THE WEST LONDON MURDERS an absolutely gripping crime mystery with a massive twist (Detective Rob Miller Mysteries Book 2)

by BIBA PEARCE

  “Did this man pay you what he owed?”

  Again, she shook her head. “No, he didn’t. He said I hadn’t done what he wanted so he wasn’t going to pay me. When I told him we had an agreement, he pushed me on to the bed and told me to shut up. He said he’d hurt me if I wasn’t careful.” She shrugged. “So, I shut up.”

  Rob took a deep breath. Jesus. What these girls had to go through.

  “Thanks for being so honest with us, Christy,” said Jenny, in her soft voice. “I’ve just got a few more questions. Is that okay?”

  Christy nodded. Rob noticed she had talons for nails, painted a bright fuchsia. She inspected them now as she waited for the next question.

  “How did Doug contact you? Was it via a website or by telephone, or by some other means?”

  “I’m an independent contractor,” she said with pride. “I used to work for an escort agency, but I went out on my own last year. Best decision I ever made.”

  “Working for yourself is always the best option, isn’t it?” said Jenny as if they were talking about bookkeeping or interior design, not prostitution. Rob knew she was empathizing with the subject, finding common ground. She was good at it too.

  Christy gave a little nod. “The agency took a big cut, but then I didn’t have to do any of my own marketing or anything. Now I’m in charge of everything.”

  “Where do you advertise?” Jenny asked.

  “On punter websites, through word of mouth, that sort of thing.” She was being purposefully vague. It was a crime to solicit sex after all.

  “Do you have a contact number for Doug?” Jenny asked.

  “I did have.”

  Rob felt a shot of adrenalin surge through his veins.

  “But I’m not sure I still do.” His heart dropped.

  “Could you check for us?” enquired Jenny.

  Christy reached into her handbag and pulled out the latest model of iPhone. She scrolled through the numbers, her pink talons clicking on the screen. Eventually, she shrugged. “No. I must have deleted it.”

  Rob let out a low groan.

  “It was a long time ago and I was never going to see him again.”

  “I understand,” said Jenny.

  Rob sat up straighter as a thought occurred to him. “Christy, did you post his phone number on the SAAFE website?”

  She perked up. “Yes, of course. That’s what we do to warn the other girls.”

  “What’s your username?” he asked. When she frowned, he added, “It’s so we can trace the number you posted on there.”

  She didn’t have to give him any information, strictly speaking. If she refused, he’d just get a warrant, but he was hoping Jenny had softened her up enough so that she’d offer it up voluntarily. He was right.

  “PinkFlamingo556.” She blinked several times, her long lashes sweeping against her cheekbones.

  “Thank you,” said Rob. “You’ve been a tremendous help, Christy. I mean that.”

  She smiled for the first time. Rob got the impression it wasn’t often she got complimented.

  “He deserved this, you know.” She nodded towards the photograph. “I bet it was a pimp who did him in. He probably beat up some poor girl and this was what they did to him. Can’t say I’m sorry.”

  Rob didn’t reply. Jenny thanked her again and they left the flat. Christy left right after them, heading to her next client.

  Chapter 20

  “If his number is on that website, anyone could have contacted him,” said Rob once they were back at the station. “I’ll bet Christy wasn’t the only woman he roughed up.”

  “Do you think our killer is targeting violent men?” Jenny had her tablet open and was trawling the SAAFE forum in search of the warning posted by PinkFlamingo556.

  “It’s a possibility,” Rob replied. Tony had said the killer could be going after a type. “Check if Yousef’s or Patterson’s name is mentioned on that site.”

  Mallory was shaking his head. “I can’t see Patterson as someone who assaults women.”

  Rob agreed. “Patterson is the one victim that doesn’t fit. Yousef was a drug dealer, he exploited kids and vulnerable adults to distribute crack and heroin into the Home Counties. He wasn’t a nice bloke. It’s conceivable that he hired escorts. Bartlett had a history of violence. He’d been in prison for assault and we know he used prostitutes. But Patterson . . . ?” He let his sentence fade.

