Blunt Force

by La Plante, Lynda

  She loudly called out ‘Julia!’ again, then slipped past Jane and screamed out, ‘Are you deaf?’

  Jane was left sitting alone for a while, until eventually Julia, in an extraordinarily bright quilted dressing gown and fluffy slippers, walked in with a mug of coffee. She didn’t look happy to see Jane.

  ‘I don’t want to talk to you because you’ve got me into an awful lot of trouble. You had no right to repeat what I’d told you. I’ve felt ill and I’ve not been able to go to work today because he is going to talk to my father, and my father has already threatened to stop my allowance. It’s all your fault.’

  ‘Julia, I don’t have very long to talk to you, but what I do have to say is important.’

  ‘Well, what I have to say is just as important.’ Julia pouted. ‘I asked you not to say her name and you did, didn’t you? I’m no longer friends with her anyway but that’s not the point. The point is her father got in touch with my father and has been telling him terrible things that I have absolutely nothing to do with. Now, this morning, I have to go and see him. You have no idea how angry he can get. The next thing I know is, I’ll be sent off to some dreadful finishing school. Anything to get rid of me. And this is all because of you.’

  Jane made every attempt to control her temper. ‘Julia, I’m very sorry if I have inadvertently got you into trouble. The fact is, you could actually be in a great deal more trouble. I could be taking you into the station for questioning with regard to supplying underage girls for sexual favours in exchange for money.’

  Julia’s jaw dropped. ‘I don’t believe a word of what you’re saying, and I don’t know what you’re accusing me of.’

  ‘You could be accused of running a prostitution ring.’

  Julia’s face drained of colour. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Let me try to make it clear for you, Julia. The model agency, KatWalk, would supply girls for film premieres, in many instances guaranteeing meeting stars and directors. I believe some of the girls were under sixteen, but with promises of possible starring roles, these naive young girls were taken advantage of.’

  Julia was heaving for breath as if she was having a panic attack.

  ‘Take a deep breath, Julia, and just listen. If you are helpful to me now I may not have any charges pressed against you. I am aware you encouraged your school friends to join the agency, girls like Annalise.’

  Julia stopped heaving for breath, but her hands were shaking so badly she had to put her coffee mug down on the floor beside her.

  ‘And you know that Annalise was sexually assaulted, don’t you? Now, all I want from you is the truth about a model called Yasmin.’

  Julia was becoming tearful, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know her . . . I didn’t know her. I’d only been working at the agency for about six months. Yes, I did encourage a few of my friends, one being Annalise, but all the other girls on the books were desperate to go to these premieres. I mean, they got designer clothes, they got jewellery, they got cars back and forth.’

  ‘Were you also aware that they were being paid a considerable amount of money when, as in Annalise’s case, they complained to Charles Foxley?’

  Julia wiped her eyes with the cuff of her dressing gown. ‘I don’t know about that . . . I have no idea about that.’

  ‘What do you know about Yasmin?’

  Julia’s voice rose higher. ‘I don’t know anyone called Yasmin. I only worked there for six months and I keep telling you I worked for Mr Foxley. He told me what to do and I arranged his meetings. It was Simon Quinn who knew all the models.’

  Jane turned in surprise as Tanya, brushing her long blonde hair, walked in.

  ‘I knew Yasmin. She was one of the girls I worked with.’

  Jane could feel her stomach tighten. ‘Do you know her surname?’

  ‘No, she just went by the name Yasmin. To be honest, I don’t think she’d been with KatWalk for as long as I had. I just remember there was a situation with her.’

  ‘What was the situation?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . something went on and then I never saw her again. It was at a premiere. It’s got to be quite a long time ago because it must have been before Julia started work. I don’t think anyone really knew what happened. All we were told was that she left the event at the hotel.’

  ‘And you didn’t know why she suddenly left?’

