Working Girls

by Maureen Carter

  25

  “Did you not think it odd when Louella didn’t turn up?” There was no hostility in Byford’s voice.

  Bev saw Gary Kent struggling to keep it out of his. “No. I told you. I got a call.”

  It was well past one in the morning. They were in the governor’s office back at Highgate and she was sitting in at Byford’s request. The interview wasn’t going on tape and there’d been no caution. They were the only concessions Byford was making to Gary’s position as a police officer.

  “Yes.” Byford consulted his notes. “You said she rang around four to tell you she was spending the night at a friend’s.”

  Kent nodded, barely able to speak even though the bizarre session was at his own request. He’d insisted on getting the questions out of the way. Bev saw his point. He was sharp enough to realise he’d be under suspicion. He wanted any doubts and rumours cleared up fast, so the inquiry didn’t lose pace. They all did. But it didn’t make the ordeal any easier.

  He could also, though Bev didn’t want to believe it, be lying through his teeth.

  “Was that normal?” Byford persisted. “Did Louella often stay out?”

  She saw Gary’s fists clench; she’d winced too at the implication. He took a deep breath.

  “She’s fifteen-years-old. It’s what teenagers do. She revises with her friends, watches videos, has sleepovers.”

  Had, thought Bev. The reality hadn’t sunk in even though he’d identified the body. According to Byford, Gary had said nothing, just nodded once, then turned on his heel. His motor had been collected ready for forensics, and his alibi was being checked.

  Eliminating him as a suspect – assuming they would – was a priority. They’d all seen TV interviews with grieving relatives who’d turned out guilty as sin. He was hiding it, but Bev reckoned Gary was going through hell.

  “Did you check?” Byford was showing no emotion either but she couldn’t believe it wasn’t there. Kent was a CID officer with seventeen years in the service. Whichever way this scene panned out, it was personal. And painful. For all three.

  “We’ve been through all this.” Gary ran a hand over his face. Bev reckoned he’d aged ten years in an hour. His redhead’s pale, freckled complexion now resembled mottled parchment. A comb and a shave might have gone some way to restoring his normally groomed appearance, but somehow she doubted it.

  “Let’s go through it again,” Byford said.

  Gary sighed. “She’s stayed with this girl – Becky, Rebecca Adams – a few times.” There was a pause. “Especially since Louise and I…”

  Byford helped out. “Split up?”

  “Stopped living together. Look, our marriage has nothing to do with this.”

  Byford shrugged.

  “It hasn’t,” Gary insisted. “Neither of us has ever stopped loving Lou. She always knew we were both there for her.”

  Bev looked down at her hands. No one spoke for a while.

  “Anyway.” Byford broke the silence. “It now emerges that Rebecca knew nothing of this arrangement.”

  Gary nodded, worrying a piece of loose skin at the side of his thumb.

  “How did Louella sound?” Byford asked. “On the phone?”

  “Bit rushed. Said she was in a hurry.”

  “Could there have been someone with her?”

  He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. The line was breaking up. I’m always on at her to make sure the battery’s charged. You know what kids are.”

  Bev made a note. Far as she knew, they hadn’t found a mobile.

  “Did you ring your wife? To confirm the story?” Byford asked.

  Gary stared at Byford for a few seconds. His voice was calm at first. “I tried ringing Louise. She was in court. I was going to leave a message at the house but the answerphone wasn’t on.”

  Bev closed her eyes. The woman would blame herself; was already. Guilt and grief had been etched on her face. It was yet another image Bev would want to forget.

  “As for checking Lou’s story…” Gary paused, beginning to lose it. “It wasn’t a story. Lou doesn’t make up stories. She’s never lied to us. She’s young for her age, never been in any trouble. She’s a good girl, an A star pupil. We never let her out on her own. We always know where she is, who she’s with, what time she’ll be back. She’s not some little slag on a street corner.”

  “Like Michelle Lucas?” They were Bev’s first words and could have been chipped from ice.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” He rushed to apologise but Bev’s face said it wasn’t enough.

  “I really didn’t.” There was a catch in his voice. “Lou’s never harmed anyone in her life. She didn’t deserve to die like that.”

