Stolen

by Roberta Kray

  Stella waved away the comment and stumbled towards the Ladies.

  ‘She needs her head seeing to, that one,’ Michelle said as soon as she was out of earshot. ‘She’s just looking for trouble.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Lolly asked.

  ‘She’s been hanging round the arches, hasn’t she? Reckons the bastard will come back at some point, have another go. She’ll end up the same place as Dana if she carries on like this.’

  Lolly shivered. ‘Jesus, can’t you stop her?’

  ‘Think we haven’t tried? She won’t listen to no one.’

  Horrified, Lolly jumped up and followed Stella to the toilets. She found her standing there, staring blankly into the mirror, her fingers gripping the edge of a sink. Her eyes were like deep hollows. She didn’t ask if she was okay – she quite clearly wasn’t – but instead laid a hand over hers.

  ‘Are you going to be sick?’

  Stella shook her head. ‘I can’t bear the thought of it, Lol. What he did to her. It tears me up, makes my guts ache. And he’s still out there somewhere, walking around and breathing fresh air. It ain’t right.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And the filth are doing fuck all about it. It’s like she was nothing, nobody. Like she just didn’t matter. As if she wasn’t worth caring about.’

  ‘You know she was worth it. You cared.’

  Stella pulled her hand away and turned on the cold tap. She splashed some water on her face and stared at her reflection again. ‘Look at the state of that,’ she said, trying to smile. ‘It’s enough to scare the horses. Get us a paper towel will you, hon?’

  Lolly fetched a couple of towels and passed them over. ‘Is it true that you’ve been going down the arches?’

  ‘That bloody Jackie been shooting her mouth off again?’

  ‘It wasn’t Jackie. It doesn’t matter who it was. They’re all worried about you. Why are you going there? I thought you were looking for this Freddy bloke.’

  Stella wiped her face, taking off a layer of foundation at the same time. ‘I am. That’s where he’s going to be, isn’t it? He must have known about the place to take her there. I reckon he’ll come back sooner or later and when he does I’ll be waiting for him.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Lolly said. ‘For one, if he’s got any sense he’ll never go near the place again, and for two, what if some other bastard decides to have a go? You know what it’s like down there. It’s full of bloody psychos.’

  ‘I can take care of myself.’

  ‘You’re ninety-nine per cent alcohol, and you can hardly stand up. How is that in any way taking care of yourself?’

  ‘I didn’t say I was going there tonight, did I?’

  ‘I’m worried about you. Everyone is.’

  ‘Yeah, you said.’

  ‘So why aren’t you listening?’

  Stella crumpled up the paper towels and dropped them in the bin. She suddenly looked old, exhausted. ‘Sometimes you don’t have any choice,’ she said. ‘Sometimes you have to fight back.’

  ‘Not this way,’ Lolly said, frightened for her friend. ‘Getting yourself killed isn’t going to change anything.’

  But Stella seemed beyond caring. She ran a comb through her hair and reapplied her lipstick. The red looked very bright against the grey paleness of her face. ‘You know what we need, hon? Another bloody drink. I’m spitting feathers here.’

  53

  Thursday 22 September. Soho

  It was still too early to see Candy and so instead Nick did a quick tour of the West End pubs that his colleague Mickey Ross frequented. He found him on the fourth attempt, perched on a stool at the Red Lion, nursing the last inch of a pint of Guinness.

  ‘Ah, here you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.’

  ‘And now you’ve found me. If you’re after cover, you’re out of luck. Anyway, I thought you were off for a few days.’

  ‘I am. It’s not that.’ Nick sat down beside him and gestured towards his glass. ‘You want another?’

  ‘Depends what it’s going to cost me.’

  ‘Ten minutes of your time.’

  Mickey shrugged. ‘I reckon I can manage that.’

  Nick beckoned the barman over and ordered a couple of pints. ‘I need to talk to you about Brent Sandler.’

  ‘How come you get all the fucking excitement?’ Mickey grumbled. ‘I follow the bloke around, and what? Nothing but hours of fuckin’ tedium. The minute you take over . . . bang! The bloke gets aced in broad daylight.’

