by Paul Finch
‘You know Mick, don’t you?’ McCracken said, nodding at Shallicker, who put a muscle-thick arm around the back of her shoulders, to squash her all the more. ‘Meanwhile, the handsome devil in the front is Tyson. Not his real name, but that’s what we call him … used to be a tasty light-heavyweight until he met someone better, as that manky right eye of his will attest. But he can still mix it when the mood’s on him, can’t you, lad?’
‘Whenever and whoever you want, boss?’ Tyson replied coolly. ‘Just say the word.’
‘No need for the rough stuff tonight, Tysie,’ McCracken said. ‘Babes, just drive around for a bit, eh?’
Carlotta shifted gears and hit the gas, and the Bentley pulled smoothly from the kerb.
It wasn’t especially late at night, but it was midweek and there was little traffic. So they drove unhindered, taking turns at random but noticeably sticking to the main roads. It was several minutes before McCracken spoke again.
‘So … Detective Lucy Clayburn. How honoured am I?’
‘Not as much as you may think, Mr McCracken,’ she said. ‘I’m a plain old constable.’
He almost looked affronted. ‘They sent a woodentop to keep an eye on me?’
‘Needs must, I’m afraid. We’re short-handed.’
He chuckled. ‘So are we. Good people are hard to find these days.’
‘You need to know something, Mr McCracken.’ Lucy tried to speak boldly, but was doing her level best to stop her voice from shaking. ‘Even if I walk away from this in one piece, abducting a police officer is likely to get you twenty years in prison.’
‘Aww!’ Carlotta glanced at her through the rear-view mirror. ‘She thinks she’s in danger.’
Lucy glowered in response, to which the blonde beauty winked.
‘We’re not abducting anyone,’ McCracken said airily. ‘You got into this car of your own free will, and I’ve got three witnesses here who’ll say exactly that.’
‘You turned up at my house late at night, uninvited, a whole bunch of you,’ Lucy replied. ‘That’s threatening enough. And you could only have found your way there by following me from my mother’s …’
‘We did tail you, I must admit,’ McCracken said. ‘But relax, constable … seriously. Like I say, all we’re doing is going for a drive.’ He regarded her with interest. For all this debonair charm, his stare was coldly penetrating. ‘You think if I was going to kill you, I’d come to get you in my own motor? First off, I’m actually quite impressed that you managed to get into SugaBabes. Impressed with you, that is. I’m not so impressed with Jayne and Suzy McIvar, but that’s between me and them.’
He glanced away again, as if seeking his next words carefully. Lucy looked through the windows. She supposed it was vaguely comforting that they were still in Crowley, apparently content to keep navigating its complex system of highways and byways.
‘Up until now, we’ve kind of coexisted with you Manchester coppers, haven’t we?’ McCracken said. It wasn’t posed as a question so much as a casual observation.
‘Not through any desire on our part,’ Lucy replied.
‘That’s what you think. Oh, you take bits of our operation down whenever you can. That’s what the law does. Inconsequential stuff usually and it’s up and running again the next day somewhere else, so it doesn’t make much difference. But it looks good in the papers. Everyone’s happy. But the one thing we can’t have, Constable Clayburn, is … well, this.’
Shallicker’s monstrous arm tightened around her shoulders. He leaned on her all the harder. The reek of his peppermint breath was almost overwhelming.
‘I like you,’ McCracken said. ‘I honestly do. You can’t be no scaredy-cat doing what you did. But it’s a liberty too, and people don’t take liberties with us. And yet that isn’t the worst of it, is it?’ He glanced round at her again. ‘I mean, you were actually trying to fit us up.’
‘We don’t fit people up, Mr McCracken …’
‘Well, you may not, Constable Clayburn … when you’re pounding the beat, when you’re swapping stories about those good old days you don’t even remember with some nice old dear, and all for a cup of lukewarm tea in a sheltered accommodation at the back end of nowhere.’
‘There are bigger fish in your pond, are there?’ she said. ‘Fine, good. So why talk to me?’
‘I’ll tell you why, Constable Clayburn. Because I’m in a good mood. And because I want it to end here. Yeah, that’s right.’ McCracken nodded. ‘I want this whole thing to go away tonight, and I reckon you’re just the person to sort that out for me.’
