by BIBA PEARCE
“I don’t know.” Jo stared into her glass. “Maybe he didn’t have her number?”
“I doubt they would have given it to him.”
Jo took a sip of her wine. “What time was Yousef killed?”
“Between 4 and 8 p.m.” said Rob. “Why?”
She nodded at the note she’d made. “His appointment was for two o’clock.”
Rob’s stomach sank.
“Would Amber have stayed there the whole time?” Jo gazed at him with wide eyes.
“No, it’s unlikely. You’re sure of the time?”
“Positive.”
He sighed. “I don’t know what the going rates are, but I’d imagine a two-or-more-hour appointment would cost a fair bit. But then, Yousef had the money.”
“I guess so.” She didn’t sound convinced. Well, neither was he.
Then he remembered something. “Yousef’s body showed no evidence of sexual intercourse. He didn’t have sex before he died.”
Jo frowned. “Now I’m really confused. If Amber killed him, she’d have been with him for over two hours. What were they doing if they weren’t having sex?”
Rob felt the tenuous link they had on this case dissolving. “Maybe Yousef was into something else, some weird fetish or something. Or maybe they were just hanging out. Will mentioned a Girlfriend Experience — just kissing and cuddling.”
Her dimple flashed. “I suppose that’s possible.”
They were silent for a moment, each sipping their drinks.
“What if he showered?” said Jo “Wouldn’t that wash away any traces of sex?”
Rob contemplated this for a moment. That was something they hadn’t considered. “It might have done. Let me ask the pathologist.” He pulled out his phone and called Liz Kramer, who was on her way home.
“You’d better not be sending me to a crime scene, Rob,” she said as soon as she picked up. By the hollow tone of her voice, he could tell she was using her hands-free kit.
He chuckled. “No, you’re okay, Liz. Just a quick question.”
“Fire away.”
“Is it possible Aadam Yousef, our first victim, showered before he was killed?”
A pause. They could hear the indicator ticking in the background. “He may have done. His hair wasn’t wet, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t shower.”
“So, he could have had sex before he died but it didn’t show up because he’d cleaned himself?”
“Yes, a shower with soap would wash away any trace of semen and other bodily fluids,” she confirmed.
Rob thanked her and hung up. Jo was staring at him expectantly.
“You’re right,” he said, his pulse ticking up a notch. “He could have showered after they had sex. Then come back downstairs and poured them both a drink — and that’s when the killer struck.”
Jo studied him. “It’s possible, but why would she wait until after he’d showered? Why didn’t she just kill him before they had sex? Let’s face it, if you’re going to murder someone, you may as well do it before you sleep with them, right?”
She had a point.
Jo continued, “And say, for argument’s sake, she did sleep with him first, how could she have known he was going to take a shower?”
Rob stared blankly at her. “You’re right. It doesn’t add up. She couldn’t have known.”
“Unless he was one of her regulars?” suggested Jo. “Maybe that was one of his quirks. He liked to shower immediately after sex.” She gave a little shrug.
“There are too many variables.” Rob sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Too many things that don’t add up. Like why did Doug call and not make a booking? Who was the woman on the CCTV if she wasn’t one of the girls from the agency? Why was Doug half-naked? And why was Patterson, the sales rep, targeted at all? We have a thin connection between Yousef and Bartlett, but it’s tenuous at best. The CPS would laugh us out of court.”
Jo pushed the piece of paper over to him. “Maybe Amber can shed some light.”
Rob put his hand on it. “Let’s bloody hope so.”
Chapter 24
After a couple more drinks, Rob announced he had to go. “Trigger is waiting for me at home.”
“It’s like having a child,” chuckled Jo. He admired the way her eyes glittered when she laughed.
“He keeps me company.”
A cold blast hit them as they walked outside. It was dark already, but no less busy. A mist hung over the street, illuminated yellow by the street lamps. Throngs of people marched up and down the pavements through the murky glow.
“How long is Yvette away for?”
He shrugged. “No idea. She doesn’t like being alone while I’m at work, and since I have a job to do . . .”
“Is she no better?” asked Jo.
“Not really. Becca’s giving her some support, but she’s still extremely agoraphobic. She won’t leave the house and jumps at every little thing. She’s convinced the person we’re hunting is going to come for me, like the Stalker did.”
Jo frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must be very hard.”
“Yeah, it’s a completely irrational fear. I wish there was something I could do, but apart from being with her constantly, which is obviously out of the question, there isn’t anything. I feel so helpless.”
Jo put a hand on his arm. “She’ll pull through. It’ll take some time, but she’ll get there.”
“I hope so.”
Jo hesitated, then pulled him into a hug. He held her close, absorbing her warmth. For a moment all was right with the world.
“I’d better get home.” He backed away.
She nodded. “Keep me posted.”
“I will, and thanks for today. I appreciate the risk you took.”
She grinned. “It was fun. I always enjoy working with you, Rob.”
The problem was, so did he.
