Killer Princesses: Gripping and gritty, a twisty and tantalising thriller...

by Jennifer R Hollis

  He moved his team onto more familiar ground. They started a deep dive into the men in Janice and Caitlin’s lives. Here, the working theory was broader; that one of the men had, for some reason, decided to kill his partner and her close friend. Shortly after they began investigating, they caught a strong lead. Janice’s devastated husband clearly didn’t have the means to kill his partner and her friend. But the same could not be said for Caitlin’s new boyfriend, Christian.

  He was a wealthy trader in the city and had swept her off her feet. He’d showered her with gifts and promises of a fantastic future together. He hadn’t told her of his two juvenile convictions for assaulting young women, or his dismissal from military training for theft of a firearm. By the time they’d uncovered this, Christian had left the country. Then, after two wasted weeks, he presented himself to the UK Embassy in Spain. He returned with extensive evidence of his innocence, in the form of a video alibi and witness statements. He knew he’d be a suspect given his background, and he’d preferred to compile his defence from a sunny villa than the inside of a holding cell.

  Okafor re-focussed. ‘Don’t lose heart,’ he’d told his team. ‘We haven’t even scratched the surface of people our victims have come into contact with.’

  A re-examination of the Janice’s phone had revealed only one message of interest, sent from Janice to Caitlin just moments before someone shot her.

  “We know something dodgy is going on at work, linked to Princesses. It must all be run by someone at the store, they’re pulling the strings, must be to make money. We just need a bit more proof it’s who we think it is – then we report it.”

  The team should have passed it on to him when they first saw it. But he understood how they’d missed it. At first, they’d been looking for signs of organised criminal involvement, violent partners or stalkers. This message contained no such indication. All it told them was that the victims thought someone at work might be up to something’ dodgy.’ It wasn’t clear whether they’d report something to the police, or the Human Resources team. As for the link to ‘Princesses,’ no-one knew what that meant at that time.

  But, he’d thought, at least it gave his team another lead to follow. It was a mystery to solve, which may or may not help in the grander scheme of things. And it was better than nothing. They’d come close to having no leads at all, which would have taken some explaining to the Superintendent.

  Okafor hung his jacket over the back of his chair and switched on his computer. He opened a folder full of the transcripts from interviews with Janice and Caitlin’s colleagues.

  DS Duncan Hill, who had since moved onto investigating a series of violent crimes committed in the north of the borough, had conducted the interviews. His replacement, DS Joanne Harris, seemed far more energetic and ambitious than her predecessor. She was the one who’d spotted the text message, giving them the crucial lead they’d needed.

  Okafor’s eyes scrolled over pages of Renee Beck’s interview transcript and slid out of focus over her long-winded answers to some very straight-forward questions. He’d watched part of this interview live. He thought Renee rather liked the sound of her voice and was probably capable of talking her way out of anything.

  There was a knock on his door and DS Harris appeared, with two coffees and a bag of croissants.

  “DS Harris,’ Okafor smiled and beckoned her into the office.

  “Morning sir, I suspected I wouldn’t be the only one working this case today.” She handed him one of the coffees.

  “Quite. This one isn’t going to solve itself. Thanks for this,” Okafor gestured to the coffee, “and I appreciate your coming in. Why don’t you bring me up to speed on the last few days? I’ve seen you with your head down.”

  DS Harris sat down opposite her boss.

  “Sir, I’ve been through the papers from this investigation so far. I’ve tried to find a gap or a slip-up, but there isn’t one. The team did everything they should have.”

  Okafor nodded.

  “So, that brings us to the text message and the supermarket. Does that mean anything to you yet, Joanne?”

  “No, sir. But Karen Goldman did come in yesterday. I took the interview while you were out. She is now sure that she was at home with her husband.”

  “But didn’t think to confirm this sooner,” replied Okafor, rubbing the greying stubble on his chin. “Did she have anything else to say?”