  Tanya shrugged. ‘No, but I remember something had gone on because Mr Foxley was called by the hotel manager, but that’s all I know. And I’d just like to tell you something: I overheard what you were saying to Julia, and I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. She really doesn’t know the half of what goes on. I also don’t think that poncy little twit, Simon Quinn, knows either. I was tipped off almost the first week I started work. I mean, I’ve only done a few photo shoots, but Mr Foxley had a quiet word with each of us whenever we went to these functions.’ She suddenly seemed distressed. ‘Oh God, I feel awful. I don’t mean to say anything against him because I know something terrible happened to him.’

  Jane leant forward. ‘Tanya, you have been very helpful. I just need you to tell me a little bit more about Mr Foxley having a quiet word with each of you – what were those quiet words?’

  Tanya shrugged. ‘He just said that we should realise we weren’t there to pass out the hors d’oeuvres. We were there to enjoy ourselves and make sure that the stars, producers and whoever was important were also enjoying themselves. He said if any of them got over-familiar and we didn’t like it, we were to politely reject their advances. On the other hand, he insinuated that if we didn’t reject their advances, we would be very well looked after.’

  ‘So, in these instances, when you say you were well looked after . . .’

  Tanya ran her fingers through her hair. ‘If we gave a blow job or allowed one of these so-called movie moguls to take us up to their hotel rooms, we knew there would be a big fat envelope waiting for us.’ She giggled and said that she knew that a few of the girls often embroidered their activities, and in those cases Mr Foxley was very generous.

  ‘Do you know if Yasmin was paid money after that night she left early?’

  Tanya rolled her eyes. ‘She was very naive, and to be honest I don’t think she had the slightest notion. I think she was a Muslim, wasn’t she? But if anything did happen, she would have been paid a bundle.’

  ‘When you say “paid a bundle”, what kind of money are you talking about?’

  ‘Well, it all depends what they had to do. Some of them might have done a blow job, some might have even had full sex . . . It could be anywhere between a hundred to a few thousand quid.’

  Jane stood up. ‘Thank you very much, Tanya, I appreciate your time. Julia, I do hope your father will be lenient with regards to Mr Montgomery’s visit.’

  Julia didn’t get up to see Jane out but Tanya went ahead to open the front door. She leant towards Jane, keeping her voice to a whisper.

  ‘She’s a bit thick, but she’s quite harmless. I hope to God her daddy doesn’t cut her allowance because I can’t afford the rent here.’

  *

  Spencer had checked that Michael was in the care home, but first he wanted to speak with the care home’s maintenance and main care worker, Alistair Jones. He was a very affable, middle-aged, ex-army officer who had suffered a severe leg injury in the Korean war. He lived on the premises in a small room at the top of the house and it was his job to do all the repairs, check plumbing and electrics, and supervise anyone using the kitchen. He had thinning hair, which he had oiled back and which ended in a little duck’s tail at the back of his head.

  Spencer asked if he could recall the Monday of the murder. Alistair immediately opened a large diary, saying his job meant that he was required by the council to make a note of everything and had to ensure all receipts were kept. He was very proud of his meticulous records. As he opened the diary, he explained to Spencer that he had to ensure the safety of a number of residents as they w
ere very physically challenged. He went into detail about the problems they had with their small lift and that it was important to maintain it as so many people were dependent on it to get to their rooms.

  Although Spencer was eager to get to the main reason he was there, Alistair was so helpful that he didn’t want to pressure him. Alistair gestured to one page after another, listing therapy sessions, health visitors and family visits. He turned another page slowly, pointing out with a pen the neat lists of appointments alongside residents’ names.

  At last he got to the Monday in question.

  ‘Right, here we are . . . Monday. You want to know about Michael Langton?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘On that Monday I have him down for an art class. He is very good, you know – especially oils.’

  Spencer nodded.

  ‘He also had an appointment with the osteopath. I remember that clearly because he was having a great deal of pain from his prosthetic legs and they needed to be adjusted. They’re handmade, but with Michael having no knee joint, there is always a question of his balance.’

  ‘Five p.m. collection.’ Spencer pointed to the diary entry.

  ‘Yes, that’s correct. He has a spa treatment three times a week.’

