Andie first passed him back his ID. A sweatshirt covered her wrists but he could still see the yellowing of old bruising that discoloured her skin down to the base of her thumb. ‘Are you coming outside, then?’ he asked her.
‘You can’t come in, remember, so I’ll come to Parkside with you.’
He nodded to himself, but spoke into the handset. ‘I’ll be in shortly. Miss Seagrove will be with me.’ He hung up. ‘We’ll be walking, but it’s not far.’
‘I’m glad to walk.’
‘You’ve been pretty elusive.’
‘I haven’t left the house since.’
‘Since’ could be used on its own when there was only one moment that mattered. He guessed she’d use ‘before’ in the same way too. Still, he had to ask. ‘Since the boat, you mean? Really?’
‘Groceries delivered, appointments missed or cancelled, and an unanswered front door – till you showed up.’
‘You must have spoken to someone?’
‘To my parents.’
‘Do they suspect anything?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Maybe they think I’ve been a little antisocial, I don’t know. Apart from that, all my friends have gone home. I sent a couple of emails just so they wouldn’t send out a search party. As if.’ She managed a smile. ‘I’ve spoken to myself a lot, and to the TV once or twice too. But I turned a bit of a corner this morning, so made myself promise that I’d go out tomorrow. Then you turned up . . . which felt like good timing.’
‘You seem very calm about it.’
‘No, I’m a pragmatist, and once I’ve decided on something, I do it. I haven’t decided on much yet, but I have worked out that there are so many things I still want to do in this life. And it’s best if I tackle the mess I’m in first.’
They were already walking slowly but, as they turned on to East Road, Goodhew noticed she slowed again.
‘You’re in pain? Can I help?’
‘No. And it’s better than it was. It’s just like I said, this is the furthest I’ve walked since. I know he’s dead, by the way.’
‘So why didn’t you come forward?’
‘I didn’t know he had kids until I saw it in the paper. He was dead, I didn’t . . . don’t know anything about his death and, from a personal point of view, what was I going to gain at that point?’
‘Before that, then – after he dumped you out on the Gogs, you could have made a complaint.’
‘And I’ll give you all the reasons why not when we get there.’ Her voice had an in-pain edge to it. ‘So change the subject.’
‘Tell me about your degree.’
‘I’m nearly done. My last year is coming up.’
‘Then what?’
‘No idea. Find a job, if I can. One day I want to create designs for fabrics – not the clothes but the fabrics themselves. I’ve painted some of my design ideas on to ready-made clothes, and I’ve even sold one or two. So I think that’s what I’m going to do.’ Reaching the traffic lights on the last corner before the station, they waited for the little green man to instruct them to cross. Andie was silent throughout but when they reached the other side she spoke again. ‘What we do now is who we are, isn’t it?’
‘Is it? That doesn’t sound right.’
‘Ever heard that theory that, unless you’re living under some kind of duress, you are living the life you actually want?’
‘No, I don’t believe that.’
‘No? Me neither, actually, but I thought I was heading in the right direction with my degree, and instead I wake up to find I’m a prostitute. I can’t undo it now.’
‘But are you finished with it?’
‘Totally.’
‘That’s a start, isn’t it?’ They’d reached the station by now, and he caught her quiet reply as they stepped inside.
‘Promoted to ex-prostitute,’ she said drily. ‘Wow, aren’t I clever.’
Andie hadn’t been wrong when she’d called herself a pragmatist. She’d recognized the need for making a frank statement, and was now answering every question without hesitation. Goodhew hoped she’s be able to stick to this pattern as the interview progressed. Sometimes her hands shook, other times fear welled in her eyes, but she never hesitated throughout.
He’d asked her at the beginning whether she’d prefer to be interviewed by a woman, or just have one present in the room.
‘Last thing I want is another woman in the room judging me.’
‘No one’s going to judge.’
