Cold Sacrifice

by Leigh Russell

  At last the woman trotted back on her high heels and gestured for him to follow her along a narrow passageway. She led him through a door into a small office where a large man sat behind a wooden desk, picking his teeth with a blue cocktail stick.

  ‘So, Inspector,’ he greeted Ian with a surly smile.

  Ian didn’t correct the fat man’s mistake. With luck it would soon be accurate to address him as Inspector.

  ‘I’m looking for Della.’

  The other man picked his teeth thoughtfully for a second.

  ‘She’s not available right now,’ he said at last. ‘I can offer you another girl. Plenty more where she came from.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I told you, she’s not available. She’s working, earning her keep.’

  ‘I’d like to speak to her, please.’

  ‘She’s working. Tell you what,’ he went on, suddenly brisk. ‘I’m a busy man, Inspector. I’m sure you are too. Why don’t you go in and watch the show. Those girls are easy on the eye.’ He winked. ‘Then when they finish, you can question Della all night for all I care. But you can’t speak to her before the show’s over. Fair’s fair. You can wait your turn like the rest of us.’

  The man’s suggestive manner needled Ian. Declining the offer to watch the pole dancing, he stood up and said he would return in an hour.

  ‘Make sure Della’s here when I get back.’

  * * * * *

  After the brash young detective had left the office, Jimmy sat drumming his thick fingers on the desk. He had done his best to get rid of the unwelcome visitor, but the pig clearly wasn’t going to give up easily. He poured himself a generous slug of Scotch, gulped it down, and called Alf who was on the door.

  ‘Has he gone?’

  Alf wasn’t exactly intelligent, but he could be sharp enough when it mattered. He knew straight away who Jimmy was talking about. Hearing his bouncer grunt into the phone, Jimmy waited until he could talk. A few seconds passed before Alf came back on the line.

  ‘He’s gone, boss, but he said he’d be back.’

  ‘Right. Buzz me when he shows up again.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Jimmy knew what to do. He opened his door and bawled out Yvonne’s name. She appeared at once, as though she had been waiting for a summons. Jimmy squinted at her as she stood in the doorway, wondering what the hell had happened to her. Once she had been a real looker, with a magnificent body. Now she was just a wrinkled face on top of a spray of twig-like limbs. He glanced regretfully down at his paunch. The years hadn’t improved him either. Yvonne with her drugs, himself with the drink, neither of them had weathered well.

  ‘What did he want?’ she demanded.

  A pig sniffing around asking questions gave everyone the jitters. Not that they had anything to hide. The activities at the club were all perfectly legit, consenting adults having a good time. Nothing wrong with that. Still, it was bad for business if the word got out.

  ‘He’s gone,’ he said tersely.

  ‘Good riddance.’

  She came into the room, closed the door and waited to hear what he wanted. Jimmy heaved a sigh that shook his large frame.

  ‘What happened to us, Sugar?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh give it a rest. You didn’t call me in here to listen to you going on about the old days. We were young. Things change. Get over it. Now, come on, for fuck’s sake. I’ve got work to do. This joint doesn’t run itself. What’s up?’

  Responding to her brusque tone he sat up straight and downed the rest of the whisky in his glass, wiping his fat lips on the back of his hand.

  ‘He wanted to talk to Della.’ He leaned across the desk and wagged a finger at Yvonne. ‘He’s not a paying customer so she can see him somewhere else. When he comes back, I’ll tell him she’s not here. And she can bugger off and all. He’s not interested in us. It’s her he wants. He can have her. But not here. Tell her to sling her hook.’

  ‘Just for tonight, or do you want to get rid of her?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  Hands on hips, frowning, she considered the options.

  ‘Get rid of her,’ she said at last. ‘Once a girl gets in trouble, there’s no knowing where it’ll end.’

  28

  IN THE WEEK SINCE Martha’s death, Henry had struggled to get by without dwelling on what had happened to her. Being given two weeks off work hadn’t helped. It would have been easier to cope if he had been allowed to keep to his normal routine. As it was, he passed his time sitting around at home with nothing to do. His employer called it compassionate leave, but he was a tricky bastard. Henry didn’t think compassion had much to do with it. Every morning he scanned the post in case there was a letter advising him that the company was reluctantly ‘letting him go’. He would be entitled to a redundancy package after working there for so long, but that was beside the point. He didn’t want to take early retirement. It would leave him with nothing to do. In the meantime he did his best to fill his days with chores. He wiped the kitchen worktops with a damp cloth, and scrubbed the hob which had become encrusted with dried food detritus. He found where Martha kept the dustpan and brush and swept the floor, cursing and resolving to pay a cleaner, if he could find one.

  He had already been to the corner shop once for essential supplies, but decided not to return there. He didn’t want any more embarrassing encounters with neighbours. Martha had always gone to the supermarket armed with a list. She would make a huge fuss about it if she ever left it at home. On Friday evening, Henry sat down to make a shopping list of his own. It gave him something to do. He called up the stairs to Mark to ask if he wanted anything, but there was no answering shout from his son’s room. After waiting a moment, he trotted upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door. When there was still no response, he turned the handle and pushed the door gingerly, afraid his son might fly into a rage with him for invading his privacy.

