He could never make things the way they were before, he understood that. But that shouldn’t deter him from attempting to reclaim himself.
The cottage was still a work-in-progress, but it was becoming something Donovan could take pride in. And it was a long time since he had felt like that about anything.
‘What you watching?’ he asked Katya.
‘A film,’ she replied. ‘Old. Part of London decides it is a separate country.’
‘Ah. Passport to Pimlico. Good film.’
Katya gave an expression of bafflement. ‘If you had been in my country when it divide itself up, you would not think it funny.’
He went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He made them both coffee, brought it out, handed her the mug and sat with her on the sofa.
‘How you doing?’ he asked her.
‘Fine,’ she said, not meeting his eyes.
‘Good.’
‘When can I see my brother?’
‘Soon, I hope. I don’t know where he’s being held. All I know is it’s somewhere safe. They want you both to stay where you are until it’s a good time to move you. But soon.’
Katya nodded. ‘I … I do not want to be ungrateful. But …’ She sighed. ‘I feel … unsettled here.’
Donovan smiled. ‘I don’t blame you.’
‘The country is very beautiful and I love to walk, but I feel … like I am in limbo. Waiting for something to happen.’
Donovan nodded. ‘If you want something to do, I could use some help.’
Her eyes lit up. She turned to him. ‘With what?’
‘It’s work. I don’t know whether you’d want to or not. It might be a bit – I don’t know – unpleasant for you. Bring back some bad memories.’
A cloud passed over her features. ‘Like what?’
Donovan told her about his meeting with Janine Stewart. The job he had agreed to take on, without mentioning Michael Nell’s name. ‘The thing is, he claims that when Ashley was being abducted, he was out visiting prostitutes. Or a prostitute in particular.’
Her voice rose in anger. ‘And you think this was me?’
‘No, no, I don’t. But I thought you might be able to help me. Point me in the right direction.’
Katya said nothing.
‘I know it’s not something you want to go back to. And I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’
Katya took a long time to answer. When she did, her voice was barely above a whisper. ‘They might see me. Come after me. Take me back with them.’
‘They won’t,’ Donovan said. ‘You’ll be with me.’
She gave a harsh laugh. ‘You think that will stop them?’ She shook her head, stood up, paced the room. ‘You don’t know what they are like, what they can do to you. They keep us in one room, give us one meal a day. Charge us to stay there. Charge us to use knives and forks. Fine us if we do not … humiliate ourselves with men. Fine us if the men do not find us attractive …’
She turned away from Donovan, composed herself again. Donovan said nothing. Katya continued, her voice small. ‘They tell us we will have good jobs in hotel, in restaurant, then take our passports, tell us we owe them thousands of pounds. Make us their property. Tell us to do as they say or they will kill our families back home.’ She looked straight at him. ‘They can do all this, and you do not think they will find me?’
‘Trust me. They won’t. You won’t see them. I’ve got photos of the woman and the street where she works from. And what she specializes in. She’s not Eastern European. She’s local. A home-grown girl.’
Katya relaxed. Very slightly.
‘I was just wondering whether you’d come across her, that’s all.’
Katya said nothing for a while. ‘What does she look like?’ she said eventually.
Donovan took out the envelope Janine Stewart had given him. He leafed through the photos, looking for one that wouldn’t upset Katya. Or would upset her the least. He passed it across to her. Saw her flinch as she took it. It showed a woman, medium height, hair short and dark, slight build. Frail-looking. The camera was above her, looking down. She looked up, eyes wide and fearful.
‘She caters to the S&M trade mainly,’ said Donovan. ‘A taker, rather than a giver.’
Katya gave another harsh laugh. ‘All whores are takers. There to absorb men’s anger.’ The word was spat out like phlegm.
‘Not every man,’ said Donovan, feeling he had to say something. Katya shrugged. Unconvinced. Donovan continued. ‘Anyway, do you know her?’
