by Anne Coates
The community worker who looked more Mafioso that a do-gooder was wriggling on the hook. From his clothes and the expensive watch on his wrist, he spent far more than he could possibly earn in this job.
“Shall we say £750 for exclusive rights? That does mean that you cannot speak to or give information to any other media outlet.”
Vitello swallowed hard. Easy money… His index finger traced a line from the top of his nose to the corner of his mouth. “Okay. I haven’t seen her recently but I’ll tell you what I know about her.”
Hannah placed her tape-recorder on the table and switched it on at the same time as deactivating her hidden machine.
◊◊◊
Hannah left Tony Vitello with little more than she’d started out with. What she was certain of was that, however much of a committed community worker he was by day – and she had her doubts about that – in his free time, he was definitely on the make. If he wasn’t exactly running working girls, he was effecting introductions in some way and taking a cut. Probably involved in drugs as well with the kids outside his runners. He spoke so knowingly, he must have had inside knowledge of street life. Hannah wondered again about Gaynor, the lesbian he had introduced Caroline to.
Hannah did not trust him and knew the account of himself he gave apropos Caroline was just a fairy story. She rather hoped some other paper would approach him and he’d blab, thus forfeiting his “fee”.
As she walked out of the estate and down the road, she realised she probably wouldn’t find a taxi very easily. She stopped to ask a woman if there was a minicab office nearby. She was facing the entrance to the estate and had just learned there was one in the high street when she saw, over the woman’s shoulder, Tony Vitello walking out of the Tyneswell.
He looked around, furtively, Hannah thought but it could have been her over-active imagination, and then walked up the road heading north. Hannah thanked the woman and, from the opposite side of the road, followed him. There were enough people about to give her cover and she was intrigued that he should leave his office so soon after returning from lunch. Was his hasty exit prompted by her visit?
Vitello walked fast and Hannah was quite out of breath when she saw him stop suddenly in a side street that, fortunately, boasted a bus stop. Hannah joined the queue and watched in amazement as her quarry roared off in a car he’d just unlocked. Indifferent to cars as she was, even Hannah could identify a Porsche. The number plate said it all: TONY 1
Now what was a relatively poorly paid community worker doing driving around in a car like that? At least he had the grace to park it out of sight of the residents he served. Hannah wished she’d been able to tail him and wondered not for the first time if she should take her driving test again.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Why can’t I babysit for you? I won’t do her any harm you know.”
“I know that, Caroline.” Hannah hoped she sounded conciliatory. “It’s just she’s used to Nicky looking after her and, to be honest, I’ll feel happier.”
“Why?” Caroline looked almost ugly in her bad temper.
“Because you’re not used to babies, that’s why.”
“Not good enough, you mean.”
“That’s not what I mean. Now, the subject is closed. Will you please let me get on and dress?”
Hannah was standing in front of the open wardrobe trying to decide what to wear. The rail was full of things that were unsuitable for one reason or another. Oh why was everything such a performance. What did it matter what she looked like, for God’s sake?
Just as she was going out of the door, Caroline paused. “Wear that green dress,” she advised over her shoulder, “it makes you look sexy.”
Hannah didn’t turn round. “Well, that’s one decision made.” I definitely won’t be wearing that one, she thought.
◊◊◊
It was a quarter past seven before Tom rang the doorbell. He said nothing about being late. Always punctual to the point of obsession, Hannah was more than a little irritated. She was already on edge about talking to him about Princess and she hated all the subterfuge. She was living two lives and was having trouble making sure neither existence impinged on the other. Except they were inextricably bound.
“Ready?” Tom smiled. He looked… bashful was the word that came to Hannah’s mind, although she couldn’t for the life of her explain why. Casually dressed in an open-necked shirt, light trousers and jacket, he looked smart, elegant and, Hannah realised with a jolt that brought her up short, incredibly attractive. Don’t be taken in, she advised herself and the sudden picture of him and Princess together was armour enough.
Hannah collected her bag and jacket and double locked the door behind her. Tom looked puzzled. “What about the babysitter?”
“Oh, I’ve left Elizabeth at a friend’s house.” She smiled, then concentrated on putting the keys into her bag. “There aren’t that many people I’d entrust her to.”
“No, I just thought I heard someone… I must have been mistaken.”
But he wasn’t mistaken when he saw the curtain in an upstairs window fall back as though someone had been watching their departure. He took Hannah’s hand. “What do you fancy? Indian? Chinese? Thai? I didn’t think I’d need to book this early in the evening.”
They had turned out of Hannah’s road and were making their way towards the main shopping street, only minutes away. Living in an area with its broad ethnic and social mix had proved a revelation to her. She had shared flats in smarter areas of London, but East Dulwich was unpretentious and had its own charm. Hannah had been drawn by the relatively cheap housing and nearness to the City.
“The Thai is very good here,” she said, thinking how long it had been since she’d been out for dinner. It would have been so nice to imagine that this was an ordinary date with a very pleasant companion. Instead, Hannah had to talk to him yet again about that girl – without giving anything away and in the knowledge that Caroline was in her house and had his ring.
