by Sabina Manea
As the cab came to a halt, the bouncer nodded to the two women and ushered them out before settling the bill. As the streetlight shone on the building where they had stopped, Lucia couldn’t believe her eyes. They were in Trebeck Street, and she was sure it was the same building where she and Carliss had spotted Edoardo da Carrara.
‘Here we go,’ whispered Nina discreetly to her friend as they lingered slightly behind the man. He wasn’t paying any attention to them, too busy talking to someone on his phone. The conversation at his end was largely monosyllabic. An agreement seemed to be reached, as he jabbed one of the doorbells with his finger and waited. A few moments later, they were buzzed in.
Inside, the building had inherited nothing of the eighteenth-century style that the exterior had first suggested. It had been gutted out and opened up wide. The huge entrance hall was lit by a single, enormous chandelier dangling from the plain white ceiling. The walls were decorated with anodyne abstract pictures which looked like originals, though at the lower end of the art market. On the right-hand side was a lift, which the man headed for. They entered, squashed side by side, and stood there somewhat uncomfortably until they spilled out on the fifth floor. It had to be the very top of the house, judging by what Lucia had seen from the outside, though she had only spotted four windows – one on the lower ground floor, below street level, and another three storeys going up. The fifth floor had to be some sort of addition on top of the building, invisible from street level.
The bouncer beckoned to them. ‘This way. I’ll show you where the penthouse is.’
That added up. Best flat in the building for the most important party.
As they walked out of the lift, they found themselves on a small, virtually square landing that housed a single door. The man knocked as delicately as his meaty fingers would permit and waited.
The door opened wide, and they were greeted by a woman who could have given any 1990s supermodel a run for their money. At least six foot tall, with honey blonde hair flowing in expertly coiffed waves all the way down to her waist, and dark green eyes that set off the floor-length white dress. She wasn’t terribly young or terribly old; Lucia estimated somewhere in her early to mid-forties.
The woman gave the bouncer a cursory smile. ‘Thanks. You can go now, and tell Lorenzo they’re here,’ she said in a business-like tone, with an accent that sounded faintly Germanic.
Lucia had been right. Lorenzo was taking absolutely no risks getting her and Nina on board. Every single move they made was being closely monitored and reported on.
With the man gone and the door firmly shut behind him, the woman turned to Lucia and Nina and beamed a glossy smile that didn’t quite reach the intense, gorgeously made-up eyes. ‘Girls. Come with me. You’ve arrived on time. We’re just getting into the swing of things.’
Nina’s own eyes opened a little wider as the two friends surveyed their surroundings. The hallway was dimly but elegantly lit, with dark red walls that managed to stay on the right side of mysterious rather than veering into kitschy. It was right up Nina’s street, Lucia could tell, and she hoped this might help put them at ease somewhat.
The woman, who had introduced herself as Greta, opened a door on their left and ushered them in. They found themselves in a boxy, low-ceilinged room that lived up to its characterisation of being a new addition to the building. Before turning her attention to what was happening inside, Lucia glanced at the vast outdoor terrace, lit by tall uplighters that lined its perimeter. This was indeed the penthouse.
The room itself was vast and open-plan. Lucia surmised that it occupied the whole of the top of the building. In one corner, there was a small bar liberally stocked with a decent selection of spirits, mixers and bottles of champagne in a fridge, complete with a Vietnamese girl preparing the appropriate concoctions. She was dressed much in the vein of Lucia and Nina herself: short, tight and unsubtle. She didn’t look much older than mid-twenties.
‘Lulu, look.’ Nina gestured discreetly to a capacious yellow velvet sofa that housed a rotund man in a dishevelled suit, tie sticking out of his pocket, who looked like he’d been sampling the delights of the bar for quite some time. Next to him, provocatively draped over the sofa arm, sat another Vietnamese girl. She looked painfully young, though you wouldn’t have guessed it from her demeanour and the way she carried herself. She looked fairly well-seasoned in the game.
Lucia nodded and signalled to her friend not to say anything.
