Bad Moon Rising (#1 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series)

by Frances di Plino

  “One of the neighbours, a Mrs Fulbright, thinks she remembers seeing a large dark car when she got up to visit the bathroom at about three in the morning. Apparently she doesn’t switch a light on at night, so was startled when the room suddenly lit up. She peered out and saw someone dumping garbage and was going to report it to the council. Only problem was, she didn’t have her glasses on, so couldn’t make out the number plate. By the time she’d found her way to the bedroom and back again, the car had gone. I asked her if she could identify the make and she said no, just that it looked posh. Also, she’s not sure which night it was, so it might not even be our perp.”

  CC grinned at Paolo. “So that makes our job nice and easy, doesn’t it? We’re probably looking for a posh, dark car that might, or might not have been the one used to dump the body.” She looked at her notes again. “No joy with a description of the man. It was too far away for her to see him clearly, even if she’d had her glasses on, but she was sure it was a man. None of the other neighbours saw or heard anything.”

  Paolo added the information, such as it was, to the board. While he was writing, Dave came back in with mugs of coffee and handed them round.

  “Thanks for that, Dave. Pity we don’t have time to drink them, but as you didn’t have any joy in finding one of Lisa’s street buddies, we’ll go together to chat to the girls on her beat. Maybe I can find one of them who can tell us something useful. CC, you and George can watch Azzopardi for a while. Let’s see what he gets up to when he thinks I’m not keeping an eye on him.”

  ***

  Dave drove into Granger Street and manoeuvred the car onto the tarmac area behind the bingo hall. It was the nearest car park to the red-light area of town.

  “Bit early in the day for the girls to be at work, isn’t it?”

  Paolo smiled. “You think the punters only have sex at night?”

  “No, but...”

  “No buts about it, the girls work long hours and cater for daylight customers who can’t get away from the wife to come over at night. Besides, I thought you said you’d checked this area? You should already know they’re on call during the day.”

  Dave mumbled something and Paolo opened his mouth to have yet another go at him, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. He’d speak to the Chief Constable and see if he could get his golden boy nephew moved to a different station. Clearly he and Dave would never end up on the same wavelength.

  They strolled towards Beacon Street, passing girls who suddenly seemed to be really interested in the derelict shop windows. Paolo had never figured out how the working girls knew he was a copper.

  “The Maltese run the far end of this district, the Albanians this end. I’d like the girls to feel free to speak, which means you keeping your misogynist mouth shut. Okay?”

  When Dave didn’t answer, Paolo stopped and grabbed his arm. “Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you.”

  “Then next time answer me. I don’t know what your problem is, but if you want to stay on my team, you’d better try a bit harder to do things my way.”

  He walked away without waiting to see Dave’s reaction and reached the corner just in time to see a young girl wearing a black leather skirt short enough to be a belt duck into the first shop doorway. He walked up to the opening, but made no attempt to get close to the girl. He stood back and called out to her.

  “I’m looking for someone who knew Lisa Boxer.”

  The girl kept her back to him and pretended interest in the dirt-streaked glass of the disused shop. The area was a slum, but the council wasn’t interested in encouraging shopkeepers back. The streets had long been abandoned to drug dealers, prostitutes and their pimps. The turf wars between the Albanians and the Maltese seemed to be beyond the force’s powers to end. Paolo knew Azzopardi controlled the Maltese girls, but couldn’t prove it.

  “Lisa Boxer – did you know her?”

  The girl turned her face towards Paolo and shook her head. “You wan’ fuck?”

  Paolo felt sick. She looked about Katy’s age, but could be even younger, it was hard to tell. Life on the streets, probably with a drug habit, had taken away any hint of youth. He heard footsteps and looked back. Dave came and stood next to him.

  The girl looked at Dave. “I no do two fuck. One fuck then one fuck more. No two fuck.”

  “It’s okay,” Paolo said. “We don’t want to hurt you. We’re police.”

  The girl put her hand in her skirt pocket and Paolo wondered if she was going to pull a knife. Turning to Dave he signalled for the two of them to take a step back so as not to spook her any more than they already had. Her eyes darted from side to side and she shook.

  “Look at her,” Paolo whispered. “She’s a child. Call in for a WPC and we’ll get her to social services.”

  Dave took out his phone, but before he could dial, a car screeched around the corner. As it slowed, the rear door opened and a man’s voice yelled in rapid Albanian. The girl had started running towards the car as soon as it came into view and hands dragged her inside as she reached it. The car accelerated away. Paolo took off after it, but the door was pulled closed and it disappeared down a side street. Out of breath, he retraced his steps to where Dave was still standing, phone pressed to his ear.

  “Damn,” Paolo said. “She must have had a phone in her pocket with their number on speed dial. Did you call in the number plate?”

  Dave nodded. “Just waiting.”

  “I want someone watching this street. If whoever was in that car puts her out to work again, I want her taken in and given over to social. I can’t bear to think of a kid like that being used.” He kicked the shop door. “Fucking bastards!”

  Dave held up one hand and Paolo fell silent.

