“Klaus,” said Amelia, and the girl slid into the car.
The Nissan sped off to where the road became Forest Road East, continuing on to the end where it turned left into Mansfield Road, the A60 that headed north out of the city towards the town of Mansfield some fifteen miles away.
The traffic was light but Amelia remained vigilant. She didn’t want to be stopped for any reason with an obvious hooker in the car.
“Where we go?” said the girl, her voice harsh, suspicious.
Amelia glanced at her. “Fasten your seat belt,” she instructed.
Miruna’s head shot round. “You a woman, stop car now! You cop?”
Amelia forced a smile. “Hey, cool it. I’m not a cop. I’m just a girl looking for some fun, that’s all. Is that a problem? Surely you’re not fussy?”
“Cost more. I don’t usually go with women.”
“Not usually, perhaps, but you have done.”
“Of course.”
“Well then, it’s not a problem.”
“OK, but pay more.”
“Naturally, but I want a good time.”
She reached over and lightly brushed a hand over Miruna’s right breast. “Nice,” she said.
“Hey, stop that. No touching yet.”
“Relax. And remember, I’m paying you well.”
“Why you dressed as man?”
“I should have thought that was obvious. If you’d seen a woman driving the car, you wouldn’t even have got in.”
“Where we go?”
Amelia smiled. “Somewhere quiet and private out in the countryside. It’s a great evening. I thought we could have some fun under the stars.”
“You crazy.”
“Have you ever been out to the woods with your clients?”
“You joking. All they want is quickie in dark alley. Ten quid for blow job, twenty for screw up against wall. Finish in few minutes.”
“Well, I’m going to be paying you more than you normally earn in a week for a relaxing night you’ll remember. And if you’re clever, you won’t have to give it all to your pimp.”
She put a hand on the girl’s knee.
“The question is, Miruna, are you up to it? I hope you’re not going to disappoint me.”
The girl threw her head back and gave a haughty flick of her hair.
“I’m the best. Look at me, young, slim, good tits — real, not silicon like most of those tarts — no disease. You’ll have your fun.”
She paused, looking sideways at Amelia. “You give me money first?”
Amelia laughed. “I wondered how long it would take you to demand that. Look in the glove box, there’s a couple of hundred. You’ll get the rest later.”
Miruna snapped open the box and took out ten folded twenty-pound notes that Amelia had put there when she got in the car. She counted them and stuffed them in the inside pocket of her jacket. She wasn’t carrying a bag.
Twenty minutes later as they approached Harlow Wood on the right of the A60, Amelia slowed the car at a spot where an unsurfaced track led into the trees. A barrier barred the way, but there was no padlock and even if there had been, the bolt croppers in one of the holdalls would have made light work of it. She told Miruna to get out and lift the barrier.
“Close it again once I’ve driven through,” she added.
When the girl looked up moodily, Amelia thought the extra work might be accompanied by a demand for even more money, but Miruna got out of the car and did what she was asked.
Once the girl had settled back in the car, Amelia drove about three hundred yards along the winding track, stopping at a point where it widened slightly. She switched off the engine and clicked on the interior light.
Turning towards the passenger seat, she reached out a hand, stroking her fingers through Miruna’s hair.
“You’re a pretty girl. If I like you, this could become a regular meeting,” she promised. “Now, it’s a nice night, but we don’t want to get chilly. I’ve got several blankets in the boot, along with some wine, beer, whatever you like, and a selection of tabs that I think you’ll enjoy.”
The girl suddenly registered interest at the mention of drugs.
“What you got?”
“All in good time. Before we do that, I can’t wait for you for much longer. I’ve been thinking about this all day. Could you push your seat back as far as it will go? Good, that’s it. Now hop out of the car while I climb into your seat and recline it. OK, now get back in. We’ll close the door and you can kneel down in front of me.”
Miruna did as she was told. “There’s not much room,” she complained.
“You’re not very big,” said Amelia, smiling at her. “We’ll be fine.”
