by Sally Rigby
‘Please come through. I’m Annabelle De Souza. I run Diamond Escorts.’
Whitney and Matt showed their warrant cards and followed her into a large rectangular hall, with a highly polished light wooden floor. A huge stone coloured vase full of grasses was situated in the corner, and large pieces of modern art adorned the walls. A white marble staircase was the main focus of the room, rising up the centre, and splitting off to the left and right, with open banisters overlooking the room below. Her eyes were drawn to the large chandelier, with hundreds of tiny glass droplets, which hung from the high ornate ceiling.
‘We’d like to talk to you about one of the women you have working for you,’ she said.
‘We’ll go to my office,’ Annabelle said. ‘My young grandchildren are here with their nanny, and I don’t want them hearing anything.’
To reach the office, they went through the kitchen. It was white and chrome, complete with every appliance imaginable. A square island, with a double sink, dominated the middle, and there was an Aga, a huge hob, and oven. Whitney had never been much of a cook, but she loved fancy kitchens and had a cupboard full of recipe books. She just enjoyed looking at the photos. The odd occasion she managed to watch the TV, cookery programmes were her viewing of choice.
The Diamond Escorts’ office was locked, presumably to keep the grandchildren out. She’d seen some home offices before, but this took it to a whole new level. It was huge. A large antique desk was situated in the centre of the room, and there were photos on the wall of a number of women. She quickly scanned them and saw Olivia.
‘We’re here about Olivia Griffin.’ She pointed to the photograph on the wall.
‘You mean, Kirsty?’ Annabelle said.
‘Her real name’s Olivia Griffin. How long has she worked for you?’
‘All my girls are self-employed sub-contractors.’ Annabelle leaned against the desk.
‘You know what I mean. How long have you been using her services?’ She was losing patience by the second.
‘What’s this about? The reason many of my girls use an alias is to be discreet about what they do,’ Annabelle said.
‘Olivia was murdered. We’re trying to work out her recent movements.’
Colour drained from Annabelle’s face, and she grabbed hold of the desk with both hands. ‘Murdered? When? What happened?’
‘Sometime over the weekend. We know she worked for you on Friday evening, and Hannah was with her. We’d like contact details for the men they were with.’
‘Not possible, I’m afraid,’ Annabelle replied adamantly.
‘Why not?’
‘Look, DCI Walker. My business runs on discretion. If my customers found out I’d given their details to the police, they wouldn’t be my customers for long.’
Whitney glared at her. Did the woman care nothing about the girls she employed? Did she seriously believe her customers’ privacy was more important than finding Olivia’s killer?
‘I understand you want to be discreet, but this is a murder enquiry.’
‘My clients are men of a certain standing. I can’t betray their confidence.’
‘Your decision, but if I have to get a search warrant, you might find those men of a certain standing will go elsewhere. Because once we go down that track, it will be out in the open. If you let me see your records now, it stays between us.’ She hoped her words would do the trick. It would also save the rigmarole of getting a search warrant, assuming she could get one.
‘Okay,’ Annabelle replied as she walked around her desk and opened one of the drawers in the filing cabinet behind it. She took out a folder.
‘You don’t have it electronically?’ Matt asked.
‘I’m not good with computers, and I don’t want to risk being hacked,’ Annabelle replied as she handed the manila folder to Whitney. ‘This is the file on Olivia’s Friday evening client, Richard Reid.’
‘Had Olivia seen him before?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Olivia stood in for his previous favourite once, and now he requests her whenever he comes to town.’
Whitney wrote down his contact details and handed the file back to Annabelle. ‘What’s the name of the man he was with?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know his name. You’ll have to ask Richard.’
‘You were happy to let Hannah go out with someone you hadn’t even vetted? That doesn’t seem like sound business practice to me,’ she said.
Annabelle shifted awkwardly on the spot. ‘It’s not something I’d usually do. It’s different with Richard; he’s been with me since the beginning of my business.’
‘What about Hannah? Did you interview her first before allowing her to go out with Olivia?’ she asked.
‘Yes. I’d already met Hannah. She was thinking of joining us. Students make good escorts. My clients like beauty and brains. My students have both.’
‘And what about sex?’
‘As I mentioned, my girls are self-employed. I provide escorts for my clients. Anything happening during the evening is between the two of them. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen. I don’t know whether Olivia and Richard had sex. I don’t ask, and I’m not told. That’s the way it has to be.’
‘Olivia’s the second student to be murdered. Please check your records and let me know if Richard Reid was in town on the weekend of the third of November.’
‘I read about the other student. She didn’t work for me. Are the murders connected?’
‘We believe so, yes,’ she replied. ‘Your records,’ she added.
‘Richard usually only books once a month when he travels to Lenchester on business. But I’ll check.’ She looked in her diary. ‘Oh. Yes, he was. But that doesn’t mean he had anything to do with the murders. He has a strict routine. He arrives in Lenchester on a Friday and leaves first thing Saturday morning on an early flight to Scotland, where he lives.’
‘You seem to know a lot about his movements.’
