by Kim Knight
“Do me and the paper proud.” Fleur gave her a thumbs up.
Madeline smiled shyly, then left the room, closing the door behind her. She headed back to her section of the building, weaving through the hustle and bustle of the office. As she walked down the hallway and into the main area with her journalist co-workers, she heard the phones ringing off the hock.
People answered phones or tapped away at their keyboards.
A new confidence and love for her job as a journalist, came over her.
Maybe this was a good move after all, leaving London behind, she thought to herself.
Settling herself at her desk, she pulled up her emails and glanced through them. One caught her eye. The subject was simply, ‘what did curiosity do to the cat?’
Madeline laughed and thought it was a joke chain email from a co-worker. She opened it and scanned through the content, expecting a corny joke, but her mouth fell open.
Nice article!
But curiosity, my dear Madeline, killed the cat. Just like those women, you’re so interested in. I’d not get too curious if I were you.
Your friend,
Curiosity
Madeline glanced around her office dumbstruck.
Who would send such a message? Is someone jealous? She questioned the motive of the sender, then frowned at the screen.
In her line of work, every journalist was always looking for the next big story to propel his or her career forward.
Who would do this? The question whirled around in her mind.
Her eyes flashed around the open-plan office. She stopped on each person and contemplated if it could have been that individual. Her co-workers paid her no mind, they continued with their work as if she weren’t in the room.
A hot flush ran through her, followed by a shiver.
Whatever! Damn haters! She deleted the anonymous email.
The sender’s name was simply ‘your friend.’ It could have been anyone playing a sick joke on her.
Madeline placed it to the back of her mind and focused on the rest of her inbox.
The name of one of the missing women caught her eye. She clicked open the email to read it.
Dear Madeline,
I’m Ana De Jog’s mum. I read your article in the newspaper. I’m so pleased someone in the media is still taking an interest in these cases. Ana has been missing for over eight months. We’re still searching.
Please continue the great work. We need to catch this person! And if there is a link between my daughter and those other poor women, we must show the police. Ana was not perfect, of course this I know. And yes, she was a window girl, but she had a good heart.
I loved her, and I still do—very much so. I’ve not found any peace or closure knowing my Ana isn’t home, and that this killer is still out there. Please contact me if you need anything.
Yours truly,
Mrs. De Jog
Madeline pressed reply with a heavy heart.
What do I even say? She searched for the words to respond with, tapped out a formal paragraph, deleted it, and instead, she kept her response simple.
Mrs. De Jog,
Thank you for your message.
I won’t give up.
Sincerely,
Madeline
After she pressed send, Madeline felt a sense of responsibility to help keep the events happening around the city in the media’s spotlight. For the sake of the families, and in hope that witnesses would come forward.
Madeline’s eyes fall to the bottom right-hand side of her computer’s screen.
Damn where does the time go?
One thing about working as a journalist, there was always a constant deadline that hung over one’s head. Knuckled down, she tried to focus on the rest of the articles to write for the rest of the week. She even tried to put aside the Red Light Girls and their sad fates, but it was hard, virtually impossible to do so.
The pull toward the girls and the mystery surrounding them, won the tug-of-war battle with her deadlines.
These will have to wait, she decided, then powered down her computer.
Glancing at the clock, she noticed that she technically had only half an hour left of the workday, anyway.
She had planned to work late tonight, but that went out the window the moment her computer powered down.
I’ll come in extra early tomorrow. Rising, she grabbed her coat. I promise.
She turned off her monitor, pushed in her chair, and then headed for the exit.
I’ll head home to change first, she thought. Then hit the streets of the Red Light District.
14
Messenger
Detective Gibson
Gibson placed his pen down and paused the CCTV footage he was reviewing, then glanced up at the clock above the door. It was almost five in the afternoon. And given the time difference, he had to hold off placing a call to Suzy Chan’s parents until later in the day.
He reached around his chair, into his jacket pocket, and retrieved the piece of paper he had recorded the contact details on. For a moment, he stared blankly at the long-distance number, then back at daily newspaper.
Suzy’s picture was on the front page.
Damn, this is gonna be hard. They’re thousands of miles away. To find out this news will devastate them, Gibson thought to himself.
After a beat, he picked up the phone, then dialled her parents in Hong Kong.
“Hello,” a well-spoken female voice answered.
Gibson wasn’t sure who he expected to answer, but it certainly wasn’t someone with such a polished English accent.
“Hi, may I speak to Mr. or Mrs. Chan, Suzy’s parents?”
“Yes, I’m Mrs. Chan. How may I help you?”
Gibson took a deep breath, then opened up the paper to page twenty-five to the appeal for witnesses, or a recent sighting of Suzy.
“Mrs. Chan, I’m Detective Logan Gibson. I’m calling you from Europe, Amsterdam.”
“Oh, my. A detective? My daughter Suzy is in Amsterdam. Is she okay?”