‘She looks familiar.’ Katya studied the photo, frowned. ‘Yes … her name was … Shirley? Sharon? Something like that. We were not encouraged to mix with the other girls. We worked in shifts. I was taken to the house, dropped off, and they sat outside and waited.’
‘Were you taken to just the one house? Or is there a chance you could have been to the one she was at?’
‘There’s a chance,’ Katya said, looking at the floor. ‘Describe it to me.’
He did. Katya slowly nodded. ‘I think I know that one.’
‘Do you know where it is?’
‘Perhaps. When I see it again.’
‘I imagine it’s the same set-up,’ said Donovan. ‘The landlord rents out the rooms to the girls, takes a cut. If there’s any trouble or a raid, it goes no further than him. And he’s well paid for being a front, taking a rap. The big bosses who own the houses are hidden by a papertrail.’
Katya’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know a lot about whores.’
Donovan shrugged. ‘Ex-journo. You’re right, though. Her name’s Sharon. Or at least that’s what the client was told to call her.’ He sat back. ‘Look, I wouldn’t ask you if there was another way. I just might need you to talk to her. She might not want to talk to me on my own.’
Katya said nothing.
‘So. What’s your answer?’
Katya looked at the screen. There was a barricade, civilians on one side, police on the other. Everyone was behaving with impeccable manners and cheerful good spirits.
‘I will do it, Joe. I will try to help.’
Donovan smiled. ‘Thank you, Katya. I know this can’t be easy for you.’
Katya put her mug down, her face serious. ‘But there is a condition.’
She told him.
One phone call and an argument with Sharkey later, Donovan had her agreement.
13
The rain slapped down on the west end of Newcastle, crackling and fizzing, turning the night to white noise and static, coating the roads and pavements with a greasy, oily sheen. The streets were almost deserted, people out only if they had somewhere or nowhere to go. Pedestrians hurried by, drivers got out of cars and ran into houses. In a metal-shuttered newsagent’s doorway a small gaggle of hoodied youths, all nasty-looking, brutal and short, huddled desultorily in shelter.
Donovan sat at the wheel of the car, engine still idling, and scanned the street in front of him. A row of old red-brick houses, in a run-down area, their doors opening directly on to the street, no front gardens. Just as it had been described in Michael Nell’s statement. Just as Donovan had described it to Katya.
‘This look right to you?’ he said.
She stared intensely at the house. ‘Could be.’
‘Why not ask those youths over there?’ said Jamal from behind them, leaning his arms across the backs of the front two seats, pointing to the shop doorway.
‘I hope you’re joking,’ said Donovan.
‘Man, you’re so prejudiced,’ the boy said sulkily.
Donovan ignored him.
The rain showed no signs of stopping, sliding and rolling down the windscreen in jelly-like waves. Donovan refrained from putting the wipers on. Thought the sound of them in a motionless car one of the most depressing sounds there was.
Donovan checked the street for the Peugeot he had seen parked outside the house they had rescued Katya from. There was no sign of it.
‘Coast looks clear,’ he said. ‘Are you OK about comi
ng in with me? I think she’ll talk more freely with another woman there.’
‘An ex-whore, you mean?’
Donovan looked at her. He didn’t know what to say.
Katya smiled. ‘I am sorry. That was unkind.’
They resumed looking out of the window.
‘You better take Katya, man,’ said Jamal.
‘Why?’ asked Donovan.
‘’Cos, man, gettin’ outta this car on his own got john written all over him, you get me?’
‘Suppose you’ve got a point,’ said Donovan.
‘You know I have,’ said Jamal. He looked around the interior, shook his head. ‘This is one borin’ car, you know that? Man, you need to do somethin’. You need to pimp this ride.’
Donovan didn’t even look at him. ‘Pimp.’
‘Yeah, man. Pimp. Give it some style. Put a good sound system in, get that bass pumpin’. Maybe some DVD screens, fridge wi’ Kristal in the back. Alloy wheels, fur trim.’
