The Outcall

by Evelyn Weiss

  21Monday 7 August

  It’s the same room, the police interview room I was in – a month ago? It seems like years. I’ve been here overnight in the cells, it’s morning now. The same uncomfy chair. No Pawan this time: just Simmonds and Rainbow. He hands me a plastic cup of water, and asks me, like they did when I first arrived here, if I want a solicitor. I remember Julian Caunce. “No thanks.”

  Simmonds starts up with one of those standard police lines – “I’d strongly advise you – ”

  “No. I can handle this myself. I’d rather speak for myself than explain things to a stupid brief who tells me to say No Comment to everything. Any idiot can be unhelpful. I want to help you. I want to help you find the killers.”

  Rainbow ignores me; he’s here to do a job. He starts making a little speech.

  “Miss Harlow, we believe you may be an accessory to two murders: Jonathan Wycherley on Monday 3 July, and Enver Krasniqi in the early hours of Saturday 5 August. Let’s start with the first of those. You’ve admitted you were at the Excel hotel on 3 July, you were with Wycherley when he was killed, but you state that you didn’t see the murder happen because you were in the bathroom.”

  “Yes. I’ve already made my statement about that.”

  “We know that the room was arranged through Krasniqi. Did you discuss the room or the hotel with Krasniqi?”

  “It should be clear from my earlier statement that I never even knew the guy existed until I saw him staring at me that night, as I was leaving the hotel. No, Wycherley and Krasniqi agreed the room, and I know nothing about it. The only details I ever had are those on the GirlsDirect website, which I showed you.”

  “Let’s move onto Krasniqi himself now. How long have you known him?”

  “Like I’ve said, and in my statement, I first saw him that night at the Excel, when he saw me. Before that, I knew nothing of him.”

  “I’m going to give you some background information about Mr Krasniqi. Please comment at any point you think is relevant. I can tell you that he was from Albania originally. At that point he appears to have no connection with the UK. He first turns up on police records in Kosovo five years ago, where he worked with three prostitutes, one of them his sister. They were all coerced by him into prostitution. He was never charged with anything, then he disappeared from the records for three years, and then he arrived in the UK two years ago. But we now know from the Czech police that he was operating in Prague during that period, with a connection to the UK. He set up a website offering sexual services to men on stag parties from the UK and other countries. He had arranged it so that an advertisement for those services appeared on a legitimate website, when individuals were looking at a Prague stag party service provider based in the UK.”

  He gets a web screen shot out of the folder, puts it on the table in front of me. It shows a popup window in front of some kind of stag party website. The popup couldn’t be simpler: no words at all, just an image of a blonde girl’s face, shoulders and bare chest, but cropped just above her nipples. So strictly speaking, it’s not porn, but obviously guys who are going on a stag trip are going to click on that photo.

  “Have you ever seen this advert? Were you aware at all, of Enver Krasniqi at this time?”

  “As I have said, no.”

  “The stag party providers received a fee from him for hosting the image and the link, but none of them bothered to check out what lay behind the link; they just took the money. But the link led to a website which was blatantly offering sexual services in Prague, including several girls at one time for groups of men.”

  “But that’s not necessarily illegal?”

  “In this case, the Czech police believe that none of the girls involved in Krasniqi’s operation in Prague was a willing participant. They have evidence that all those girls had had threats made against members of their families if they didn’t comply. None of them was ever paid, for anything.”

  “Shit.”

  “Can you reconfirm, Miss Harlow, that you had no involvement in the UK side of this activity?”

  “Absolutely none.”

  “What we now know is, that those threats were all bluff. There was no evidence that Krasniqi had any criminal connections there, any power to carry out the threats to these girls, except by himself. His business was exposed when he ended up in hospital.”

  “How?”

  “He had a broken neck, although there was no damage to his spinal cord and he made nearly a full recovery. A brother of one of the girls did it. Hospital in Prague, but he managed to avoid prosecution, or deportation back to Kosovo or Albania. The next we know of him, he’s in London. So we now move onto Mr Krasniqi in the UK. Have you ever seen this before?”