  ‘Yeah, I get all the fun. Next time I hear someone’s going to be murdered on my watch, I’ll be sure to give you a call. That way you can spend hours down the cop shop with the law shining a light in your eyes instead of mine.’

  ‘That bad, was it?’

  ‘Bad enough.’

  The barman put the drinks down in front of them and Nick paid him.

  ‘Cheers,’ Mickey said, lifting his pint. ‘So what are you after? What do you want to know?’

  ‘What Sandler was doing on Monday.’

  ‘All the paperwork’s in the office.’

  ‘Exactly. That’s why I’m asking you.’

  ‘What difference does it make now? The bloke’s brown bread. Case closed.’

  ‘Not for Vinnie Keane,’ Nick said. ‘He’s looking at life for something he might not have done.’

  ‘What’s it to you? Let the law sort it out.’

  ‘The law doesn’t give a damn. Come on, Mickey, all I want to know is where he went, who he met, what his movements were that day.’

  ‘You want to know what he ate for his lunch too?’

  ‘The devil’s in the detail.’

  Mickey drank some more Guinness and licked the froth off his upper lip with his tongue. ‘Monday,’ he said. ‘Let me think.’

  ‘It’s not that long ago.’

  ‘I’m just trying to . . . yeah, he was at his office most of Monday. Only went out once. Had a meet in Mayfair early afternoon, same pub as on the Friday, that flash joint on Mount Street. Came out looking pretty pleased with himself.’

  ‘He always looked that way,’ Nick said.

  Mickey shrugged. ‘More pleased than usual then. He was with Les Poole. The two of them spent over an hour together.’

  ‘Was Terry Street there?’

  ‘No, it was just Poole and Sandler.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I’ve got eyes, mate. Just the two of them, not even Poole’s head buster and those two are usually inseparable.’

  ‘Rico,’ Nick said.

  ‘Yeah, that’s the scumbag. I slipped into the pub to take a look, hung out at the bar for a while. Champagne, that’s what they were drinking. All right for some. I reckon they were doing a bit of business. Poole gave him an envelope, a nice fat one.’

  ‘Money?’

  ‘Well, I haven’t got X-ray vision so I couldn’t swear to it, but it disappeared into Sandler’s pocket pretty pronto.’

  Nick mulled this over. Sandler was supposed to be Terry’s man, not Les Poole’s. You couldn’t work for two masters. But maybe Sandler had been there on Terry’s behalf, just collecting the dosh. He wondered how likely this was and decided not very. He couldn’t see any reason for Poole to be paying Terry either. Even if, as was rumoured, a shaky peace had broken out between the two firms, it was still early days. Had any kind of deal been going down, Terry would have wanted to be there in person.

  ‘You didn’t think that was odd?’ Nick asked.

  ‘I’m not paid to think.’

  Nick raised his eyebrows. ‘Good thing or you wouldn’t be collecting a wage packet at the end of every month.’

  Mickey grinned, aware of his own shortcomings. ‘You want my fuckin’ help or not?’

  ‘Okay, moving on. Did Sandler meet up with Terry Street after that?’

  ‘Not that I know of. Certainly not on Monday.’

  ‘Or on Tuesday. So maybe the payment wasn’t for Terry.’

  ‘You’re thi
nking Sandler might have been double dealing, selling Terry up the river?’

  ‘You see,’ Nick said, ‘this thinking business isn’t beyond you after all.’

  ‘Very funny. But if Terry got wind of what Sandler was doing, he’d want him dead. And who would he ask to do that? Maybe the law has got the right man after all.’

  Nick sighed into his glass. For Lolly’s sake, he hoped this wasn’t true. If she couldn’t find a way to clear Vinnie’s name she’d be up the proverbial shit creek without a paddle. ‘What about the wife, Laura Sandler?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘Got any opinions?’

  Mickey leered over the rim of his glass. ‘She’s a looker, classy. I’d do her if that’s what you’re asking.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘What then?

  ‘You ever see her with Vinnie Keane?’

  ‘Nah, but I wouldn’t, would I? We were only tailing Sandler. If Vinnie was doing the dirty, he wouldn’t be around when the husband was.’

