Murder in Kentish Town: an elegant mystery set in Bohemian London

by Sabina Manea

  ‘Because you’re telling porkies, that’s why, Mr Donovan.’ Carliss was in full displeased headmaster mode, and it wasn’t going to end well for the poor interviewee. Lucia wouldn’t have wanted to be in his shoes. ‘You’ve known Genevieve Taylor for years. She was your lawyer, back in New Zealand. Do the words “financial fraud” ring any bells for you, or shall I jolt your memory?’

  Miles Donovan reacted as badly as had been expected. His lower lip trembled, and he ran his hands along his temples and down to his ears and held them there like a child shutting out the adult voice scolding him.

  ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself?’ The policeman was on the offensive, and Miles Donovan wasn’t getting away scot-free this time.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes, what?’ ploughed on Carliss.

  ‘Yes, I knew her. I knew Genevieve. Back in New Zealand.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘What do you want me to say? You’ve clearly looked me up, so you’ll have unearthed the whole story. Why do you want me to humiliate myself again?’

  ‘It was stupid of you to think we wouldn’t find out, Mr Donovan. Your past isn’t exactly classified information, you know,’ continued Carliss.

  ‘Maybe I just didn’t care that you found out. I hated that stupid cow, but I didn’t kill her. So there. Dig up whatever dirt you want on me. I didn’t do it.’ Miles Donovan sat up straight on the sofa, a look of fresh determination on his face.

  He’s right. We haven’t got a shred of substantive evidence against him. He’s just another one with a grudge against Genevieve. Join the bloody queue, Lucia remarked bitterly to herself.

  ‘Why did you hate her so much?’ asked Carliss.

  ‘Hate? I didn’t hate her. OK, maybe I did. She did a crap job of my defence, that’s why. I was only just acquitted, but it destroyed my life. She just let them all stand in the witness box and tell the world what a worthless piece of shit I was. A common thief, that’s what they called me. She just smiled sweetly and ploughed on with some minor procedural point that eventually got me off. It was an easy win, once she’d worked out how to do it, and she didn’t bother with anything else. It helped that the prosecution made an absolute hash of it. He must have been drunk every day that he was in court, the bloke on the opposing side, because he sure had no clue what he was on about. He must have thought the case was such a doddle, he needn’t bother preparing for it. At least Genevieve did, and it worked. But she didn’t have any regard for me, for how the whole thing made me feel. My firm sacked me on the spot, and they told me to kiss goodbye the prospect of any reference. A lifetime of hard work, and for what? I hadn’t even fiddled the books. Not as badly as the Inland Revenue made it out, anyway.’

  Miles Donovan was sweating profusely by now. Lucia decided it was worth keeping up the pressure for a little while longer. ‘Mr Donovan, did you coincidentally meet Genevieve in London, or have you been following her all these years?’

  Miles Donovan recoiled in horror at the implications of the question. ‘What? No, of course I didn’t follow her. What kind of psycho do you think I am?’

  ‘So, you just happened to bump into her at Aurora Borealis?’ interjected Carliss.

  ‘Yes. At first, I didn’t recognise her. She’d changed her hair and dyed it blonde. When I knew her, she was a brunette. But when she introduced herself, I twigged. I’m pretty sure she didn’t recognise me though. I… I look different now. I’ve gone downhill, I know that. I was under a lot of stress after the trial. I had to have counselling for depression. And then I met Ruby and thought everything would be fine after all. We’d move to the UK together, make a new life for ourselves, have children, a family. But it wasn’t to be. She left me. She said she couldn’t take my moods, my sadness. It wasn’t what she wanted to live with for the rest of her life.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Donovan,’ said Lucia sympathetically. ‘It hasn’t been easy for you, all these years.’

  Miles Donovan looked up and managed to squeeze out a small lopsided smile. ‘Thank you. I appreciate it. But I’m not a killer, Inspector, you’ve got to believe me.’ He said this directly to Carliss, and his tone was one of desperation.

  I’m tending to believe him, thought Lucia. She said, ‘We’ll leave you be, Mr Donovan. Thank you for your time.’

  Carliss looked a little surprised but said nothing at the fact that she was effectively calling the shots.