  He shows me another screenshot from a webpage. But this time it’s GirlsDirect, and it’s open at my profile. Alongside the profile is a popup advert showing a guy embracing a scantily-clad woman, and the words –

  “Special Night?

  Your new date, she wants to have sex NOW...

  Central London, quality hotel rooms at instant notice and discount rates!

  Simply call 07334 489 543 and the room is yours!!!”

 

  I look him in the eye, show him that I know that he’s trying to pull a fast one here.

  “OK, I can guess, that’s Krasniqi’s number. But that’s a popup advert, one I’ve never seen before. GirlsDirect has loads of popup adverts, viagra suppliers, webcam girls, chat-up advice, penis extensions, Russian brides. They appears randomly to any punter using the website. I’ve never seen that one before, but there are so many of these ads, it could well have been on the website for months and I’d not have noticed it. I guess that it’s the advert that Wycherley happened to see when he was looking at GirlsDirect, and again I’m guessing, but I’m probably right, that he phoned that number, and that’s how the room at the Excel Hotel got arranged. There is no connection, none at all, between that popup and my profile or my work.”

  I look at Rainbow, search his face. Even as I’m talking, I can see that he’s thinking: this is going nowhere, better change tack. He opens the folder again, gets out a photo and puts it on the table in front of me.

  “Do you recognise this man?”

  “Yes. Giles Cheriton.”

  “Are you aware of any connection between him and Krasniqi?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Have you ever worked at the Soames Hotel, providing sexual services?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re aware, are you, that the Soames Hotel is a brothel as defined in law?”

  “No, I’m not. Giles Cheriton told me that because no-one was actually paid to sleep with the guests, we were only paid for the time we spent at the hotel, then it was all legal.”

  “Both he and you are wrong.”

  “In that case, so is Ruby Birch, who came with you to the arrest, fuck know why. Who planted that coke in my fucking bag, right under your noses.”

  “Calm down, please. Ruby Birch was with us because she may be a witness, we interviewed her at the hotel, then we drove direct from the hotel to your flat, and we wanted to take her away from the hotel, for her own safety. She’s co-operated very fully with us, and we believe she genuinely wants to help us investigate. She also says that she has had serious concerns about what was happening at the hotel, that she – assisted by another employee, Michael Potter – has been keeping her own records of suspected wrongdoings there for the last three years. That she’s only held back from coming to us before because she was afraid, due to threats made by Cheriton.”

  “She would say that, now, wouldn’t she.”

  “She’s given us her records. They’re extensive, and our first impression is that they are genuine. We have no reason to doubt the truth of anything Miss Birch has told us.”

  “Except for her planting drugs in my bag.”

  “We were there, when she was with you. None of us saw any planting going on. We’re not pre-judging anything, but a simpler
explanation would be that you were already in possession of those drugs. We’ll consider what you say, and investigate it, but for the moment, we have no reason to doubt any part of Miss Birch’s account of events, and every reason to doubt yours.”

  I’m trying to see it from the cops’ point of view. I picture myself sitting there on the other side of this desk, looking out through Rainbow’s eyes at this shaky, desperate woman. I remember all the different lies and stories I’ve told him. Then I think back to that view of myself in the mirror at my flat. A scraggy old whore. I compare myself to Ruby. I realise that everything about me is saying to him: Guilty.

  “Anyway, Miss Harlow, we’re not talking about the drugs yet. We’ll come to that issue shortly. Right now, we’d like you to tell us your experiences, your impressions, of the Soames Hotel. Take your time, and give us as much detail as you can.”

  I tell them. I don’t mention Wycherley’s phone, or how I found out about the Soames. Then I hear my voice telling them about Cheriton and his casting couch, and how I sneaked a look at their database, and realised that the Soames had a connection with Home Croft, and that I impersonated Devine Cattrell and went there too. I don’t mention Tony Cattrell, Jack or Elspeth. But I do tell them that the only girl I’ve talked to a lot at Soames is Areeya Vesayaporn, and she’s a masseur only, nothing to do with any sexual services. An innocent party. And that I’ve talked a lot to James Goldbeck, and that I’m convinced he’s an innocent party too. And I tell them everything I know about so-called Mister Franklin, and that I’ve googled Evans and his botched operations, that I believe they’re one and the same doctor. At the end of it, my mouth is dry with all the talking.