‘Jamal.’
‘Or purple.’
‘Jamal.’
‘Or purple fur.’
Donovan just looked at him.
Jamal sighed. ‘You know what I mean.’
Donovan tried to hide his smile. ‘This car’s for work, Jamal. It’s meant to look anonymous. Blend in. You know that.’
Like an adult sick of imparting unheeded wisdom, Jamal shook his head wearily. ‘Job done then, bro. Job done.’
‘Right,’ said Donovan, ‘we’re going. You know what to do, J?’
‘Sure, man,’ Jamal said, as if affronted. ‘Keep a lookout for any other cars givin’ undue attention to the house you’re at when you’re in it.’
‘And?’
Jamal sighed. Like a child repeating instructions by rote. ‘Give you a call on the mobile.’
Donovan smiled. ‘Well done. We’ll make a junior detective out of you yet.’
They opened the car doors, stepped out into the rain. Donovan pulled the collar of his leather jacket close about his neck. Katya was wearing a suede jacket and a baseball cap, both oversized, both lent to her by Donovan. She huddled her thin frame within.
Donovan grabbed her hand and they ran across the street.
Unaware that they were being watched.
They reached the front door. There was nothing to distinguish it from any other door in the street. Donovan tried the handle. Locked. He knocked on it. They waited. Rain dripped off his face. Off the brim of Katya’s baseball cap.
‘I remember now,’ said Katya. ‘The man here, the landlord, his name is Noddy.’
Donovan looked at her. ‘Noddy?’
She nodded.
‘Nice.’
The door was opened.
A man’s face, moon-like and greasy, poked out. Seeing Donovan, he was fine. Seeing a female shape next to him, he looked wary.
‘Yeah?’ he said. His oily voice matched his skin.
‘My name’s Joe Donovan. I’m working for Janine Stewart, a solicitor.’ He produced a business card of hers, handed it over. It was reluctantly accepted by stubby, dirty fingers. ‘We need to talk to one of your girls. Can we come in, please?’
Donovan began to move towards the door, opening it as he went. He felt resistance.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said the moon-faced man. ‘Go away. Piss off. This is a private residence.’
‘Fuck off, it’s a private residence,’ said Donovan, almost smiling. ‘Come on, Noddy, you really think I believe that?’
The man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously behind his glasses. ‘How d’you know my name?’ Panic was creeping into his voice.
‘I know lots of things, Noddy. Now don’t fuck me about and I won’t fuck you about. It’s pouring with rain out here and we’ve both got jobs to do. Sooner you let me talk to your girl, sooner we’ll be gone.’
Noddy thought, decided to bluff it out. ‘I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.’ His voice muffled from behind the closing door.
Donovan put his hand out to stop it, wedged his foot in the way. ‘You want to fuck about? OK. We’ll leave you. But we’ll go straight to the law and bring them back with us. That suit you better? Up to you, Noddy.’
The man looked at the card, at Donovan, at Katya’s obscured face. Reluctantly opened the door.
‘Thank you,’ said Donovan.
They stepped into the hall. It was blandly decorated, minimally furnished. Nothing gave away its true purpose. Nothing gave it any character. Noddy closed the door behind them. He was wearing filthy, stained tracksuit bottoms that had seen the inside of a kebab shop more times than the inside of a gym, or even a washing machine, a similarly filthy red T-shirt and a pair of old slippers. He stank of sweat and other bodily secretions Donovan wanted to draw a discreet veil over.
‘What’s this about, then?’ Noddy said. ‘You’re not coppers. You don’t have to threaten me with them.’
‘Like I said, we’re working for a solicitor. We need to speak to one of the girls who works here.’
‘Why?’
‘Can’t tell you, I’m afraid. Client confidentiality.’
Noddy pulled himself up to his full height, puffed out his chest in what Donovan assumed was meant to be a threatening manner. He moved in close to Donovan. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.