‘It’s already gone away,’ she replied.
‘Has it?’
‘I can hardly go back to SugaBabes now, can I?’
‘You certainly wouldn’t be advised to. You wouldn’t be advised to go anywhere near Cheetham Hill, knowing Suzy McIvar. But what are we really talking about here, Constable Clayburn? I mean, let’s not mince our words. It’s Carlotta, isn’t it … that bit of hot stuff there in the driving seat? My girlfriend.’
‘Hah!’ Carlotta hooted. ‘You wish.’
McCracken sighed. ‘She winds me up so much she might as well be my wife. But let’s not go there for the time-being, eh?’
‘Definitely not,’ Carlotta agreed.
‘You reckon she’s Jill the Ripper, don’t you?’ McCracken said.
‘Do I?’ Lucy remained resolutely noncommittal.
‘I can’t think of any other reason why Operation Clearway would be so interested in her. But what’s intrigued me is how you came to develop that interest? I mean, Carlotta here’s the Lady Gaga of hookers. She’s sexy, she’s mysterious, she’s aloof. She’s totally dominant. No one pushes her around.’
Carlotta nodded approvingly to hear herself so described.
‘Look at her,’ McCracken said, awed. ‘How together she is. How relaxed. You really think she has a side-line where she gets her jollies butchering lorry drivers?’
‘I don’t think anything on the matter,’ Lucy said.
‘Well … I reckon I’d know about it if she did, but I don’t expect you to take my word for that.’ McCracken addressed Carlotta. ‘What do you think the reason is, love? I mean, you’re the one looking at life in prison if we let the constable walk. Surely you have an opinion?’
‘I reckon they don’t like strong women, Frank,’ Carlotta replied. ‘We have to be shrinking violets, you see. If not that, we can only be deranged killers.’
Lucy knew she was being baited here, that this was a ruse to lull her into revealing sensitive information. And despite that, it almost worked. It was so tempting to shout that this was bunkum; that they’d been led to Carlotta through evidence – circumstantial, but evidence all the same. Of course, it might be that Lucy’s life would depend on her giving them something at some point, but until then she was determined to resist.
‘Nah. Can’t be that.’ McCracken shook his head. ‘I mean look at Constable Clayburn here. She’s a strong woman … and they gave her a job.’
‘Yeah, but I think Constable Clayburn probably knows when to keep her opinions to herself.’ Carlotta again locked gazes with Lucy through the mirror. ‘That’s not me, and never has been. Back in the day, Lucy, when I was anyone’s, I had a right temper. I’d say things I didn’t mean … about cutting fellas up if they pissed me off. About fucking ’em and murdering ’em because they were no longer any use to me … just like they do with us. About cutting their dicks and balls off and decorating my hallway with them.’
Lucy tried not to react. This was still the part no one outside the taskforce knew anything about; the severing of the victims’ genitals.
‘This what Jill the Ripper’s doing, Constable Clayburn?’ McCracken asked with fascination. ‘I can tell by the look on your mush that we’re getting close. Imagine that, eh? Collecting John Thomases. Bit naughty, or what? That’ll be the bit you withhold from the public, yeah? So you can suss out all the fruit-loops who troop into your nick every day with delusions
of grandeur? Well, don’t worry … you don’t have to confirm or deny. We’re only making an educated guess based on unwise things the babe may have said in the past. And we won’t say anything either way. We don’t want to hinder your investigation. In fact, this is what tonight’s ride-along is all about, Constable Clayburn. Believe it or not, we want to help you … by dismissing certain suspects from your enquiries. Again, I don’t expect you to take my word for that. So …’ He nodded at Shallicker. ‘Would you do the honours, Mick?’
Shallicker reached into his jacket and handed over a wad of colour photographs. McCracken flipped through them before selecting one.
‘Check this out, Constable Clayburn.’ He showed it to Lucy; it depicted himself in evening dress, complete with tuxedo and bowtie, and Carlotta in another glamorous evening-gown, her tresses done up Madame Pompadour style, as they stood one to either side of a short, stocky but handsome man with a rich brown beard and shoulder-length hair. Above them hung the glittering canopy of a tall, theatrical building.