  Rainbow goes back to Krasniqi. Like a dog with a bone. “Despite all these things that you claim to have found out, you deny knowing of any connection between Krasniqi and the Soames Hotel, or Home Croft?”

  “I don’t know of a connection. There might be one – but I think that Wycherley was trying to trace someone. He involved Krasniqi in that, in arranging the hotel room. Apart from that, I don’t believe there was a connection. Because if Wycherley made first contact with Krasniqi, and Krasniqi already had some connection with the Soames or with Home Croft, that would be sheer coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

  I pause, to let him see what I’m saying. They I tell him what I think. “There was a completely different connection. Wycherley got Krasniqi to arrange Room 412 for him because he was searching for someone who had worked at the Soames Hotel. A young girl.”

  Rainbow is intent now. He stares at me, and I can tell, he’s trying to fit pieces together in his mind. I carry on talking.

  “I also found out, from a Lithuanian girl who I know only as Jurgita, about another girl at the Soames, called Klaudija, who was there about a year ago. And I believe there was a third too, from Poland, called Agnieszka. I don’t know any surnames, I’m afraid. But I asked Cheriton about these names, and he went mad with me, and threw me out.”

  Rainbow’s eyes widen, then narrow. There’s a deep furrow between his eyebrows. An intake of breath, and it’s like he can’t keep his eyes off me, as if he wants to glare his way into my brain, my thoughts. Then suddenly he looks down. He’s confused by something, but what? He says in an undertone, to himself “It makes no sense. Why is she saying this?”

  “What am I saying? Why can’t you make sense of it?”

  “Not your business. As I said before when we interviewed you as a witness, you’re here to answer questions, not ask them.” He’s brisk again, trying to cover up his feelings. Pretending this interview is going along just dandy for him. He looks across at Simmonds, but she’s out of her depth here. I can tell that he’s wishing Pawan was here.

  “What you say, Miss Harlow, fits with the facts. I’m just surprised to hear you bring up those names.”

  “So?”

  Silent. He seems genuinely clueless about what to ask next, rubs his forehead, looks into the distance. Simmonds jumps in. Trying to impress him, but he hardly notices, he’s lost in his own thoughts.

  “Going on to early hours of last Saturday. Do you know either of these men?”

  She shows me two photos. I recognise them, all too well.

  “Gimp Man and sidekick. That’s what I know them as.”

  “So, you do know them.” She’s emphasising that, for the tape.

  “You could put it like that. Because I was threatened by this one, in my home, a few days ago, and then I was abducted by Krasniqi and both of them. And, if you’d listened to me, they were there, parked right across the road. When you arrested me.” I’m frustrated, I start ranting. “Shit, they were even in the same fucking car they used to kill him, if you’d listened to me, there must be some forensic evidence there.”

  She waits, all superior and mumsy, while I calm down. Then she goes on. “Tell us about this so-called abduction.”

  I start, telling her first about Krasniqi’s demands for money, every detail of the harassment, but as I do, I glance at Rainbow. He’s not interested in what I’m saying, or her questions. No: he’s thinking about something that’s puzzling him. It’s something small but important, I think. As if he’s found a little thread sticking out of a woolly jumper, and he’s pulling it, and the whole thing is unravelling. Simmonds is completely unaware of this. She just keeps asking me questions, and I talk her through the story of how Krasniqi died. She looks unimpressed, as if she knows I’m lying. When I’ve finished she says

  “I put it to you that everything you’ve told me is lies, apart from the fact of you all four being in the car together and going to Alexandra Palace. What really happened was that, in collusion with you, these two men, Mark Johnson and Douglas McKay, located Mr Krasniqi, and got him to drive, at gunpoint, to your home, where they picked you up. Then the three of you forced him to drive on to Alexandra Palace, where they killed him.”