Greta, who had been walking ahead, turned around and beamed at them. ‘Like it?’
‘Beautiful,’ said Nina with a knowing look that she was trying to make as professional as possible.
‘Come on, I’ll introduce you,’ said Greta as she directed the two women towards a cluster of men of various shapes and sizes and in various states of inebriation.
Clearly, they’d all pitched up straight from their City or Mayfair jobs for an evening of relaxation away from nagging wives and pestering children. Here, in exchange for some cold hard cash, their wishes and desires reigned. Lucia wondered what lay beyond the door at the back of the room, but you didn’t need a vivid imagination to make an educated guess.
Momentarily distracted by her own thoughts, Lucia was jolted back by the distinct feeling that she was being watched. She turned her gaze to Greta, who looked like she’d had her eyes on her and Nina for a while. She doesn’t trust us, Lucia surmised, and why should she?
Greta’s expression swiftly turned to cold politeness as she deftly separated two of the men from their group and veered them towards the two friends. She was playing her part to perfection, matchmaker and madam neatly rolled into one. As Greta made the introductions, Lucia did her best to suppress a shudder. The two men were staring at her and Nina as if they were expensive goods on a shelf, and so they were, for tonight’s purposes. All Lucia could think about was how to deliver just enough to keep the prospective customers happy while having the chance to gather information.
For the next half an hour or so, though it felt like a lot longer, Lucia, Nina and the ‘important businessmen’ exchanged pleasantries of an increasingly salacious nature. All the way through, Nina was careful to keep lubricating the clients with ever stronger alcoholic drinks that she fetched from the bar. In a way, it was like flirting down the boozer, except that it was a commercial transaction, and Lucia was fully aware what the end goal would be, if they didn’t deflect the men’s attention. Fortunately, Nina’s ruse was working wonderfully. The ties came off, followed by the expensive suit jackets, and the men spluttered and guffawed and swayed on their feet, soon engrossed in a meandering conversation with each other rather than with the two women. At the end of the day, they’re up for a chinwag about work and a nice pair of tits to stare at, reasoned Lucia. Given the number of Martinis inside them, it didn’t look like they could manage much more – which was just as well.
‘Excuse us for a minute, gents,’ purred Nina as she entwined her fingers around Lucia’s. ‘You know what us women are like. We can’t go powder our noses on our own now, can we?’
Greta was nowhere to be seen, so it was the right moment to make a temporary escape. Lucia and Nina headed to the bathroom. They needed to regroup and rethink their strategy.
As the door opened, they found themselves in a long room lined with mirrors and basins on one side, very much a public convenience rather than what you would expect to find in a private house.
‘I was hoping we’d be alone,’ whispered Nina.
‘We might be onto something here,’ replied Lucia just as quietly.
In front of the mirror furthest from the entrance stood a Vietnamese girl that looked even younger than the one they’d spotted entertaining the punters. Her light pink dress and heavy make-up jarred. She looked like an underage model at a beauty pageant, and Lucia’s heart broke a little. The girl was doing her best to reapply some lipstick, but her hand was visibly shaking. She blinked a few times, as if to get something out of her eye. She hadn’t even noticed
the two friends coming in; either that, or she was studiously ignoring them.
‘Hi,’ ventured Nina with the sweetest smile she could paint on.
The girl nearly jumped, like a startled deer. ‘Hello,’ she answered timidly, eyeing them up distrustfully.
Lucia parked herself in front of a mirror and extracted a hairbrush out of her bag. ‘Busy in there, isn’t it? We needed a bit of air, you know. The punters are hard work tonight.’ She flicked her hair back as she brushed it strand by strand.
The girl relaxed a little and busied herself with a bulging make-up bag. Her long, dark brown hair fell in heavy, artificially created curls down her back. Lucia could tell she’d been crying. She had slightly dark circles under her eyes, which even the make-up couldn’t cover, and a tinge of red on the whites confirmed the supposition.
‘You OK, babe?’ asked Nina sympathetically as she edged towards the mirror closest to the girl. ‘One of those evenings, is it?’