The streets were thronged with people returning from work and early evening strollers lapping up the last of the sunshine. The sun brought a smile to most people’s faces and even the tatty shop fronts looked more attractive. It did nothing however to improve the piles of dog excrement which littered the street and which the council cleaners always managed to avoid. Hannah said hello to one or two people she knew and nodded to others.
“Does Elizabeth see her father?” The question literally knocked Hannah off balance as her heel caught in a hole in the pavement and she stumbled against Tom. He held her close, his eyes, it seemed, searching hers. Then he laughed. “Women don’t usually throw themselves at me.”
“No?” His proximity had shaken Hannah more than the stumble. She could feel herself blushing. Such sophistication. Fortunately, they had reached the restaurant. There were quite a few early diners but plenty of tables free.
When they were sitting facing each other, the meal ordered and a bottle of wine opened, Tom said, “You didn’t answer my question.”
Hannah was more relaxed. “Who’s interviewing whom?” But she smiled at him to take away any implied criticism. “Elizabeth doesn’t see her father. He was off the scene before she was born.” Hannah ran her finger up the stem of her glass. “We’d been seeing each other on and off for years. He just couldn’t face the idea of fatherhood.” Hannah looked directly at him. “His loss.”
“Yes.” Tom looked thoughtful but the first course of satay and fish cakes arrived to distract them.
“I ought to be asking you about Princess,” Hannah said after the plates were cleared away.
“Fire away.” Tom smiled but Hannah sensed a tension in him.
“Well, to start with, why is there such an interest in a known prostitute leaving an area?”
Tom sighed. “It’s not just that she’d left the area, but that the four prostitutes who have been murdered went missing a few weeks before their death and no one seems to know where they were. In fact, it was one
of the pimps who first reported one of the girls missing.”
“You say girls. Were they all young?”
“Yes.” Tom sipped his wine. “They were all young and attractive. Each of them was killed elsewhere and then dumped. Thank you,” he said as their main course arrived. “Bon appetit.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes.
“Were they all killed in the same way?” Hannah asked.
“No.”
Hannah drained her glass. “By the same person?”
“That’s classified information.”
“But you think there’s a connection?”
“I know there’s a connection, but I’m not at liberty to tell you how I know this.”
“So –” Hannah took a deep breath – “hypothetically speaking, if Princess phoned you to say she was alive and well and living in Scunthorpe, you’d be satisfied?”
“Ye-es.” Tom didn’t sound convincing. “I don’t understand where you’re coming from, Hannah. I’m conducting a murder investigation. Four women have been killed. Four women who worked on my patch. I want to find out who killed them and lock them away before they strike again.”
“They?”
“Figure of speech.”
“Do you think Princess is dead?” Hannah leaned forward, hating the deception and hating Tom for holding out on her. How involved was he? Did he know that Princess had his ring and was that in any way relevant?
“I hope not.”
“How well do you know her?” Hannah asked in what she hoped was a disinterested manner.
Tom did not flinch. His blue eyes darkened as they held her brown ones. The moment seemed to go on and on. Hannah was about to repeat the question when Tom reached over and poured some wine for them both. “How well does anyone ever know another person?” he said, then shrugged. “She was a girl working on my turf. I interviewed her a couple of times in connection with crimes committed in the area. She was a nice kid. Streetwise. Sometimes arrogant, sometimes coy, a child lost in a grown-up’ world…” Tom sipped his wine.
“Supposing,” suggested Hannah, choosing her words carefully, “supposing she knew something and was in hiding, scared for her life?”
“She’d probably have reason to be,” Tom said.
Hannah stared at him for a moment. “And how do you fit into all this?”
For a moment he looked confused. “I’m sorry?”
“I was just wondering if murder inquiries are part of a BT Inspector’s remit?”
Tom Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “You may not have noticed, the city’s awash with unsolved crimes. These murders happened on my patch, so I’m investigating them. Of course I report to the Yard. But it suits their purposes to have me front the enquiries. Okay?” His voice was sharp but then he smiled. “Interview over? Let’s choose dessert.”
Hannah was just tucking into her sankaya when Tom’s pager bleeped. He evidently was a man who liked his gadgets. He read the message and smiled ruefully. “My time’s nearly up. A squad car is on its way to collect me.” Relief and disappointment swept over her in equal proportions. “D’you mind if we skip coffee?”
“No, of course not. Where are you being picked up?”
“Outside your house.”
Hannah signalled for the bill but when it arrived and she went to pick it up, Tom laid a hand over hers. “It’s all right. I’ll get this.”
“I’m on expenses from The News,” Hannah said.
“All the more reason. No one will be able to say I was bought over dinner.” He laughed at her expression as he counted out the notes and paid the bill in cash.
Hannah turned in the opposite direction when they left the restaurant. “I must collect Elizabeth,” she said by way of explanation.
“Any objection to my coming too?”
“None at all.” They fell into step.
“It’s strange isn’t it? I wish I hadn’t met you through The News but if it hadn’t been for them and Princess, our paths wouldn’t have crossed.” Hannah didn’t say anything. “Why do you write for that rag?”
Hannah sighed. Same old question everyone seemed to ask. Everyone was anti-tabloid these days. “They pay well and I’ve never been asked to do anything I’ve found distasteful. You might not like their methods, but they do expose a lot of scandals.”
