Kissing a Killer

by David Carter

  ‘So you’ve heard?’

  ‘Yeah, when I saw your card I rang Ellie out of habit, we shared most things, bezzie pals you might even say, and when I couldn’t get her, I rang her mother. She told me the news, I still can’t believe it.’

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘The day before I went to Madeira.’

  ‘How was she?’

  ‘To tell you the truth Inspector she was a little on edge.’

  ‘Why. What was causing that?’

  ‘Not sure exactly, but there were men in her life. Some of them she liked, and some of them she didn’t. She was no angel, that’s for sure, but maybe you know that already.’

  ‘We are not here to judge anyone. All we want to do is find out what happened to her.’

  ‘Well Inspector, she told me things.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘Terrible things.’

  ‘Can you be more specific?’

  ‘I’d rather not, not right now.’

  ‘Can we come and have a chat?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘When’s suitable for you?’

  ‘You can come now if you like. I’m not working at pres, I’m between jobs, I’m at my sisters for the day.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Portobello Towers. It’s....’

  ‘I know where it is.’

  ‘Thought you might. Number 35. Second top floor, but you’re in luck. The lift’s working, for a change.’

  ‘See you in half an hour, Janice, and thanks for calling.’

  ‘You’re welcome, I just feel so sorry for Ellie; she had a filthy life.’

  Walter rang off and glanced at Karen.

  ‘Car?’ she said.

  ‘Sure, I’ll just have a quick word with Mrs West. See you downstairs in ten.’

  At that hour of the day all the good cars had been grabbed, and the best Karen could do was an aging Ford saloon with a smell all of its own. Strangely, Karen quite liked it, for it had a big engine and it was quick, a throaty gas-guzzler, that was true, the kind of car that was being rapidly phased out because of high running costs. Petrol, car tax, and insurance were all penalisingly dear, and someone in budgets was bound to spot that, and kill it before long.

  Portobello Towers was a sixties tower block on the Beacon estate, the kind of place where people stayed because they could not find or afford anywhere better, the kind of place where people lived until they moved on and moved up, the kind of place where immigrants, illegal and otherwise, were found accommodation, the kind of place where long-term residents grew old before their time, and then could never move out, and the kind of place where kids, and not so young kids, set up and ran illegal pirate radio stations.

  The tower blocks were ideal places to erect aerials high in the sky, where Ofcom radio aerial inspectors could be spotted from half a mile away, and the broadcasting equipment dismantled, and taken down and hidden before the authorities arrived. It was an ongoing irritant that was never quite solved because the people charged with doing so were overworked, and always had something better or more urgent to occupy their time.

  Janice had been right. The lifts were working, and that was a relief. Number 35 was on the eighth floor. Karen knocked softly on the light blue door.

  A young woman, presumably Janice, came to the door and let them in. There was a radio on, broadcasting the latest pop, and then the song finished and a station jingle came on. Dee-Bee-Cee – Deva Broadcasting Company – The Happy Sound of Free Pirate Radio for Chester and the North West.

  That pirate radio station again, cocky, cocksure, and confident with it, with seemingly not a care in the world about prosecution, both Walter and Karen noticed that. Janice rushed to the set and switched it off.

  Another almost identical young woman was sitting in an old sofa in the nice looking lounge. She grinned at the visitors. She had a toddler of a little boy on her knee who clearly was about to fall asleep.

  Both of the young women boasted deep tans, fake or real, pondered Walter. Possibly real, maybe they had been to Madeira together.

  ‘This is Chantelle, my younger sister, and he’s Benny, aren’t you Ben?’ said Janice.

  Right on cue Benny’s eyelids fell closed, and Chantelle stood up and took him into a bedroom to put down, hopefully for a couple of quiet hours.

  ‘Sit down, will ya?’ said Janice, and they did.

  ‘You’ve been to Madeira?’ said Walter.

  ‘Yeah. Great it was. I didn’t want to come back.’

  ‘And you’re not working?’ asked Karen.

