Till Death Do Us Part

by Stephen Edger

  ‘I’m sorry, no, I’m not a—’ Alice began.

  ‘She was nothing to do with me! I didn’t fucking send her to that gig. Right? Now leave me the fuck alone!’

  Alice pulled the phone from her ear as the other end was slammed down. She lowered the computer’s screen and carried her plate to the sink, dropping the remains of the toast in the pedal bin. Her hands were trembling. Clearly the woman on the line had been hounded by journalists trying to tie her site – her business – to the murder. She’d obviously done her best to remove all traces of Kerry from the site, but had missed that one image. That’s the problem with the Internet, once your secrets are out there, there’s always a trace.

  Returning to the MacBook, Alice jotted down the business address from the bottom of the homepage. If the woman wasn’t prepared to speak to her on the phone, maybe she’d be more willing in person.

  THIRTY-ONE

  The air conditioning kicked in as the car’s climate threatened to exceed nineteen degrees. It was almost nine o’clock and traffic remained heavy as they passed by Ringwood. The radio had been playing on low volume since Alice had called at Tara’s and begged her to come along for moral support.

  ‘I still think this idea is crazy,’ Tara said, for the third time since they’d left the motorway. ‘What exactly are you hoping to learn?’

  ‘I just need to know,’ Alice said, and in all honesty that was the only answer she could give. It was like some invisible force was dragging her towards the life of Kerry Valentine, and the more she tried to fight against the impulse, the stronger it grew.

  ‘If she wouldn’t speak to you on the phone, what makes you think this woman will be more willing if you turn up in person?’

  Again, Alice couldn’t answer, but that hadn’t stopped her punching the address of Danse Privée into the satnav. The remaining twenty minutes of the journey were completed in virtual silence: Alice’s mind focusing on different members of the stag party and ruling them in or out of her suspect pool, Tara watching on, hoping her best friend wasn’t losing her mind.

  ‘You have reached your destination,’ the robotic voice declared as they pulled up on a residential street with no sign of any local businesses.

  ‘Are you sure you put the correct address in?’ Tara questioned. ‘I once put in the postcode of a hotel, but it took me to the opposite end of the postcode and it took me the best part of half an hour to find the bloody hotel. In the end I had to phone them for directions.’

  ‘No, it’s the full address. According to the website, the head office is here, somewhere.’

  The road resembled a typical residential street, packed with ex-council terraced houses, but in among the uniform concrete structures there were several brightly flowered gardens and expensive-looking cars. There was no obvious clue of what they were looking for.

  ‘What number is it supposed to be?’ Tara asked. ‘I can see number 21, and 25 on this side. Have you got even numbers your side?’

  Alice studied the satnav screen. ‘Should be 24, so I guess that’s my side.’

  Tara leaned across the handbrake, scanning the houses outside of Alice’s window. ‘Well that one is 22, so I guess that one on the end is 24?’

  Alice unfastened her belt, killed the engine and climbed out of the Audi. Tara joined her on the pavement a moment later.

  ‘Maybe they relocated to a different address and forgot to update the website?’ Tara offered.

  ‘This makes more sense though,’ Alice countered. ‘Think about it. If you were running a cash-in-hand business with questionable morals, would you paint a bright neon sign over your door?’ She shook her head. ‘Far better to keep your business where the authorities would never come looking.’

  Tara wasn’t convinced, but the two women edged nearer to the door. On the side wall, the view obstructed from the street, was an A4-sized plastic sign with the large pink initials ‘DP’.

  ‘It’s the same font as the one on the website,’ Alice confirmed. ‘This has to be the place.’

  ‘It isn’t too late to turn back.’

  ‘We’ve come too far to turn back now,’ Alice said, her finger trembling as she jabbed it against the doorbell. The sound echoed through the two-storey property and she strained to hear any movement from inside.

  ‘We should just go,’ Tara said, looking anxiously back towards the road.

  ‘Calm down, Tara, we’re not doing anything wrong.’