  “Well, sir, I’m afraid Debbie spoke to her about our separate chat. She seemed to expect more from my conversation with her. At the end, she said she knew we’d asked Debbie about ‘Princesses’.”

  “That is disappointing,” Okafor sighed.

  “Yes, but then she went on to say that her colleague, Renee Beck, has a cat called Princess.”

  “Something dodgy going on, linked to Princesses,” he said, paraphrasing the text message. “That doesn’t fit with a cat, but let’s keep it in mind.”

  “Sir, should we assume what they discovered was serious. And that the colleague behind it found out they were onto them. To protect the secret, they killed the women, or arranged the murder?”

  “Correct, Joanne, we have to work on that basis. And if it turns out not to be so, that it is something unrelated, at least we can rule it out and move on to other leads which may appear in the meantime.”

  “Do you have an instinct, sir, some thoughts on where to start?”

  “Luckily, we have some semblance of a start already, as you’ve seen. Eight close colleagues, all interviewed and asked for their opinions and their whereabouts.”

  He placed the transcripts out on the table.

  “We have Gillian, Debbie and Karen. All roughly the same age, early 40s, no previous offences. All at home with their husbands at the time. Two husbands, so far, have concurred. Please check in with Peter Goldman today to confirm the third.”

  “Sir.”

  “Then we have Renee, Marie, and Dawn, all claiming to be at home alone. This Dawn, I can believe it. We barely got a word out of her during the interview; I can’t imagine she spends much time socialising. Same with Marie. But, you’ll see how she reacted in her interview. She did not respond well to questioning on her whereabouts. I find it very difficult to believe that Ms Beck was home alone. People like her don’t spend Friday nights in by themselves. But I suppose, if she was genuinely ill, she might not have had a choice. The two others, Jade and Ethan,” he continued, as DS Harris scribbled down notes, “both nineteen years old. He was in the pub, and she was at home because she can’t afford to go out. They barely knew the victims; they’re new to the job and were promoted after the incident to cover the hours.”

  “We need to talk to more people in the store, sir. Get a clearer picture of who these women did or didn’t get on with. And what they might have been suspicious about.”

  “Correct. Let’s get some more opinions on this friction between Janice and Caitlin, and Renee and Marie. Was there anything other than professional rivalry involved in it? Focus on the shop floor workers first; they’ll know more gossip than the managers. We need to know everything. Who’s seeing who, who’s complained about whom, who’s had too much time off, who’s working too hard. The full works.”

  DS Harris nodded, still scribbling in her notebook.

  “No more mention of ‘Princesses’, unless someone else raises it with us. And no more discussions with Debbie Gomez. She can’t be trusted not to blab to Karen and others.”

  “Yes sir,” replied DS Harris, standing up from her chair.

  “One last thing, Joanne,” said Okafor, as he felt a little jolt in his stomach usually associated with a hunch.

  “If we can stretch to it, keep an eye on Renee and Karen. If I were a betting man, I’d wager they’re lying about where they were that night. If you watch the videos, they have a similar look in their eyes. But whether that means they had anything to do with the murders, I don’t know.”

  DS Harris gave one last nod of assent, then left Okafor’s office. He
sat back in his chair and took a swig of his coffee. He smiled and picked up the transcripts again, ready to give them his full attention.

  9: Inside The Castle

  Sunday 14th October 2018 - Jade

  Jade once again stood outside the dilapidated ‘Castle’ building on the old market street in Croydon. The autumn sunshine had finally given way to lower temperatures and a miserable grey drizzle, which dripped off the hanging shop sign. The off-white paint was cracked along the window and door frames. It reminded Jade of old, dry skin flaking away from a once-healthy body.

  She approached the door with her usual uneasy feeling and wondered what lay ahead that evening. Most nights were quiet, and so were most of the men who snuck into The Castle. They, like her, wanted to get it over with and avoid eye-contact. How has it come to this? she thought, as she paused by the door.