She reclined her seat a little more and pulled up Henry’s pullover to reveal the belt holding Henry’s jeans.
Miruna understood. She undid the belt buckle, unfastened the jeans and lowered the zip. Amelia lifted her bottom for the girl to pull down the jeans, pants and tights until they were below her knees.
Putting her left hand between Amelia’s thighs, the girl looked up into her client’s eyes.
Amelia smiled encouragingly. “That feels good,” she whispered.
She took Miruna’s head in both hands and gently turned it so that the girl’s focus was entirely between her legs. Without looking up, the girl reached out her right hand to steady herself, gently grasping Amelia’s shoulder through the pullover. Amelia arched her back slowly and reached out her right arm over the side of the reclined seat, feeling for the baton.
In a movement she had practised a hundred times in her own car, she freed the baton from the netting and lifted it into the restricted space over her head. The swing would be impeded by the lack of room; she knew this and would allow for it. Practice makes perfect. In a flash, her left hand shot up to grab the side handle and with both hands she whipped the baton down onto Miruna’s head, using just enough force to knock her out.
Miruna grunted, her nails digging reflexively into Amelia’s shoulder as she collapsed. Amelia hardly noticed, all her concentration focussed on the slumped body. Was there some movement? Maybe. She lifted the baton and delivered a second blow to the same spot on the back of the girl’s head. Now she was definitely out cold.
Amelia shoved the girl’s body away from her and pulled herself back into her clothing. Now she was ready. She sat up and grabbed the holdall from the back seat, dropped it onto the driver’s seat next to her and unzipped it. She peeled off the leather gloves and, after a glance to check the disposable gloves still on her hands hadn’t torn, she reached into the holdall to pull out a heavy-duty polythene bag from an inside pocket.
She leaned forward and pulled the bag over Miruna’s head, wrapping the opening around her neck and holding it firmly to cut off the air supply. In two breaths, the bag was tight against the girl’s mouth and nose. She could feel some automatic resistance as Miruna’s lungs fought for air, her arms and torso twitching and writhing, but the resistance quickly faded and she was soon still. Amelia knew that death would take far longer than the few seconds normally shown in the movies. That was fine; she had both the time and the patience to sit there for as long as it took. She kept her hands firmly around Miruna’s neck, holding the bag in place for several minutes before releasing it and checking the girl’s pulse. Satisfied she was dead, she removed the polythene bag and put it back into the holdall.
Amelia released the door next to her, swung her feet over the slumped body and climbed out of the car. Reaching back in, she pushed her forearms under Miruna’s armpits, lifting her out and carrying her to a firm but grassy patch of ground about four feet away.
Reaching inside the girl’s jacket, Amelia retrieved the banknotes, after which she stood back to assess her next move. Her intention was to leave evidence of contact. There had already been some while lifting Miruna out of the car, but she wanted more. She’d originally planned to lie down on the body, but again she was wary of overdoing it. And having now see
n Henry’s clothing and the girl’s, Amelia knew there would be enough contact carrying the body along the path to the spot in the woods she had already chosen. Fibres from Henry’s pullover and scarf would definitely be left on Miruna’s clothing, while a few of the mix of long pink and white polyester fibres from the faux fur of her jacket collar should end up on Henry’s pullover.
But before carrying the body into the trees, there was more work to be done and for that she needed better light. She reached into the holdall to find a powerful LED head torch and slipped it on over the baseball cap. Angling the beam towards her hands, she retrieved the polythene bag with the comb containing Henry’s hair from the holdall, pulled a few single strands from the teeth and rubbed them into Miruna’s clothing at breast level.