  ‘No,’ said Janice, immediately going on the defensive. ‘It’s not a crime is it? No work and going on holiday. I’ll soon get another job.’

  ‘Course you will,’ said Walter.

  ‘What do you do when you work?’ asked Karen.

  ‘Oh, all sorts, shop work, office work, waitressing, stacking the shelves in Bestdas, anything that pays well, I’m a hard worker, me. Hey, hang on a minute, you don’t think I do, we do, me and Chantelle, the same thing as Ellie, do ya?’

  ‘No, course not,’ said Walter. ‘We are just filling in the background.’

  Janice pursed her lips and did not look happy.

  ‘Did Chantelle go with you?’ asked Walter.

  ‘Yeah, but the baby was well looked after, he’s not abandoned or anything like that, mum took him, she adores the kid.’

  ‘I’ll bet she does. You’ve both got the same tans,’ said Walter.

  ‘Ah, yes, I see, yeah well, it was so bloody hot there, we were so surprised, at this time of year, and all.’

  ‘You said Ellie told you things?’ said Walter gently.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Karen.

  ‘I don’t think she had anyone else she could talk to. Not really. Derek’s a wet weekend of a man, and I don’t think she talked to her mum at all, so she kind of confided in me.’

  ‘Anything you can tell us,’ said Walter, ‘will help us a great deal.’

  ‘Was she murdered?’

  ‘We think that’s possible,’ said Karen.

  ‘That’s why anything you can tell us could be vitally important,’ added Walter.

  Janice pointed hard at the window and said, ‘Those men, those bloody men, some of those men were, and are, quite disgusting. And do you know the worst of it; many of the bastards are married too. Can you imagine being married to a man like that, who goes out doing all sorts at all hours, and comes home as if the grass doesn’t grow?’ Janice looked hard at Karen and said, ‘Can you imagine being married to a man who carried on like that?’

  For a moment Karen imagined being married to David Baker, and wondered what he would be like as a husband. Would he ever, and had he ever, patronised young women like Ellie Wright and Tracey Day? Maybe he still did. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  Walter said, ‘Was there anyone particular you had in mind, when talking about Those men?’

  Janice breathed out hard and spat out, ‘There were hundreds of them! Literally. Sometimes she told me she did ten of them in a single day, or night. Can you imagine? Jesus! I find one of them hard enough work to deal with, but ten.... Or more. No thank you! And of course she had a habit too.’

  ‘Drugs?’ said Walter.

  Janice nodded. ‘Nothing too serious, but it gets a grip of you, so I believe, and even a small habit can cost a pretty penny, that’s why she kept on working.’

  ‘Coke?’ asked Karen.

  Janice nodded and said, ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Where did she get it?’ asked Karen.

  ‘Oh, don’t ask, you can get it anywhere if you look hard enough.’

  ‘Not from Derek?’ asked Karen.

  ‘No, course not, he’s never going to get involved in anything like that.’

  ‘Did any of them ever threaten her?’ asked Karen.

  ‘Course they did! All the time. She lived in fear of it, but I guess it comes with the territory, in that line of
business.’

  ‘Was there anyone she told you about who worried her or pestered her the most?’ asked Walter.

  Janice nodded. ‘There was one bloke. To begin with she really liked him. He was dead good-looking and very generous. Tell you the truth I think she fell a little bit in love with him, which was something she said she would never do, not with the punters, like. That was forbidden territory.’

  ‘Do you have a name?’ asked Walter.

  ‘No. But he’s foreign.’

  ‘What do you mean, foreign?’ asked Walter. ‘Black, like me?’

  ‘No, no! Not like you at all, Inspector. You’re nice. No, this guy speaks with an accent. Good English but with a definite accent.’

  ‘German, French, what?’ asked Karen.

  ‘No. More eastern European I would think.’

  ‘What? Polish?’ asked Karen.

  Janice pulled face and shook her head, and said, ‘No, Bulgarian or Romanian, I think, she did say once, but I can’t remember now. Latvian maybe, one of them lot.’

  ‘Did she describe him at all?’ asked Walter.