  She tried to remember the details of how she got involved in ‘Princesses’. Someone she’d never met before had spoken to her on the estate and told her they knew an easy way to make money. They got her a job, working as a waitress in the evenings at a cash bar in town.

  She’d ended up in trouble, though, because some money went missing on her shift and they blamed her for it. They’d asked her to cover shifts at The Castle to make up for it.

  Her mother was in serious trouble at the time. So, against all better judgment, Jade agreed to switch to The Castle as a short-term measure. Months later, Jade knew that she’d lost control. She was blackmailed into staying and not contacting the police about her predicament.

  She pushed against the heavy door, hearing the slow creak of the hinges and the scraping against the uneven floor below. A tall, muscular man in a bomber jacket raised his head to look at her, smiled and gave her a key to one of the rooms upstairs.

  “Looks like a quiet night tonight love, call me if you get lonely,” he leered.

  She ignored him and climbed up the old wooden staircase, avoiding the exposed nails sticking out of the boards. As usual, she experienced a crushing inner conflict. On the one hand, she wished for no one else to walk through the door that evening; but then, no people meant no money.

  On her most desperate nights, she found herself wishing more of them into The Castle. She even gave out the horrible little business cards to customers and encouraged them to pass them on. On those nights, she hated herself just as much as the man on the phone and the faceless boss.

  She walked past three locked rooms. She never saw the other girls who worked there; they all arrived at different times. All the rooms were the same: old fashioned, dusty, with patterned wallpaper and carpets. They all had a small bathroom attached; she often wondered if the place had once been a hotel.

  An hour later, Jade remained alone, sitting on the creaky double bed in the centre of the room. The man downstairs had it right; it was a quiet night at The Castle. She sat in the musty old room, dwelling on the awful day she’d had.

  That morning, she’d arrived at the supermarket, a few minutes before 10 am. She dreaded a day working with Gillian, who seemed increasingly stressed about staff shortages and the rest of their team’s behaviour.

  She’d approached the Supervisor's desk, where Gillian was talking and gesturing at a scared-looking Dawn.

  “Obviously, Dawn, I don’t mind if people are ill, but I know she isn’t. I don’t know what Renee is up to, but I’ll give her a written warning if she can’t get a doctor's note.”

  Dawn had raised her eyebrows and looked at Jade over Gillian’s shoulders. Gillian spun round, and then looked relieved that it was only Jade standing there.

  “Jade, good morning.” Gillian had greeted her with her usual sweet smile.

  “Morning. I’m happy to cover the hours. You know, if Renee or anyone else is ill. I could work for the rest of this week?”

  Jade recalled the look on Gillian’s face. Her boss’ eyebrows and lips had narrowed, and she’d paused before answering.

  “Ah, yes that’s good to know, Jade. I expect Renee will be better soon, and there won’t be any extra hours for the foreseeable, but I will let you know.

  “Now,” she’d continued before Jade had a chance to respond. “We are short on the tills today; would you mind a shift on a checkout? Dawn and I can supervise, I don’t have much office work to do.”

  Gillian held out a till key and Jade once again felt she didn’t have a choice. Dawn had glanced at her apologetically, as Jade turned towards the till at the end of the row.

  She’d served customer after customer, all with trolleys full of expensive alcohol and food. Few of them seemed worried about the cost of it all. They spent hundreds and hundreds of pounds, which Jade so desperately needed, without a blink of an eye.

  One customer had spent the entire time complaining about the lack of organic hummus in the store. Anger had bubbled in the pit of Jade’s stomach. Was that all he had to worry about?

  At the end, he’d asked her if she had anything to say on the matter. She’d opened her mouth to respond, but all that came out was ‘Sorry,’ and he’d walked away with a sigh and his hands in the air.

  The only thing that had broken the monotony of day was the sight of DCI Vincent Okafor. His team hadn’t asked to speak to Jade again, for which she was thankful. It had been so strange to talk to them about murders she knew nothing about, rather than her horrible situation.

