by Mary Birk
“Not if the press gets hold of things. It’s not big news if Sophie and Connor of the projects have a spat, but if some rich toff around here beats up the missus, it’s news.”
“You’re a cynic.”
Harry grinned. “Not me. I’m a misunderstood romantic.”
“Yeah, right. ”
He nodded toward the numerous squad cars parked in front. “There’s your lads for the canvassing.”
“That’s quite a hefty crew for a door-to-door, considering there’s only a handful of houses on each block.”
“That’ll be the guv’s doing. The fourth missing American nanny and she worked for the guv. That makes it high priority. Your FBI agent left town just in time.”
“Maybe he’ll be back now that another girl’s gone missing.”
“You fancy him?” Harry tried for nonchalant.
“None of your business.”
Harry shook his head in mock despair. “What is Eddie going to say?” He tried not to show his annoyance. That fecking Eddie Michaud was going to reap the benefits of what Harry had done with Allison. Harry didn’t know if he’d hate that more or less than if she went to bed with Shelton. Maybe she’d go to bed with both of them. Nothing holding her back now. A girl who looked like her could have any number of blokes.
“I’m probably going to miss my lunch date with him today. He’s not going to like that much.”
“That’s what happens when you date a cop.” Harry stopped the car at the beginning of the long driveway to the house where the squad cars sat. “Go on, get out. I’ll meet you back at the house when you’re finished.”
“Why do you get the warm house while I get the cold streets?”
“Natural selection, sweetcakes. I’m the computer guy, you’re the pretty face people like to talk to.”
She got out. “See ya, Harry.”
After she shut the door, he whispered, “See ya, beautiful.”
* * * * *
Today Tabby bathed and had her hair washed. It was the woman doing it, and she did in a loving and caretaking way, telling Tabby she was beautiful and a good girl. The woman’s head was covered by a black hood that looked like a hawk’s head. The first few times the woman had come, it had been Tabby whose head was hooded, but unlike the one the woman wore, hers had had no eye holes, making her completely blind. Now, however, Tabby wasn’t wearing a mask, or for that matter, anything at all.
The woman toweled Tabby dry, turning and inspecting her in minute detail, then dried and styled Tabby’s hair, using tools and products she pulled out of a duffel bag she’d brought in with her. She made up Tabby’s face, using a lot more makeup than Tabby ever used herself. Tabby felt like a movie star being made ready for a show.
The woman stepped back, examining her handiwork, then reached into the duffel bag for a tube of gel that she rubbed on Tabby’s nipples to make them darker. She inspected Tabby again, and nodded. “Perfect.”
“What’s going to happen now?”
“Don’t worry. It won’t be bad.” The woman took a pill bottle out of her pocket, and shook out one small blue pill that she handed to Tabby. “Hold this.” Then she took a bottle of brandy from the duffel bag, and poured brandy into a water glass, stopping at the halfway point. “Wash the pill down with this.”
Tabby hesitated. Who knew what was really in the glass? Or in the pill, for that matter?
“You’ll like it. I promise. Have I done anything to you yet that hasn’t felt good?”
“No.”
“Right, then. Take the pill.”
Tabby put the little pill as far back on her tongue as she could, and took a drink of the brandy to help her swallow it.
“Drink the rest of the brandy. In a few minutes, you’ll feel calm and relaxed.”
Tabby did as she was directed, her heart racing with fear and anticipation. Maybe she should try to escape when the door was opened. But no one was being mean to her here, on the contrary, except for the awful doctor, they treated her well. And after she’d told the woman what the doctor had done, the woman told her she’d never have to see him again.
“Am I going to see Peter today?”
“I told you, there’s no Peter here.”
“But is he coming?”
“No, he’s not.”
Tabby was confused. The car had come to pick her up just as Peter had told her it would, but was it the car Peter had sent? If not, what had he thought when she hadn’t arrived at the cottage Thursday night? If it was the car he sent, where was he? Why hadn’t he come? She tried to concentrate, but her brain felt all melty.
Two men came in, one armed with what looked like a small machine gun, the other with a load of photographic equipment. The one with photographic equipment set up a black cloth against one wall and a tripod facing it, on to which he attached a camera.
Tabby started to feel so relaxed, her knees wobbled, and she giggled. “Am I going to be a movie star?”
The woman looked amused. “In a way.” She draped a black satin sheet over Tabby’s bed, and helped Tabby arrange herself on top of it. With the way Tabby felt from the pill and the brandy, she didn’t have any trouble getting into the seductive poses they wanted. The man with the camera kept shooting photos of her, one time yelling at her for flinching at the flash. The woman yelled back at him, but asked Tabby to be careful not to flinch. After that, Tabby made sure she didn’t flinch when the flash came.
The woman went over to the camera and reviewed the digital images of the photographs.
“These are wonderful. Set up for the video now.” The woman arranged Tabby’s hair. “You’re a natural, Tabby.”
The man moved the black cloth to behind the bed, and draped another black cloth on the bed.