  Spencer knew exactly what the ‘spa treatment’ was. Beneath Michael’s appointment were numerous other appointments made for other residents. Spencer leant in even closer.

  ‘Do you have the time that Mr Langton returned to the care home?’

  Alistair looked down the page and said that he usually required arrival and departure times in case they need any assistance. But he had no time written down for when Michael Langton had returned as Michael didn’t require assistance until bedtime. Then he needed to be bathed and undressed, usually at about 9.30 p.m.

  ‘I have a feeling that Michael would have returned at about half past seven, or perhaps even before that,’ Spencer suggested.

  Alistair flicked through the diary. ‘Yes, you’re right. He usually does return about that time. About seven p.m. normally.’ He pointed to a previous Monday in the diary.

  Spencer frowned. ‘Is there anyone else I can ask? I need to know exactly what time he got back on that Monday.’

  Alistair seemed lost in thought for a moment, then patted the page. ‘I remember. I wasn’t here that night. Reason being, I had to get to an ex-vets’ meeting. I don’t need to arrange for anyone to help Michael after his spa dates as the chauffeur takes him back to his room.’

  ‘So, if no one was here, Michael could just arrive home and go up to his room in the lift and no one would necessarily see him?’

  Alistair nodded.

  ‘OK,’ Spencer said. ‘Can you call through for Michael to come down? We’ve got a vehicle ready to take him to the station. It’s nothing to be concerned about. We just hope Michael may be able to assist us in an ongoing inquiry.’

  ‘Right you are,’ Alistair said breezily. ‘Whatever it is, it’s his business. I’ll go up and bring him down.’

  Spencer waited by the lift gates and eventually Michael Langton, with Alistair, came down. Spencer tried hard not to show his surprise at seeing Michael wearing his prosthetic legs. Even though he was the shorter man, Alistair had a protective arm around his shoulders.

  Spencer smiled broadly. ‘Well, don’t you look the business.’

  Michael raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ll have to watch out I don’t fall backwards. These bloody things are difficult to steer and the feet are locked.’

  ‘Would you prefer to be in your chair?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘Hell no, it’s taken me enough time to put these fucking things on. I need to look my best.’

  There was a slightly uneasy moment when Spencer took over from Alistair and he and Michael walked very slowly towards the door. If Michael was in pain, he didn’t show it. But the strain of moving each leg forward and getting into the van was clearly very difficult for him. He needed Spencer to help keep his balance.

  ‘So, when are you going to tell me what this is all about, Spencer?’ Michael asked once he was seated inside.

  ‘My boss needs a few details clarified, but let’s wait till we get to the station.’

  Michael nodded. ‘All right by me, mate. A day out is always a bonus because I don’t have many. Oh, by the way, I’m halfway through that painting of the horses. I’m still having trouble with the hooves, but I’ve got their heads done now. You never know’ – he grinned as he looked around the interior of the van – ‘I might hire one of these one day and get me to a race course.’

  Spencer laughed. ‘Maybe I’ll chip in with you and we can go together.’ He knew he shouldn’t have said it, but he couldn’t help liking Michael, and admiring his energy.

  *

  When Jane returned to the station she was surprised to see a large blackboard had now been placed in front of the old incident boards. It was headed ‘Operation Kingston’ and listed the two surveillance officers in Clapham, and that Spencer was bringing in Michael Langton. There was a timeframe from the officer who had been instructed to drive from the brothel to the care home, return to the brothel, drive to Charles Foxley’s address, back to the brothel and then back to the care home. The timings were all listed and underlined. Also added to the board was the latest contact address for Ahmed Farook. The clerical staff had made inquiries with the local councils and discovered that there was a high-rise council flat on the Winstanley Estate in Battersea, which had been rented to a Farah and Ameer Fareedi, and there was a query regarding sub-letting to an Aiyla Farook, her husband and daughter Yasmin. They also pointed out that the estate was close to Clapham Junction, which made Farook’s journey to Mandy Pilkington’s only a short bus ride.