  She had left the supermarket as soon as she could and walked the familiar path towards the New Grange estate where she’d grown up. Within an hour, she’d reached her father’s place. He had bought the house next door to his own a few years ago and knocked down some of the connecting walls. His house was now the biggest on the estate, not that he ever invited her to it.

  He had many small businesses around Croydon. However, rumour had it that he and his sons made their real money from selling drugs. Either way, Jade had thought, he owed her nineteen years worth of birthday presents. Perhaps, he would even give her enough money to run away with her mother.

  Her stepmother looked down at her when she’d arrived at the door.

  “What do you want,” she’d asked bluntly, as her eyes looked Jade up and down. She looked less composed than usual and her dark roots were two inches long.

  “Is my Dad here?”

  “No, he’s away. What did you want from him, Jade?”

  “Just to say hello,” she muttered.

  “Yeah right, you want something from him - money no doubt?”

  Jade had looked at the floor and didn’t respond.

  “Well let me tell you, he’s got enough on his plate at the moment. This new Inspector is poking around his business, and he’s got rivals popping up everywhere. Your father’s priority is the boys and me. He doesn’t owe you or your junkie mother anything. Don’t come here again, I’m warning you.”

  Jade had wanted to cry and shout and punch everything around her. She thought about texting Ethan to ask for help, even though he’d barely spoken to her over the last few weeks. But she didn’t, because her phone rang, and the man told her to go to The Castle.

  A knock on the door to The Castle bedroom interrupted Jade’s thoughts and recollections from the day. She felt thankful, but at the same time nauseous, as if there wasn’t enough air in the room. She opened the door with what she hoped was a smile and let the man enter. He was old, definitely old enough to be her dad. His eyes darted around the room, and he scratched his head.

  “Come and sit down here,” she said, as confidently as she could. The man smiled, grateful for the instruction.

  “Are you ready?” she asked as she removed her vest. His hands shook as he tried to undo his zipper. She thought about starting a new life, far away from here, and made herself numb to anything else.

  After he left, a few more hours passed undisturbed until the clock clicked round to 2 am. Jade took a scalding hot shower, in an attempt to wash away the grime of the day. She dressed and left her room to give her key to the man in the bomber jacket. From the top of the stairs, s
he heard two men chatting and laughing.

  As she got closer, she recognised one of the voices; it was the cockney one she usually only heard over the phone. He was older and a bit heavier than she thought he would be, with squashed features and a bald head.

  He turned to look at Jade, then looked back to the bomber jacket man with a smile. “Which one is this then?” he asked, in his strong East London accent.

  “This is Jade,” the other man replied.

  “She doesn’t talk much,” he added as he took the room key from Jade and handed her a £20 note in return.

  “No way, Jade! We’ve been talking for a while now, haven’t we girl? Let me give you a lift home; I was only here to pick something up, the car is outside. I’m going back your way.”

  ‘No’, said a part of her brain that didn’t trust the man at all. After all, he’d threatened her mother after Jade tried to quit working for him and his boss. But she also felt exhausted and couldn’t face a 45-minute walk home alone in the dead of night. So, reluctantly, she said “Yes.”

  She followed the man to the car and got in. He leaned over her and placed a couple of envelopes and some packages in the glove box, and locked it.

  As they drove in silence, Jade stared out of the car window and thought about how much she hated the criminals behind ‘Princesses’ and the people who gave them money. She hated the police, who let them get away with it. She hated the inequality that led people like her into these inescapable situations.

  “You OK, girl?” asked the man, looking over towards Jade, who sighed.

  “I told you on the phone, I don’t want to do this anymore,” she whispered.

  “I hear you. But you need the money right, what else are you going to do?”

  “Maybe I don’t need the money anymore,” she lied.

  “No? Come on, girl, if that were true, you’d already be miles away, not sitting in my car. Look,” he continued as he steered the car into Jade’s small estate, “I get that you want out. I understand, because sometimes I do as well.”