“Mrs. Chan there’s no easy way for me to say this.” Gibson held his breath for a second or two. “She was found dead in a woodland area a few days ago.”
Mrs. Chan’s loud gasp travelled across the line.
“Mrs. Chan, are you there?”
“Yes. Are you sure it’s my Suzy? How do you know?”
“Well, the identification she had on her, confirmed her name. Plus, your contact details were found in her address book. In terms of the body being identified, I’m aware of the distance. The coroner’s office will be in touch, regarding the identification process.”
“W-what happened? She’s a good girl,” Mrs. Chan questioned, her voice became small and faint. “We allowed her to leave Hong Kong to study… how could—why did she—how could this happen?”
Gibson rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, unsure of how much to say, or how to word it.
Shit, they don’t know what she was doing. He pondered how to break the news that Suzy was doing anything but studying in Amsterdam.
Gibson cleared his throat. “Ah, Mrs. Chan, you daughter, Suzy, was working in a bar, well, a club. She was an entertainer.” He paused to allow her time to take in the news. “An exotic dancer to be exact.”
“What? No way. You have the wrong person. I don’t believe my daughter would do that. That’s not what we agreed.”
“Mrs. Chan, I know this is a lot to take in. I’ll have the coroner email a picture to you, so you can identify the body.” He paused a moment to steady his breath. “We don’t expect you to fly all this way unless you wish to.”
Mrs. Chan blew her nose, then moved away from the phone to speak to someone in the background.
Gibson couldn’t understand a word, but the one thing he did recognise, was a mother in pain just by her voice. In rapid Cantonese, Mrs. Chan fiercely addressed whoever had interrupted her. After a beat, Mrs. Chan picked up the phone once more.
“Sorry, Detective. That was the housekee
per. The woman is nosey.” She sighed into the phone. “The body. Yes, I’d like to see a picture.”
“Okay. I found an email address in Suzy’s address book for you, is [email protected] correct?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Chan sniffed. “Thank you, I have no idea what to tell my husband when he arrives home from work.”
“Mrs. Chan, I send you both my regards in this difficult time.”
“Thank you. But what happened? My daughter flew so many miles away, and she was meant to study. Now, you tell me she’s been found dead. Tell me what happened?”
“This is what we’re in the process of finding out. I don’t have too many details for you at the moment. But I can confirm that I will keep you informed.”
“I can’t believe it…I—I, how is this? I can’t believe she would go against our wishes. You say she was a dancer?”
“Yep. From what I can confirm so far, yes, she was.”
“Like a…how do you say in English—stripper?”
“Well, based on the location she worked at, yes, that would be correct.”
Gibson bit his lip, feeling empathy for the poor woman. His eyes flicked back to Suzy’s picture in the paper. He shook his head and moved his eyes back to his computer screen.
“Mrs. Chan if you don’t have further questions, I will be in contact with you. We’ll do our best to find out what happened.”
“Very well. Thank you, Detective.” Mrs. Chan sniffed.
“Here’s my number if you need to call me, do you have pen?”
“Just one second.”
Gibson listened in as she located a pen and paper, then he rattled off the international contact details. Once done, he placed the receiver of the phone down gently. This part of the job never got easier, no matter how near of far the next of kin were.
Clasping his hands together, he bowed his head for a moment in thought.
The women, their fates, his role as a Detective, Janssen, and how he and the department had a job to do, crept up to haunt him.
To leave a case unsolved, he pondered on the thought, means failing the families of the victims, as well as society as a whole.
Finally, he picked up the phone to contact Dr. Cleveland at the morgue. He needed a digital image of the body for Mrs. Chan, and fast along with any new forensic information.
15
Undercover
Madeline Sloane
Madeline exited Amsterdam Centraal station and crossed the road. The clock tower chimed in the background over the heavy moving evening traffic. It was eight on a Wednesday night.
The Red Light District will be buzzing by now, she thought.
She hurried along the cobbled pavements. As she did, the doors of the cafés swung open. A waft of cannabis hit her system, and the leaves under her boots crunched. She dodged the puddles of rainwater as she walked.
Rounding the corner, she made her way up the road toward Erotica, a gentlemen’s club where two of the victims were known to work at, at least, from her research. Ana De Jog was still missing, and Lotte Van De Berg’s body had turned up shortly after Ana’s disappearance behind a dust bin.
The entrance of Erotica was lit up with red lights.
Madeline opened the door, then stepped inside. She blended in with the crowd this time, wearing skinny jeans, black boots, and a sparkly vest top under her coat, with light make-up. She had also straightened her naturally curly dark hair, so she looked more glamorous going undercover this time.
From the entrance, she looked around at the patrons. There was no one she recognised. Not that she had many friends in the city anyway, still, she had to be sure no one would recognise her.
She headed straight over to the bar, walking through a maze of people.
A female barmaid smiled and moved over to her.
“Hi, what can I get you?”
“A glass of rosé, please.”
