by Sibel Hodge
I pulled my hair in front of my eyes to inspect the damage.
Great! Now one side of my hair was six inches shorter than the other. And it was at the front, so I couldn't exactly ignore it.
"Does it look really bad?" I asked Brad.
"Of course not, Foxy." He tried to suppress a chuckle and failed miserably.
I slapped him on the arm. "How bad is it?"
"It's not bad, it's just…" His eyes twinkled with amusement. "Different. Actually, it suits you."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're laughing at me, aren't you?"
He threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Of course not."
"Good. Because hair to a woman is as important as a willie is to a man. Just think how you'd feel if your willie caught on fire!"
"I hardly think it's the same thing. For starters, men don't have willies on their head."
"That's not entirely true, actually. I've met more than my fair share of dickheads in my time, but that's beside the point."
"What is the point?" Brad stared at me like he didn't have a clue what I was on about.
"Women think about their hair. A lot. If our hair looks crap, we feel crap. Men, on the other hand, think about their willies a lot. If they're not using them, they feel crap. Same thing, see?" I snapped.
"Right, I get it now." He gave me a look that said he didn't get it at all.
"Why is it always me?" I groaned, scrunching up my face.
He hugged me toward him. "Well, didn't you say you need to get a trim for the wedding anyway?"
"So you do think it looks bad, then?"
"Not at all," he protested. A bit too lamely for my liking
"Shit. I haven't got time to go to the hairdressers in the middle of this case. I'm going to have to walk round with even more scary hair now."
"Look on the bright side." Brad grinned.
"What's that?" I huffed.
"If you don't look in the mirror, you'll never even notice it. And at least you don't have a dick on your head."
"That doesn't exactly make me feel much better." I tutted, turning to the pictures again, making sure I was so far out of candle reach I was almost halfway across the floor.
Half an hour later, we'd looked at all of the pictures, but none of them were of Chantal. In fact, there was no trace of her or Liza in the house at all.
I couldn't help wondering if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
CHAPTER TEN
As soon as we got home, I poured us both a stiff brandy and resisted the urge to look in the mirror.
"Yuck. I never want to go back to that place again." I took a swig, feeling the burning sensation down the back of my throat. I swirled the amber liquid around in the tumbler, thinking. "I still don't know if the voodoo angle has got anything to do with Chantal and Liza going missing." I filled Brad in on my chats with James Langton, Elliot, Andrew Scott, and Steven Shaw. "I don't think James Langton stealing money from Chantal's trust fund has anything to do with it. If you think about it, Chantal's disappearance has only highlighted what he's been up to, and he wanted to keep it quiet. I spoke to all of the other staff at Langton Developments and none of them had anything to add that might be useful." I brought the glass to my lips but didn't drink, going over and over in my head a possible explanation for what had happened to Chantal. "Elliot followed Chantal to the Second Chance Clinic, although Andrew and the receptionist deny she was ever there—but they were definitely lying, I could tell. Hacker said there was no record of her ever being a patient, and even though it would be easy to get rid of her files, we know from Elliot that she was there."
"So do you think Chantal was there because of her termination or this story Liza was investigating?"
"It could be either, although I am convinced Liza's story is the key to this case. Elliot also saw Chantal on Chequer Street, talking to a prostitute, and prostitutes are some of the main clients at the clinic. Plus, Liza liked writing about women's issues. The idea she was doing a story about prostitutes is looking more and more likely."
"But Steven Shaw's also lying. Is he involved somehow in whatever's going on at the clinic?"
"I don't know. It's possible Steven, or even Elliot, could've killed Chantal in a jealous rage—a crime of passion, although somehow that doesn't feel right to me, either, because it can't be a coincidence that both girls have now disappeared."
Brad perched on the end of a breakfast stool. "The main question is, then, what is going on in that clinic?" He rubbed at his neck and moved it in a circular motion.
"You okay?"