  “I double-checked Patterson’s laptop,” said Mallory. “And according to his browser history, he’s never visited any dodgy sites. He’s squeaky clean.”

  “The killer must have had something else against him then,” mused Rob.

  Mallory stroked his chin. “Like what? A bad sales deal? A faulty dental drill?”

  Rob shook his head. Patterson was a mystery, the missing link in the chain.

  “Will, can you get a list of escort agencies operating in the London area? Let’s contact them and find out if Yousef was one of their clients.”

  “I doubt they’ll give us that kind of information without a warrant,” he said. “I remember how tight-lipped they are from my time in Vice. We couldn’t get a thing out of them. If it came out that they give away their customers’ info to the cops, they wouldn’t be in business very long.”

  Rob sighed. “Okay, but get the list anyway. We may need to get warrants if it comes to it.”

  * * *

  Jeff came in, looking flushed. “Guv, we’ve found something. Come and have a look at this.”

  Rob followed him into the warren where Mike was sitting in front of a large screen showing black-and-white CCTV images of the street outside Bartlett’s council block in Southwark. The ugly, bulky building looked even more oppressive in monotone.

  “We’ve found this woman arriving at the block at 6.27 p.m. the night Bartlett was murdered.” Mike pointed to a dark figure approaching the block. She was wearing a short skirt, high heels and a trench coat, which was tightly wrapped around her. She had dark hair and was looking down, so the camera didn’t pick up her face, only shadows.

  “That’s her, right?” said Jeff, slightly out of breath.

  Rob nodded. “That’s her, but we can’t see her face. Do you have anything clearer? Anything we can run through facial rec?”

  Mike grimaced and moved the video on a bit. “Not really. Here, she looks to the side and we can see her cheek, but the rest of her face is still in darkness.”

  Damn it. They were so close. They had the woman arriving on camera, but it was impossible to see who she was. All they knew was she was medium height, slender, dark-haired and had great legs. At least it confirmed what the first-floor resident at Bartlett’s block had witnessed.

  Rob’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, his mind on the CCTV. “How are you getting on with those vehicles at Yousef’s?” he asked Mike.

  “Yeah, we’re getting there. We’ve whittled it down to twenty-seven possibles now,” he said. “It’s taking a while to contact all the owners. Most of them are happy to talk to us over the phone, but for anyone who isn’t or who sounds suspicious, we send a PC to check them out. So far, everyone’s been accounted for.”

  “Okay, keep me updated.”

  “Will do, guv.”

  * * *

  “Guv.” Jenny grabbed his attention as he emerged from the warren. He walked over to her desk.

  “What have you found?”

  “There are two references on the SAAFE website about a potentially dangerous man called Adam,” she said.

  It took Rob a moment to make the link. “As in Aadam Yousef?”

  “Maybe.” Her cheeks were flushed with excitement. “Look, it’s here under ‘Warnings and Wasters’.” She indicated some text on the screen.

  Arabic man. Over six foot. Calls himself Adam. Called late evening and wanted submissive GFE. Picked me up at Hounslow station in a BMW. Looked like he had money, but afterwards, refused to pay and when I tried to leave, got violent. Phone number xxxxxxxx328.

&nb
sp; “What’s submissive GFE?” Rob asked.

  “I’m not sure I want to know,” Jenny replied.

  “It’s an acronym for Girlfriend Experience,” said Will, coming over. “It basically means kissing and cuddling. It’s one of the most expensive services, actually.”

  Jenny stared at him.

  “Kissing is very personal,” he added with a shrug.

  Rob felt his phone buzz again. Whoever it was would have to wait.

  “Is that the only one?” he asked.

  “There are a few comments below — see?”

  Rob checked the replies to the post.

  Sounds like the same guy who got physical with me. Hounslow. Arabic. Name’s Adam. He looks rich but doesn’t pay.

  I know this guy. Did the same to me. Broke a tooth when I tried to leave.

  “Christ,” muttered Rob. “Why do they do it?”