‘Now,’ McCracken said, ‘what’s that place?’
‘The Opera House,’ Lucy answered. ‘Quay Street.’
‘That’s right. And who’s that, do you think, between me and the babe?’
‘Alfie Boe.’
‘Correct again. Another cracking Lancashire lad. Now, you are aware that Alfie did a one-off charity concert for the RAF at The Opera House a few weeks back?’
‘I think I heard about that,’ Lucy said, already suspecting where this was leading.
‘Guess what night it was?’
‘I’m sure you’re about to tell me.’
‘October 6th ring a bell?’
‘Yes,’ Lucy said.
‘Go on,’ McCracken urged her. ‘Don’t keep us in suspense.’
‘That was the night Ronnie Ford was murdered.’
‘That’s right.’ McCracken laughed. ‘That was the night Jill the Ripper sliced up that Warrington lad. And fucking shit, there’s Carlotta with me and Alfie Boe at The Opera House on the same evening. He didn’t know who we were, of course … but it was a charity do, and everyone was chucking into the pot for the honour of a pic. Anyway, the point is … it couldn’t have been Carlotta, could it? You see that show ran from half-seven until just after ten, but we all had to get there for six for the photo-call. You can check those times if you want, but I’m sure there’s no need. When did your man die again?’
‘Between seven and nine.’
McCracken smiled. ‘How cool is photographic evidence?’ He pushed the photo into her hand. ‘Especially when it’s yours to keep. Now, what else have we got down here? Oh, how about this?’
He flashed several more glossies. Variously, they depicted McCracken and Carlotta on loungers alongside a swimming pool, posing during dinner on a balcony overlooking a magnificent seascape, at the far horizon of which the sun melted in a crimson haze, and then standing at the prow of a yacht as it progressed across rippling blue waves towards a soaring, boulder-strewn shoreline.
‘That’s Santorini,’ McCracken said. ‘Fab place. You ever been?’
‘No,’ Lucy said.
‘That’s me and Carlotta again … having lunch in the hotel restaurant. Look at that view. That’s us on the volcano trip. That’s us by the pool. Amazing place … you ought to visit. If you want to check the bookings, we went there last September. You know where I’m going with this, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Graham Cummins.’
‘That’s right,’ McCracken chuckled again; it was fast becoming his phrase of choice. ‘He was killed over in Southport, wasn’t he, on September 17th? Smack in the middle of our trip to Santorini. Which kind of means Carlotta couldn’t have done that one either.’ He pushed these other photographs into Lucy’s grasp. ‘And if that’s not enough, try using the old noggin. Seriously, Constable Clayburn … why would I be lying if my favourite lady of the night was doing this nasty thing? Why would I cover for her? I want you to catch Jill the Ripper. I’m sure you’ve been hearing this disgustingly materialistic phrase till you want to puke, but she’s really, really bad for business. Oh …’ He glanced from the window. ‘Looks like we’re home.’
Lucy looked around too. She hadn’t noticed, but they’d entered Cuthbertson Court, and in fact were pulling up at the foot of her drive, alongside her Ducati.
McCracken sat back. ‘Now … wasn’t that a useful exercise?’
‘Can I get out?’ Lucy asked.
‘Course you can. Mick …?’
Shallicker opened the door and clambered out, standing back to make room. Before Lucy could climb out after him, Carlotta turned and put a hand on her arm.
‘You got off lightly, babe,’ the blonde said, this time only half smiling. ‘Think about that.’
‘Well you haven’t got off at all,’ Lucy replied. ‘You want to know why, Lotta? Because you keep some very poor company, and one of these days that’s going to bite you right in your shapely rear-end.’
Carlotta’s smile faded completely but she said nothing else.
Lucy levered herself out and stood on the pavement, watching as the Bentley swung quietly away. She was out of her depth in so many ways on this case. But the whole thing overall had deflated her. It was true what she’d said about Carlotta not having got away with anything – but in reality that was because she hadn’t done anything.
Quite patently, Carlotta was not Jill the Ripper.
Chapter 24
‘So let me get this straight,’ Priya Nehwal said, studying the photographs with disbelief. ‘Frank McCracken turned up at your house and offered you a ride in his Bentley?’