He dropped his hand and said, "Yes, just a stiff neck. I must've slept funny last night." He waved a dismissive hand. "How's your ass?" He grinned.
"Better than my hair!" I ran a hand through my out-of-control curls and felt crispy bits crumbling off the ends. "I've been thinking about the clinic, and it could be any number of things going on there. It's a government-run clinic, so I doubt that the funds are enough to be worth embezzling. They could be doing experimental treatment on patients without them knowing, or they could be covering up patient deaths from botched terminations." I paused for a brandy hit, a horrible thought suddenly worming its way into my brain. "Did Hacker manage to find out who Emily Jacobs was?"
"No, he was still looking into it when I left the office."
"We know Liza called her number before she disappeared, and I'm betting it was to do with this story. On the list in Chantal's apartment were the initials EJ and a date. What if Emily Jacobs was a patient at the clinic who died from surgery that went wrong? Liza might've found out she was going to have treatment there and tried to warn her against it, but something happened. Or maybe Emily was one of her sources." I took a glug of brandy. "Both Chantal and Liza phoned the same number on the day they disappeared, and that number was written on Chantal's list next to a set of initials. Maybe the initials on the list are all women who are prostitutes who gave Liza information."
Brad narrowed his eyes, thinking. "The clinic could be doing some kind of medical experiments on the patients. Most of them are prostitutes, probably with no family looking out for them; they're basically considered throwaway members of society. Who would notice if they disappeared because something was going wrong with the treatments?"
"And this Holbrook Clinic must be involved in it somehow, too. Their website definitely sounds iffy. I mean, if you're selling private medical treatments, why wouldn't you list exactly what you do on your website, instead of something vague like 'unique treatments, tailor made to suit qualified clientele'? What's that all about?"
"Sounds like: If you contact us, we'll tell you if you're a fit for our treatments, whatever they are," he said. "It could be something new and controversial like stem-cell treatments or designer babies, but what would that have to do with prostitutes?"
"I wish I knew." I sucked in a deep breath, feeling the coolness on my lips as Marmalade crept in through the cat flap and jumped on my lap. I kissed his head. "Hey, boy. What do you think about it, huh? Do you think Andrew Scott is doing weird scientific experiments on his patients? Meow once for 'yes' and twice for 'no.'"
Marmalade seemed a tad confused by that and just yawned, staring at me with huge green eyes. He nudged my hand with his head insistently, cat-speak for "feed me."
"I'll feed him." Brad slid off the stool and shook the box of kitty biscuits.
"I need to phone Hacker." I got my mobile out of my rucksack and dialed as Marmalade glanced back at me and meowed once. "See, I told you I could have conversations with him." I grinned at Brad.
Brad crouched down next to Marmalade "Should your mum just stop worrying and set the wedding date? Meow once for 'yes' and twice for 'no.'"
Marmalade burped.
I laughed as Hacker picked up. "Yo."
"Yo. How did it go at Marie's house?"
I told him about the altar we'd found.
"Glad I wasn't there. That black magic is powerful stuff."
"We didn't find any evi
dence of Chantal or Liza, though."
"Just because you didn't find it, doesn't mean Marie's not involved in it. And she'll know you've been in her house."
I rolled my eyes. "How will she know? We didn't leave any trace."
I imagined Hacker shrugging as he answered, "She can see things that can't be explained. She can do things that can't be explained."
"So, what, you think she'll put a curse on us because we were in her house?" I said.
"Yep."
"Great! I've got enough problems without being cursed, too. So what do you think she'll do to us?"
"Anything's possible. Make your teeth and hair fall out, give you a bad illness, destroy your relationship, even cause death."
Shit. I'm too young to die! No, I will not be cursed. I'm uncurseable. Yep, that's it. I'm totally uncurseable.
"The state of my hair at the moment, I think maybe she's cursed me already."
"Did you wear my chicken's foot for protection?"
"Yes. Will that stop a curse? You know, just in case she has done one," I asked, my voice coming out more anxious than I anticipated. "Not that I believe in them, of course," I added quickly.