The woman brought Tabby another small glass of the brandy. “I want you to try to look pretty and sweet and sexy, all at once. We want to make some very rich man anxious to have you all to himself.”
Tabby nodded, feeling her face break into a silly smile. The woman led her to the bed and arranged her against the pillows. The photographer turned on a small portable stereo and some music started to play, music with sounds that helped Tabby stay in the mood.
She played to the hard, black eyes of her guards. Instinctively, she smiled at them, a soft, seductive smile and put her fingers between her legs, her smile beckoning them. She loved seeing how much they wanted her. They watched, but made no moves to come nearer; they seemed to know she was off-limits.
After they were done filming, the men left. The woman said, “You did great, Tabby. Did you like making the film?”
“I loved it.”
“We should be able to get a lot of money for you.”
Tabby’s brain was too fuzzy to figure out if she should be happy about that.
“Want another pill?”
“Could I have another shot?”
“I think that can be arranged for such a good girl.” The woman went to her bag, and took out a little pouch.
Tabby held still while the woman stuck the needle in her arm and pushed in the plunger. The lovely drug sent pleasure radiating through her whole body. “Can I watch my film now?”
Chapter 36
ALLISON BUTTONED UP her coat, wrapped a scarf around her neck, and put on her gloves. “Pair up into teams; each team will take a block. Looks like there’s an average of four houses to a block, so each of you take two houses, then meet up and compare notes before reporting back here. Ask them were they home Thursday, if they saw the girl, if they saw anything unusual in the neighborhood or at the MacTavish house, whether they heard anything, if they know of anyone else that might be out and about in the evenings, someone who might have seen something.” The uniformed coppers nodded, and she thought they must be wondering how someone as young as she was came to be ordering them about.
A young man about Allison’s age raised his pencil. She remembered his name. “Yes, PC Barlow?”
“I was wondering, didn’t they have a security
system? The wee sign says there’s one, and says they’ve cameras.”
“Good question. They have a security system, but it wasn’t on. They have cameras, as well, but Mr. MacTavish says he disconnected them because they weren’t working right.”
“Any CCTV in the area?”
“No, none. Bad luck all around. Anyone have any other questions?” Getting only head shakes, Allison said, “Let’s meet up here when you’ve each done your patch. If anyone gets anything important or that needs immediate action, call me right away. PC Barlow, you’ll team up with me.”
The houses Allison canvassed weren’t much help. Neither had anyone at home except maids who’d already left for the day by the time Anne Reid had dropped Tabby off on Thursday evening. Allison left a card with each of the maids and went back to the meeting place she’d set up with PC Barlow. He got there right after she did.
“DC Muirhead, I’ve both houses telling me there’s an older gent as walks his mutt this way two times every night. Once at around seven, and once around ten. His house is a few blocks from here, and I got his name.”
“Telephone number?”
Barlow shook his head. “These people keep themselves to themselves. I was lucky even to get a name.”
“What is it?”
“Ronald Carlson. Used to be a bank president. He has this dog he walks several times a day, and in the evening. Maybe he saw something.”
“Let’s go talk to him.”
They walked the three blocks, with Allison quickly bringing the other officer up to date on the whole nanny napping history, the FBI involvement, and suspicions that Tabby Low was another victim. She discovered that Mike Barlow had grown up in Glasgow, and had ambitions to get assigned to CID. His brown hair was neatly cut; he had a good smile and a pleasant, confident air. What’s more, he didn’t try to take over the interview, which, though she was clearly entitled to lead things, in her experience most male officers tended to do.
Ronald Carlson lived in a house that looked like a miniature castle, turrets included. The high-pitched yelping of what surely had to be a little dog, commenced as soon as they rang the doorbell. An elderly man wearing loose pants and a faded green cardigan opened the door. Allison started to explain their mission.
“Come into the kitchen, if you don’t mind. I’m cooking Doodles’s dinner.” He led the way into a large kitchen that must have once been the scene of many bustling dinner preparations. Allison glanced at Barlow and he shrugged, a smile playing on his lips.
“I know it sounds daft, but I cook special meals for the dog.” Doodles, a skinny little Chihuahua, danced around as Carlson continued the meal preparations. “He’s particularly fond of chops.”
Allison smiled. “Me, too.”
“Would you like one?”
“No, thanks. I’ve just had breakfast.”
“Doodles isn’t a fan of sausage or bacon. He likes a straight piece of meat.”
“Have you had him a long time?”
“Eight years. He was my wife’s dog.” He put a thick pork chop in a pan and the sizzling sound had the bug-eyed dog dancing in circles. “But I doubt you’ve come to talk to me about my dog.”
“No, sir. We’ve an inquiry on a missing girl from around here and we’ve been told you’re often out walking Doodles. We were wondering if you happened to see anything.”
“When did the girl go missing?”
“We believe it was Thursday night. She was the MacTavishes’ nanny. Do you know the house? Number 56 Maplewood.”
“Indeed, I do. Peter MacTavish is in banking, as I was.”
“Did you see anything that night?”