  Pressing the doorbell again, Alice lifted the letterbox hatch and peered into the gloom. A door at the end of the hallway was closed, as was the door to the left which led through to the front room. A staircase was just visible to the right, and at the top, a pair of fluffy purple slippers appeared.

  Alice quickly lowered the hatch and straightened. ‘I think she’s coming.’

  A moment later the front door opened.

  ‘Yes?’ the woman in the slippers said, a freshly lit cigarette in one hand, a pair of dark glasses in the other. She was wearing a lilac-coloured kimono which did little to hide the thick green veins protruding from her otherwise pale legs. Her hair was as dark as coal, but as Alice looked closer, she spotted it was a wig.

  ‘Hi,’ Alice began nervously. ‘I called earlier, hoping you might be willing to speak to us about one of your dancers?’

  The woman took a long drag on the cigarette and exhaled the smoke in their faces, causing Tara to cough. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, luv,’ she said hoarsely.

  Alice pointed at the ‘DP’ initials near the bell. ‘Danse Privée? This is the registered address for the site.’

  Another drag on the cigarette. ‘You a reporter?’

  ‘No,’ Alice coughed.

  ‘Police?’

  ‘No.’

  Deep lines appeared on the woman’s forehead, the crow’s feet at her eyes widening. ‘What do you fucking want then?’

  ‘It’s going to sound crazy. I wanted to speak to you about Kerry Valentine.’

  The woman flicked the cigarette out of the door, narrowly missing Alice’s nose, and then the door was closing.

  ‘She’s her sister!’ Tara suddenly yelled, and the door halted.

  ‘Kerry didn’t have a sister.’

  ‘Foster sister,’ Tara added. ‘Please? They grew up together. I swear we’re not police or journalists, we just want to learn more about Kerry’s final few months. Please?’

  The woman looked from Tara to Alice, before nodding and stepping away from the door so they could enter.

  Alice and Tara followed the woman through the hallway and into the large living room at the back of the property. It led out to a garden, but apart from a couple of dead pot plants, there was no other vegetation. Instead, a two-tiered patio stretched ten feet, fully enclosed by rotting fences along the perimeter.

  The woman slumped into an armchair that faced the television and flicked it on, the volume muted, before pulling a fresh cigarette from a packet on the table and sparking up. There was one other single armchair, which Tara sat in. Alice perched on the arm.

  ‘You’ve got five minutes to ask your questions and then I want you out of here,’ the woman said, pushing the dark glasses over her eyes.

  ‘Kerry Valentine did work for Danse Privée then?’ Alice asked.

  A single eyebrow poked up over the edge of the glasses. ‘You recording this?’

  Alice held her hands up to show no hidden recording devices. ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Put your phones on the table,’ the woman said, nodding towards the coffee table nearest to her where the ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts.

  Alice pulled the phone from her pocket and waited for Tara to pass hers before resting them on the table.

  ‘We don’t want to cause you any trouble,’ Alice said, when she was perched again. ‘Had you known Kerry long?’

  ‘Must be going on three years, on and off. We met at a police station of all places.’

  ‘Have the police spoken to you about her y
et?’

  The woman eyed her suspiciously, but shook her head. ‘No, but if you found me, it won’t be long until they come knocking too. I should emigrate.’ She coughed, the sound long and scratchy, and Alice could only begin to guess how many cigarettes had already been smoked this morning.

  ‘Would you like a glass of water?’ Alice offered.

  ‘I’m sick,’ the woman replied. ‘Cancer. It’s spreading, so I suppose even if they do come for me, I’ll probably be dead before they get me close to any kind of trial. Waste of bloody taxpayers’ money, if you ask me.’

  ‘Can you explain how it worked? The business, I mean. Kerry’s last dance on Saturday night, can you remember how she ended up at that bar?’

  ‘Some bloke phoned, looking for someone young and blonde – that’s what he asked for – and so I asked Kerry whether she wanted to earn some cash. She said yes, so I sent her along. She never made it back.’