‘Tell me or you’ll get no further. I’m in charge here. I make the decisions. Nothin’ happens in this house that I don’t know about. You want somethin’—’ he stuck a pudgy thumb in his equally pudgy chest ‘—you go through me.’
Donovan took a step backwards. Noddy took this as a sign of fear. Donovan just wanted to give his sense of smell a rest.
‘Well,’ said Donovan, trying not to smile, ‘maybe you’re the person I need to talk to. It’s to do with a murder inquiry.’
Noddy flinched. Audibly gasped. ‘Murder?’
Donovan nodded. ‘That’s right. And since you’re in charge here, and nothing happens in this house that you don’t know about, and since everything goes through you, you might be called on to give evidence in any trial.’
‘Evidence?’ The man’s future seemed to race across his face. He didn’t like what he saw. He started to sweat.
Oh, no, thought Donovan, taking another step back.
‘What d’you mean?’ said Noddy. ‘There hasn’t been a murder here.’
‘I didn’t say there had been. One of your girls’ names has been mentioned in connection with a murder inquiry. We need to talk to her.’
‘Which girl?’
‘Sharon Healy’s her real name.’
‘Sharon Healy?’
‘Calls herself the Queen of Misrule.’
Noddy frowned, giving the impression of thinking hard. Donovan and Katya could almost hear it happening. His brow unknit, and a look of what he believed to be sly cunning eventually appeared on his face. ‘She’s not one of my girls. She’s freelance. Rents a room off us. That’s all. Nowt to do wi’ me.’
‘Which room?’
‘Upstairs at the back. Second one along.’
‘Is she up there now? Is she working?’
Noddy shook his head.
Donovan gestured to the stairs. ‘Can we?’
‘Aye, aye. Up you go.’
Donovan smiled. ‘Thank you.’ He looked at Katya. ‘After you.’
Katya went up the stairs.
‘You’ll have to pay, though. Time is money.’
Donovan turned to Noddy. Risked moving in close to him. ‘You going to make me?’
Noddy thought about it. He shook his head.
‘Good. And don’t think of calling anyone while we’re up there. I’ve got someone outside watching the house. First sign of trouble, he’ll be in here like a shot.’ Donovan shook his head. ‘And you wouldn’t want that. Believe me.’
Noddy swallowed hard. He believed him.
Donovan turned, went up the stairs.
Katya was waiting on the landing. She glanced around nervously, looked pleased to see Don
ovan.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘This door,’ she said, pointing, then looked across the landing. ‘I was in that one.’
Donovan looked at her. He didn’t know what to say.
‘Here was no good. They moved me to the other house. Watch me better there.’
Donovan grabbed her hand, squeezed. She returned it, tried to smile.
‘So that’s Noddy, eh?’ he said.
‘Yes. An unpleasant man. But not worst. I have met worse.’
‘I’m sure. You think he recognized you?’
‘I don’t think so. I kept my hat down. I could feel his eyes on me, though.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
Donovan released Katya’s hand. Reluctantly, she let go, giving him a brief, hesitant smile.
‘This door?’ he said. She nodded. ‘Come on, then.’
They walked up to it, knocked. Waited. From down the hall came the sounds of reluctant bedsprings, unenthusiastic copulation. Beyond that, the rain. The door was opened.
‘Sharon?’ asked Donovan. ‘Sharon Healy?’
The woman who had answered the door looked like the ghost of the woman in the photos. She was all monochromatic contrasts: white face, dark hair. Not tall, but round. Overweight. It gave her facial features a round, cheerful look that her eyes contrasted. Black bobbed hair. Pale skin, dark bruises. White or once-white terry dressing gown over glimpsed black underwear. She managed to summon up a look of expectation for Donovan that quickly died when she noticed Katya.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ she asked, her voice stronger than her looks would have suggested.
‘My name’s Joe Donovan, and this is an associate of mine. I’m working for a solicitor. It’s about Michael Nell. Can we come in and talk to you?’
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