by Karen Botha
“And what if he doesn’t, Paula?”
“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Don’t panic Lucy. Adam associates with these guys, he’s not heading into the unknown. And, more importantly, they know him.”
I’m dubious, but no-one is listening. “OK, well, on your head be it, if this doesn’t go as well as you anticipate.”
“Fair enough,” she concedes.
“So, what’s going on? What have you found out?”
“I assume Adam told you about my note last night, I’ve not got anything back on that yet, it’s still with forensics.”
“And the other stuff you were also waiting for, did any of that come through yet?” I ask.
“Yes. We know that there is no pattern to the genders, slightly more men than women, but not significant enough to register. The age group tends to be more in the 24 - 45 age bracket with a few bodies on either side. It’s difficult to be certain how long each has been there, due to the place being so cold, but there doesn’t appear to be anybody older than, say, three months with the freshest being only a day or so old.”
“So, you’ve got one hundred bodies and one hundred days then?” I check.
“Yeah, I guess we could have. Good point!”
“See, I’m more than Little Miss Innocent. I have a brain too, you know.”
“Oh, stop that, would you?”
“Just saying. Anyway, what does your gut say about all of this, having slept on the information you have so far?” I jump into my car ready to head over to my house and treatment rooms. The line connects to the hands free with a beep and I place my phone in the cup holder at the side of my driver’s seat, plugging in the car charger.
“Hmm, my sense is that this is unlikely to be more than one killer despite the numbers of bodies. They are all laid out with such precision, someone has taken care. I’d expect it to be a man because some of these guys are heavy. To move them would take considerable strength, especially as a dead weight. It could be a female, but they’d need to be a proper gym bunny.”
“Have you worked out why yet?”
“Nah, we’re still waiting for the identifications to come through, so we can work out if there is a connection.”
“OK. Well I’m driving now and I’m about to enter a black spot with no reception, so you look after my boyfriend for me, won’t you? I like having him around!”
She laughs and we hang up on better terms than we started the conversation, despite nothing of significance having changed.
Paula
People forget Lucy used to be in business, even I do sometimes and I knew her during that period of her life. But she’s smart, and her point about one hundred days for one hundred bodies has struck a chord. I think she may have just shed a chink of light on proceedings. I mull this over whilst I wait for Mo in the plush Canary Wharf reception that plays home to the property agent flagged as owning the disused warehouse where we found the bodies. He breezes in as if he’s had a full eight hours sleep and has not a care in the world. I lift myself from the black leather ultra-modern stool I’d been perched on and together we make our way to the opposite side of the lobby to the curved reception desk.
“We’d like to see Mister Dewberry please,” Mo says in his deepest, most officious tone. He flashes his badge. The woman’s pristine eyes widen, although an overuse of Botox means her forehead remains unwrinkled by her movement.
We have the usual back and forth about whether we have an appointment and Mister Dewberry’s availability before we’re escorted into the lift by a security guard and sent on our way to the eleventh floor.
When the sliding doors open, we’re greeted by a young secretary type, all short skirt and a low-cut blouse who, although friendly, also manages to remain standoffish. We’re shown into an office with a large, actually, a fat man, seated behind the desk sporting a pin stripe suit and rather more ruddiness to his cheeks than he would exhibit if he were forty pounds lighter. He’s talking on the phone and we’re left without so much as an offer for a plastic cup of water from the cooler in the corridor outside. He takes several minutes of power play before he completes his call and hangs up, greeting us with a squishy palm. I wipe his residual sweat on my pant leg.
After our cordial introductions, he asks, “So, how may I be of assistance? I must say I feel very important.” His face plasters with a Cheshire cat grin that doesn’t meet his eyes.
We discuss as much as we can to explain our need for information, without showing too much of our hand. Like a game of poker on one of Adam’s tables, we go back and forth about the whys and wherefores. It happens a lot, people pretending to be overly helpful without producing an inch of useful Intel - particularly when people are covering their backs.
We leave with a name of the actual owner of the warehouse we’re investigating, a Jarred Phillipe.
“We just look after the place, make sure it doesn’t go to rack and ruin whilst he’s holding onto it. He bought it as an investment, he plans to sell the place when the property prices in that area pick up. We’ll manage that process when the market is right, but for now, we just check it out periodically to make sure there are no squatters taking up residence, or that it’s not a hang-out for drug dealers or prostitutes.”
To be fair, it sounds plausible, but he was covering up too much at the beginning for that to be the entire story. This needs checking out in way more detail than he’ll ever appreciate is possible.
I can’t get back to the station fast enough and, typically, we get stuck in traffic so the journey takes a frustrating amount of time.
“I’ll see you in there, I’ve just got a few bits to finish up,” Mo says as I march into the incident room when we finally make it back. I clap my hands. Faces turn, some continue speaking on the end of their telephones, but all pay attention.
“Listen up. We need an update.” I explain about Lucy’s one hundred bodies theory. There’s a consensus that she may have hit on a valid detail.
