Working Girls

by Maureen Carter

  “I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her,” Ozzie confided.

  Bev grinned. “You’re just peeved cause she was giving you a hard time.”

  “I beg your pardon.” His face was going as red as his tomato juice.

  She lifted a placatory hand. “Sorry. I meant, winding you up.” She wished he wouldn’t purse his lips like that. “Anyway, you know what I mean.”

  “You’re simple enough. It’s women like her I can’t follow. All that nudge-nudge wink-wink stuff.”

  Bev shovelled sugar into her tea, then remembered she’d given it up.

  “You’re not going all prudy on me, are you, Oz? She’s a hooker. She’s not going to spout Shakespeare, is she?”

  He shrugged. “S’pose not. Anyway her tactic’s pretty subtle, isn’t it?”

  It certainly was. “What tactic?”

  “Obfuscation. And not just at my expense. She hid behind it from the word go. All those gags about you looking for work and Kipling’s cakes.” He wiped a bread roll round his soup dish. “While she’s cracking dubious jokes, she’s not exactly giving anything away.”

  Obfuscation? Must be a legal term. She’d never seen him so heated, but was it anger at what he saw as Marlene’s wool-pulling or was he pissed off because she’d flashed her knickers at him?

  “What makes you think the lady’s got any goodies worth sharing?”

  “Methinks the lady dith protest too much.”

  “Doth.”

  “Whatever.” He shrugged and there was a peal of laughter from four old dears at the nearest table. Oz flashed them a smile. Bev wondered if he went for the older woman and quickly calculated how many years she could give him.

  He was still waiting for her response.

  “I hear what you’re saying, Oz. All that stuff about jumping from windows. And liking them young.”

  “And how come she only asked about Vicki Flinn? You told her a girl was dead.”

  “And another was in hospital.” Bev chewed her bottom lip. “She might have seen it in the paper. Michelle’s murder was all over the front page on Saturday. And Cassie’s attack made a few lines in the Star this morning.”

  “Could be. You’d think she’d have mentioned it though.”

  “Then again she could be genuinely scared. One toe out of line and, with Charlie Hawes, you’ve lost your legs.”

  “That’s the trouble, Sarge. If people don’t talk – how the hell are we going to find out anything?”

  “Let’s go and have a word with old Lil. Nothing fazes her. She’s seen off three husbands and number four didn’t look too good last time I saw him. If that doesn’t work –” she brushed stray crumbs off her skirt – “I’ll have to come up with something else.”

  She waited outside while he settled the bill. She’d said nothing to Oz, but Marlene had already given her an idea. She just needed a little time to think it through.

  “Coupla packs of Polos, please, Lil.”

  “They’ll rot your teeth, y’know.”

  Bev laughed; judging by the state of Lil’s pearlies, she spoke from bittersweet experience. Seen it all, had Lil. The old girl had been a fixture on the corner of Thread Street as long as anyone could remember. Back in Bev’s days on the beat, the kiosk had been a regular port of call for many a clandestine smoke. Sucked mints then, as well. She handed Ozzie a tube and pocketed the other. “Anyhow, Lil. How’s it going?”

  “Damn sight better than it’s goin’ for you lot.” The cackle was straight off a blasted heath. Like a streak of lightning, Lil’s hand shot out, clutching a folded copy of The Mirror. “Shift yourself, girl.” Bev stepped aside. Without breaking stride, a puce-faced jogger ran past, snatched the paper and shoved it down his vest. He disappeared before Bev drew breath.

  Lil smiled. “Don’t worry. He’ll settle up on Sat’day.” She jabbed a none-too-clean finger in the air. “And you haven’t paid for them mints.”

  Bev tried her pockets, then tried it on. “Got any change, Oz?”

  Lil slipped the coins into a bum bag round her middle, slapped hands on hips, and cast an appraising eye. “Who’s your young fella then, Bev?”

  They exchanged bemused glances as Lil emerged from her cubby hole for a more formal introduction. She’d come over all coquettish, gently rocking on her grubby trainers like a Spice Girl’s granny. With difficulty, Bev kept a straight face. “Lilian Higgs. This is DC Ossama Khan. Ozzie. This is…”

  He bowed his head, extended a hand. “Mrs Higgs. Or may I call you Lil?”