  ‘Nope, but she didn’t need to.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked Karen.

  ‘’Cos I saw them together once.’

  ‘You saw him?’ said Walter. ‘Where and when?’

  ‘In the Crazy Cow steakhouse. A couple of months ago.’

  ‘He took her for a meal?’ asked Karen.

  Janice nodded.

  ‘To begin with he was always taking her out, and he wasn’t short of money either, that’s when I think she got some fancy ideas about him. She even went away with him to Ross-on-Wye for a whole weekend once, stayed in some fancy hotel. Got up to all sorts. He came well equipped, she said. She was made up with that trip, I can tell you. But the dinners and the treats gradually became less and less, and the other thing became worse and worse.’

  ‘What other thing?’ asked Karen.

  ‘You know. The services she provided, and the ones he wanted.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Karen.

  ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘A little way,’ soothed Walter.

  ‘Look! I thought I knew all about life, I thought I knew what men were like, but some of the stories she told me made my hair curl, I can tell you, and I’ve never had a curl in my life. And some of these men often wanted her to do things their wives would never dream of doing, or tolerate doing either. Not ever. It was gradually getting out of hand.’

  ‘With the eastern European?’ clarified Walter.

  ‘Yeah, among others.’

  ‘Do you know what he did for a living?’ asked Karen.

  ‘Yeah, course I do. Didn’t I say?’

  ‘Go on,’ said Walter.

  ‘He’s a banker,’ and Janice laughed aloud.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ asked Karen.

  ‘She always called him “my wanker of a banker”, and she said he always paid good too, but he wanted his money’s worth, that was the problem.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘Course I can.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Good looking, six foot, slim, fit, nice dark hair, neatly parted, brown eyes I think, well dressed, perfect husband material really.’

  Karen thought of David Baker again. Perfect husband material really. But for the foreign accent her description fitted him to a tee.

  ‘If they were sitting down having dinner how do you know he was six foot tall?’ asked Walter.

  ‘Because when they had finished the meal they got up and walked out. She linked his arm and he seemed happy enough with that too, not awkward at all. He was a six footer all right, maybe slightly more, I’m not pulling your plonker, if that’s what you think.’

  ‘We don’t think that,’ assured Walter.

  ‘Anything else?’ asked Karen.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Do you know where he worked? Do you know where he lived?’ asked Walter.

  ‘Nope and nope. Though I think he worked here in Chester, though I don’t know why I think that, just do.’

  ‘And she never said his name? In all your chats?’

  Janice shook her head, but then smiled broadly.

  ‘Mirror! That’s what she said his name was, only the once, I remember now. She said his name was Mirror, and she could see her own fate in it, the mirror like, I’d forgotten all about that, strange really.’

  ‘Mirror?’ queried Karen, spelling it out. ‘M-I-R-R-O-R?’

  Janice nodded firmly. ‘That’s what she said, deffo.’

  ‘How often did she see him?’ asked Walter.

  ‘No idea, but a lot, and he paid her well too, I told you that, so she said, but he didn’t like her seeing other men, I know that much, but she could never stop doing that.’

  ‘Was there anyone else specific besides this Mirror character?’ asked Walter.

  ‘Loads of others, lots of weirdo’s too, I mean dozens, but not another one who sticks out. Not like him.’

  ‘You’ve been very helpful,’ said Walter.

  ‘I hope I have.’

  ‘If you think of anything else, no matter how tiny or insubstantial it might seem to you, will you give me another call?’

  ‘Course I will. Can I call you Walter?’

  ‘Course you can,’ said Walter, and he smiled his best friendly uncle smile and hoped that it didn’t come out too creepy.

  Chantelle came back into the room and grinned.

  Pound to a penny she’d been listening at the door.

  ‘Your sister’s been very helpful,’ said Walter.

  ‘That’s good,’ she said, nodding and sitting down.

  Walter asked, ‘Did Ellie ever mention a girl called Tracey Day?’

  ‘Not a name I know of. Why?’

  ‘No reason, just another name that’s cropped up in our enquiry.’