Now for the delicate part. She bagged the comb and put it back in the holdall before pulling out the larger bag containing the mannequin hand. Kneeling down, she picked up Miruna’s hands and examined the fingernails. There would definitely be fibres from Henry’s pullover under the nails, maybe even some from the scarf. However, there was a problem: Miruna had touched Amelia’s legs and groin area and although she hadn’t penetrated her, there was a possibility of secretions containing Amelia’s DNA being present on her hands. To remove these, Amelia retrieved a packet of surgical wipes from the holdall and used several to thoroughly clean the girl’s hands, fingers and nails. After making sure the hands were dry, she began the process of transferring more fibres to Miruna’s nails. The first part was easy – she took each hand in turn and rubbed the nails down Henry’s pullover and scarf – but for the second part, which involved only the right hand, she took a plain wooden toothpick from a packet in her kit and carefully rubbed the tip under the nail glued to the index finger of the mannequin’s hand, removing skin and dried blood from where she had scratched the nails along the unconscious Henry’s neck. This debris she carefully wiped along the inside of the nail of Miruna’s right index finger. Satisfied with her efforts, Amelia repeated the process for the other fingernails, matching like with like.
As she stood and looked down at the body, she wondered about the dyed orange hair, but caution again told her that there would almost definitely be one or two hairs in the car from when Miruna had slumped against the glove box. Why not let the techies earn their money and find them? The girl’s fingerprints would also be in the car along with plenty of other evidence to link her with the car and with Henry.
It was then that she noticed that Miruna’s left shoe lying in the footwell. That was too tempting to ignore, but she couldn’t simply leave it there; Henry would see it the following day. She picked up the shoe and glanced around the car interior, finally deciding to stow it out of sight under the front passenger seat where there were enough obstructions to prevent it rolling forward. It would remain in place until some sharp-eyed person found it.
All that now remained was to hide the girl’s body. Fortunately Miruna was short and light, so carrying her into the woods would not be difficult. Amelia bent down to pick her up, one hand round her back under her arms and the other under her knees. The spot she’d chosen was a small clearing about fifty yards into the wood with some large bushes to one side that would screen the body from view. She wondered how long it would be before a passer-by or a dog discovered it. She guessed it would almost definitely be within the next forty-eight hours.
The path through the trees to the clearing was narrow, which guaranteed that both Henry’s clothing and Miruna’s would snag against the branches and twigs that reached across the path. All the scientists had to do was find fibres and work out the scenario, all of which would add to the convincing case against Henry.
Satisfied that Miruna’s body was well hidden in the bushes, Amelia returned to the car to tidy up. She picked up the side-handle baton from the driver’s seat where she’d dropped it and pulled out the main grip extension – the part bearing Henry’s fingerprints – letting it click into place. Shining the torch briefly onto the surrounding trees to find the best direction, she threw the baton hard and high, away from the path to the clearing where Miruna’s body now lay. If it were found, all well and good; if not, there was plenty of other evidence. The prints on the baton grip extension would be icing on the cake, and no one would expect that someone planting evidence would be so cavalier as to risk it not being found.
She finished her tidying by putting the reclined passenger seat back in an upright position and sliding the seat forward, checking as she did that the girl’s shoe was still well hidden. Finally, she took the girl’s phone from her pocket – she had removed it from the girl’s jacket when she left her in the bushes. She had no use for it so she switched it off and threw it into the woods.
Every box now ticked, she climbed into the car and headed back to Nottingham, keeping the sun visor pulled down as she had on the outward trip, her leather gloves now back on her hands over the surgical gloves as she gripped the wheel.
It was twenty minutes to three by the time she parked Henry’s car at the back of the Old Nottingham. This time she took the stairs all the way to the second floor — she didn’t want to risk a chance meeting with Michael. However, as she walked past the lift door on the second floor lobby, she deliberately came close enough to make sure that the CCTV camera would capture a fleeting glimpse of her.
Back in her room, she took off the baseball cap and carefully searched it for blond hairs from the wig. If the forensic scientists were later to find blond hairs in it, their presence would strengthen the case for Henry not being the murderer, that someone had dressed up in his clothes, someone wearing a wig. Finding one or two elsewhere on his clothes or on the dead girl didn’t matter: without a source they were of little value, but it was important that any in the cap were removed. Her diligence was worth it: her search produced a solitary hair that she lifted out and dropped into the holdall for later disposal.