‘OK, well, I don’t want to say what I need to say, in front of another woman. You’re recording it, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll talk to you and the recorder then. I can manage that.’
‘OK.’
Andie wore no make-up, and without it looked younger than she actually was. In fact, she could have passed for fifteen or sixteen. Her eyes were the same shade of green as Goodhew’s, and it was there that he detected the strength that would carry her through this ordeal.
‘I don’t know anything about Paul Marshall’s murder,’ she declared firmly.
‘Just forget the murder investigation at this point. All I’m interested in is what happened to you. Let’s start with how did you meet him?’
‘I was advertising on a members-only website. It’s supposed to be safer that way. The other men were all fine.’
‘I’m sorry, Andie, but I’ll need to make sure this recording is as unambiguous as possible. So try to be specific and I’ll ask if I need anything clarified. In this instance, please explain that advertisement.’ He kept eye contact with her, nodding encouragement.
She gave a little nod in return. ‘I’d advertised on a message board used by people offering escort services in return for payment. Prostitution, then. The message board appears on a website called Student Services. I’d started doing so in the Easter break, after I’d run out of money. I’d had a few one-night stands and I hadn’t regretted them. I liked sex, I suppose, and it had never been a big deal for me, inhibition-wise. I didn’t think there’d be much more to it than that.
‘And, yes, the first couple of times are scary, but then, after that, it became straightforward. I adjusted my normal to include three of four sessions with men each week.’
I adjusted my normal. He’d remember that one. It was a phrase that covered the slide into crime made by so many people he’d interviewed.
‘How many clients did you have?’
‘A few one-offs, nine or ten regulars.’
‘We’ll need details.’
‘I thought you might. Paul was my favourite. Some guys didn’t even look at me, just bent me over and got on with it, stuffed sixty quid in my hand and said Cheers, love or something similar. Paul chatted with me. We had a laugh.’
‘Did you know he was married?’
‘Most of them are. And, from my point of view, I thought they were safer than a sex-obsessed loner or a bloke that’s bitter about the women who’ve rejected him. But, yeah, I knew he was married and, no, I didn’t feel bad about that.’
It wasn’t for Goodhew to ask why not. In any case that would have smacked of judgement, when it actually would have smacked of curiosity. She answered anyway.
‘I didn’t feel guilty because I wasn’t the one who’d promised to be faithful. But, then, I don’t think too much of the whole idea of men and marriage.’
‘How did you meet him?’
‘Paul? He texted me initially. Said he wasn’t sure whether he should. All tentative at first, like he’d never paid for it in the past. Of course, I later found out that was just part of the game. The whole thing was a game with him – and I didn’t see it coming.’ She picked up her cup, realized it was empty and put it down on the table.
Goodhew checked his watch. ‘Fresh drinks will be here in a few minutes.’
‘The first time was in his van. He apologized, said he hoped I wasn’t upset because it had seemed a bit sordid, then promised something better if I’d agree to meet him ag
ain.
‘There’s a motel out on the A505, where he booked us in the second time. Paid me extra because of the travelling time. It became at least once a week after that.’
‘Across what sort of period?’
‘Maybe a couple of months, but I’d have to check the texts. I trusted him, though.’ An uncontrolled twitch of nerves made the ring finger of her right hand tremor. When it didn’t stop after a few seconds, she folded the other hand protectively around it. ‘We gradually started to spend longer together. He talked about his wife, said he wouldn’t leave her, though. He was very upfront about that, but I’d crossed a line by then and started feeling like she was the competition. Whatever she gave him, I wanted to show him I could do it better.’
The drinks arrived then, and they paused for a couple of minutes. Goodhew made an attempt at small talk but Andie stopped him. ‘I’m trying really hard to be brutally honest, and that means stepping outside myself and seeing everything for what it is. Stop being nice to me, right now.’
‘Sorry.’
She looked exasperated. ‘OK, ready?’
He pressed ‘record’. ‘Ready.’