  “Okay,” Dave said into the handset. “Thanks.” He put his phone in his jacket pocket. “Plates are false.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “I’ve given CC the car’s description and she’s checking it out against the stolen list.”

  Paolo sighed. “Come on; there must be someone who’s heard of Lisa Boxer.”

  They walked to the end of the street, but it had turned into a ghost town. There wasn’t a soul to be seen and not even a curtain twitched in any of the windows of rundown flats above the shops. They turned and headed back towards the car. As they entered the street where the girl had been, a woman stepped out of an alleyway. Bleached hair topped a haggard over made-up face. She was dressed in a red halter neck top nowhere near warm enough for the chilly March afternoon and a black short skirt meant for a woman at least twenty years younger.

  “You police, no?” she asked.

  When Paolo nodded, she ducked back into the alley and signalled for them to follow her.

  “Dave, stay there and keep an eye on the street. Give us a warning if anyone comes.”

  When Paolo entered the alley, the woman had moved behind some garbage bins so she was hidden from the road. Paolo offered her a cigarette. At least that would help to mask the smell of piss and rotten garbage. She took the cigarette with shaking hands. He held his lighter out for her, then lit his own, giving her the chance to speak first.

  “You want know ’bout Lisa?” she asked. “You give money. I tell you what happen. What I see. Need money. You pay?”

  “That depends,” Paolo answered, “on what you have to tell me.” He could see the track marks on her arms. By the way she was shaking, her fix was already overdue. “What’s your name?

  “Alice.”

  Paolo raised his eyebrows. Her accent wasn’t as strong as the child’s, but no way had she been christened Alice.

  “You want to try again?”

  “You no able make my name. Is too hard. Alice good. I be Alice for you.”

  “Okay, Alice, why don’t you go to the local clinic? Get on a rehab programme. I’ll help you, if you like.”

  “No. Need money, not programme. You pay. I tell what I see. No programme.”

  He pulled out his wall
et and took out some notes. “Okay, Alice, this had better be good. What can you tell me?”

  She snatched the money and stuffed it in the black bra on show under the halter top. “You know bad man, Maltese? The one she say beat her? He no do it. Lisa, she tell me. She lie to police.”

  “Are you saying Azzopardi didn’t beat her? Why did she say it was him if he hadn’t done it?”

  “You want find out? Ask pimp. He tell you plenty.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “I no know.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I no know.”

  “You sure about that? Isn’t he your pimp, too?”

  The woman stayed silent, eyes fixed on the alley opening. She looked ready to make a run for it. Paolo decided to back off a bit. “Okay, I’ll find out myself. What else can you tell me?”

  “The last night she here, I see her, she go with new man. I no see him, but I see car. Big. Dark. Maybe blue, maybe black.”

  “Anything else?”

  She shook her head, but stopped when Paolo took out his wallet again. She hugged her body, tremors coursing through her. He held out another note. “What do you know about the child working this area? She went off with someone in a dark car. Was it the same car that Lisa got into?”

  The woman shook her head, reached out and snatched the money before Paolo could take it back.

  “No, not same car. Bad. I no talk ’bout them.”

  She took off and ran out of the alley, shoving Dave to one side and trying to force her way past him. He grabbed her arm, but released it on a shout from Paolo. As the woman ran, Dave stood looking after her until Paolo joined him back on the street.

  “Why’d you let her go, sir?”

  “Because I don’t think she knows anything else about Lisa’s disappearance. Besides, we can pick her up whenever we need to. Interesting, though. She’s more scared of whoever is running that girl than she is of us.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  How long had he been praying? Two hours? Three? His knees burned with pain, but he would not stand. He kept his head bowed and whispered words of supplication. He needed the strength only God could give. The strength to stay pure, to remain clean. He couldn’t give in. Had to force mind and body to obey him. As he prayed, hands clasped together so tightly his fingers ached, images of the woman’s battered face danced before his closed eyes. She looked beautiful in death. Women only looked beautiful when God took their souls so that the shells remained to be used by the weak. Mama had said he was weak. But how could it be a sin when the soul had already gone? His erection grew and throbbed.

  Don’t think of how it feels to slide inside. Don’t remember their naked bodies.

  Even as he tried to control his thoughts, heat coursed through his groin and he rose from the prie dieu. His vision misted over as he shook.

  He woke several hours later, prostrate on the floor next to the scourge. Drenched in sweat, he felt as though his heart would burst if he tried to stand. Moving onto his side to ease the pain in his lacerated back, he forced himself to confront the truth. No matter how many he killed, it would never be enough to help her. He’d never be able to save her soul. By the time he’d killed her, it had already been too late, she’d given in to the devil. But he’d prayed and God had answered his prayer. If he saved enough souls then hers would be redeemed.

  He reached across to the bedside table and lifted the photograph, picturing in his mind once more the mess she had become. How she’d looked before he’d ended her miserable life.

  It was his duty, his sacred duty to save the souls of those who would take her path. The first one he’d chosen had been close to the older version in age, but then the Lord had appeared and shown him his mistake. It was too late for the older ones; he had to pick them while they were still young enough to have a soul worth salvaging. He chose younger whores, ones who looked like the woman in the photograph.