  ‘Can you remember the name or number who called you?’ Alice asked, keen to find out if it was Dave or Scott who’d been in touch.

  The woman paused mid-exhale. ‘My customers rely on my discretion. Even if I had the number, I wouldn’t give it to you.’

  ‘Did Kerry have any regular clients, do you know?’

  ‘What does it matter?’

  ‘The police said they were looking into the possibility that she was killed by someone she knew, that’s all. I just wondered whether you might remember someone who was … a bit too keen on her.’

  The woman gave it some thought before shaking her head. ‘She was pretty and young – how most men like them – so she was always a popular girl. Usually got some pretty big tips as well. I can’t remember any client ordering her more than once, though.’

  ‘How did the money structure work? Did the customers pay you? Or pay Kerry?’

  ‘You sure you’re not police?’

  ‘I swear we’re not police,’ Alice confirmed.

  ‘The punters agreed the fee with me on the phone and paid the girls after they’d finished. Then they’d bring the money back and we’d split it. They always get to keep their tips though.’

  ‘Did Kerry ever have sex for money?’

  The woman squashed the cigarette into the overflowing ashtray and immediately lit a fresh one. ‘We’re not that kind of service. It was just dancing and stripping. I have a strict code as that goes.’

  ‘She had a son, didn’t she?’ Alice asked.

  ‘That’s right. Finn. Poor kid.’

  ‘Do you know what’s happened to him? Is he with the police?’

  Tara fired a concerned look at her friend.

  ‘Probably in social services care by now. She really doted on him. That’s why she used to do these gigs, at least that’s what she told me. Although I think she also enjoyed the power her dances had over the men who paid her. She liked to flaunt her shit and have them begging, but leave them unsatisfied.’

  ‘Did you ever meet her son? I’d really like to see him.’

  Alice had pushed things too far. The woman suddenly lurched forward. ‘What did you say your name was? I want some identification now!’

  Alice quickly stood, backing away towards the door. Tara quickly followed, grabbing the phones. The woman faltered as a fresh bout of extreme coughing took hold, and Alice took it as her cue to leave.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Tara’s heavy breathing and crimson cheeks told Alice everything she needed to know about Tara’s mood as they got back in the car. ‘What was with all the questions about Kerry’s kid?’

  Alice remained quiet, focusing on the road, looking for something familiar to help her get her bearings.

  ‘Stop ignoring me, Alice Rose Goodman.’

  Alice’s head slowly craned around. ‘You full-named me. Why do I feel like a naughty school child?’ She couldn’t help but grin.

  Tara’s face remained stern for a moment longer, before a smile slowly broke through. ‘Seriously though, I thought you just wanted to find out if there was anyone else who could have attacked Kerry.’

  ‘I did. I do. You heard what she said: Kerry didn’t have any regular clients.’

  ‘You’re just going to take her word for it?’

  Alice had been asking herself the same question. What other choice did they have but to believe her, though? And besides, why would she lie?

  ‘I don’t want to believe that one of our friends could have been involved in her death,’ Alice said.

  ‘Then don’t!’ Tara fired back. ‘The police aren’t looking at any of them, so what makes you suspect they could be?’

  ‘Because of the lies! Dave, Scott and Ben have all lied to me about what really happened that night, I’m sure of it. But I don’t understand why. If the three of them are lying to the police then there has to be an ulterior motive; either they’re covering for one of the group, or they’re covering for each other. I know these people, it frightens me to think that one of them could be capable of … that.’

  Tara stared out of the window, biting her nail as she considered the predicament. ‘Okay, go through the list of who was there again that night. Who are our suspects?’

  Alice took a deep breath and pictured the photos from Dave’s phone. ‘Ben, Dave, Scott, Abdul, Johnny, James, and Pete. Plus I think Abdul brought three friends along that Ben and Dave had known at uni, but I don’t know much about them other than their names: Gary, Duke and Michael.’

  Tara counted on her fingers. ‘So, that’s ten altogether?’