  Jane was now able to add the information from Tanya Midhurst. As yet, they had no photograph, but this was swiftly rectified when DC Gary Dors returned a short while later. He complained it had taken him so long as none of the photographs at the agency had been in alphabetical order, but eventually, with Rita’s help, he had found a box marked ‘no longer clients’, and inside, a ten by six black and white photograph of a girl, with her details printed in black felt-tip pen on the back: Yasmin, aged 17, 5 foot 2 inches, 7½ stone. No surname. When Dors showed Jane the photograph, she was struck by how very beautiful the young girl was. She went back to ask if the clerical staff could check the age of Farook’s daughter, Yasmin, feeling certain the girl was not seventeen.

  *

  Jane was in the ladies and could see the yard through the window. She watched as a van drove in through the gates and Spencer stepped out to lower a ramp. A man she presumed was Michael Langton was being helped out, and she was interested to see he was actually walking, albeit it with great difficulty. Spencer then wheeled out a rather old-fashioned-looking wheelchair.

  As Jane closed the door behind her, DC Johnson appeared in the corridor and suggested that Jane should now join Spencer while Johnson went to the canteen.

  Spencer was sitting behind a table with his notebook out and Michael Langton was in a chair opposite him, both prosthetic legs stretched in front of him. When Jane entered the room he was moving himself into a more comfortable sitting position. He was sweating from the physical exertion it took to manoeuvre himself, and Jane couldn’t help noticing his body odour.

  When she introduced herself, Michael smiled broadly. ‘You must excuse me for not standing, but I’ve only just got my legs in a position to sit down.’

  Jane smiled and remained by the door to hold it open as DC Johnson came in with a tray of coffee and a plate of biscuits. There was a moment when Jane was unsure how Michael could handle a mug of coffee, but Johnson had already provided two straws.

  ‘Milk and sugar?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Yes to both, please,’ Michael replied.

  Jane leant over and placed both straws into his mug of coffee. Spencer saw her hesitate to offer Michael the plate of biscuits.

  ‘When you feel like one, Michael, I’ll just aim it
at your mouth.’

  Michael grinned and Jane glanced at Spencer in surprise at his casual tone. She watched him flip open his notebook.

  ‘I know you may think we have been through all this when we last saw you, but I now have to take a formal statement. I’ll be writing down your answers and if there is anything you wish to query, just give me the nod.’

  Michael nodded, then took a sip of his coffee through the straw.

  ‘On the afternoon of Monday seventh of April, you told me that you were collected from the care home by Miss Pilkington’s driver, Ahmed Farook. Do you recall the time?’

  ‘Yes, it was five p.m. That’s my regular time.’

  ‘I know that Mr Farook then drove you to Miss Pilkington’s property in Clapham. How long did the journey take?’

  Michael thought for a moment. ‘On that day there wasn’t much traffic, but he doesn’t go over the speed limit and is careful on roads with speed-bumps. Shoot over one of those too fast and I’ll be thrown out of my seat. He made sure I wore a seatbelt, too.’

  ‘So how long did it take?’

  ‘Well, as you know, I’ve got nothing to put a watch on, but I’d say twenty minutes.’

  ‘So that would mean you arrived at Miss Pilkington’s at around five twenty.’

  ‘Yeah, I’d say that’s about right. Farook then carried me up the stairs and helped me get ready for my session.’

  ‘And you had booked for an hour session?’

  Michael winced. ‘I don’t always have a full hour.’ He glanced towards Jane. ‘I don’t want to embarrass the lady, but on this occasion I had two, er . . . therapists.’

  ‘So your session would have been longer?’

  ‘It might have,’ Michael said.

  ‘So, shall we say we are looking at about six thirty p.m. when you were collected?’

  ‘Yes, about that, because I also had a massage. Sometimes she includes them in the price. If your body is oiled and you are on the waterbed, there is a lot of cleaning up to do.’ He looked at Jane. ‘Sorry, but he wants me to be explicit.’