  “No one deserves to die like that, Gary.”

  “’Course not. It goes without saying.”

  Not necessarily, thought Bev. Shell and Vicki might not have the benefits of a private education and professional parents, but they were as good as anyone.

  “Honest, Bev,” he said. “I hear what you’re saying. What do you think I’ve been doing the last few days? I want the bastard behind bars as much as you do.”

  She leaned forward. “What have you been doing? The last few days? Who’ve you spoken to? Where’ve you been?”

  Gary shook his head, turned his mouth. “It’s been routine, mostly. Chasing up interviews, alibi checks, you know the sort of stuff.”

  “What about the Beemer?” Bev asked. “You and Daz have been on that, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah. That as well. Cruising round. Asking questions.”

  “Any trouble?”

  “Bit of verbal. Can’t think of anything out of the ordinary.”

  Byford slipped his pen into a pocket, pushed back the chair. “We’ll look at it again in the morning. Right now you’re too knackered to think straight about anything. Get home. You need sleep.” He glanced at Bev. “We all do.”

  Sleep would be a long time coming, she knew that. “D’you want a lift, Gary?” It was a rapprochement of sorts, though she hadn’t forgotten his remarks.

  He shook his head. “I’ll walk. I need the air.” He reached the door, looked back. “I’m telling the truth, boss. I’ve killed no one. But when we catch the bastard, make sure I’m not around.”

  “You can’t stay on the case, Gary,” Byford said. “Not now. You know that.”

  Gary opened his mouth. Bev thought he was about to argue, but he left without another word. She’d caught the look in his eye; silence didn’t necessarily mean acceptance.

  26

  “This is not acceptable, Victoria.”

  She was cradling the left side of her face, unsure whether the wetness between her fingers was blood or tears. She was definitely crying. It hurt. A lot. He’d snatched the phone from her hand, whacked her twice. She was so scared she could hardly breathe. Charlie was white-faced, furious.

  “Who were you speaking to?”

  “No one. Honest.” She lifted a hand to fend another blow. The phone smashed across her knuckles.

  “You!” He hurled the mobile at Dan. “Outside.”

  She peeped through her lashes, didn’t want to meet the contempt in Dan’s eyes. The poor sod had fallen fuck, line and sinker and now they were both in it. Up to the neck.

  Dan had come to her bed, as she knew he would. There’d been a bit of word play, bit of foreplay then a serious shag or three. What bloke didn’t turn over and crash out? She’d watched the rise and fall of his chest, waited for deep-sleep breathing, then rifled his pockets. She’d eased herself off the bed, crept to the furthest corner, prayed to any passing god to give her a break. She already had a plan. She reckoned it would be one call at the most. And Bev Morriss was her best bet. According to Sleeping Beauty’s fake Rollie it was ten to two in the morning; bit early for an alarm call, but tough tits. Except it wasn’t. ’Cause the old bag hadn’t picked up; the naffin’ answer phone was on.

  She’d been dithering around, wondering what the hell to do next,
when any choice disappeared. Charlie had burst in and was now calling the shots. “I’ve asked nicely. Now I’m asking again. Who were you speaking to?”

  She met his glance. His colour was coming back, if anything his face was flushed. She’d never seen his hair loose before. How could anyone so scary look so good? “No one, honest, Charlie.” He took a step closer. She hoped she’d kept the panic out of her eyes. “Me mum. I tried me mum. Just to let her know I was all right, like.”

  He gave her an incredulous stare.

  “Straight up, Charlie. Cross me heart and —”

  He grabbed her hair, yanked her head back. “Don’t tempt me.” He kicked her legs from under her. Then he pinned her to the floor, his knees under her armpits. “Want to know what happened to the last girl who fucked with me?”

  “Went clubbin’, did you?” She didn’t care any more. There was nothing she could do, and Charlie could do anything he fucking fancied.

  “In a manner of speaking, Victoria. Yes. You could say that.”

  “Makes a change from cuttin’ them.”

  He narrowed his eyes. There was an emotion in his voice she couldn’t identify: sorrow? pity? shame?