  ‘I knocked –’

  The room was empty. Shutting the door on the temptation to go in and snoop, he ran back downstairs to continue writing his list: toilet rolls, frozen chips, pizza. There was really no end of things he could buy if he wanted. He had been to the supermarket countless times with Martha but his first solitary visit to the supermarket was proving unexpectedly stressful and he hadn’t even left the house yet. By the time he got home again and put the shopping away, the evening would be half over. But he was so bored and lonely, even a trip to the supermarket held a certain appeal.

  He hadn’t expected the store to be so crowded. He collected a trolley and stepped out of his personal nightmare into a world of normality. Most of the shoppers were women, but there were enough men there for him to blend in with the rest of the customers. No one paid him any attention. Only once did anyone so much as glance at him, when another trolley collided with his. The woman pushing the trolley gave an apologetic scowl before moving on. Her eyes slid past his face without a flicker of recognition. Reassured by his anonymity, he felt the tension that had been growing in his neck and shoulders ease. Before long, everything would get sorted out, the police would lose interest in him, and he would settle into a new routine.

  He pressed on, but his composure didn’t last. Martha had always seemed to know exactly what she wanted and where to find it, but shopping wasn’t as straightforward as he had expected. The store was like a maze, with no logic to the organisation of its shelves. He had to ask staff half a dozen times to direct him to the items he wanted. It was a gruelling hour. In the end he barely bought anything because, within twenty minutes of his arrival, the place was heaving. He hurried round the aisles, gathering up essential items on his list, and leaving the ones he could manage without or had difficulty finding. He would have to return during the day when the store was less busy. He had been naive to go there in the evening when everyone was on their way home from work.

  At last he was done, paid up and went out of the store. The car park was busy, with cars and trolleys cruising past. Whenever he loo
ked up, someone was watching him. He manoeuvred his trolley between the vehicles, unloaded the bags, and drove home exhausted. He was pleasantly surprised when Mark opened the front door and called to him.

  ‘There you are, dad. I was worried about you. Where have you been?’

  Henry’s tired spirits lifted. Without speaking, he lifted the bags he was holding. The front door stood open. Mark looked out at the car parked outside.

  ‘Is there any more shopping to bring in?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll get it.’

  But Mark was already jogging lightly down the path to the street. Henry took the bags he was carrying into the kitchen and began to unpack them. Mark followed laden with more bags.

  ‘That’s the lot, dad. You wouldn’t think the boot could hold so much, would you? There’s enough here to keep us going for months!’

  At last Henry’s shattered existence was returning to some kind of sanity. In a week he would be back at work. Resolutely he told himself that from now on everything was going to be all right. No one else would ever know the dark nightmare he had endured before reaching this turning point in his life. Mark was becoming quite reasonable. Henry had been so shocked by what had happened, and so preoccupied with fears for his own future, that he hadn’t stopped to consider how the terrible tragedy had affected Mark. The boy had always been close to his mother. Now Henry would be the one to befriend and support his son. Life was definitely going to improve. He hummed quietly to himself as he stacked tins neatly in the cupboard.

  Mark seemed so pleased with the shopping that Henry was taken by surprise. He wondered if his son’s grief had been prompted at least in part by concern over how they were going to manage without Martha to look after them. As it turned out, they seemed to be managing very well. Over a readymade curry, they drank a bottle of red wine. Mark encouraged Henry to open a second bottle.

  ‘It’s Friday night. We’ve got to pull ourselves together, dad. Mum wouldn’t have wanted us to mope around forever. Life goes on.’

  Mark was right. Life went on, with Martha or without her.

  Henry drank far too much. Despite everything that had happened, he felt happy. When Mark apologised for his recent behaviour, Henry almost cried with relief. He leaned back in his chair, more relaxed than he had been in a long time.

  ‘I think I was in shock or something,’ Mark said.

  ‘Of course you were. So was I – so am I.’ Henry paused before adding, ‘You know, that business.’

  ‘What business?’

  ‘When I asked you to lie about being here with me that night, well, I should never have asked you to do that. It was very wrong of me, putting that kind of pressure on you, especially at a time like that. But you don’t need to worry any more. It’s sorted.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  With a grin, Henry explained how he had created his own alibi.

  ‘That is clever,’ Mark agreed. ‘But what if she wants more? If you don’t keep paying, what’s to stop her going to the police after she’s got the money?’

  ‘No, no, that’s not how it works,’ Henry assured him.

  But he had a sinking feeling Mark was right. He had blundered into more trouble, and this time it could prove expensive.

  29

  DELLA’S OUTRAGE FADED AS soon as she stepped out into the invigorating cold night air. She didn’t need to work at the club any more. She hadn’t been planning on staying anyway. Jimmy had done her a favour, sending her packing. She had another way of making money now, and all she had to do was ask. It had felt great, telling Jimmy to stuff his poxy job.

  ‘You think I want to work here all my life, and end up a fat disappointed slob like you? I’ve got other plans.’

  ‘You can sod off then.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m going.’