  ‘I just meant out and about – here, there, anywhere. If they were seeing each other, they must have met up some place.’

  ‘Sorry, mate, can’t help you there. Be a bit risky to meet up in public though. Or her place come to that.’

  ‘People do. It adds to the frisson.’

  ‘The frisson?’

  ‘The thrill of it all, the danger. That’s what affairs are all about, isn’t it? Sneaking around behind the spouse’s back, playing with fire.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. If the missus caught me at it, she’d slice my bloody bollocks off.’

  ‘You’d better behave then.’

  Mickey gazed morosely round the bar, as if temptation might suddenly present itself. ‘Fat chance of doing much else.’

  Nick, returning to the point, said, ‘They probably met up at Vinnie’s flat.’

  ‘If he was shagging her, her prints are going to be all over the shop.’

  ‘Unless she was very careful, and the only reason to be that careful was if a situation like this was likely to arise.’ Nick wondered if the law had checked the flat for fingerprints. He couldn’t imagine even the dimmest of cops would have taken Laura Sandler’s denial of the affair at face value.

  ‘You reckon she’s fitted him up?’

  ‘It’s not impossible.’

  Mickey drained his pint and put the glass down on the counter. ‘Whichever way you view it he’s screwed. Either he topped Sandler to get the wife or he topped him for double-crossing Terry. Christ, I wouldn’t like to be in that bloke’s shoes.’

  Nick nodded, his expression grave. It wasn’t looking good for Vinnie – or for Lolly.

  54

  Thursday 22 September. Soho

  Nick found the record shop, now closed, without any bother. To the right was a chipped green door with the paint peeling off and beside that was a row of bells. He ran down the list of names, all female, until he came to the bell he wanted and then pressed it.

  A crackly voice came over the intercom. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi. Is that Candy? I was just wondering if you’re free. I’d like to—’

  But Nick never got the chance to explain what he’d like to do. ‘Second floor, love,’ the voice said, and then the buzzer sounded, unlocking the door. He pushed it open and stepped inside.

  There was a short narrow hallway leading to an uncarpeted flight of stairs. He tramped up two floors – the seedy décor would be enough to dampen anyone’s ardour – until he came to a landing where one of the doors was ajar. He knocked lightly and waited.

  ‘Come in, love.’

  Nick went in.

  The room was whitewashed, clean and tidy, dominated by a king-size bed. Candy was in her early twenties, a long-legged peroxide blonde dressed in a shocking pink PVC dress and pink stilettoes. Her curves were what could only be described as generous. She smiled, showing a row of straight white teeth.

  ‘And how are you?’ she asked. ‘What would you like today?’ As though he’d just nipped into the corner shop for a few groceries.

  ‘My name’s Nick Trent,’ he said. ‘I’m a private investigator.’

  Her smile faded. ‘And what are you investigating, sweetheart?’

  ‘I want to talk to you about Brent Sandler.’

  ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘I’ve been told he was a regular of yours.’

  ‘Then you’ve been told wrong.’

  ‘Ah, come on, Candy. I’m trying to help Vinnie here. You don’t want to see him go down for life, do you? Not for something he didn’t do.’

  Candy put her hand on her hip and stared at him. ‘Look, hon, I’m running a business here, not a flaming charity. Don’t even try appealing to my better nature ’cause I ain’t got one.’

  Nick took out his wallet. ‘What are we saying then, a fiver?’

  ‘A score,’ she said.

  ‘Ten and that’s my final offer.’

  Candy looked like she might hold out for the full twenty – her eyes were firm, determined – but then they softened a little and she seemed to have a change of heart. She held out her hand and he gave her the note. It quickly disappeared down the front of her dress. She sat down on the bed. ‘Well then?’

  As there was nowhere else to sit, Nick perched beside her. ‘Sandler was at Marcie’s last Thursday night, right?’

  ‘He could have been.’

  ‘He was. That was the night you covered for another girl, remember?’

  ‘Yeah, I remember.’ She paused as if in two minds how much to tell him, and then she continued. ‘He was being his usual charming self. Trashed, of course. He was even worse when he was drunk and that’s saying something. He wanted to come back here with me but I wasn’t having any of it. I prefer my face the way it looks if you get my meaning.’