* * *
Amber’s real name was Ingrid Harris and she lived in Camberwell, a supposedly up-and-coming borough in South London. As Rob drove through the litter-strewn streets, all he could see were looming council blocks, red-brick terraced houses that looked like cardboard cut-outs, and small parades of shops containing a newsagent, an off-licence and, of course, a pub. Groups of youths in hoodies accumulated on street corners, some on bikes and others on foot, mostly up to no good. It was ten in the morning — why weren’t they at school?
“I wouldn’t want to live here,” said Mallory, echoing his thoughts.
They passed an ambulance flying in the opposite direction, its siren screeching through the mid-morning air. It was another cold, drizzly day and the wipers were on, clearing the windscreen when it became slick with rain.
“What’s the postcode?” asked Rob.
Mallory relayed it from memory and Rob entered it into the satnav. The blue line led them further down the road, then left into a long, suburban street, and right into what looked like another council block, although this one was in better condition than the others. It had a landscaped garden out front with a small children’s play area, although it was deserted on account of the weather. Rob parked on the road outside. Bad things happened to police vehicles in council blocks, and even though theirs was unmarked the troublemakers always spotted them.
“Flat nineteen,” said Mallory. “Canbury House.”
The complex was broken up into three different blocks. Canbury House was in the middle. They entered through a pedestrian walkway and jogged through the rain, past the playground and across the concrete car park to the entrance. Rob shook out his jacket, then buzzed number nineteen.
A tinny voice said, “Yeah?”
“It’s the police,” said Rob. “We need to ask you a few questions.”
Silence. Rob thought she’d gone and was about to buzz again when the voice said, “Come in.”
Surprised, he glanced at Mallory. That didn’t usually happen, especially with people who liked to fly under the radar. Mallory shrugged. He wasn’t complaining.
&nb
sp; They followed the signs to the first floor and found number nineteen at the end of a draughty corridor. The door was already open and a young woman stood there in a towelling robe. Her strawberry-blonde hair was piled up in a makeshift bun and her skin was devoid of make-up. Rob realized that she probably worked nights and they must have woken her up. She looked tired, with soft purple shadows beneath her eyes. He put her age at around thirty, give or take.
“Sorry to disturb you, Miss Harris,” he began, watching her expression. “We’d like to ask you some questions about Aadam Yousef, one of Amber’s customers.”
She paused, unsure of what to say. The red bulb from inside the apartment made her hair glow with a pink aura. Eventually she asked, “Who?”
“Amber. Your alter ego.”
“No, which customer.” It seemed she was going to cooperate. Good.
He smiled. “Aadam Yousef, but you probably know him as Adam.”
Mallory showed her the picture of Yousef. She cringed. “Shit. What happened to him?”
“We were hoping you could tell us.” Rob jostled forward so she had no choice but to step back inside the apartment. “Do you mind if we come in?”
Reluctantly, she beckoned them inside. They followed her down a small passage into the living area. It was comfortably decorated in bright colours with fluffy cushions on the sofa and a knitted turquoise throw on the armchair. The blinds were raised and the rain pattered down on the windowpanes. She gestured for them to sit down.
Rob picked up a heart-shaped pillow and handed it to Mallory, before sitting down. Mallory hesitated, then sat beside his boss, tucking the cushion in the crease beside him. Ingrid perched on the edge of the old armchair, which creaked disapprovingly.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Her eyes were fixed on the photograph in Mallory’s hand.
Rob nodded. “Yes, and we think you might have been the last person to see him alive.”
She stiffened. “I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“We didn’t say you did,” said Rob, who had been secretly hoping she had done. It would have made life so much easier. But faced with this girly thirty-year-old in her pink nightgown and bare feet, he wasn’t convinced she was the cold-blooded killer they were after.
“Could you tell us about the last time you saw him?” he asked, in a gentle, non-threatening voice.
She bit her lip. Admitting she was at his house would be construed as soliciting and she could get arrested. He put her mind at rest. “We’re homicide detectives, Miss Harris. We’re not concerned with why you were there.”
Her shoulders dropped as she visibly relaxed. “Okay, well I got there at two o’clock. That was the time of our . . . appointment.”
“Had you visited him before?” Rob asked.
She shook her head. “No, this was my first time with Adam. You were right, that’s what he called himself.”
They both nodded.
“He offered me a drink, which I refused.” She arched an eyebrow. “You can’t be too careful.”
Christ, Rob thought with a shudder. He was immensely glad he didn’t have daughters. He wouldn’t get a wink of sleep. “What then?”
“We went upstairs.” She gazed at them pointedly. They got the message.
“And afterwards?” asked Rob. “Did he pay you?”
“Yes, he did, although he liked it rough, if you get my drift. Some of them do. They like to show you who’s boss.”
He thought he saw her shudder. “Did he hurt you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Anyway, afterwards I took my money and left.”
“How did you get to his house?” said Mallory.
“I took the train. He’s a bit far out, in Hounslow, but I’d heard from the other girls that he paid well, so I figured it would be worth it.”
“And did he? Pay well?”
“Yeah, he likes the add-ons, so it all adds up. Not really my cup of tea, but beggars can’t be choosers, eh?” She giggled.