Lucy knuckled at her brow, but the ache behind it didn’t ease. DI Slater’s office, which was poky at the best of times, seemed even smaller and stuffier with the three of them crammed inside it. On top of that, she felt scummy and tired, and was still wearing the paint-caked stakeout clothes that she’d been stuck in yesterday, having had nothing else to change into.
‘PC Clayburn, I asked you a question,’ Nehwal said.
‘Yes, ma’am … that’s about the strength of it.’
‘And you went?’
‘Well …’ Lucy smiled to herself, ‘yeah.’
Slater looked stunned. ‘He didn’t coerce you in any way?’
‘He didn’t need to,’ Lucy said. ‘I volunteered. He’d obviously recognised me at SugaBabes, so I thought I’d salvage anything from the job I could before we called a halt to it.’
‘So he didn’t actually put a hand on you?’
‘Not as such.’
‘What about that big lunatic he always has in tow?’ Nehwal asked.
‘Mick Shallicker,’ Slater said.
‘Shallicker, yeah,’ Lucy grunted. ‘He didn’t touch me either. I won’t say he didn’t put the wind up me though.’
‘That’s what he’s there for,’ Slater commented.
‘So they took you for a ride and told you they know everything?’ Nehwal still sounded as if she didn’t totally believe it.
‘Not quite everything, ma’am,’ Lucy replied.
Even now she was holding certain things back. She’d studiously avoided mentioning her mother’s role in the affair. Previously, that had looked like it would be impossible but McCracken’s intervention had changed everything. She could now claim the surveillance at the club had been compromised simply because the gangster had personally revealed to her that he knew about it. There was no need to add anything else. In one way it was a get-out-of-jail card, but it was still discomforting. Not only did she feel guilty about betraying her gaffers, but the truth still might leak out at some point in the future.
‘I didn’t confirm that Carlotta was our chief suspect,’ Lucy said. ‘McCracken’s only guessing that she is.’
Nehwal still looked unimpressed. ‘I just don’t see how he got from sussing an undercover cop in the McIvars’ brothel to assuming that his girlfriend is a murder suspect. For all McCracken knew, you could have
been there working Vice.’
Lucy shrugged offhandedly. Even in Nehwal’s fearsome presence, it was difficult not to show how stressed and irritable she felt. She’d barely slept the previous night, of course – which didn’t help, and hadn’t even been able to wash properly as there was no hot water in the bungalow.
‘I can only assume, ma’am, that as soon as he sensed I was a cop, he asked around at the club and Delilah – she’s the girl I worked with – revealed that I’d shown some degree of interest in Carlotta. It may also be, if he felt there was a threat to him, that he had his boys sweep the neighbourhood surrounding his house and they detected the observation point.’
‘They’re nothing if not efficient,’ Slater said.
‘Which is more than can be said for our surveillance team,’ Nehwal retorted.
‘Come on, ma’am.’ Now Slater himself looked peeved. ‘These guys live in a permanent state of paranoia. They plan a blag, and if there’re more cars than usual parked outside the local nick on the day in question they’ll cancel it.’
‘Either way, it means the Didsbury obbo’s gone west,’ Nehwal said, ‘as well as the obbo at SugaBabes.’
‘No point in it now, anyway,’ Slater replied. ‘I mean, whether this lass Carlotta’s guilty or not, she’ll go to ground like a frightened rabbit.’
‘She didn’t seem that frightened,’ Lucy remarked.
Nehwal waved the photographs. ‘And this is the proof McCracken offered of her innocence?’
Lucy nodded. ‘I haven’t had much chance to assess it, ma’am, but I suspect the dates will check out.’
‘Could these pics have been mocked up?’ Nehwal wondered.
‘Anything’s possible these days,’ Slater said. ‘But why go to that trouble? We can check bookings with the theatre, the hotel, the airline, the holiday company. Knowing McCracken, it’ll all be watertight.’
‘So … where does that leave us, apart from Nowhereville?’ Nehwal switched her attention back to Lucy. ‘Especially you, PC Clayburn. You can’t go back to SugaBabes and you can’t go back on the streets. I doubt it’s safe for any of the girls to go back on the streets now.’