  ‘You didn’t ever meet any of these guys, did you?’ asked Karen.

  ‘Course not! What do you take me for? Got more sense than to get mixed up in all that!’

  ‘Sure, course you have,’ said Walter.

  ‘You collect glass paperweights?’ said Karen, nodding at a display case full of round glass paperweights, turquoise, green and blue, that was pushed in against the far wall.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Chantelle, chuffed that the coppers had noticed her prized collection. ‘Always loved them, and do you know what they are really good for?’

  ‘What?’ said Karen and Walter, as one.

  ‘Hurling at burglars! Stop ’em stone dead, they would,’ and both the sisters laughed together.

  Walter and Karen grinned and stood up, and the girls stood too, and the toddler started crying, and Chantelle let slip the F word.

  ‘Will you call me? If there’s any news?’ asked Janice.

  ‘Sure,’ said Walter. ‘And you’ll call me if anything else turns up here.’

  Janice grinned and nodded and went to the radio and turned it back on.

  Dee-Bee-Cee! The Continuing Sound of Free Radio.

  It was time to go, Janice opened the front door, and a second later the coppers were through it and out of there and gone.

  Fifteen

  Everyone was back in the office by half past three, as the update briefing got under way. Mrs West kicked things off by saying, ‘Are we making any progress here, or are we wasting our time?’ Which seemed an odd thing to say to most of her captive audience, though no doubt she was under pressure again on costing and time management issues, and the like.

  ‘We have a new lead, ma’am,’ said Walter.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Ellie Wright’s best friend, maybe her only friend, is a girl called Janice Jefferson. Janice told us that Ellie was real frightened of one particular client. He’s reported to be some kind of foreign banker, or a banker with a foreign accent, and we have a good description because Janice saw the man. He’s six footish, IC1, clean cut, dark hair and eyes, and speaks good English with a foreign, possibly eastern European, mayb
e Bulgarian, Romanian accent, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Do we have a name for this guy?’

  ‘Janice said his name was Mirror.’

  ‘Mirror, as in looking glass?’

  ‘That’s what Janice said.’

  ‘Odd name.’

  ‘It is, ma’am, and it’s not a name listed in any names directory. Jenny, I want you to ring round all the local banking institutions and ask if they have anyone of that name.’

  Jenny nodded and said, ‘Sure, Guv. Is that a Christian name or surname?’

  ‘Could be either.’

  ‘What about getting this Janice girl in to compile a photofit?’ suggested Mrs West.

  ‘If you think it’s worthwhile,’ said Walter.

  ‘While we are spending so much time on this we might as well have something to show for it.’

  Walter nodded and said he’d organise it.

  ‘What happened to the names Hector threw in the ring?’ asked Mrs West, sniffling into a neat hankie.

  ‘We went to see Crocker,’ said Gibbons. ‘Heck and me. Crocker has an alibi for Friday night, his huge mother, she said he was in the house all night, but I’d say that’s about as reliable as rice paper in a storm. He denied ever knowing Ellie, denied ever visiting any girl in a caravan down by the river. We took a sample of mud from the tyres of his mother’s car, he doesn’t have his own wheels, so he said, and that’s gone to the lab to see if it matches with the stuff at the foot of Marigold Lane.’

  ‘Good. What was your gut feeling?’ asked Walter.

  ‘I’d say he’s capable of it, there’s a temper on him, for sure, and violence in him too, we know that, but unless the mud comes back positive we have nothing to connect him with Ellie Wright at all.’

  ‘You agree, Hector?’

  ‘Yes, Guv, I didn’t like the guy one bit, but he didn’t give me any reason to think he’d murdered someone in the last few days.’

  ‘What about Michael Flanagan?’ asked Mrs West, glancing at her watch.

  ‘Guv and I had the pleasure,’ said Karen.

  ‘And was it?’ said Mrs West. ‘A pleasure?’

  ‘Not really, though he’s certainly changed his image.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Big haircut, now short and smart. Looked more like a businessman about town than a heavy metal rock guy.’