Of course, sure, I get it,” he paused and looked to the floor. “Say hi to Debbie, tell her I always knew she was innocent.”

  “That’s what everyone will be saying now!” Karen replied with a wink and a forced laugh, as she hurried away from the lockers.