Tom took her hand and turned it over in his. “I wonder,” he said almost to himself.
Hannah didn’t have time to ask him what he meant as they had arrived at Nicky’s. Elizabeth was asleep in her pushchair in the hall.
Hannah hugged Nicky. “Thanks Nicky. Anytime I can return the favour…”
“No problem, I’ll speak to you tomorrow.” Her goodnight included Tom who seemed perfectly at ease.
They were silent the rest of the way home. Hannah’s heart sank at the sight of a panda car outside her home. Oh well it would give the neighbours something to think about. Tom watched her unlock the door and helped her lift the pushchair over the step and into the hall. He bent and kissed her fleetingly on the lips. “I’ll call you,” was all he said before walking quickly down the path to the awaiting car.
Hannah wondered about the kiss, then smiled to herself. Since Elizabeth’s arrival, sex had been the last thing on her mind. “Who needs all that,” she told the sleeping infant, “when I’ve got someone as wonderful as you to love.”
TWENTY-NINE
Monday 9 August, 1993
“Are you sure this is the place you want, love?”
Hannah looked out of the window. Number 71 was as derelict as the rest of Tonbridge Street. The boarding covering the ground floor windows had been covered with posters and graffiti. This was King’s Cross Women’s Centre.
“This is it.” Hannah smiled. “How much do I owe you?”
“Seven quid, love.”
“Take seven-fifty and may I have a receipt please?”
The driver wrote out the receipt and gave her the change. “I’ll hang on a minute until you go in.”
“Thanks.” Hannah ought to have felt slighted that he didn’t feel she was up to looking after herself, but in fact she was amused. London cab drivers were like that. Paternalistic. She turned to wave as she walked up to the unprepossessing entrance and rang the bell.
After a few moments, a woman’s voice answered. “Yes?” A dog barked furiously.
Hannah spoke into the entry phone. “It’s Hannah Weybridge, I have an appointment with Karen Marshal at 10.30. I’m a bit early.”
There was a pause.
“Okay.”
A minute or two passed before the door was opened by a young woman wearing black leggings and an outsize T-shirt bearing the legend Wages for Housework. The woman had one hand on the door and the other clutched the collar of an enormous German shepherd. The hound growled.
Hannah’s smile wavered. She wasn’t fond of dogs at the best of times. German shepherds left her distinctly uneasy. She was always worried that they would pick up on her fear.
“Karen?”
“No. She won’t be a minute. Come in.”
Hannah walked into the grey-carpeted room and the woman and dog disappeared through a door on the other side. Hannah assumed she was to wait where she was; she certainly didn’t feel welcome.
She looked about her. From floor to ceiling, the walls were cloaked in posters and notices. The subjects ranged from a campaign against the “SUS” law, police harassment and courts as pimps to Whores Against Wars and LAW – Legal Action for Women.
Three black “leatherette” chairs occupied one corner. Two trestle tables were ranged the length of one wall and were piled high with pamphlets and booklets, Hannah was browsing through these when a voice interrupted her.
“Hello, I’m Karen.” Black leggings and T-shirt were obviously the order of the day. This one proclaimed Prostitutes Are Wives & Mothers Too. Karen’s face was devoid of any cosmetic art. Her mousey hair, highlighted blond, was cut short and combed in a no-nonsense fashion off her face. She wore a
large, thick-strapped watch, but no other jewellery.
Hannah held out her hand, which was taken in a cool, limp clasp. “Hi, I’m Hannah.”
They sat down on the black chairs and Hannah got out her tape recorder. “You know I’m writing a piece for a new women’s mag about the pros and cons of legalising prostitution and I just wanted the English Collective of Prostitutes’ viewpoint.”
Karen regarded her for a moment. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise you were going to do the interview now. I thought you were just here to talk about an interview.”
Hannah held back the sigh and attempted to keep the exasperation from her voice. She had, in fact, arranged this interview two weeks previously and it had taken several phone calls and reassurances of editorial integrity to get this far. Her copy date was only a few days away now and she didn’t have the time or the energy to pussyfoot around. She also wanted to quiz them about the dead prostitutes for The News but she wasn’t about to reveal that. She had the feeling that any mention of tabloid newspapers would meet with instant hostility.
The smile on Hannah’s face felt false. “I have to write this piece over the next few days.”
Karen shrugged. “I’m sorry, that’s the way the Collective works.” She didn’t look or sound particularly remorseful.
Journalists were evidently not popular here, so Hannah tried another tack. She bit her lip. “The thing is, Karen, I’ve had to arrange for someone to look after my baby today… I’m a single parent,” Hannah pushed the female solidarity angle, “so it’s a bit of a struggle financially and …”
The spokeswoman for the ECP shaped her lips into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll see what I can do. Wait here.”
When she returned after making a hurried phone call that Hannah couldn’t quite hear, she carried a tape-recorder, “Okay, I’ll do the interview on condition: we see what you write.”
Hannah’s heart sank. “That’s fine, but you do realise that it won’t necessarily be what appears in print. The editor does have final approval.”