  Carry on and apologise later, figured Lucia. There was nothing else to be wrung from this wreck of a man, who, through a combination of bad life choices and circumstances, had been reduced to a shadow of his former self.

  Chapter 31

  Three days had passed since Trinh had found out about Medusa. She had immediately shared this intelligence with Lucia and Carliss, and the revelation gave Lucia the idea of a typically audacious scheme.

  As a result, Nina Chanler stood in front of the gigantic mirror and smiled with undisguised satisfaction. Subtlety was definitely not the name of the game tonight. She was tightly wrapped in an emerald-green bandage dress which left absolutely nothing to the imagination, complemented by a pair of impossible heels. The heterochrome eyes glinted with anticipation at the prospect of what promised to be a very thrilling evening indeed.

  Just as Nina was admiring herself, Lucia walked into the gigantic dressing room that Walter Chanler’s tinned fish millions had made possible at Lygon Place. She was certainly not letting the side down. A strapless black dress, fitted and very short, and a pair of heels of the same height as Nina’s, complete with bright red lipstick, made for a very striking effect. DCI Carliss would have a heart attack if he saw us now, she thought with amusement.

  ‘Look at us, Lulu. A right pair of tarts, we are. Do you think we’ll get the gig?’

  ‘I sure hope so, Double N. I can’t breathe in this thing, so there’s got to be some compensation.’

  Nina laughed. ‘Does David know what we’re up to?’

  ‘What do you think?’ replied Lucia with a wink.

  ‘I think you’ve kept him in the dark. Just as well; he’d never allow it. All that nonsense about proper police procedure. Oh, fuck that, I say. Sometimes you need unorthodox methods to get results. And the Nina methods work every time.’

  Lucia couldn’t reasonably disagree, so she didn’t.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Nina. ‘The taxi should be here any moment.’

  ‘Ready. Make sure it drops us off a couple of streets away. Working girls don’t generally arrive in black cabs, not when they’re touting for work, anyway,’ Lucia reminded her friend as she smoothed her dress down.

  Tonight, they had to put on a good show. The livelihoods – and possibly lives – of several Vietnamese girls depended on it.

  * * *

  The icy showers had subsided and given way to a relatively still April evening. There was a distinct chill in the air as Lucia and Nina climbed out of the taxi. The driver had dutifully dropped them at the junction of Beak Street and Lexington Street, as instructed. They only needed to walk the length of the latter and would be at their destination in less than five minutes. Lucia shivered involuntarily. Even through her leather jacket, the damp filtered through to the bones, in the way that only London spring weather can. There was something else: nervousness, an emotion that she seldom experienced, and, running beneath, a faint feeling of foreboding which she had the good sense not to dismiss.

  On Lexington Street, a fine mist hung in the air and swirled as the streetlights jostled with the garish shop, bar and restaurant signs that fought to attract the attention of passing punters. The street was both narrow and non-descript, lined with offices with inscrutable windows. When they got to Brewer Street, it was an entirely different kettle of fish. Like a lot of Soho, it was the very patchiness of the shop windows that was so arresting. Ironmongers sat beside proper boozers flanked by sex shops, with a smattering of chain restaurants that tried in vain to put a neutral gloss on the place.

  The destinat
ion that Lucia and Nina were aiming for was a narrow door squashed between a chain cafe and a boarded-up newsagents. They would have missed it had they not known what they were looking for. Trinh had given Lucia a comprehensive heads-up after her chat with Lang. The sign above the door wasn’t lit up, as if to indicate that only those in the know would gain admittance. Lucia had the distinct impression that this was in fact the case.

  ‘Here it is, Lulu,’ said Nina breathlessly. She was as excited and on edge as her friend. Even by Nina’s standards, this was a pretty bold caper, and the adrenaline was palpable. ‘Medusa. Shall we?’

  ‘I’ll lead,’ said Lucia, steeling herself for what was to come. She reached out and rang the doorbell, which made no sound. She wondered whether it worked and decided to give it a few moments before she tried again.

  They didn’t have to wait too long. The door creaked open, and a man not much short of seven foot tall glared down at them. His head was perfectly shiny, his black suit even more so, and he didn’t look particularly impressed.

  ‘Yes?’ His accent was heavily Slavic.

  ‘We’re here for work.’ Lucia didn’t know what else to say. They weren’t customers, after all.

