by Rachel Lynch
Marko now sat with his feet up on a table, smoking. He was a quiet man, and rarely spoke, but when he did, it sent tingles down Darren’s spine. His voice had a foreign lilt, one that Darren didn’t recognise, though it sounded as though it belonged in a movie. His eyes were dark and merciless, and his thick black eyebrows made them even more sinister.
‘Darren. I have a problem.’ He exhaled smoke. Darren watched him. Underneath Marko’s black jumper, he could see ink all over his arms and he guessed the guy was covered in tattoos.
‘Marko—’
‘Shut up. Now, you need to tell me that those girls are taken care of and you also need to tell me that the manager and cleaner are going to disappear. I don’t need this kind of bullshit. Why was one of my girls screwing Colin Day?’
‘She arranged it on her own, Marko, I swear. She must have met him when she was seeing another client.’
Marko banged his fist on the table and sat up.
‘Don’t tell me bullshit! You arranged it and you were taking a cut. A cut of my money, Beckett. I should fucking kill you now.’
Darren felt as though he wanted to piss in his pants.
‘Where is she? And the one she was inseparable from? If you tell me you don’t know, you’re not walking out of here.’
‘Both of them are dead,’ Darren said with confidence. He’d take the credit for Roza too.
After dumping the bodies, Darren had driven around, buzzing, as if he were in Goodfellas or something. But now, as he stood in the dark flat, he realised that he was anything but Marko’s hit man. He was shit scared, and unsure about his next move. Curtis hovered behind him like some kind of menacing troll, and Marko nodded to him. Darren felt a hand on his shoulder, and he swallowed. Any minute now, he’d piss himself and it’d go all over the guy’s shoes.
‘They were both fucking around, Marko, but I know where they left their cash.’
‘Are you telling me you killed Nush and Roza for me?’ Marko spread his mouth wide and chuckled.
‘Yes,’ Darren replied, too quickly and too enthusiastically.
‘I could have sold them, you stupid bastard.’
Darren’s heart sank. He hadn’t thought of that.
‘But they still might have talked,’ Marko added. ‘And my little problem could have turned into a very big problem indeed.’ Darren breathed a little easier: there was hope yet. ‘But I’m impressed, Beckett. You shouldn’t have any problem with the manager and the cleaner then. I knew I couldn’t trust Tony to clean up.’
Darren knew that Tony had been Colin Day’s choice as binman. Apparently he was a friend of Day’s son and Day felt protective towards him. Fucking idiot, no one gave alcoholics jobs. Marko had predicted trouble, and now he’d been proved right.
Marko shook his head and stroked his chin, putting his cigarette out with his other hand. Darren noticed that he wore two rings, one made from thick gold with a diamond, and the other a silver piece with black, purple and green stuff set into it. Rings on Darren would have made him look like a pansy. They made Marko look meaner.
‘What do I do with the manager and the cleaner, Marko?’
‘Use your imagination, Beckett. Do you want me to send you on a training course?’
Darren thought about confirming that that would be a good idea, but decided not to.
‘No, Marko.’
‘Good. Find out if they said anything to the police first. I’m sending Sasha with you.’
This was interesting. Interesting and terrifying. It meant that Marko wanted the job done well and he was throwing Darren a bone; an opportunity to learn from the best. But it was also a warning. Sasha was Marko’s son and his best asset, and he wouldn’t consider whether to kill Darren – only when and how. Darren tried to tell himself that he was a long way down the food chain where Marko was concerned, but that wasn’t the point. Marko was taking this whole Thwaite Hotel thing seriously. Day must have been up to something bigger than just shagging illegal girls. There was always supposed to be a night manager with access to an untraceable mobile phone and there was always supposed to be a binman. Both jobs on the night in question were supposed to be covered by Tony. But no one knew where he was. It was a knee-jerk reaction to tidy up the dead girl first; after all, the old guy had only had a heart attack. No crime had been committed. But now Marko didn’t seem so sure.
‘The place has been crawling with detectives, Beckett, and it seems that the old bastard was filming the whole thing.’