  “So, if they were going to kill him, and I was in on it, why did they need me? There was no need for me to be in that car.”

  “You wanted to see that the job was done. That they’d done your work for you.”

  “My work? You think they were under instruction from me?”

  “So, you admit that?”

  “No way. That’s a crazy idea. How would I be able to employ two hitmen? Go to Assassins R Us dot com?”

  Her thick lips are a straight, scornful line. “Everything fits together, Miss Harlow. You knew Krasniqi already, due to his advertising on your prostitution website. You got him to arrange Room 412 at the Excel Hotel, knowing that that floor of the hotel would be unused and quiet. You met Wycherley there, then you slip to the bathroom while he is killed. You come out, see that the work is done, you leave. Then you find out that Krasniqi has been talking to the police. So, you get Johnson and McKay to burn his flat, to threaten him. When that doesn’t work, all three of you kill him.”

  I can’t reply. She’s convinced – and, I now realise, all the cops are, except perhaps Pawan – that I was in on the whole thing.

  “There’s no motive.” I say dully. I’m surprised at the low, level tone of my voice. Like I’m recovering my reason, at last.

  “You’re closely linked to both crimes. We know that the Soames is illegal, and you worked there. You admit knowing the names of the girls who disappeared, although you’ve fabricated a story about how you know about them.”

  “I only worked there for a couple of weeks – and Cheriton – he knows...” I trail off there, because I know that to mention Cheriton is purely defensive, it won’t help me, it just puts me on the back foot. There’s something bigger, something I need to say, but I can’t quite discern it in the jumble of information in my mind. Slowly, slowly, unpick the facts. I recall a story that Kenneth Cropper once told me. A Ghurkha parachutist jumped from an aeroplane, but his chute didn’t open, it was tangled. As he fell towards his death, he picked away, carefully, logically. He untangled the cords, the chute opened. He lived.

  Simmonds carries on regardless of m
y silence, the fact that both Rainbow and I are now sunk in thought. “You mention Giles Cheriton. Firstly, I can tell you that we already have a statement from Ruby Birch. She decided to come to us when she learnt that you might have a connection with those three girls.”

  “You mean, Cheriton told her, and told her to come here and report me.”

  “No. At first she asked if she could give a statement privately, for us to look into. She didn’t want Mr Cheriton to know that she was coming to us. Because he had repeatedly made threats to her, as apparently he does to all the employees, that they are at risk of violence if they say anything about what goes on there.”

  “Yeah, he had that little talk with me too. More than once.”

  “So that’s Miss Birch’s account. We do believe that some of her information about you was not gathered by her, but is based on suspicions shared, in confidence with her, by Giles Cheriton. We believe that he was reluctant to involve the police. Now, as part of our investigation into the Soames Hotel, we have questioned him closely, and he has been co-operative. He genuinely believes that you are involved in those disappearances. He even admits to breaking into your flat to find evidence to prove your involvement.”

  “It was him?”

  “Yes. That’s why it was such a mess: he searched everywhere: bedding, kitchen cupboards, any possible hiding place. He was looking for any clue about what you might be doing – it could have been on something as small as a memory stick. He admits that he took money from your flat, which he believed you had been given, against his will, by Ruby Birch.

  But, Mr Cheriton – he states to us that although he understands that he may be convicted of prostitution offences, and the burglary, he had nothing to do with the disappearance of those three girls. That he was shocked and surprised when he realised that there might be a pattern, rather than three unrelated girls leaving the Soames, disappearing from contact. He burgled your flat, searched so desperately, because he connects that pattern, those disappearances, to you, Miss Harlow.”

  I feel like I’m suffocating, all her words are like a pillow she’s pressing over my mouth, my nose, I can’t breathe.

  “When we went to the Soames Hotel and interviewed him, we also recovered your ipad, which Mr Cheriton took from your flat because he believed it might have evidence on it. We – agree with him. We are currently looking at the files on your ipad. They may provide further evidence – you yourself will know to what extent.”

  “But – Miss Simmonds, what if Cheriton’s faking evidence, planted false information on my ipad? ... No-one I’ve met trusts him, absolutely no-one.”