  Nick nodded. ‘I get it.’

  ‘He used to be a regular but I stopped seeing him a few months ago. Some of the other girls were prepared to take their chances – he always paid well – but not me. What’s the point of a purse full of cash when you’re lying in a hospital bed?’

  ‘Why didn’t anyone report him?’

  ‘For beating up a whore?’ She gave an empty laugh. ‘The law don’t give a toss. And Sandler had half the Met in his pocket. They were more likely to charge the girl than him.’ She laid her palms down on her smooth ivory thighs. ‘I’m not going to say I’m sorry he’s dead, because I’m not. He was one sick bastard and he’s exactly where he deserves to be.’

  ‘Got any ideas as to who might have done it?’

  ‘I should think there was a long queue, hon.’

  Nick was aware of the cedar smell of joss sticks mingling with Candy’s perfume. The aroma of the burning sticks reminded him of church, of incense, which seemed curiously at odds with his current surroundings. ‘Going back to Thursday. You spent some time with him, yeah?’

  ‘A few hours, but only at the table. He didn’t like sitting on his own or drinking on his own. And he enjoyed having someone to brag to.’

  ‘What was he bragging about?’

  ‘Oh, some deal or another. He didn’t go into detail. But I got the impression it was big – and that he’d got the better part of it. He was like the cat that got the cream. He loved getting one over on people. It made him feel good. He was that type of bloke.’

  ‘Never happy unless someone else wasn’t.’

  ‘You’ve got it, hon. That was him to a tee.’ She stopped, looked at him and asked, ‘Why does any of this matter? He was shot on Tuesday, wasn’t he?’

  ‘I’m just working my way back, trying to figure out why someone finally lost patience. Do you remember anything else about that night, anything unusual, anyone else he might have talked to?’

  ‘No. Well, only Terry.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he mentioned Les Poole?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure.’

  ‘And what time did Sandler leave?’
/>   ‘About midnight or thereabouts. He was too pissed to drive so Terry took him home.’

  ‘Why didn’t he just call him a cab?’

  ‘I don’t know, hon. You’d have to ask him that. Maybe he wanted to make sure he got home safely.’

  Nick wondered if something had happened during that journey back to Primrose Hill. Had Sandler’s mouth become loose? Had Terry decided he couldn’t trust him? But then what was the point of asking Lolly to check out Laura Sandler? If Terry had done the deed there was nothing to be gained by it. Unless he wanted to know how much she knew.

  ‘I’ve heard Vinnie was screwing Sandler’s wife,’ Candy said.

  ‘News travels fast.’

  ‘I’ve got a few cops like to come around. They’re always a mine of information.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t do talking.’

  Candy grinned. ‘Depends on the circumstances, hon. When they’re getting it for free, I like to get something in return.’

  ‘You think he did it? Vinnie?’

  ‘If he did, I’d shake his hand and buy him a drink. He’s done every working woman in this city one big favour.’

  Nick couldn’t think of anywhere to go from here. He was no better off than when he’d arrived – and ten quid poorer. He stood up to go. ‘Well, thanks for your time.’

  ‘Always a pleasure.’

  ‘Take care of yourself.’

  ‘I will, babe. There’s no one else to do it.’

  ‘See you around.’

  Nick was just opening the door when she said, ‘I did hear something, a rumour. Can’t say if it’s true or not. About Laura Sandler.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘About her and Les Poole.’

  ‘What kind of something?’

  She hesitated. ‘You didn’t hear this from me, right?’

  ‘We’ve never even met.’

  She gave him a cool look, but then nodded. ‘Let’s put it this way: from what I understand she and Poole have got history.’

  ‘What kind of history?’

  ‘The kind where she lies on her back, and he takes the money.’

  Nick’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘He was her pimp?’

  ‘We’re talking years ago here, nine or ten maybe, but apparently that’s how Sandler met her. She was high-class, pricey, working out of one of the Mayfair hotels. He wanted her all to himself. She probably thought she’d hit the jackpot – rich solicitor, glamorous lifestyle – but I doubt it took too long before she realised it had been a big mistake.’