  ‘You new?’

  The bouncer looked them up and down with a professionally appraising rather than lecherous look. Lucia desperately hoped they’d pass the test. It was like being assessed at the cattle market.

  ‘Yes. First time,’ replied Nina with a sly smile.

  This amused the man copiously. He grinned all the way to his cold, dark eyes. ‘Ah. First time always best. Name?’

  ‘Margo,’ replied Nina unflinchingly, nerves now replaced with steely determination and the usual sense of the theatrical that fuelled her. ‘And this is Nadia,’ she added, placing a slightly suggestive hand on Lucia’s arm.

  Both the names and the gesture evidently went down well with the bouncer. His grin got even wider. ‘Come in, Margo and Nadia. I show you around.’

  The women followed him in, slithering along a dark corridor only dimly lit by bulbs that looked like fake candles and gave the place the distinct feel of a budget horror film. The bouncer walked with a heavy step, as if his long legs and massive feet were an unbearable encumbrance. Lucia noticed that he had a slight limp on the right, like a wounded big cat that wasn’t quite what it wanted to portray. She reached out and clasped Nina’s hand, who smiled back encouragingly. There was no turning back now. Out of the crepuscular light, another door suddenly materialised in front of them. The man opened it, and, just like that, they were in the lion’s den.

  Chapter 32

  The beating heart of Medusa was a single large room that did a stellar job of catering to all tastes and requests. On the left side there was a blindingly shiny mirrored bar with a selection of drinks that covered the entire back wall and would have easily given the Savoy a run for its money in terms of variety, if not style. In the middle, right at the back, was an equally garish mirrored stage with not one, not two, but three poles. They were being put to excellent use by women dressed in regulation skimpy bikini-style outfits, topped with feathered masks that covered their eyes in a carnivalesque fashion. They writhed and ground to the music, while the spectators sat on red velvet chairs, the majority with bottles of champagne parked next to their tables, and watched, hypnotised. On the right-hand side there was a large red curtain, drawn firmly shut, which Lucia surmised must have led to an area that provided a greater degree of privacy as and when required.

  ‘Wow. If this isn’t a brothel, I don’t know what is,’ whispered Nina as she blinked, eyes adjusting to the low light.

  ‘Not a cheap one either, by the looks of things,’ remarked Lucia. ‘We should fit right in.’ She grinned knowingly, her confidence now fully restored. ‘Look at that stage. Do you think you can pull that off, Double N?’

  ‘I might give them a run for their money, Lulu. I spent a lot of time in the Middle East when Mater was posted to Oman. The things that go on there after dark, in the belly of those huge swish hotels… We partied like the end of the world was coming.’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d let me down. Though I get the impression that we need to aim higher than pole dancing. We need to play the escort game. Look at those men: two bottles of Cristal on the go and hands on the arses of the best girls in the room. That’s what we should be going for.’

  ‘We need to work out who runs this place. Where’s big muscles gone, I wonder?’ asked Nina as she looked around. With all the excitement, she and Lucia hadn’t noticed that the bouncer had made a discreet disappearance.

  Just as Nina uttered the words, the man who had let them in made his way back out of a door they hadn’t spotted.

  ‘Margo and Nadia. Boss wants to talk to you. Good luck.’ He turned on his heels and headed back into the shadows, no doubt to keep a beady eye on any punters who might decide to get lairy or touch the girls more than they’d paid for.

  Behind him stood a man who made Lucia do a very unsubtle double-take. Somewhere in his late fifties or early sixties, salt and pepper hair that had once been very dark. Deep brown eyes that glistened to a menacing black in the darkness of the room. Chiselled features that had matured into a knowing impenetrability bordering on ruthlessness. Bad news, very bad news, thought Lucia immediately. She glanced over at Nina, who was practically drooling with her mouth slightly open.

  The man smiled like a tiger on the prowl that had just come across two juicy new-born antelopes. Far be it for him to look them up and down, like the bouncer had done, but Lucia was under no illusion that he had scanned them as thoroughly as an invasive airport machine.

  ‘Margo and Nadia.’ He said their names pointedly, as if they didn’t fit with the people in front of him, with an accent that Lucia instantly recognised as Italian. ‘What brings you here, ladies?’

  Nina took the lead. ‘We heard you’re hiring.’