Darren’s mouth opened and closed. Fucking hell. No wonder Marko was worried.
‘I’ll get the tape,’ he said.
Marko laughed. ‘You idiot. The police have it, it’s long gone. What did you do with the girls’ bodies? I’m intrigued.’
‘They’re taken care of.’
‘Where?’
‘Barrow Dock.’
Marko folded his arms and stared at him.
‘Did you do as I asked?’
‘Yes, I left the flat without telling anyone.’
‘Good, here’s an address where you can stay.’ He handed Darren a slip of paper and a wad of cash. ‘And buy yourself some decent clothes and take a fucking shower. Sasha will pick you up at eight.’
‘Thank you, Marko.’
‘Don’t grovel. It’s not necessary and it makes you look weak. If you’re going to be working for me properly, you need to grow a backbone.’
Darren didn’t say a word.
‘That’s better,’ said Marko.
Chapter 21
‘What did you tell them, Anna?’ Kevin Cottrell asked.
‘Nothing!’ the cleaner replied.
‘I can’t believe you called 999 before speaking to me.’
Kevin paced up and down the reception of the Thwaite Hotel. Detective Inspector Porter would be there any moment and they had to have their story straight.
‘You repeat what you said to the police last time: I’m just a day manager so I don’t know anything about the night shift. The hotel hadn’t had bookings for a while, we don’t know why. We think they had financial difficulties and we were both looking for new jobs. Mr Day liked his room and stayed a lot; we had no idea he had guests. Are you getting all of this, Anna?’
‘Where was Tony?’ she asked.
‘Pissed, in bed as always. He probably slept through the whole thing.’
‘Do we mention him?’
‘I think we do, then it takes the attention away from us. He’s supposed to be the night manager after all. Then I’m out of here. I’ve found a new job.’
‘Where?’
‘I’m not telling you. You’re on your own after tonight.’
‘Do you really think it’s a brothel, Kevin?’
He laughed. ‘Of course it is, you stupid cow! I wish I’d never taken the job, I was desperate. The place is a shit hole.’
* * *
Kelly approached the hotel with DC Hide. The enhanced photo had come through on her iPad and she had it with her. DC Hide had done a fantastic job and had several sightings of a red-headed girl who had worked in hotels in Ambleside over the past few months.
A man and a woman were waiting for them in the hotel lobby. The man looked as though he was about to make a run for it, and the young woman appeared terrified. Kelly thought it unlikely that, after seeing the papers this morning, anyone could work here and not know what was going on. She decided to start with the girl.
‘Anna Cork? I’m DI Kelly Porter, the detective assigned to look into the death of Colin Day. Thank you for waiting for me. I just need to ask a few questions. Shall we sit down?’
Anna stood back, wide-eyed, the man hovering behind her.
‘Kevin Cottrell?’ Kelly asked, and he nodded and held out his hand. ‘Good, shall we make a start then? I won’t keep you long.’ She wanted to make them comfortable; to break down their guard.
Anna led them to a small table just off the reception area and the three of them sat down. Hide stood nearby, watching. A uniform gua
rded the door. Kelly got out a notepad. She’d interview them together initially to keep things fairly relaxed. She could gauge their relationship by how they reacted and interacted.
‘So, Anna, you found Mr Day on the morning of Friday the twenty-first, is that correct?’ she began.
Anna nodded.
‘Can you tell me exactly how you found him?’
‘Well, the door was unlocked and I went in to start cleaning. I could see straight away that something was wrong. I went to him, but I soon realised he wasn’t breathing. He was very cold.’ She looked distraught.
‘How well did you know Mr Day, Anna?’
‘Er… we chatted a bit when I took him his post, but he wasn’t usually there in the morning, so I only saw him a few times. He was nice, he left good tips,’ she added.
Kelly was aware that Cottrell was watching her, but she concentrated on Anna.
‘I read in the notes that he had post delivered here. Was it personal stuff, or was it addressed to the hotel? After all, he was the owner.’