  “You’re a stupid, stupid little slut.” He released her wrists, rose to his feet. “Get up. Put something on. I can’t stand the sight of you.”

  There were red finger marks on her wrists, broken skin on her knuckles, angry bruises already coming out on her legs, God knew what her face looked like. It all hurt like shit. And she didn’t give a toss. She felt bad about Dan though. He’d been quite nice to her really, given her an Aero and a can of Coke. God knew what he’d be getting from Charlie.

  “Me and him dint do nothin’, you know.”

  Charlie was miles away; lucky sod. He scowled. “You what?”

  “Dan. He was just bein’ friendly, like. We were only talkin’.”

  She watched in alarm as he threw his head back, then recognised the strange sound as laughter. “Oh, Victoria, that’s good. That’s very good.”

  She snatched the sheet off the bed, threw it round her shoulders, glared at him. “It’s true. We were just snugglin up, keepin’ warm. Looks on me as a daughter, Dan does.”

  He was laughing so much, the tears were running down his cheeks. “He’s an old perv, then. You were shagging for Europe.”

  She gulped. He stopped laughing, stared, asked the question for her. “How do I know that? How do you think I know, Victoria?”

  Her gaze flicked to the condoms by the side of the bed. Charlie shook his head. “Don’t be silly. They could be anybody’s.” She watched as he made great play of peering at the ceiling above her head, then keeping his gaze up, strolled a circuit of the room. He spun round, with a wide beam on his face. “Smile, Victoria. You’re on Candid fucking Camera.”

  She felt sick. “You sad bastard. Is that how you get your rocks off?”

  He tutted softly. “Come, come Victoria. You know me better than that. Let’s just say it doesn’t come naturally for everyone. A lot of guys need a little help; visual aids, shall we say?”

  She sat on the edge of the bed, sank her head in her hands. “You been makin’ dirty vids of me and all them wankers?”

  “You’re just one of the extras, Victoria. My clients are the stars. They like to see themselves in action. Most of them ask for it, of course. They want their bit on the side and are happy to pay for a little memento. And there are those who don’t. They generally end up shelling out more. A lot more. Rates vary, of course: starting from straight sex and going, well, there’s only one way really, isn’t there?”

  “You’re sick, you are.”

  “Not me, babe. But my oh my, you should hear what some of my clients want. Make your hair curl it would, Victoria.”

  “And you lay it all on?”

  “I provide a service, Victoria. With extras.”

  “And if they ain’t buyin’ – you blackmail the buggers.” She studied his face. It was as if someone had lit a candle behind his eyes. Telling her all this was turning him on.

  “Who’s a clever girl, then?” He patted her head. “And, of course, the higher they are, Victoria, the harder they fall. Judges, teachers, doctors. The odd dishonourable member’s a bit like hitting oil.”

  She’d heard enough; too much. Charlie Hawes was a man who kept his business cards so close they were glued to his chest. If he was shooting his mouth off it meant she wouldn’t be opening hers.

  “What you gonna do with me, Charlie?”

  “Well, Victoria, I had got a nice little job lined up. Round at Marlene’s –”

  “Massage Marl?” Her eyes widened.

  “That’s right. Dab hand, is Marlene. She runs one of my most successful establishments. She’d have been only too happy to show you the ropes.”

  She clutched the sheet so tightly it was like a second skin.

  “Shame, really. I thought you’d be ready by now. But I want my girls to be happy in their work.”

  She couldn’t hold back the snort. “Like Shell?”

  “That should never have happened.”

  “Accident was it, Charlie? Tripped over a razor, did she?”

  “Shut the fuck up.” She recoiled, ready for another smacking but he regained control quickly. He clearly had other things on his mind. She watched as his hands moved to his crotch. “Thing is, Victoria: what am I going to do with you now? I thought you’d fit the bill but I don’t think I can trust you out there. Not after tonight.”

  Out there? Out there! She saw a life-line, met his gaze. “Course you can, Charlie. I only fibbed cause I didn’t want Dan to get in the shit.”

  “I don’t give a monkey’s about Danny boy, but that phone call, Victoria. That was very ill-advised.”