‘As I mentioned, he’s a longstanding client. When you speak to him, please make sure he knows you forced me to hand over his details. I don’t want to lose him.’
‘We’ll try our best not to lose you business, but right now our main concern is finding Olivia’s murderer before he strikes again.’
‘You think he will?’ Annabelle asked.
‘He’s done it twice, already.’
‘If that’s all, I have an appointment with my accountant shortly. I’ll see you out.’ Annabelle brought the meeting to an abrupt end.
‘We can see ourselves out. Thank you for your time.’ Whitney opened the door to the office and went out into the kitchen.
In the distance she could hear small voices. The grandchildren. What sort of mother would allow their children to be in the same house as an escort business? Because surely the escorts would be visiting on a regular basis. There was no way she’d have let Tiffany be anywhere near one.
Once out of the house, she turned to Matt. ‘What do you think?’
‘She seemed legitimate enough. It’s ridiculous how much men pay for the services of an escort,’ he replied. ‘It would be hard to afford on a copper’s salary.’
‘You seriously want to go there?’
‘I just wondered.’ Matt shrugged.
‘I’m more interested in Olivia’s client, Richard Reid.’
‘We need to speak to him.’
‘Agreed. We’ll also check with the airport to see if Annabelle De Souza’s account of his routine is accurate. In the meantime, let’s get back to the station to see if Ellie’s managed to find anything on the men who knew both girls.’
Chapter Sixteen
George left the lecture theatre, relieved it was over. Her concentration had been shot and several times she’d had to refer to her notes. She doubted the students would notice. Many lecturers kept their noses in their notes the whole time while speaking. She knew her stuff so well, it wasn’t necessary. Usually at the end of a class she hung around in case anyone wanted to discuss an aspect of
what she’d taught. Not today.
Once in her room, she went into the drawer of her desk and pulled out a cigarette and lighter. She’d given a good profile to the police. Something they could work with. But she wanted to do more. Her time with DCI Walker’s team hadn’t gone well. She’d almost heard Stephen’s mocking laughter in her head when Walker had asked for the CliffsNotes version. He often accused her of being unable to communicate in a non-academic way. And judging by the unimpressed look the detective had given her, her attempt at doing so had backfired spectacularly.
She slipped the cigarette and lighter into her coat pocket. She’d never smoked as much as she was doing now. At least she’d finished teaching for the day, so no one would smell it on her. She was just about to leave the office when her door opened, and Stephen strolled in.
‘Hello.’ She smiled, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief he hadn’t come in a few seconds sooner. He knew she smoked but hated it with a passion. She made sure to keep it away from him, always carrying around breath mints and hand sanitiser.
‘What’s wrong?’ He placed his arm around her shoulders.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s written all over your face. Tough lecture? The first years still need to be licked into George shape.’ He laughed.
‘It’s not funny. And no, it’s not the students. It’s the murder investigation. I’ve screwed up.’ She pulled away from him and folded her arms across her chest.
‘You admitting to screwing up. That’s got to be a first.’
‘Because it’s not something I usually do.’
‘Well, it’s good to screw up occasionally. It makes you more human. Everything doesn’t have to be perfect all the time.’ He dropped down onto one of the easy chairs she’d placed under the large bay window, leaning back with his hands behind his head and stretching out his long legs in front of him.
She slipped off her coat and hung it up on the back of the door and sat on the chair opposite him. The cigarette would have to wait until he’d gone.
‘I like order. Without it, everything turns to custard. Why is that so bad? If I wasn’t so organised, my work would suffer. Or are you now saying there’s something wrong with that, too?’
Stephen leaned forward and took both of her hands in his, relaxing her almost immediately. ‘Of course I’m not saying that. But you’re allowed to be a little vulnerable now and then.’
She didn’t even know what that meant. Vulnerable? How? Was she meant to burst into tears at the drop of a hat? She did cry, sometimes. At her grandma’s funeral. And at Millie’s tears stung her eyes, until she’d managed to blink them away.
‘Well, this has nothing to do with me wanting order. Or not being vulnerable—whatever that’s meant to mean. If you must know, I’m frustrated by my mistake and how DCI Walker is excluding me.’ She pulled her hands from his and balled them into tight fists.
‘What did you do?’
‘She didn’t like the way I explained my theory. Even asked for the CliffsNotes version.’
‘I can relate to that. I’ve often thought you must have been born with a thesaurus in your hand.’
She stared at him. What the hell was going on? He should be supporting her, not siding with someone he hadn’t even met. ‘Whose side are you on?’
‘Yours. You know that. But sometimes you give off this arrogant air and can be intimidating.’
And he thought his words were going to pacify her, did he? Make things okay?
‘I disagree. I’m totally able to work with normal people, it—’
‘Normal people,’ Stephen interrupted. ‘Are you sure you meant to say that? Do you consider yourself to be different from the norm? On a higher plane?’
She stared at him. Was he right? She might come across as standoffish, sometimes, but not arrogant. Surely not. It was hard being in other people’s company. It made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t like Stephen, who was the life and soul of the party. She always held back a little. If she wanted to dig deeper, she might imagine it was something to do with her family life, but she wasn’t going there. Some things were best left untouched.