“So, Ted, you look into those whose names we have. Check any similarities at all: regional, hobbies, work place, schools they attended, schools their kids attend for goodness’ sake, are they single or married, the lot. Look at everything. If we can find something for these few, then hopefully that will help us narrow down the task when the names of the others filter through.”
Ted takes notes, nods his head and says very little.
“Christine, I need you to be looking into missing persons. Anyone there who looks even remotely similar to any of our bodies. You have an eye for faces, so, do your best.”
“Yes boss!” She salutes and gives a cheeky giggle. She’s the life and soul of the party but can knuckle down and get work done like a trouper when she needs to.
“Now Jim. I want you on that note. Check out anything you can about the ink, although that’s probably not going to lead us anywhere, but we should still look into it. Hurry forensics on the fingerprints and, also, do a background on this Eric that Adam’s off to see as we speak. Follow up whatever you find, use your initiative.”
“I’ve already had a look at him boss,” Jim says, “I didn’t like the thought of Adam going out there alone.”
“OK, what did you find?”
“It’s all top level at the minute. Not too much on him. The place he runs is in a disused warehouse and appears to be frequented by other illegal casino owners and some professional poker players, but not the big names like Adam deals with, more the small time, shady addicts who are down on their luck and not welcome at the big casinos anymore. There are no big shockers, he has a few counts against him for selling stolen goods, and one for drugs. I’m sure if we dig we can link him with more. But there’s nothing to indicate he’s into terrorising folks the way some of these lot do.”
“Well, that would make sense. I know the casino business is shady and Adam owns one of the biggest names in London, but he’s still a genuine guy. I can’t see how he’d get mixed up with the super bad in the industry.”
“Fingers crossed.” Jim nods.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“He employs a lot of students trying to make some quick cash, I take that as a good sign. He’s not running the place with a bunch of illegals or drug dealing mafia types.”
“Do you know any more about the guests he has in there? Any of those that are looking like they could be, helpful, shall we say?”
“A few have flagged up. I’ve had time to check into one of the names and he was noted for a potential armed robbery with some others on the list. Our guys never did much with it as it was for a stack of cocaine, so I guess they left them to their own devices. Let them deal with issues their own way and save our resources for those who need it more.”
“Yeah could be. But that’s a good inroad, the drugs. Thanks Jim.” I sit down for my next instalment. An update on how our trip to the prestigious Canary Wharf offices went this morning.
Adam
Past all the, probably necessary, security on the entrance, I’m shown into a casino as far removed from mine as you can imagine. Funny thing is though, without the running costs and the table limits, this probably equals my profits, if not exceeds them. It’s a dingy old place. The floor is carpeted in red, reminiscent of an old style English pub. The tatty gold walls are scuffed where they’re not covered with gaming machines. In the centre of the space is a row of card tables, with a roulette wheel to the right.
It’s a dive.
My place may mean I have to pay more overheads and with overheads comes risk, but at least it's legal and I work in a beautiful environment without the need to hide cash I’m not supposed to have earned.
Eric materialises from a door cut into the plasterboard. The type that’s papered over with no frame. I don’t wonder why it needs to be discreet.
“Adam, hi.” He shakes my hand. “I was going to call you. Here, come with me.” He withdraws his hand and uses it to gesticulate I should follow.
“Why were you about to phone me?” I ask once we’re in the corridor on our own.
“Come on, and then I’ll explain.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, is this the point that Lucy will be proven right? The point where her unheeded warnings turn out to be vested in sound advice? I half expect to see a knife wielding youth jump from round a corner and strip me to the bone, slice by painstaking slice.
Eric heads up some carpeted stairs ahead of me, odd considering this is a warehouse, why go to the bother of carpeting the stairs? His office door is on the landing, he turns the handle and walks in, waiting in front of me whilst I close the door behind.
“Would you like a drink?” he offers.
“Oh, no thanks, it’s a bit early for that.” I tap my wristwatch.
“Not a problem, I’m on a different clock to you, been up most of the night, you don’t mind if I do?” he asks.
“No, of course not, go ahead.”
We head over to the tatty black leather couch in the corner and take a seat. Each of our backs is pressed against an opposite arm and we mirror the other with one leg bent at the knee, resting on the stained cushions.
“So, like I said, I had something to discuss with you after your call yesterday, but is that what you wanted to chat over in person?”
“OK, well, this may be something and nothing, but I thought I’d call in on the way to the office as I was passing the area. Last night, when the lead copper on this case got home, she discovered her doors open and a note on her mantle. It was anonymous, telling her to stay away.”
“Go on.” He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth until it disappears.
“Well, she’s a friend, that’s all. My girlfriend, Lucy is her best friend, so it’s important to me that she’s kept safe. I just thought if you’d heard anything about this then you’d let me know. If you don’t mind of course, this is a special situation.”
“Well that brings me smoothly onto why I was calling you!” Is Eric’s simple response.
Now it’s my turn, “Go on.” I smile.