  ‘Have you now?’ His eyes narrowed dangerously, with a hint of cruel amusement at the corners. ‘And where did you hear that – Margo – Nadia – which one are you?’

  ‘Margo. Very pleased to meet you. And you are?’ replied Nina, shaking her curls like a mane.

  It was beginning to look like a showdown between the top predators, though on this occasion Lucia wasn’t going to place a bet. The jury was still out on the winner.

  ‘Answer the question. How did you get here?’ To say that he didn’t sound amused would have been the understatement of the century.

  Lucia stretched her features into a calm, impenetrable smile. Thuggery and intimidation didn’t scare her, nor Nina.

  ‘We get our nails done down the Kentish Town Road. The Vietnamese girls said there was work going. And here we are,’ replied Nina with a face that would have backed Mata Hari into a corner.

  The man weighed up this answer for a few moments. Lucia took the opportunity of the silence to look him up and down. Expensive, beautifully cut suit, no doubt Italian, or Savile Row. Probably made to measure, since it fitted like a glove. He certainly had the shape for it, slim and muscular at the same time. Shoes polished to a perfect shine, definitely Italian. He must be raking it in out of this place.

  When he spoke, his voice had mellowed to only a hint of threatening. ‘As it happens, I am hiring.’ At this point he scanned them quite openly, his eyes lingering in particular on Lucia’s tiny dress and then moving, very unsubtly, to Nina’s admittedly impressive breasts. ‘As a matter of fact, there’s something on this evening that you two would be pretty good for.’ He ran a hand through his hair and smiled out of a corner of his mouth. ‘Lorenzo Giallo. You can call me Lorenzo. I’m the boss here.’

  It didn’t look like Lorenzo Giallo was going to shake the women’s hands, but Lucia didn’t care. She was relieved that they’d pulled it off, so far, at least.

  ‘Tell us what you want, Lorenzo,’ said Nina.

  ‘What I want is for you to bring in as much money as you can, cara. Tonight, there’s a party. Very important guests. Big
men, big money. They want the best girls, so you’d better not let me down. Do you think you can do it?’

  ‘We’re the best in the business. Of course we can do it,’ said Lucia unflinchingly.

  ‘You’d better not disappoint me.’ Lorenzo said this with an edge that left little room for doubt as to what the consequences might be.

  Lucia’s heart skipped a beat. They had to keep their cool, and they had to deliver. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

  Chapter 33

  The bar itself wasn’t what Lorenzo Giallo had in mind for Lucia and Nina, or, to use their stage names, Nadia and Margo, that evening. He had set his sights a lot higher and had consequently raised the stakes. The thought of being out of the relatively public space of Medusa, where at least if help was needed, some could conceivably be summoned, put Lucia on edge. They’d been instructed to get into a taxi with one of Lorenzo’s heavies – ‘for protection’ – though she knew the stony-faced man was there to make sure they didn’t stray from the brief. Lucia and Nina hadn’t even been told where precisely they were going.

  Lucia wondered if they’d massively overplayed their hand this time. Whatever they were heading towards was definitely dangerous business. She’d been surprised that Lorenzo had taken the bait as quickly as he had, agreeing to hire them without knowing anything about them. But then again, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. The balance of power was entirely in his favour.

  As the taxi meandered across Soho and then Piccadilly, it soon hit Regent Street and from there on, the landscape began to change. Savile Row and the eastern edge of Mayfair had nothing of the bustle of the West End. The imposing buildings and shopfronts stood ominously quiet, resolutely refusing to reveal what lay beneath. The streets were virtually empty, bar the occasional punter heading for one of the rarefied pubs that pockmarked a world that was out of bounds to the ordinary public. Lucia recognised Berkeley Square, just as the taxi veered sharply into Charles Street. Immediately south of it lay Shepherd Market, now a chic shopping and dining area beloved of celebrities and food critics, but whose previously seedy reputation had stuck. A faint sense of depravity hung in the air. Lucia told herself she was just being overly sensitive. Lorenzo had told her and Nina they were to keep the ‘important men’ company, though the kind of services that ‘company’ might entail hadn’t been specified. Lucia and Nina knew they had to keep their wits about them and not get drawn into the kind of situation they wouldn’t be able to extricate themselves from.