  “No harm done, Charlie. Like I say, she wasn’t there.” She hoped she didn’t sound too eager.

  He sighed, moved closer; stroking the bulge in his trousers. “I’m just not sure anymore. I’ll have to give it some very serious thought.”

  “You do that Charlie. You’ll see. I’ll do anything you want.” She dropped the sheet and opened her thighs.

  “There’s never been any doubt about that, Victoria.” Casually he knocked her legs together with his knee. “But I’m not going in there. Not after Dirty Dan and God knows who else has been sniffing round.”

  It was as bad as a smack in the mouth. She blinked hard but tears were pricking her eyes.

  He ran a finger along her lips. “Still. I’m sure we can come up with an alternative. What do you think, Victoria?”

  27

  “What do you reckon, guv?” There was no need to ask; Byford’s face said it all.

  “There’s nothing to go on. She doesn’t even say where she is.”

  Bev sighed; tell me something I don’t know. She was sitting at her desk. Byford hadn’t bothered to pull up a chair. She’d played the message twice for him now but any number of encores wasn’t going to make it any clearer.

  Even Bev had put it down to a heavy breather at first; a breather with attitude. “Where the fuck are you? You’ve got to get me out of this hole.” There was a slight pause on the tape, then, as if Bev was besieged daily by anonymous abductees: “It’s Vick.”

  Bev had known better starts to a morning. A wrong number had woken her just after seven and then she’d spotted the flashing red light of the answer phone. She’d hit the button and Vicki’s voice had floated from the speaker. Bev’s first thought was, thank God, she’s alive.

  Alive, even though she sounded scared to death.

  She’d played the tape again and again, against a video-wall of snatched images still running in her head: the pounding along wet pavements; the ghouls in Thread Street; Byford’s lonely figure by the water’s edge; a body in the mud. She’d been wrong about the victim being Vicki, but she was right about the girl not being in Brighton. So where was she? Why hadn’t she said? And why had the call ended so abruptly? Bev had an idea about that and didn’t want to go there.r />
  All the way to Highgate she’d been asking herself if it would have made a difference if she’d been in to take the call. She still didn’t know the answer. Maybe she’d hoped for reassurance from Byford, but the boss was looking as shattered as she felt. They’d had a late night and the day ahead was going to be long. It could explain his indifference.

  She watched as he tossed the newspaper he’d been holding onto her desk. A picture of Louella Kent, smiling and smart, in school uniform, took up most of the front page. “At least Vicki Flinn’s alive,” he said.

  It was an echo of her own initial reaction, but it rang hollow. “Yes. But for how long?”

  “Come on.” He was heading for the door. “We haven’t got all day.”

  “Hold on. What are you saying? That we just give up on her?”

  “I’m saying there are priorities.”

  She opened her mouth but he was clearly in no mood for argument. “Look, Bev. You’ve done everything you can. The number’s not traceable. And, even if it was, there’s no saying it would lead back to Hawes.”

  But something had to. Or someone. She ran a couple of recent conversations through her memory. Neither Val nor Annie Flinn had told the truth about Vicki, but did they know they’d been lying? And who had enough clout to put words into mouths? “Guv. Charlie could —”

  “It’s not a priority. We’ve got enough on as it is.” He pointed to the paper. “I shouldn’t have to spell it out.”

  She watched him leave, then scanned the headlines.

  GIRL KILLED AT VICE DEMO

  POLICE OUT IN FORCE

  Bev mouthed a “Whoops.” No wonder he was in such a good mood. Just wait till the media found out who she was.

  “Can you confirm that the murdered girl was the daughter of a serving police officer? Superintendent?”

  Matt Snow, Crime Correspondent of the Star, was front row but centre stage. Bev glanced at Byford. He was good, she’d give him that. She doubted anyone else had spotted the tell-tale jaw-clench. On the subject of telling tales, as Bev well knew Louella’s name hadn’t been released, let alone her parentage. More than that, both were being deliberately withheld. Though Gary’s elimination as a suspect looked imminent, the Kents were under enough pressure without a posse of hacks stalking their every move.