The barmaid moved off to uncork a fresh bottle of wine. She poured the cool liquid into a glass, then slid it across the bar to Madeline.
“That’s five euros please,” said the barmaid.
Madeline handed over the money, as she did, she started her own investigation.
“Busy tonight?” She made small talk.
“Kinda. But not as busy as usual.”
Madeline didn’t take her eyes off the woman. She watched her enter the transaction, closed the cash register, and then walked back over with the change.
“The news of Suzy Chan and all these missing girls is keeping people away.” The barmaid leaned casually on the bar and handed Madeline her money. “Here you go.”
“Hmm, I heard about that. What about Ana De Jog and Lotte Van De Berg. They were the first girls to go missing.” Madeline cocked her head to one side as if in thought. “They worked here, right?” She leaned in and took a sip of her wine.
The liquid slid down her throat and eased her nerves.
“Right, them too. I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news. Ana was so popular here.” The barmaid glanced around. “So many men and woman came in to request a dance after seeing her in the window.”
“Really? What was she like? Were you two close?” Madeline asked.
The barmaid took a double glance at her, scanned Madeline over with her eyes as if trying to work out who she was, and if she should speak to her.
Madeline held her breath.
Open up. Come on, you know you want to. Just tell me, she thought to herself.
Either doubt or uncertainty swam in the woman’s eyes. The barmaid leaned in, closing the gap between them, then rested an elbow on the bar.
“I liked her, a lot. Ana was a fun-loving girl. And she had a good heart. All she really wanted was love. You know, to find the right man and get the fuck out of this place.” She waved a hand around the room.
“How did she start…well, w-what made her…” Madeline tried to ask her question without offending the woman.
“It’s okay. I know what you want to say. We get it all the time,” the barmaid laughed. “She started working here as a means to an end. I worked with her for three years, and from what she told me, her ex-boyfriend had a bad drug habit. I’m not just talking about smoking the odd blunt here and there, either. He bled her dry. She had debts, and when she left him, she had to rebuild.”
“That’s sad.” Madeline sipped her wine.
“Sure is, especially when she thought she was onto a good thing with the new guy she had found.”
“What guy?” Madeline sat up on her bar stool fully alert. She tried to appear casual as she fished for information.
“She found this guy online, some website she was using for sugar daddies. She was dead set on never dating a broke guy again.”
“Sugar daddies?” Madeline raised an eyebrow in the woman’s direction. “Damn, girl. I could do with one of them. So, what happened?”
“Well, she was really secretive about it. I don’t know if she ever met up with him or not. But the night I last saw her, she was going on a date. I tried to ask her about him. She just told me to mind my own business and laughed.”
“And what about Lotte?” Madeline made a mental note of all the information.
“Lotte was a complete different story. She loved her work here and was only here a few months before she turned up dead. I wasn’t that close to her.”
“Mmm, okay.” Inside, Madeline was disappointed there was no info on the second girl.
“The police are a joke. It’s like they don’t see us girls as worth the hassle.” The barmaid rolled her eyes. “That Detective Janssen, she’s not exactly our number one fan if you know what I mean. You can see it every time she’s on the news. She seems so cold about it all.”
“I can imagine.” Madeline knew she needed to change the subject. She needed the focus back on the girls. “The others, they were working girls too, right? Where were they working?”
“Here and there. They hopped around the clubs like most girls do, but none of them worked here. I think
someone mentioned The Blue Martini. Something about one of them floated around there.”
The barmaid moved over to the next customer who had approached the bar.
Bingo, Madeline thought, and made a note of the club’s name.
She finished up her wine. Casually, she slipped away from the bar unnoticed and headed into the lady’s room to freshen up.
The Blue Martini it is, she had decided her next stop in tonight’s investigation.
Inside the bathroom, two women stood around gossiping. One had on dark purple sparkling stilettos, and the other had silver heels with wraparound ankle straps.
Quietly, she headed into a free cubical, hoping to not draw attention to herself.
Ana’s name came up in conversation between the ladies at the vanity counter, washing their hands.
Madeline sat on the toilet seat, and remained as silent as possible to eavesdrop.
“I told Ana about that damn site. Told her to stay off of there. Too many weirdos,” said one of the women, but Madeline wasn’t sure which of the two actually spoke. “Sugar daddies, my ass.”
“No way.” The other woman in dark purple sparkling stilettos, spun around. “How do you know?”
“When I went on there and messaged a few of the men,” said silver shoes, “something just did not sit right with me.”
“So, she had a date or what?” The heel taps of the purple stilettos tapped against the tile, echoing in the confined space.
“I think so…well, I can’t be sure,” whispered silver shoes. “But the last time I spoke to her, she told me she had one lined up, and that I should just meet up with a guy and be done with it.”
“So, what’s up with that? No date nothin’? I thought you said these guys were all loaded.”
“Yeah, apparently, or at least, that’s what the profiles say. And may be a few are. But like I said, some of them gave me the creeps.”