“We did see a young girl standing outside that house, on the street that night. Brown hair, jeans, black coat. Short coat. A bonny lass, but she looked cold.”
Bingo, Allison thought.
“What was she doing?”
“Just standing there. She said hello to me, and leaned down to pat Doodles.” He shook his head. “That was a risky move. He’s as like to bite you as not.”
Allison looked down at the dog dubiously.
“But Doodles liked her, so we had no problem.”
“You talked to her?”
“Just the hellos. She had an accent. American.”
“Did she say where she was going or what she was doing out there?”
“No.”
Allison pulled out a photo. “Is this her?”
“Indeed, it is.”
“Had you seen her before?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Or since?”
“No.”
“Anything else you remember?”
“No, sorry, I crossed the street because Doodles likes that side better starting about there, and then we walked down to the park and back. When we came back around the corner, I saw a car stopped there, right where the girl had been standing. It idled a few more minutes, then moved along. I assumed the girl had gotten in, though I didn’t see her inside.”
Allison caught her breath. “A car?”
“Aye, a black sedan, the kind you see with car services.”
“Could you see who was driving?”
“No, it was dark, and the car had tinted windows.” Carlson flipped the chop, looked down at Doodles. “It’s almost ready, you little beggar.”
“Make?” Doodles’ rear end was wriggling so much she thought it might disconnect.
“Not sure, sorry. I’m not much of a car man.”
Allison let out her breath in disappointment. Ron Carlson crossed over to a desk in the corner of the kitchen, and held up a small pocket-sized notebook.
“I can tell you the registration number, though.”
Allison was afraid she hadn’t heard right. “Excuse me?”
“I have the car’s registration number.” When Allison didn’t say anything, he added by way of explanation, “Doodles takes his time doing his business. I’m fond of the little bugger, but I hate to watch, so I use the time to jot down registration numbers of any cars I don’t recognize as a regular.”
Allison thought she might have to kiss Doodles.
* * * * *
Allison could have skipped back to the MacTavishes, she was so happy. Harry was going to be so pleased. Some days everything went perfectly.
When she reached the front gate of the MacTavishes’ drive, she realized the two of them were the last of the group to report back. The faces of the other officers were all grim, and Harry stood there, looking like a stone goblin.
“We were beginning to think the two of you had been kidnapped, as well.” Harry’s remark sounded like a rebuke. What had crawled up his arse?
“Sorry, DS Ross,” she said, keeping her tone professional. “We had a lead, followed it up. You’re already done with the computers?”
“What lead?” He asked, not answering her question.
“PC Barlow got a lead about a dog-walking neighbor. We talked to him and it looks like he may have gotten the registration number of the car the girl got into.”
“Well done, Barlow.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Harry motioned for Allison to move away from the others. “You can let the rest of them go now, if they’re finished.”
“All right.” She thanked everyone for their help, then returned to Harry’s side. “You’re done with inside the house?”
“Aye. For now.”
“Find anything on the computers?”
“Yeah. I’ll tell you about it on the way. We’re taking them back to High Street to go through them more thoroughly.”
“Good.” She got in the car, buckled her seat belt.
He touched her nose. “Your nose is pink. You’re cold.”
She batted his finger away. “A bit, yes.”
“It looked like you and the constable were getting along.”
“Getting along?”
“The two of you were laughing and chattering on like old friends.”
“We were exc
ited about getting the registration number.”
“His name’s Barlow?”
“Yeah, Mike. Wants CID.”
Harry grunted, and gestured to the radio. “Call in the registration number. See who turns up.”
Allison radioed in the number she’d gotten from Ronald Carlson, then rung off to wait for the return call. “What did you find on the MacTavish computer?”
“So far, just emails.”
“Anything helpful?”
“Looks like Tabby was communicating with someone who either was Lizzie Frost, or was pretending to be Lizzie. They talked like Lizzie went off on her own to get married.”
“That’s huge, Harry. When were they sent?”
“On-going for the past few weeks. Last one was Thursday afternoon.”
“That couldn’t have been Lizzie. She would have been dead already.”
“The question is whether any of the messages were actually from Lizzie.”
“There’s more, isn’t there?”
He nodded. “We were right about why the girls were targeted. That was a lot of the talk, about how they had to wait and keep pure for when they get married.”
“Oh.”
“Right. Sick as it is, in the sexual slavery market, these girls are a valuable commodity. White virgins.”
“Young white virgins.” She studied him to see if he’d make a comment about her not having been quite so young, but he didn’t. So far, what they had done seemed to exist in a parallel universe. Neither one of them ever mentioned it, nor did he ever act like he wanted to touch her that way again. He’d done her a favor, like the time he’d let her flip him over during her hand-to-hand combat training.
“Aye, and at least one of them is very dead.”
The radio flashed through, and Allison pushed the button to take the transmission.
The dispatcher said, “The registration number you requested is registered to a commercial car service.”
“Phone number?”
Allison copied it down as the dispatcher read it out, and after they rung off, dialed the car service company. She looked at Harry, made a face. “Voicemail.”
Chapter 37