‘Paul was still paying me, but it had started to feel like a relationship. He admitted that he found it hard to think of me with other men, but knew he had no right to object, and somehow that conversation skewed into one about belonging. Initially I just thought he meant it in the emotional way, but he steered the conversation round until we were talking about sexual belonging. He asked me if I read any novels like that.’ She paused, remembering Goodhew’s advice about being specific. ‘I mean the kind of books they call mummy porn. The girls at college call it fuck fiction. He said his wife read them but wouldn’t try anything. I think his exact words were “She can’t give herself to anyone totally”. And what did I then say? “I can.” ’ She tipped her head back and released a long, slow breath. ‘So stupid, so, so stupid,’ she muttered. Tears rose in her eyes, till it looked impossible that they wouldn’t tumble on to her cheeks. But, somehow, she managed to make them recede.
Goodhew said nothing and just let her compose herself.
After a minute she sat up straight again, then leant closer to him with her elbows on the table. ‘Once I’d promised that I’d give him the sex that his wife wouldn’t, then the dynamic between us shifted. There’s no point in second guessing which elements of that weekend I initiated and which Paul had set me up for. I don’t know the answers, myself, though I’m sure that I was out of my depth there all along.’
‘Were you expecting to be taken to the boat?’
‘No, I don’t really know what I expected. I suppose I imagined a blindfold, and ribbons tying me to the bedpost. More fantasy than reality, a kind of kinky-themed normal, if that makes sense.
‘The next time I saw him, he brought up the subject of money. He said the whole thing needed to be organized properly, and he’d worked out that he should give me five thousand pounds. I was stunned. He asked me if that would be enough to make me stop seeing other men. And, stupidly, I assumed that amount of money was more about his feelings for me than how I’d be expected to earn it.’ She stared into the middle distance: somewhere through the wall, across Cambridge and into the past. ‘At the outset I’d told myself that the escort work was only a short-term fix, and that Paul was presenting me with the quick way out of it. I remember also wondering why I didn’t feel happier. I guess that was because it was his decision, not mine, and that made me uncomfortable in a way I couldn’t put my finger on. I should have trusted my own instincts.’
She paused to stare at the digital voice-recorder. It would have been obvious for either of them to then mention a cliché or two about hindsight or life experience, but instead they silently watched the timer speeding forwards, counting out time in hundredths of seconds.
As it hit the next full minute, she spoke again, reverting to her most matter-of-fact tone. ‘Paul said we should do it properly, so I signed a contract agreeing to be completely at his disposal from that Friday evening till Sunday evening. He gave me the cash, and I paid it into my account at the bank before we left.’
‘Where did you think you were going?’
‘To his boat, of course. He had told me about it being moored on the river. I imagined it would be plush . . . you saw his car, right? It was only that one time in his van that I saw him around anything that was even slightly rough – and that van was used for work. Oh shit, scratch that last bit, because I’m making it sound like the boat was the problem. Anyway, I got into the car and he asked if I was ready.
‘I had this second of doubt. “It’s a game, isn’t it?” I asked him.
‘He said it was a game that would only work if I played along. He told me to bend forward so my head was close to my knees. I don’t know why he did that . . . but I didn’t really understand anything much after that. I just know it wasn’t about sex. It was all about hate and anger, and for some reason it was my job to pay the price.’ Without warning she pulled her sweatshirt off and dropped it on the floor. Underneath she wore a vest top and no bra. She held out her arms. ‘Most of it has gone now.’ The artificial light blanched her skin, leaving just the darkest veins of the marbled bruising visible at first. As Goodhew’s eyes adjusted, he began to pick out yellows, greys and khakis, too. She then turned to show him her back; the bruising to the lower ribcage and on the very top of her neck looked to be at a similar point of recovery. The entire area between her neck and waist was rife with freckled and scored patches of fresh skin.