Another box ticked, she walked back to Henry’s room carrying the baseball cap in her gloved hand. The click of the magnetic lock sounded brutally loud in the silence of the hotel but it made no difference: Henry hadn’t moved.
After carefully taking off Henry’s clothes, she left them on the end of the bed. She had no plans to try to dress him again – dressing an unconscious man was considerably more difficult than undressing him and there was always a risk that he might rouse from his slumbers. When he found his clothes, Henry would assume that he’d been compos mentis enough to undress.
She had none of her own clothing with her since she was confident from the lack of any noise from other rooms that even the Korean businessmen were asleep, so there was little risk in skipping down the corridor to her own room in her underwear. If she did happen to bump into one of them, she’d wink at him and disappear into her room, leaving him with a tale to tell that would most likely be put down to a vivid, booze-induced imagination.
After one final check around the room, Amelia put Henry’s key card on the desk and opened the door. Once she’d shut it, there was no returning.
Half an hour soaking in a steaming bath left Amelia feeling relaxed and delighted with her night’s work. One hooker fewer on the streets of Nottingham — the girl was scum to her, not worth another thought — and one public figure about to fall spectacularly from grace. She lay in the water, luxuriating in its heat as she ran through everything in her mind. It had been a truly professional job. Henry Silk would soon have the full force of the law bearing down on him, and with no alibi and a mountain of evidence to implicate him, there was little chance of anything he said being believed. She had set up his destruction, as she had with others previously, but this fish was bigger. All she had to do now was sit back and watch him being reeled in, twitching and jerking like a man on the end of a noose. But unlike a man in his death throes, Henry Silk would suffer the degradation she had created for him for as long as she chose, after which she might consider mercy. That his life would become a living nightmare gave her a sense of satisfaction like no other.
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C hapter 9
Monday 2 June, 9 a.m.
The receptionist at the Old Nottingham Hotel was the same bored twenty-year-old who had checked in the mousey Amelia Taverner the previous Friday. However, after a weekend experimenting with some new tablets her boyfriend had bought, she would have found it difficult to describe Amelia even if her life depended on it.
Jennifer walked round the reception desk to the girl’s side and gave her a reassuring smile — the girl had looked immediately furtive when she and Derek Thyme had announced they were police officers. “Was it you I spoke to earlier on the phone, Sheryl?” she asked, reading the receptionist’s name badge.
“No,” said the girl, “I was a bit late this morning.” She glanced sheepishly in the direction of what Jennifer assumed was the manager’s office. “It would have been Denise you spoke to. She covered for me till I got here.”
“Hectic weekend?” asked Jennifer, noting a residual glassiness in the girl’s pupils.
“Yeah, I—” Sheryl stopped as she remembered who Jennifer was. “Yeah,” she repeated less enthusiastically, and looked down.
“Don’t worry, Sheryl, I won’t let on,” said Jennifer.
Sheryl was suddenly defensive. “Let on what?”
Jennifer waited a beat before continuing.
“I can see it in your eyes. Whatever it was you were taking, it was strong, and having seen a lot of users, I can assure you it will be addling your brain.”
“Don’t know what you mean. I’ve not done nothing.”
“As I said, Sheryl, I’m not here to find out about your weekend. I need some info about one of your guests. His name is Henry Silk. A regular, I think.”
Suddenly Sheryl was only too pleased to help. She needed to keep this cop onside, but she was also concerned that the police were interested in Henry Silk.
“You’re right, he is a regular. Right gorgeous, he is, even though he’s old enough to be me dad. A real gentleman, completely different to the bloke he plays on the telly. That Jake Morrison in Runway is a right sod. Mr Silk’s nothing like that.”
Irrefutable Evidence: A Crime Thriller Page 5