“Last night after we’d had our chat, I decided to go out onto the floor. You know how it is, you try to ignore a lot of what you hear. Best not to know, that way you can’t get dragged into anything.”
I laugh. “Yeah, dead on!”
He toasts me and takes a gulp of his amber liquid. “Anyway, I set that rule aside for you, Adam.”
“And?”
“I think it was well worth it from your perspective.”
I nod, my pulse is pounding, but I maintain a calm exterior and try to steady my breathing.
“We have this pasty chap in, he’s a regular, but the last few months he’s been spending more time here than previously. Well, last night he was at the bar telling some other guys about how he had been to one of the sites he’s supposed to manage the security at. When he got there, he found a pack load of police. He didn’t get to see what was going on and was enquiring whether anyone knew any more.”
“Wow, thanks for that Eric, you have this punters name I assume?”
“Well, I have a first name, Brian. You know the details we take are a bit sketchy so I don’t have an address or any further details, but I was hoping that might be enough to get you going. Do you think it will help?”
“I’m not sure, but it's more than we came in with, so I’m sure somewhere along the way it will make a difference. Surely there must be a way to find out more about him. A last name would be great, but the police can work out how to do that.” I pause, studying a spider in the upper corner of the room. “And you don’t know anything about who put that note in Paula’s home or why it was placed there?”
“No clue. I’ve no beef with her. Keep her sweet is my motto.”
“I thought as much, but you understand why I had to check?”
“Sure, of course. And if I hear anything else, I’ll let you know.”
I show myself to the door, standing and shaking out my numb legs. “Thanks again Eric, I’ll see you around.”
Lucy
“I have a proposal for you,” Adam says over dinner.
“What?” My heart sinks as soon as his words are out of his mouth. I’m not much keen on Adam’s recent proposals and I’ve not forgiven him yet for scaring the life out of me when he went off on his vigilante mission this morning. I’m pleased he’s home, but he’s nowhere near being forgiven.
“How about you work in another casino for a while?”
Huh, he desperately wanted me to work for him in his place, but now he’s pushing me off on someone else. “Am I not doing a good enough job?”
“No, of course you are, but Paula could do with your help, that’s all.”
“Are you for real? You want me to run off and work in a different casino, so I can help Paula with her case. Have you forgotten what these people are like?”
“It's not like that, Eric isn’t like that. He’s just smart and makes money where he can. He’s a bit shady I won’t deny, but he’s not one for putting you in danger, and he knows what’s going on.”
I swallow my burgeoning resentment, but my valiant attempt at calm doesn't work. Instead, the force of my animosity strengthens until I can no longer keep a lid on it. My volcano erupts, surging molten magma all over our romantic dinner as my tornado of words flushes away any idea that I may be up for putting myself in mortal danger.
“How do you know what he’s like? He must be tied up with this crew, otherwise you wouldn’t be so hell bent on spending so much time with him all of a sudden. And if he’s mixed up, that’s danger. If you don’t want me to work for you, I can go back to my own clients, you know. I only took that job because you made it so financially attractive.”
Uh oh. I may have overstepped the mark there.
I didn’t just take the job because of the money, I took it because I was flattered, and it was nice to be wanted so much by this man that he was willing to pull out all the stops for me. Hmm, that’s not what I said though, and I’m too angry to retrac
t and explain.
Adam sits with a blank look on his face. I go quiet, and then he speaks. “So, are you just with me for the money too?” He is calm. Very calm. Too calm.
“No, of course not.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like that to me.” He leaves the table, walking off in the direction of his bedroom. Sometimes it feels like our bedroom, but right now, it’s certainly only his. I feel in the way, like I’ve violated some code and there’s no going back. My natural reaction is to leave, escape this explosive situation. But, to do that would leave too many inaccuracies uncorrected. And that will only lead to falsities becoming a reality. I scrape the plates clean and stack the dishwasher, my heart a piece of solid lead, cold to the touch. I stand, gazing out of the floor to ceiling windows in Adam’s magnificent upside down house, taking in the beauty of the countryside which normally is glorious enough to lift any dark mood.
But not today.
We’ve not fought before. I dared to believe we were better than petty arguments. Maybe we are? This isn’t petty, after all. He wants me to risk my life, unnecessarily, to help speed up a case. It seems like a totally unnecessary risk and I’m hurt that he’d even consider it.
And then it dawns on me.
He’s been speaking with Paula - a lot. I bet she put him up to this. It’s the type of logic-defying, obsessive behaviour that she is more than capable of. I stalk into the bedroom.
“Did Paula put you up to this?”
“Does it matter?” He’s on the bed with his laptop on his knee.
“Yes, it bloody matters. I need to know if you came up with this ludicrous idea for me to risk my life on your own, or with the help of my crazy best friend. It matters, OK!”
“I’ve been speaking to Paula all day. I’m not sure how the idea came about. We were talking, and it makes sense to have someone on the inside doing the massages on the clients in there. You’ll be able to overhear anything that is said with way more accuracy than Paula can establish and more than likely it will take less time.”