‘I didn’t mean it,’ she conceded. ‘It’s frustrating to be excluded when I know my input could make a difference. Two students have been murdered. It’s only a matter of time until there’s another. I’m sure of it. I can’t sit back and do nothing. My conscience won’t let me.’
‘Why don’t you contact the DCI and sort things out between you?’ Stephen suggested.
‘It’s not easy. The last time we spoke, she told me to go back to work, and if they needed my input, she’d be in touch.’
Stephen laughed. ‘The mighty Dr George Cavendish put in her place by a lowly police officer. You have to admit, it’s funny.’
When he put it like that, she could see his point. Sort of. But he still didn’t seem to get it. He couldn’t understand why it was so important for her to help.
Maybe if she told him the real reason for wanting to be involved, because of what happened with Camilla, he’d be more understanding and supportive. But that wasn’t going to happen. It was staying in the past where it belonged.
‘Debatable. She’s a DCI, hardly lowly. Anyway, I don’t want to discuss it any more. Let’s go to the pub later and grab something to eat.’ She couldn’t face the stack of marking she had waiting for her. One evening off wouldn’t hurt.
‘That’s what I came to tell you. I’m going to be late home tonight,’ Stephen replied.
‘Why? Don’t tell me you’re staying late to work because I won’t believe you.’ She grinned. It was good getting everything off her chest, even though it hadn’t been resolved. She’d never known Stephen to work late. In fact, it beat her how he ever got anything done, because he seldom brought work home or spent time in his office. He could invariably be found in the staff room or one of the university cafes.
‘One of my PhD students is having a crisis. I’m taking him out for a drink to sort out what’s going on.’
That was a first. Maybe her commitment was rubbing off on him, which had to be a good thing.
‘Which pub are you going to? I could come along later, once you’ve finished,’ she suggested.
‘I’m not sure. I’m waiting for him to get back to me with a time and place. I don’t know how long it’s going to take, as he’s pretty down about it all. His computer crashed, and he lost a whole raft of interview data. Why don’t you wait for me at home? We’ll open a bottle of wine when I get back.’ He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips.
She pulled back. ‘Stop. My door’s open. People will see.’
‘So what? Everyone knows we’re living together.’ A belligerent expression crossed his face.
She hated this laissez-faire attitude. That sort of behaviour at work simply wasn’t acceptable.
‘Students don’t. Anyway, it’s not appropriate.’
Stephen stood up. ‘This is exactly what I’ve been talking about. Lighten up, won’t you? I’ll see you later.’ He stormed out of her office without a backwards glance.
What the hell just happened? One minute he was all over her and the next he’d thrown a wobbly.
She definitely needed a cigarette now. She might even have two, seeing as she’d gone from being relaxed to tense in a matter of seconds.
As she was pulling on her coat, her phone rang. She looked at the screen. Walker. What did she want?
‘Dr Cavendish.’
‘It’s Whitney. DCI Walker.’
‘What can I do for you, Detective?’
‘I’d like you with me at the morgue to speak to Dr Dexter. If you’ve got time?’
She hadn’t been expecting that. But she wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass her by.
‘I’ll be happy to. When?’
‘Meet me at the station, and we’ll go together. There are a few things I’d like to run by you. I need some advice.’
‘Give me twenty minutes.’ She might never find out w
hat had caused this sudden change in Walker. And she didn’t need to know. The main thing was she was back assisting in the case.
Fortunately, she had her car on campus from when she drove back from the station earlier.
‘I’ll see you soon.’
Chapter Seventeen
Whitney kept her head facing the road as she was driving to the morgue, but in her peripheral vision she kept an eye on George, who was sitting upright in the passenger seat, her hands clasped firmly in her lap.
She couldn’t work the doctor out. Whitney had been pleasant and courteous to her, even though the response she’d received had been cool, to say the least. Should she consider apologising, or was that going too far? It wasn’t like they’d had some massive falling out. Whitney had just been a little disrespectful. Not even disrespectful, more thoughtless. She didn’t mean anything by it.
Fuck it. She’d say sorry.
‘George. I want to apologise for the way I dismissed you earlier when you wanted to stay and help.’ She turned her head to see the response. Nothing.
‘I accept your apology,’ George finally replied.
‘Cool. Thanks. I’ll fill you in on what happened at Diamond Escorts.’
She gave her a quick run-down of what they’d found out, including the amount of money Olivia earned from working there. Even George raised an eyebrow. Like Whitney, she clearly had no idea it could be so lucrative. Although, unlike her, she doubted George would consider for one moment a situation when she might be tempted to become an escort.
When they arrived at the morgue, she parked in the car park, and they walked into the building.
‘Are you and Claire good friends?’ she asked as they walked down the sterile corridor.
‘Work colleagues, mainly. We’ve been out for a drink several times, but I wouldn’t say we’re friends. Why do you ask?’
‘Just curious. I suppose you academic types like to stick together. So you can talk about intelligent things people like me don’t understand.’