The girl pursed her lips, reluctant to engage. Give her a minute, Double N, thought Lucia. Don’t go in too hard, or she’ll leg it out of here, and we’ll be back to square one.
Sure enough, Nina waited. She knew how to extract confidences as well as Lucia.
Finally, the girl let out a small sigh and lifted herself up to sit on the basin. She started picking at her long, pink fingernails that matched her dress. ‘I’m tired.’ A well-spoken, London voice, unlike the hesitant English of the girls at the nail bar.
The ones that get cherry-picked by Lorenzo for these parties have to fit the bill, surmised Lucia. Only the best for the ‘important men’.
‘Bet you are, sweetheart. Me, I’m dying to go home and get myself tucked up in bed with a cuppa, if I’m honest,’ said Nina as she rubbed a bit of lipstick on each cheek in turn. She surveyed her teeth with an expert eye, checking nothing was stuck in them, not that they’d been offered any food that evening. It was just a ruse to keep up appearances, to allow the girl to open up. They had to persuade her that they were on her side.
‘I’m Margo, by the way,’ said Nina. ‘And this is my friend Nadia.’
‘You work together?’ asked the girl, her eyes a little brighter with interest.
Human curiosity could always be counted on to loosen tongues. ‘Yes, we’re always together,’ Lucia said. ‘Nicer that way. Plus, if anyone tries any funny business, we’ve got our backs covered.’
‘Yes, that is good. You don’t want to be on your own with these… people,’ replied the girl, and the hunted expression that had flashed across her face earlier returned.
‘That bad, are they?’ said Nina as she edged a little closer towards the girl. ‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’
‘Maya.’
Probably not her real name, but at least we know what to call her, thought Lucia. ‘Maya, that’s a pretty name.’
‘Thank you. I chose it myself. It makes me sound like an actress from the movies,’ Maya said wistfully. ‘Like I can live a different life.’
‘You can live a different life. You don’t have to do this forever, you know,’ said Lucia. It was a bit of a gamble, getting all serious like this, but she felt they were in there with Maya. She just needed a kind face to offload herself to, and that’s what she was getting right now.
The girl laughed, but it was a sad laugh. ‘You’re joking. How can I get out of this? Lorenzo would kill me.’
Lucia and Nina knew the threat wasn’t an exaggeration. Maya had good reason to be scared.
‘Is this place Lorenzo’s?’ asked Nina.
‘No. He just uses it for parties.’ Maya was on the verge of continuing the explanation, but she stopped abruptly, mouth slightly open. She knew she was being interrogated, and Lucia could tell they were losing her.
Lucia waited as she pretended to refresh her mascara. Something was being left unsaid. Maybe we’ve been too forward, thought Lucia with some concern.
‘Sorry to ask all these questions. We’re new, you see, and we want to know what we’re dealing with here. Us girls need to stick together. Otherwise, nobody’s going to look after us,’ said Lucia imploringly, with just a tinge of desperation in her voice.
Maya weighed up this statement for a few seconds, and the defensive expression softened somewhat. ‘Yeah, that’s true. They’re just out to make as much money out of us as possible. At least you two have each other.’ But the opening didn’t last long. She turned around sharply and picked up her handbag. ‘I have to go now.’
As Lucia and Nina gathered their things, Lucia threw one last glance in Maya’s direction. The girl had allowed herself one last glance in the mirror and was dabbing her lips gently with a napkin: dark brown, with a familiar logo. A flash of realisation hit Lucia, and she was annoyed with herself that it hadn’t clicked earlier. The napkin was the same as the one she and DCI Carliss had found in Darius Major’s flat when they visited the death scene. The logo wasn’t a flower, or a crown, or snakes. It was a stylised Medusa.
Chapter 34
First thing Monday morning, Trinh knocked on the door of DCI Carliss’s office. ‘Boss, I’ve been looking into the title deeds for 30 Trebeck Street, just like you asked.’
Lucia and Carliss simultaneously looked up from their respective computer screens.
‘Go on,’ said the inspector.