  ‘Yeah, but Scott left the party early, and I didn’t see Gary, Duke or Michael in any of the later photos so I’m guessing they didn’t hang around at the Merry Berry bar for too long.’

  ‘Have the police interviewed them all?’

  ‘Apparently so, that’s what Dave said.’

  ‘There must be CCTV in and around the bar. I can’t believe there’s no image of Kerry being attacked,’ Tara mused.

  Alice had been thinking the same thing, but the police hadn’t confirmed what – if any – security footage they had identified from the night.

  ‘Wait,’ Tara suddenly blurted. ‘You should have gone right at that last roundabout. Home is right.’

  ‘We’re not going home,’ Alice replied absently.

  Spotting the road she was looking for, Alice took a sharp left, narrowly avoiding the kerb.

  ‘West Cliff?’ Tara enquired quietly. ‘We going to the beach?’

  Alice gritted her teeth but didn’t respond, her eyes darting left and right as she searched for the road she’d seen on the news.

  Turning right, she spotted the police tape lining the small space at the rear of the brick building, the dilapidated ‘Merry Berry’ sign hanging above it.

  Tara gasped. ‘Tell me you didn’t just bring us to the crime scene. Are you crazy?’

  Alice did a U-turn and found a space near a parking meter before killing the engine. The bar and police tape were a hundred yards up the road from them.

  ‘We’re not doing anything wrong by being here,’ Alice said nervously, her effort to reassure her friend missing the mark. ‘I wanted to see where it happened for myself. We’ll just walk around, that’s all. I promise.’

  Alice exited the car, leaving Tara rooted to her seat until the fear of being found alone in the car got the better of her and she hurried after her friend.

  ‘If you start trying to break in somewhere, like some amateur detective from the telly, I’m out of here,’ Tara warned.

  Alice had no intention of doing anything to draw unwanted attention to their presence in the area.

  The Merry Berry bar looked like somewhere time had forgotten. She hadn’t noticed all the graffiti surrounding the abandoned building when she’d seen it on the news, and hadn’t realized just how rundown an area they were now in. This part of the town had once been a central nightspot, but as more rival bars and clubs had opened closer to the town centre, this area had become too much effort for socialites to get to. Alice could still remember B
en dragging her around the town on a pub crawl three years ago as he’d tried to recreate his university days for her. He’d pointed out plenty of places that had either now closed or been rebranded since his student days.

  There was the usual supply of fast food wrappers, cardboard coffee cups and crisp packets lining the street. Alice scanned the road as they moved closer to the bar, looking for any sign of the off-licence Dave had mentioned, but it was only when they doubled back, passing the car and returning to the main road, that she spotted anything. The neon white sign would have glowed brightly against a night sky, and the stickers in the window promoted ‘Beers, Wines, and Spirits’. It had to be where they’d gone.

  It wasn’t obvious which lamppost they’d tied Ben to, or whether or not he would have been able to see any of them from where they’d left him. Pulling out her phone, she looked at the image of Ben and the lamppost that she’d sent herself from Dave’s phone. Apart from a dark coloured wall several feet behind him, the picture could have been taken next to any lamppost on any street in the world.

  ‘Mrs Goodman? Alice?’ a familiar-sounding voice called from across the street.

  Turning, Alice desperately hoped the voice didn’t belong to who she thought it did. She cursed under her breath as she spotted DC Vanessa Hazelton waving her over.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Tara asked.

  ‘Just keep quiet and let me handle this,’ Alice muttered between clenched teeth as they crossed the road towards the puzzled detective.

  ‘I thought that was you,’ Hazelton began, pleasantly enough. ‘Were you looking for something in particular? I saw you park up, are you lost?’

  There was no point trying to come up with a plausible excuse.

  ‘Just passing through,’ Alice said.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Hazelton asked, nodding at Tara.

  Tara’s cheeks reddened, but she kept her mouth shut.

  ‘She’s a colleague,’ Alice explained. ‘We’re both teachers.’