  “The money’s good,” said Will. “Many of these girls are supporting kids, they need flexible hours and decent pay.”

  “But at what price?” murmured Rob.

  Jenny took a shaky breath. “Do you think this could be our guy?”

  “It’s possible,” said Rob. “Contact the site admin and get those protected mobile phone numbers for Adam and Doug. I’ll contact the phone company and see if we can get hold of their call logs. We might even be able to trace them to the killer.” But that was a very long shot.

  * * *

  Armed with the phone numbers, Rob went to see Lawrence, who was still in his bubble. It was dark outside and the rest of the team had knocked off for the night. As soon as he had requested the call logs and the trace, he would be out of here too. Yvette had called several times today, but he hadn’t been able to answer. He didn’t admit that he was scared she’d call him home again, and he couldn’t leave. The case was hotting up and he was the senior investigating officer. How would it look if he dashed off every time his wife had a wobble?

  Was that mean? He sighed, pushing the guilt aside. He’d pick up something nice on the way home and they could eat together and maybe watch a movie on Netflix or something.

  “Still here, sir?” He knocked on the glass, but as usual, the door was ajar.

  “Come in, Rob. I’ve been meaning to ask you for an update.” He closed his laptop and took off his glasses. “How’s it going?”

  “I think we’re finally getting somewhere.” Rob sank into the chair opposite Lawrence.

  “Oh, yes?”

  “Yeah.” He patted the folder in his lap. “We’ve managed to find a link between two of the victims. They were both listed on a forum used predominantly by sex workers to report violent and dangerous men.”

  The Superintendent’s eyes widened slightly.

  “DS Bird got hold of the site administrators, who gave us the men’s phone numbers. We’ll cross-reference their call logs to see if they contacted the same woman the day before or the day of their deaths.”

  “You think our killer is a prostitute?”

  “Yes, sir. Someone with a grudge against violent men.”

  “You said two of the victims were on this forum?”

  Rob shrugged. “Patterson, the second victim, doesn’t appear to have engaged a sex worker. There was nothing in his emails or call records to connect him to the others.”

  “Why was he targeted, then?”

  “Honestly, sir, I don’t know. We’re still putting the pieces together. But Yousef and Bartlett were both listed on this site. I’d like to request a warrant to access their phone records.”

  Lawrence nodded. “Of course, go ahead.”

  “Thanks.” Rob got up to leave.

  “How’s Yvette? I believe Becca’s been to see her.”

  Rob turned to face him. “Yes, Becca’s been a few times now. I think it’s dredging up some painful memories for Yvette, but that’s to be expected.”

  “Glad to hear she’s working through it.” The DSI got to his feet. “Go home, Rob. It’s been a long day.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rob put through the warrant request, then packed up. Lawrence was still in his office when he left the squad room.

  * * *

  “Hi, honey, I’m home,” sang Rob as he let himself in, his arms filled with takeaway bags from Yvette’s favourite Indian restaurant. They did a tasty saag paneer that she loved.

  Trigger bounced around at his feet, inordinately pleased to see him. He fondled the dog’s ears, then put the packages in the kitchen. “Yvette? I’ve bought dinner.”

  There was no reply.

  “Where is she, Trigs?” He poked his head into the lounge. There was a dent in the sofa where she usually sat curled up, her legs beneath her. The television was off. It was gone eight thirty. Yvette never missed an episode of Coronation Street.

  Mildly alarmed, Rob climbed the stairs and peered into their bedroom. Also deserted. Where had she gone? He knew for a fact she wouldn’t have left the house on her own accord. He pulled out his phone and rang her. It went to voicemail.

  He ran downstairs and back into the kitchen. “Yvette?” he yelled at the empty house. Could she have gone out? If so, where?

  He looked at the three missed calls he’d received today. What if something had happened to her? Heart thumping, he opened the sliding doors into the garden. Trigger immediately darted out as if to say, Are we going walkies?

  “In a sec, Trigger.”