‘I can’t remember.’ She looked at Kevin, wondering if he knew that the hotel belonged to Mr Day. He was staring at the detective.
‘Did you know he had regular guests, Anna?’
‘No,’ she said, too quickly.
‘Do you recognise this woman?’ Kelly showed Anna her iPad. Kevin swallowed.
‘Er…’ Anna squinted at the screen for a long time, colour mounting in her cheeks. ‘No, I’m sure I don’t.’
‘Kevin, what about you?’ asked Kelly.
‘No, definitely not,’ he replied, though he’d barely looked at the picture.
‘And how long is it since there have been other guests at the hotel?’ Kelly glanced down at the notes made by Martin and Coombs.
Anna and Kevin looked at one another.
‘OK, let me put it another way. According to the log book in the office here, several men rented rooms on a long-term basis, but there have been no short-term visitors – holidaymakers – for at least as far back as I looked.’
‘I don’t think many people stayed here. I haven’t seen guests for about four weeks. I was looking for a new job.’ Kevin sounded defensive.
‘And who was the last guest you saw?’
‘I can’t remember.’
Kelly knew that the interview wasn’t going anywhere. It was obvious that they were both lying and she had to find out why.
‘There’s not a lot of work to do round here, is there? With no guests. Who interviewed you for the jobs?’
‘My mum got me the job,’ said Anna, and finally Kelly believed her.
‘I know the night manager,’ said Kevin, and she almost believed him.
‘So, where was the night manager when Mr Day was having his heart attack?’
‘He has a drinking problem. When I came in in the morning, he was in bed.’
‘And where is he now?’
‘I don’t know. He left and I don’t know where he went.’
‘The hotel will remain closed for the time being at Mrs Day’s request, so it looks like you will both need to find new jobs. Maybe next time you should find out a bit more about your employers,’ said Kelly, raising her eyebrows. ‘I’ll need the master key, please, and I’d also like you to show me the night manager’s room. I don’t suppose you have any employment details for him? A photo?’
‘They’d be in the office,’ Kevin replied.
She couldn’t recall coming across any details about a night manager.
‘And his name?’
‘We only knew him as Tony.’
Kelly decided she wasn’t going to get anything more out of them.
‘If either of you do suffer a moment of lucidity or conscience, then please call me.’ She handed both of them cards. ‘You can show me the room now.’
Kelly and DC Hide followed as Kevin Cottrell showed them upstairs, along a corridor and into the room occupied by Tony. Anna accompanied meekly behind, not knowing if she was required or not.
‘Thank you, you can go now,’ said Kelly, accepting the master key from Cottrell.
‘Christ, guv, that was like pulling teeth,’ said Hide, once the pair had left.
‘Impressions?’
‘Bullshit. They both recognised the photo. She’s not exactly inconspicuous, is she?’
‘Quite. The lab confirmed it’s real hair and not a wig, but she could have dyed it by now. Did you get a name for her?’
‘Nush. Short for Anushka. None of the people I spoke to could give me any more details, though apparently she worked at the Troutbeck Guest House from time to time. I took a walk down there and a waitress confirmed she’d been working there and that her surname is Ivanov. I ran it through the Home Office and there’s no work permit in that name. There’s also no trace of her at the Passport Office.’
‘Isn’t the Troutbeck another of Day’s hotels? Who runs it?’
‘A woman called Mrs Joliffe, unavailable. I’ve left messages.’
‘Well done, Emma. Let’s have a look around here.’ Kelly accepted a pair of latex gloves from DC Hide, and they went in.
The room was dark and smelled of stale body odour. Kelly flicked on a light and they began looking around for hints of the man who lived there. It was sparse, and littered with the detritus of an alcoholic: bottles were strewn all over the surfaces as well as the floor, and boxes of headache pills lay ready for use. A wallet sat on the side and a cursory glance showed that there was cash and ID inside. The driving licence gave the owner the name Tony Proctor. The man clearly hadn’t gone to buy alcohol; he would need cash and the black jacket which was discarded over a chair. With the hotel closed, Tony Proctor had nowhere to sleep, so where was he?