Rob cringed inwardly. What kind of life was this? Ingrid was young enough to get married, have kids and live a normal life. What was she doing selling herself to men who liked to show them who’s boss? He sighed and reminded himself it wasn’t his place to judge.
“What time did you leave?” asked Mallory.
“Three. I had another client at five, so I took an Uber. The tube can be a bitch after schools kick out.”
Jesus. Two appointments back to back. No wonder she looked knackered.
“And he was in good health when you left him?”
She met his gaze. “Yeah, he was fine. Nothing wrong with him. He even had a smile on his face.”
“Can anyone vouch for you?” said Mallory.
“The Uber driver,” she said. “You wanna check my phone?”
“Please, if you don’t mind,” said Rob.
She disappeared, presumably to the bedroom, but came back a moment later holding a rose-gold iPhone. “I’ll just pull it up for you.”
She pressed the screen a couple of times and then handed the phone over to him. He was looking at her Uber app. The last one was 3.07 p.m. on Monday 27 January. Just like she’d said.
He took a screenshot of the page and handed the phone back to her. “Would you mind sending that to me?” Her eyes narrowed. “It clears you from our investigation,” he added.
“Oh, in that case, sure.” He gave her his number and she WhatsApped it to him.
“How about these men?” Mallory took two more photographs out of his jacket pocket and held them up. The first was of Dennis Patterson, the second Doug Bartlett. “Do you know either of them?”
She studied the shots for a long time, then shook her head. “No, I don’t know them.”
“Not customers?” asked Rob.
She gave him a hard look. “No. I’d tell you if they were. I’ve been straight up with you.” She fidgeted. “Is that all?”
“One more thing,” he said. She groaned, but he ignored her. “Did you notice anyone else outside when you left Adam’s house? Anyone standing in the shadows or waiting in a car, that sort of thing?”
She thought for a moment. “Nah, sorry. I didn’t see no one, but then I wasn’t really looking.”
This had not gone the way he’d expected. Instead of finding their killer, they’d met with yet another dead end. Yousef had been alive and well when Ingrid had left him. He was pretty sure the Uber driver would vouch for her. She wasn’t their killer.
Chapter 25
Sure enough, the Uber driver confirmed Ingrid’s alibi. He’d picked her up at seven minutes past three and taken her home to Camberwell. “Sweet girl,” he’d called her.
“So, the escort is in the clear?” enquired Lawrence later that day. Rob was standing with him beside the coffee machine outside the squad room. There was no one else around.
“It looks that way.” Rob sighed. The coffee machine gurgled. “And she’s never met Patterson or Bartlett before.”
“Could she be lying?”
“I don’t think so. She didn’t lie about knowing Yousef. And she took a long look at their photos. I really don’t think she knew them.”
The Superintendent took his mug out of the machine. It had My daddy catches bad guys written on the side. Rob put his down and pushed the button. It spluttered to life.
“Where does that leave us?” asked Lawrence.
“No closer to finding the killer, sir.” Rob leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. He felt like a school kid who’d been caught doing something wrong. Except he hadn’t. He’d followed the trail of evidence and done everything right, yet it had still led nowhere.
“I suppose it has occurred to you that the killer might not be an escort.”
“Yes, but both Yousef and Bartlett were customers of Daring Divas escort agency. That’s the only link we have, so it would stand to reason that it was someone connected with the agency.”
“But Patterson wasn’t?”<
br />
“No.”
“I admit, it seems like a hell of a coincidence.”
There was a pause while Rob reached for his coffee. The machine burbled to a stop. “Who else has access to the agency booking system?” asked the DSI.
Rob thought back. “Francine, of course. Then there are the telephone operators who take the bookings.”
“Could it be one of them?”
“It could,” Rob said. “But in order to question them, I’m going to need that warrant you didn’t want to give me.”
Lawrence sighed. “Okay, let me have a word with Bryson and I’ll get back to you.”
Rob nodded. “Both Yousef and Bartlett are on that website.”
The Superintendent, who was about to turn around and go back into the squad room, halted. “The forum site?”
“Yeah. But if that’s how the killer is targeting them, it could be anyone.” Rob thought about the fake profile Will had set up. “There is one way we could test that theory.”
The Superintendent raised his eyebrows.
“Will, I mean DS Freemont, has set up a bogus profile on the forum, pretending to be an escort. He could post a warning about a punter who enjoys beating up women — we’ll make him look really bad — and then we wait to see if anyone requests the guy’s details.”
“You think that’ll work?”
“I don’t know, but it’s worth a shot. If that is how the killer is finding them, she might want to teach this guy a lesson too.”
Lawrence pondered this for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “Okay, run with it, but in the meantime, I’ll get you that warrant. Enough pissing around now, we need to clear everybody from the agency first.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
Rob and Mallory were back at Daring Divas. It had gone five o’clock and since they’d been there, the phone hadn’t stopped ringing. Instead of the young woman who was there before, another lady sat behind the reception. She was older, in her forties, with curly brown hair and a pinched expression. Still, she smiled politely when they walked in.
“We’re here to see Francine,” Rob told her.
The woman buzzed her manager, who came out of her office. “Come this way, officers.”