‘It was a safe bet I wouldn’t go to the police,’ she continued. ‘How many students want their mums or dads to know they’d gone to uni and become prostitutes? And I had agreed in writing, too. I should have guessed earlier that he never cared. That five grand had seemed too much – and you get what you’re paid for, I guess. So maybe this is what a five-grand weekend looks like.’
She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Goodhew. ‘Is that enough of the sex stuff, or do you want it in full detail?’
‘No. With Paul Marshall now dead, there are no assault charges we can bring against him, and I’m not sure what kind of statements will be needed from you at this point. Full statements will definitely be needed, though.’ He said it as if it was a question.
‘I understand,’ she replied.
He frowned then and looked down at the notes in front of him. ‘When did he stop assaulting you?’
Her gaze remained steady. ‘About five minutes before he told me to get out of the car.’
‘Have you had any medical attention, Andie?’
‘Aspirin and Sailor Jerry.’
‘We need a doctor to examine you. But you need that too.’
‘Sure, whatever.’ She gave a shrug but he sensed that any trepidation was also mixed with relief.
‘Where exactly did he drop you?’
‘Somewhere on the Gogs. Plenty of cars drove straight past me. One foot was so swollen, I couldn’t even keep my shoe on, so I was up there barefoot and all these drivers saw me. I got offered a lift in the end but, fuck it, you’d never think that so many people would just drive on by. That driver took me all the way to East Road, so I suppose I was luckier than I might have been.’
‘When did you hear about Paul Marshall’s death?’
‘Pretty much about the same time as everyone else, except I saw the picture of his burnt-out car in the Cambridge News, and its location too. That was before they’d released his name, but I already guessed who it might be. Part of me hoped it was, anyway.’
‘And the other part of you?’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t want to become someone who wishes other people dead, no matter what they do.’
Goodhew nodded to himself; he understood that outlook. ‘Paul Marshall was tortured. We don’t know why, but the two most likely reasons would be either to extract information or exact revenge. All along I’ve felt you somehow hold the key. It can’t be a coincidence that he was tortured right
at the spot where you were dumped.’
‘No one knows what happened. Not the details.’
‘But someone knows something.’
‘I cancelled seeing the other men on my list. I apologized and suggested they went back on to the website and booked with someone else.’ She smiled at what she’d just said. ‘Customer service is a better career than servicing customers. That could be my slogan.’ She looked embarrassed, at once. ‘Sorry, that wasn’t very funny.’
‘Morgue humour. It’s a good sign.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. Check it out. So tell me exactly what you said, and to whom.’
‘Nothing, actually. I just told my clients I was leaving the area, and so was finishing. I even cancelled my account on the website. I don’t know if someone complained, because the website emailed me back and asked my reason. I just told them I was giving up.’
‘Not moving away?’
‘No. I didn’t want the landlord assuming that I was going to leave. There are so many other students looking for rooms this close to town.’
Goodhew scanned down through his notes, even though he already knew the answer wasn’t there. ‘What does your landlord have to do with the escort service?’
‘It’s through him that I found out about it.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
‘I couldn’t bring blokes back to a houseful of other students and, like I said before, most of the men were married. They won’t all be ready to pay for a room, on top of paying the escort – especially if they’re paranoid about the CCTV cameras that are always fitted in those places. Andrew usually has an unoccupied house to spare somewhere, so he lets the girls use its rooms.’
‘For a fee?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Who pays?’
‘If I wanted use of the room, I paid. I booked through the website. I took a premium listing for the day I wanted a room, and then they would send back the details of whichever one I could use.’
‘But who is they?’ A note of frustration slipped into his voice, and he immediately regretted it. ‘Who is your landlord and who runs this website, Andie?’
‘His name’s Andrew Dalton. He could be behind the website too, for all I know. He has an office above one of the takeaways in Milton Road. I’m sorry, but I didn’t realize it was important information.’
The Backs (2013) Page 23