‘Come on,’ Kelly said. She used the master key to open other doors. They went from room to room, finding messy beds, filthy bathrooms and discarded personal items, including plenty of condoms, used and otherwise. They lifted and looked under objects, looking for anything that might help with the investigation. Kelly knew that she’d need to get a photographer here to compile a file for her records. No-one would be allowed in the place from now on, except herself and anyone she sent.
They went back downstairs and walked in and out of the reception rooms and Kelly ran her hand over cupboards that hadn’t been cleaned for months. It would appear that Anna Cork was only told to keep the functional areas clean – in other words, the bedrooms.
They found a small basic kitchen and opened the fridge. It was empty apart from some in-date milk. It didn’t give the impression of a working area: dust was gathered in every corner and there was no aroma of recent cooking. Next they went into the small office behind reception, the one that had yielded the piles of paperwork. They would have to go over the rest of it as soon as possible, and Kelly realised that it was going to be a long night. They needed evidence of any money changing hands, and where it went to, as well as the personal details of other ‘guests’. Christine Day wouldn’t be the only betrayed spouse here, of that she was certain.
She thought for a moment about sex. She’d worked dozens of cases that revolved around either illicit or secret sex, and she’d come to the conclusion that she herself was quite ordinary. She’d only ever slept with one man at a time, she didn’t pay for it or charge for it, she stayed away from other people’s husbands (she hoped) and she didn’t use equipment. She felt terribly boring facing this parallel world of desire and toxicity that tore people apart. She wasn’t sure what she thought of Colin Day. He’d betrayed his wife and hurt her, but was Christine more worried about the public shame or the fact that he had a sex drive she couldn’t satisfy?
And then there was Lottie Davis, who’d been subjected to unimaginable pain and terror because of some man’s perverted desires. Kelly would have to control her feelings if she stood any chance of catching Lottie’s killer, but it was tough. Detective work was liable to put one off people generally; it was the nature of the job. She shook her head. Getting results was all that mattered; t
he weirdos could spend all the time they liked telling their prison psychologists why they did what they did. But first she had to catch them.
Kelly’s phone rang. Nikki. She toyed with ignoring it, but her conscience got the better of her.
‘It’s Mum, Kelly. She’s in hospital.’
Chapter 22
Marko wouldn’t watch the dog fight tonight; he had other things to attend to. A new batch of girls was scheduled to arrive and he was always keen to be there at the beginning. Only he decided who went where. Most of them were only good for sticking a needle in and fucking, but occasionally a little gem would surface that he could use for his more select contacts. A young, fresh one with big tits could sell for two thousand to the right people, and he knew the right people. Then there were the ones with attitude and intelligence who came over under different circumstances, with longer-term potential; girls like Nush, although that had gone badly wrong, one of Teresa’s rare failures.
Teresa was an elegant woman in her forties with the moral compass of a snake. They’d worked together for over ten years. She added to the flavour of authenticity, especially when dealing with the higher-end customers, and was a genius at matching girls to clients, and also breaking their will. She’d only failed a handful of times, but it hadn’t mattered, because he could always find other ways of making money from the girls. Like ivory, diamonds and meth, the market for women was constantly buoyant.
It had been the right move leaving Liverpool; it hadn’t interrupted business much at all. Everyone was moving out of the cities and into the country, where there were more places to hide and fewer police. Besides, he’d expanded his business since moving to the Lakes, branching out into the leisure industry. Diversification: it was the lifeblood of good business.
When he’d first come to the UK from Serbia over twenty years ago, he was broke, spoke little English and lived in a bedsit in Speke. It hadn’t taken him long to work out who was in charge when the lights went out and the good tax-paying citizens were tucked up in bed. That was when the underbelly came to life, and he soon wormed his way in. There had been ups and downs, but now business was good. He’d learned who to trust and who to get rid of. He left competitors alone and showed respect to those in the industry who’d been around longer, although nowadays they were few.