  He walked back into the house looking for clues. Trigger’s bowl was empty, but that didn’t necessarily mean she hadn’t fed him. The exuberant Labrador wolfed down his food faster than you could prepare it. He opened a tin of dog food and emptied it into the bowl with some kibble. Trigger fell on it like a ravenous hyena.

  Frowning, he scrolled through his phone for her sister’s number. It rang several times before a feminine voice with the same lyrical quality as Yvette’s answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Naomi? This is Rob. Is Yvette there?”

  There was a pause, then Naomi replied. “Oui, one moment.”

  Rob exhaled in a long whoosh. Thank God. The line fell silent and nearly a full minute later, Yvette’s voice said, “Hello, Robert.” She only called him that when she was mad.

  “Jesus, Yvette. Why didn’t you tell me you were going out? I got home to an empty house and I was worried. Are you okay?”

  “I am now.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I couldn’t speak to you today, I’m in the middle of a case and it’s been really gathering pace today.”

  “I had an anxiety attack. I couldn’t stay there by myself, so I called Naomi.”

  “That’s okay. You did the right thing. I just wish you’d let me know, that’s all.”

  “I would have done if you’d answered your phone.”

  “You could have sent me a text.”

  A pause. “I’m going to stay here for a few days.”

  “Are you sure? I won’t be working all weekend.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  He didn’t bother to correct her. Now they were making headway in the investigation, he wouldn’t be able to stay away, and Yvette knew that. Most of his team would be working too. When they had an active investigation, free time went out of the window. Once the case was over, they’d have time off to rest and recuperate. That was just the way it was.

  “No, I think I need to be around people for a bit. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.”

  Rob could understand that. She was alone at home all day while he was at work. “Okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you today. I’ll come and fetch you on Sunday, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you.”

  Another pause. “Love you too.” Then the line went dead. Rob studied the mound of Indian food on the kitchen table. At least he’d worked up an appetite during the day.

  “I guess it’s just you and me, Trigger.”

  Chapter 21

  The River Thames shimmered beneath the cobalt-blue sky,
while the sun shone weakly overhead. Trigger loped happily beside him, darting off every few metres to chase a duck or pick up a stick, his tail a continuous blur. Rob watched as an eight-man rowing boat glided past, taking advantage of the good weather gap, their strong arms working in unison. They moved quickly and within seconds had rounded a bend in the river and disappeared.

  On the way home, Rob stopped at the local grocers and bought the paper, along with some eggs and bacon. He made a hearty breakfast, read the paper — there was no mention of Doug Bartlett’s murder — and, feeling revitalized, set off for work. Being a Saturday, the squad room was quieter than normal but his team would come in, even if it was only for part of the day. Lawrence’s office would stay empty, though. The Superintendent didn’t work weekends — he didn’t need to. That was one of the perks of being in charge.

  Rob logged on to his computer and took care of the first order of business. The warrant had been approved. He wasted no time getting on to the phone companies to request the call records for Aadam Yousef and Doug Bartlett. Once they had the telephone numbers, getting hold of the logs was easy. Both O2 and Vodafone agreed to send the records over as a matter of urgency. The big operators were used to working with law enforcement, particularly now a lot of organized crime was conducted via mobile phone.

  The coffee machine in the waiting room gargled away as Rob contemplated the connection between the two victims. Was it possible Yousef and Bartlett had been targeted because they beat up women? Was their killer someone who had had enough and decided to take matters into their own hands? While he waited for the rest of his team to arrive, he rang Tony and ran this past him.

  The criminal profiler was in agreement. “It would explain the frenzied nature of the attack, the multiple puncture wounds and the wily manner in which she gained entrance. I think you’re on the right track, mate.”

  Had the killer found “Adam” and “Doug” on the forum? Was that her hunting ground? But there was no sign of “Dennis” or “Den” on the site. Of course, he could have used a fake name, but Rob didn’t think he’d be on there. For one, he didn’t live in London, and two, he simply wasn’t the type.

  Mallory was first to arrive, followed by Mike and then Jeff, who was eating a McDonald’s Egg McMuffin.