  “You’re starting to sound like a conspiracy-theory, Miss Harlow. Which is not very convincing. We believe that Mr Cheriton is telling the truth. So – if you come clean now, and you tell us the names of the other people involved, it can only help you. There’s someone behind you, someone who is paying you, using you, just as you are paying McKay and Johnson. We have conclusive forensic evidence that you were at both murder scenes. You yourself volunteered the names of the three girls. You simply can’t deny involvement.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Just denying it is not going to help you.”

  I speak, with difficulty, because it feels like my tongue doesn’t work. “No, what I mean is, I didn’t volunteer the names of all three girls. I only gave the names of Klaudija and Agnieszka, the two girls that Jurgita, and then Giles Cheriton, told me about. Although I do know about the third girl. Lucy. And I think I know who she is.”

  “This – unverifiable story – it’s not going to help you.”

  Suddenly, Rainbow interrupts her. “This interview is suspended.”

  He looks tired, the answer to the question he’s grappling with still eludes him. But it clear that he’s had enough of Simmonds and her line of questioning. He switches off the machine, stands up, brings me a fresh cup of water, and I get a break.

  The police cell reminds me of the lift at the Excel Hotel, a little cube-shaped room where I’m away from what’s going on, from the shit that’s happening. After about an hour they bring me food, and I’m glad of it. Once I’ve eaten, they let me walk in the yard, which is a bigger cube, tall walls on four sides. The sun’s right overhead now, shining down onto me and my little shadow on the concrete. Then back into the cell. The next time they let me out, the shadow’s longer. And again back into the cell: more time passes. I wonder what they’re doing.

  It’s nine o’clock, and they take me back to the interview room. Simmonds has gone. Instead, I see a familiar face. DS Pawan reads her own name, Rainbow’s, and mine, into the tape machine.

  “Miss Harlow, can you tell me everything you know about the surgeon, Mr Evans, also known as Mr Franklin?”

  I go over it all again. I tell them about my consultation with him, even down to the way he told me to undress, the way he felt my boobs without gloves. His manner. Then I say

  “Someone I know described Franklin – Evans – as ‘Peter Quint’.”

  Rainbow looks blank, but Pawan seems to be processing that information. She speaks.

  “So – what do you understand by that name?”

  “The book said he was a horror.”

  “A horror. An apparition, an uncanny thing, something that fills the beholder with terror. Do you know the story?”

  “No.”

  “A governess – a private teacher – is assigned to two children living in a remote country house. She sees strange things, and begins to believe that the house is haunted, and the two children are possessed by Peter Quint and Miss Jessel, two former teachers. It ends badly, of course.”

  “And is it? Haunted?”

  “That’s one way to read the book, but there are other ways of reading it, as a sort of psychological memoir, or testament. The narrator is a troubled soul – she talks of ‘disturbing news from home’ and there are hints – the slightest hints – in her narrative that she is – mentally ill. One reading of the story is that she sees the children as innocents, but they are destined to grow up, of course. She sees this as being ‘corrupted’ – they will become adults, sexual beings, and follow in the footsteps of Quint and Jessel. Or, the evil in her mind is, as it were, projected, by her, onto the imaginary beings of Quint and Jessel. On that reading, the whole story happens in her head. In which case, Quint is maybe the evil in all of us.”

  “I’m not sure I understand all that. But I feel it, having met Mr Evans.”

  “Feel it?”

  “Feel – a sense of – I don’t know, I don’t know.” I hold my head in my hands, close my eyes. I see Evans’s face. “Yes. I do know, Mrs Pawan. A sense of all that you could do – if you lived without rules. Seeing everything and everyone as your own personal plaything. Exciting, a sense of power. I can still feel a touch of that power, even now.”

  Her brown eyes gaze closely at me, but she seems to be speaking from faraway. “If you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you.”

  A minute of silence. I can tell Rainbow’s losing patience. He asked for Pawan’s help, I guess – but these ramblings are not what he wanted from her. His eye is on the clock. In just over half an hour, they will have to either charge me or release me.