He looked like he hadn’t slept in a long while, thought Lucia as she clocked the tell-tale days-old stubble and crumpled shirt combo. An empty packet of fags lay on his desk, a sure sign that the levels of stress were sky-high. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet of late, not even talking to her, always huddled over his desk, no doubt beavering away trying to get to the bottom of this godawful mess.
‘I haven’t got very far, I’m afraid, boss,’ said Trinh as she ran her forefinger across the tablet screen. ‘I can’t for the life of me find any information on these dodgy offshore companies that own the place. If you’ve got any bright ideas, Lucia, shout them out.’
Carliss cut in, ‘Well done, anyway, DS Trinh. It was worth a shot. On a different note, I gave you the green light for surveillance on that Soho dive – Medusa, right? How’s that going?’
‘Yes, you did,’ Trinh replied. ‘PC Stacey Cross has been hanging around the entrance to the bar for the past few days in a delivery van, playing the dutiful courier left, right and centre. Nobody notices the delivery people – it’s like an invisibility cloak. She had no trouble keeping as close an eye on the place as could be. She saw plenty of goings on – girls and punters. But nothing that stood out.’
Lucia’s pulse quickened. She hadn’t been appraised of this surveillance.
‘Lucia, did you spot anything the other night?’ continued Trinh innocently, unaware of the havoc she was about to cause. ‘Stacey saw you and could tell you were undercover. She kept her distance so she wouldn’t blow it.’
Carliss turned sharply to Lucia, who wished she could make the ground swallow her on the spot. ‘DS Trinh, thank you. That’s all for now. I just need a quick word with Lucia, if you don’t mind.’
Once Trinh had left, the inspector walked to the door, shut it, and stood there with his back to Lucia for a very long few seconds. When he turned around, he had a face like thunder.
‘What the fuck’s this all about, Lucia?’
‘I knew you’d be mad at me. But please listen. OK, I went to Medusa. Took Nina with me for support. We wanted to see what the place was like, try and talk to some of the Vietnamese girls. How else are we meant to find out what’s going on?’
‘So, you two went to a strip joint together? What, pretending you’re looking for thrills?’ The inspector slapped his forehead as the obvious explanation dawned on him. ‘Of course you didn’t. You went there pretending you were prozzies, didn’t you? That’s what Trinh meant by “undercover”. And don’t you bloody lie to me.’
‘Yes,’ Lucia said quietly.
‘And what happened?’
‘We met the big boss. Lorenzo Giallo, he’s called. Looks lik
e a standard gangster to me. Italian, probably mafia. He sent us to this party in Mayfair. It was in one of the flats at 30 Trebeck Street.’
‘The place where we saw Edoardo da Carrara go in?’
‘Yes, though there are lots of flats in that building. We didn’t see which buzzer he pressed before he went in.’
Carliss was doing his best not to go off on one, but he couldn’t hide the anger in his voice. ‘Fucking stupid, that’s what it is. A party? What sort of party?’
‘One with rich businessmen and pretty escorts plying them with drinks. What else do you expect?’ shot back Lucia, now just as angry herself. ‘We’re perfectly capable of looking after ourselves, you know. Yeah, yeah, proper policing and all that. Screw that nonsense. There’s no way you can get the intel we did by being procedurally correct.’
‘I’m not even going to gratify that with a comeback. You’re in the doghouse, you know that.’
‘And what are you going to do about it? Rat on me to the Super and get me sacked?’ retorted Lucia defiantly.
Carliss walked slowly back to his desk and sat down heavily in his chair. ‘You know I’m not going to do that. You could have got yourselves in serious trouble. You don’t go round messing with people like that. You could… in any case, I don’t much fancy being called to identify you on the slab. Or Nina, for that matter,’ he added quickly.
Lucia knew she’d messed up. He cared about her, and she’d scared the living daylights out of him. It made her feel warm inside, this sense that he wanted to protect her, but she shook off the thought. She’d never needed protecting, and it wasn’t going to start now. ‘Be pissed off with me if you want. But at least let me tell you what we found out. That napkin we found in Darius Major’s flat, remember?’