  Shoving her hands into her coat pockets, she smiled as she hurried home. All she wanted to do was get back to her room and count her money. Tomorrow she would buy herself a proper winter coat, brand new. She wouldn’t even wait for the sales. Soon she planned to screw another payment out of her benefactor. She knew his name, Henry Martin, and his address in Herne Bay. It was written on the envelope he’d put her money in. It was reassuring to know he was that stupid. And with Candy to help her, it wouldn’t take long to find him.

  Everything was working out perfectly. She had always known her luck would change one day. This was the break she had been waiting for all her life. It couldn’t go wrong now Candy had promised to go with her. She knew her flatmate was only helping out to get her hands on half the cash, but it was worth sharing the money to have company when she visited Henry. There was no knowing what he might do to her if she went to see him alone. She shivered, remembering he had killed his wife. She had barely walked ten yards from the club when a car drew into the kerb and cruised slowly behind her. At first she thought nothing of it, but when she turned the corner onto the main road, so did the car. She halted, and the car stopped right beside her. She was reaching into her bag for her phone when she recognised the car. Henry wound his window down and called out to her to get in.

  ‘But –’

  ‘Get in. Or don’t you want the rest of your money?’

  In the darkness she fumbled to put on her seat belt as they accelerated away up the road. Henry stank of alcohol. In the flickering light of the passing street lamps she sneaked a look at him but his face was hidden by his hood. From the way he was dressed, in brand new jacket and smart leather gloves, she was confident he would pay up without any trouble. In any case, he had too much to lose. She hoped he was taking her somewhere posh. Maybe their meeting would end up like in a film she had seen, where Julia Roberts played a sex worker. After her wealthy client bought her a beautiful frock, and took her out to dinner, he ended up marrying her. Della wouldn’t say no to a rich man who would buy her lovely clothes and keep her in luxury so she never had to work again. But one way or another, Henry was going to be her sugar daddy, whether he liked it or not.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked.

  He didn’t answer at first, but spun the wheel, driving round the roundabout and back along the front.

  ‘Somewhere private.’

  His speech was slurred. Despite his posturing, he wanted sex in return for the money he was paying her. He was no better than all the other punters, only he needed to get pissed before he had the courage to fuck her. The alcohol would probably prevent him getting it up anyway. Sober or pissed, he was pathetic. She shrugged. It was all the same to her as long as she got paid.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked again.

  ‘Somewhere we won’t be seen.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I won’t blab. I’m the soul of discretion.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not worried about you,’ he replied. ‘You’re not going to be talking. Not where you’re going.’

  He spoke firmly, as though forcing himself to sound confident, but he couldn’t hide the fact that he was nervous. She nodded to show she understood, even though he was facing the road ahead and couldn’t see her. It wasn’t a problem. No one liked to advertise the fact that they spent time with women like her.

  ‘I charge for my time,’ she said as she leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. ‘It’ll cost you extra,’ she added.

  Just because he was paying for her silence, didn’t mean she was going to give him a free ride.

  They slowed down and she sat up to look around. They turned off the road by a blue sign: ‘Dreamland’. Driving in between high metal railings, he pulled up beside a group of overgrown shrubs in the centre of a large empty car park. Della sat perfectly still, waiting, gazing at swirling patterns the leaves made. In the artificial light they looked black. Her companion turned the headlights off, and the bushes were swallowed up in darkness. He climbed out of the car, walked around and jerked her door open.

  ‘Get out.’

  She assumed he wanted her to get in the back, but he seized her by the arm and shoved her
roughly away from the car, towards the shrubbery.

  ‘Can’t we do it in the car? It’s cold out here,’ she grumbled.

  He didn’t answer but continued pushing her towards the bushes. There was a soft click beside her, and a beam from a torch lit up the ground ahead. She followed the light, while his hand gripped her arm more tightly and propelled her forward.

  Reaching the paving stones around the planted area she tripped on the kerb. Only his grasp of her arm prevented her from falling over.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  When he didn’t answer she asked again.

  ‘I asked you, where are we going?’

  ‘Shut up,’ he hissed. ‘Keep walking and stop your yapping.’

  The shrubs were taller than both of them. After they had been stumbling along for a few seconds, she twisted her ankle on a root concealed in the darkness. She yelped in pain, and swore angrily. Enough was enough. She was limping now, and didn’t want to go any further. It was dark, and cold, and she had no idea why they had left the car. There was no need to hide in the bushes. No one could see them there anyway. The whole place was deserted. They might just as well have stayed in the car. She stopped walking. He yanked her arm but she stood her ground, nearly falling over when he gave her a violent shove.

  ‘I’m not going any further,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘And you’d better be bloody careful. I haven’t given the police a statement yet, so you want to look after me, or your alibi’s gone. You don’t want to be in trouble with your “brother” do you?’

  After her careful arrangement with Candy, and her determination not to see him alone, she had walked right into this. Her voice rose in consternation.

  ‘We’ve gone far enough. Where the hell are we going anyway? I can’t see a bloody thing out here. You said you wanted to go somewhere we couldn’t be seen, well, no one’s going to see us here, are they? So come on, let’s get this over with and then you can give me my money. I’m bloody freezing.’