"It should do."
See, of course I couldn't be cursed if I was wearing it. The only problem was, Brad hadn't been wearing one. What if something happened to him instead?
I pushed all thoughts of me as a toothless hag and Brad as a flesh-eating zombie wearing a top hat and tails out of my mind. "Have you found anything on Emily Jacobs?" I asked.
"Not yet. I'm still looking."
"Check out the records at the Second Chance Clinic to see if she was a patient there. I think she may also have been a prostitute."
"Will do."
I heard his fingers clacking over the keyboard.
"I'll phone you back when I know something."
"Yo." I hung up.
Brad walked toward me and stretched out his hand, tucking away a stray curl from the non-singed part of my hair. He ran a finger down my cheek, sending a hot shiver down my spine, not to mention other parts. "I'm not going to give up until I make you officially mine."
I knew that. Brad never gave up when he wanted something. And that something was me. So what was wrong with me? I loved him with all my heart. Why was I so afraid of getting married and making it all so official? Was the thought of losing him, or that something bad might happen, really enough for me not to take the chance? But what if Hacker was really right about those curses? What if Marie really put a hex on us to destroy our relationship? The way I was going, I'd probably do a good job of that on my own.
I tried to say something but my mouth had suddenly gone on strike, which was a miracle in itself.
His lips brushed mine, then he whispered in my ear, "Are you hungry?"
Oh yeah, I'm hungry all right! I wanted to ravish him on the spot. Thoughts of me licking chocolate sauce and whipped cream from all over his body pinged into my head. Food and sex, what a fab combo.
My phone rang.
Damn.
"It could be Hacker," I said.
He gave me a sexy, lopsided grin. "There's plenty of time later. The night's still young." He picked up my mobile from the breakfast bar and handed it to me.
"You were right," Hacker said. "Have you got the list of initials and dates in front of you?"
"Give me a sec." I pulled it out of my rucksack and stared at it:
MP - 28/01
DL - 15/02
CT - 01/03
EJ - 27/03
LS - 0787 5567893
"Emily Jacobs had an appointment at the Second Chance Clinic for a consultation about a termination on the twenty-sixth of March," Hacker said. "There's no record of any other treatment for her, but she suddenly disappeared on the twenty-seventh of March."
My breath caught in my throat. "Who reported her missing?"
"I hacked into the police report and one of her friends by the name of Cassie Knowles reported it. She's also a prostitute. Emily's never been seen since and the police have no leads."
"Shit."
"And that's not all. Based on that, I made an assumption that the other initials were a list of people who'd also gone missing. Mary Parker went missing on the twenty-eighth of January, Dana Little went missing on fifteenth of February, Claire Turner went missing on the first of March, Lucy Sawyer went missing on the twelfth of April. They all had initial consultations to have terminations at Second Chance Clinic, and they were all prostitutes."
My shoulders slumped. This case had just got even bigger. Now we had seven missing girls in total. Whatever experiments were going on at that clinic, it looked like people were dying as a result.
"Both Chantal and Liza phoned Lucy Sawyer's number on the day they disappeared. If Lucy went missing on twelfth of April, that was before Chantal and Liza disappeared, so why were they trying to phone her if they knew she was missing?"
"They probably didn't know she was missing. There was no date next to her initials like the others. Maybe Chantal and Liza heard from some of the other prostitutes that she hadn't been seen lately, or maybe they found out she'd also had an appointment at the clinic."
"Great work, Hacker. Did you manage to get into the Holbrook Clinic files yet?"
"I'm still working through their security firewalls. I'll let you know when I get in."
"Okay. Yo!"
"Yo." Hacker hung up.
I turned to Brad, eyes wide, trying to take in the enormity of what I'd just heard.
"What?" Brad said.
I told him about all the missing prostitutes.
He ran a hand over his cropped hair and paced the floor. "What the hell kind of experiments are they doing up there?"