  But it still wasn’t enough, night after night the line of those who needed his touch stretched into eternity. He would never be able to save them all – and if he couldn’t do that, then he could never save his mother’s soul.

  ***

  Paolo wondered if he’d ever get used to ringing the doorbell instead of letting himself into the house he used to call home. He’d had long enough to adjust, so the answer was probably no. After a few moments the door flew open and Katy launched herself at him.

  “Dad! I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “Sorry, Katy. I got tied up this morning. Had to go into the office to finish off some paperwork, but I’m here now, so what would you rather do – go out somewhere or play this?”

  He held up the video game she’d asked him for on his last visit and watched her face light up.

  “You got it. I can’t believe you got it.” She turned and went into the house, dragging Paolo with her into the kitchen. “Mum, look what Dad’s brought over.”

  Lydia was perched at the breakfast bar, drinking coffee from one of the cups they’d received as a wedding present so many years earlier.

  “Video games again?”

  Paolo remembered how much he’d put her back up the last time they’d met and tried hard to swallow his annoyance when she poured cold water over Katy’s enthusiasm.

  “You’re planning to stay indoors on a lovely day like today?”

  “Mum, it’s freezing out there. You said yourself it was miserable.”

  “That was early this morning. The sun’s shining now.”

  “But it’s still freezing. Besides, I like playing games. I don’t see why I should-”

  “We can play for an hour or so and then I’ll take you out for a burger.” Paolo thought it best to step in before yet another war broke out. “How’s that?” He turned to Lydia, but he could have saved his breath.

  “Do what you like. You always do,” she said, getting down from the stool and leaving the room.

  Katy pulled a face at Lydia’s back as she left and Paolo knew he should tell her off for it, but he just wanted to enjoy a couple of hours with his daughter. If he started in on Katy’s behaviour the visit would turn out to be yet another disaster and that he couldn’t face, so he pretended he hadn’t seen. He still had to tackle her over Father Gregory’s concerns. That would be fraught enough without putting extra tension on the table.

  “Shall we go and set this up?” he said with a smile.

  The game was noisy and fun, but at the back of Paolo’s mind Father Gregory’s words stopped him from letting go and just enjoying himself. He put down his control.

  “Katy, I need to chat to you about school.”

  “Oh Dad, not you, too. Mum’s already being a pain about it. Why can’t I ask questions if I don’t think what they’re saying is right? You don’t believe in all that guff anyway, so if you tell me you do I know you’re lying.”

  “I’m not going to tell you I believe in anything, but I am going to tell you to keep your thoughts to yourself. That’s a good school. If you get kicked out of there, where do you think you’ll end up? Would you want to go to Kettlefields?”

  “Don’t be daft; no one wants to go to Kettlefields, not even the kids who live near there.”

  “Well, if you get expelled, that’s the only school open to you around here. Father Gregory says... don’t roll your eyes up like that.”

  “Father Gregory is a perve. None of us like him.”

  “What do you mean, a perve? Has he said or done anything to you?”

  “No. It’s the way he looks at us. All pervy and creepy. He’s a sad sicko. Gloria says he hangs around with prostitutes.”

  “Who’s Gloria? And how would she know any such thing?”

  “She’s a mate of mine in school and her dad is part of some group or other wanting to clean up the streets. Gloria says her dad doesn’t like Father Gregory because he says the women need help, not whatever it is Gloria’s dad’s lot are doing.”

  “Katy, that’s second-hand gossip at best. I
’m surprised at you.”

  “Why? Gloria wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. Besides, I told you, he looks at us funny.”

  “You can’t accuse someone of being a pervert because you don’t like the way he looks at you.”

  “Why not?”

  Before Paolo could answer his mobile rang.

  “Don’t answer it. Don’t. If you go, I’ll never forgive you,” Katy said. “This is our time.”

  Paolo’s stomach turned over. He’d given strict instructions, no calls unless it was absolutely necessary, which meant this wasn’t going to be good news.

  “Storey,” he said.

  CC’s voice told him all he didn’t want to know. Another body had been found and it was almost certainly the work of their killer.

  He put the phone in his pocket and turned to his daughter who was glaring at him. “Katy...”

  “Don’t say it, Dad. Don’t say you have to go. You were going to take me for a burger. You promised.”

  As he reached out for her, she picked up one of the controls and threw on to the couch.

  “I hate you,” she yelled and ran from the room.

  He heard her sob as she fled upstairs. Seconds later the slamming of her bedroom door reverberated through the house. As he gathered his belongings together, a shadow fell across the sitting room. He looked up to see Lydia leaning against the doorframe.

  “I take it from Katy’s yelling and door slamming that you’ve done what you do best, let down the women in your life.”

  “Give it a rest, Lydia. I have to go. It’s work and...”

  “And what? And you can’t wait to run away? Isn’t that what you always do? Give up on trying to make things work?”

  He stood up and walked towards the doorway. Lydia moved to one side to let him through.

  “I tried to make our marriage work,” he said as he passed her. “Then I found out that you were having an affair. There didn’t seem to be much point in trying after that.”