"Something seriously bad. I need to get down to Chequer Street and try and talk to Cassie Knowles if she's around, seeing as she reported Emily Jacobs missing. Maybe she knows something that can help."
"Want me to come, too?
I shook my head. "Chequer Street is run by a pimp who goes by the name of Diamond Dozen. If he sees you talking to the girls he might think you're trying to take them over and things could get nasty."
"Diamond Dozen?" Brad tried not to laugh.
I shrugged. "What can I say? He's probably watched too much TV. If I blend in as one of the girls, he probably won't even notice me asking questions."
"You're going to dress up as a hooker?"
I nodded. "Yep."
He raised an eyebrow. "Nice."
I play-swatted his arm. "I mean, we don't know how far this thing goes. Diamond Dozen could be involved in it, too. What if he's sending his girls to the clinic when they get pregnant and taking some kind of payment for procuring new specimens so they can carry out their experiments?"
"Can I watch you get dressed?"
I rolled my eyes. "If you watch me, I'll never get out the door."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
At eleven thirty p.m. I was trotting down Chequer Street in my hookerish outfit. It was too cold for a skirt that masqueraded as a belt, so I had on a tight pair of black leggings, a glittery, low-cut top, a short faux leopard skin jacket, and the highest pair of stilettos I owned. I'd backcombed my hair so much it looked like my head had just exploded. Still, the good thing was you couldn't even tell now that one side was shorter than the other, unless you looked really hard.
Chequer Street was getting busy with working girls and seedy clientele. Prime time for finding Cassie Knowles. Some of the girls chatted in pairs at the side of the road, while some of them hung back, lounging against shop windows, ready to do business at the hint of a punter. Cars pulled to a stop now and then, the drivers haggling over prices or extras.
The first girl I met was in her mid-twenties: lots of makeup, a skirt so short you could see what she had for breakfast. She was looking up and down the road, hand on hip, and didn't notice me as I approached.
"Hi." I smiled at her. "I'm looking for Cassie Knowles. Do you know her?"
She looked me up and dow
n, chewing gum loudly. "Are you Diamond's new girl?"
"Yeah, he said Cassie was going to show me the ropes."
She blew a bubble with her gum until it popped, then she jerked her head, gesturing farther down the street. "See the girl in the leather dress?"
I glanced past her and nodded.
"That's Cassie."
"Thanks."
"No problem." She turned her eyes back to the road.
Cassie was leaning on a lamppost, rummaging around in her bag, when I caught up to her. She had long blonde hair and tired eyes. The night was cold but her dress was strapless and short. She was all skin and bones, and there was nothing much holding up the dress except willpower.
"Hi, are you Cassie?"
She pulled out a packet of cigarettes, lit one, and regarded me warily. "Yeah, who wants to know?"
"My name's Amber Fox. I'm trying to find out what happened to your friend Emily Jacobs."
She took a long draw and turned her face away to blow out the smoke. "Why?" Suspicious.
"I've been investigating the disappearance of Chantal Langton, and I've discovered some information about the Second Chance Clinic. Several prostitutes who were using the clinic have disappeared. Emily's one of them. I think there's something going on over there and I need to find out what before even more people vanish mysteriously."
"You a cop?" She glanced around the street nervously.
"No, I'm an insurance investigator."
"Good. If Diamond catches me talking to a cop, he won't be happy."
"You reported Emily missing to the police, didn't you?"
"Hey," a middle-aged guy who'd pulled up at the curb shouted out the window. "How much for both of you?"
"Sorry, we're busy," I said, turning back to Cassie.
"You don't look very busy. How much?" he said. "You can be busy over here." He drew quote marks in the air as he said the word busy.
Ew, what a creep!
Cassie glanced up and down the street nervously, whispering to me. "I should take this guy."
I held up the palm of my hand to him. "I said we're busy." I made shooing motions to him. "Go on, run along." I turned back to Cassie and opened my mouth to speak.