  Bev observed agog. Talk about putty. The old darling was drooling.

  “Eh, Bev! You’ll stick like that if the wind changes.” Lil laughed and removed a nub end from behind her ear. “Got a light?” She shuffled nearer while Bev ferreted in her bag for matches.

  “Ta, duck.” She blew the smoke through the side of her mouth, which probably accounted for the odd tobacco highlight among the grey strands. “Any road. You aren’t here to talk about the weather. What’s up?”

  Bev held out empty hands. “I’ll be honest with you Lil. We’re up shit creek without a teaspoon.”

  “That young tart?”

  “Did you know her?” Bev asked.

  She waited while Lil picked and flicked a fleck of tobacco from her top lip. “Bit. Seen her round. And her mate.”

  “Vicki Flinn?”

  “Nah. Whatsername? Cassie somethin’. Shared a room up at Fair Oaks, they did. She was shittin’ herself about Shell.”

  “When was this?”

  “Sat’day. Late afternoon. Didn’t know a thing till she seen it in the paper. She was standin’ right where you are now. I told her she ought to talk to your lot.”

  “And?”

  “‘I ain’t talkin’ to no cops,’ she says. She was shakin’ like a leaf, poor cow.”

  Bev considered this. “What else did she say?”

  “Said she didn’t know anything. Didn’t believe her though, and I was right an’ all.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “She’s in hospital, isn’t she?”

  Talking to no one, thought Bev. “When did you last see Michelle?”

  Lil stuck her bottom lip out. “Must have been Friday. Day she copped it.”

  Bev felt a stir of excitement. “What time would that be?”

  “Nine. Half nine.”

  “Wagging, was she?”

  “Not unless she was at night school.”

  Bev’s eyes widened. She almost grabbed the old woman’s scrawny arm but several unidentified objects lurked in the creases of her greatcoat. “You saw Michelle Lucas the night she died?”

  “That’s what I said, innit?”

  The eyes were blazing now. “For Christ’s sake, Lil. Why the hell didn’t you say something, come forward, pick up the phone?” The old woman shrugged. “No point. She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  “She was murdered, Lil. Whoever killed her is still out there.”

  “Exactly. But the bloke I seen her with isn’t a killer. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s a right gent.”

  11

  “What do you want?”

  The woman’s door was barely open but he still caught a whiff of cooking fat and cooped-up cats. A skinny tortoiseshell sidled through the gap and marked its freedom by depositing white hairs on black trousers. He bent to stroke it, but the cat hissed and bared its teeth. The woman looked as if she’d like to do the same.

  He straightened up, gave a lazy smile. “What do I want? That’s no way to greet an old friend of the family.” Smile still in place, he pulled an envelope from his coat pocket. “Especially when he comes bearing gifts.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she made a grab, but he swung it out of reach.

  “First things first, Mrs Flinn. Where are your manners? Shouldn’t you be inviting me in?”

  She folded thin white arms across a scrawny chest. “I should be phoning the Bill, that’s what I should be doing. And if that fool daughter of mine had anything de
cent between her ears, she’d be telling you to sod off.”

  His mouth tightened. “But she hasn’t. And she isn’t.” He put a foot in the doorway and a finger on her cheek. “And you want to watch your mouth.”

  She stepped back and rubbed a hand across her face, distorting lines already etched too deep. Her belligerence gave way to resignation.

  “What do you want, Charlie?”

  “A little chat. That’s all.”

  She hesitated, knowing he wouldn’t give up without a fight. She couldn’t believe Vicki had gone off with him. Not after all she’d said. Stupid cow couldn’t even say it face to face. Reluctantly she opened the door wider. “Five minutes. That’s all.”

  He took a deep breath and followed her through a dark passageway. He had to squeeze past an upturned bike without a chain and a cardboard box full of sleeping kittens. The kitchen was filthy. Hairs and grease everywhere. There was something sticky on the soles of his shoes but he had no desire to investigate. He hovered in the doorway, careful not to touch anything.

  “See you sold your shares in Proctor and Gamble then.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  There was a carry-cot on the floor near the cooker. A baby was crying: face red, fists clenched, tufts of dark hair sticking out from her tiny head.

  “Little Lucie doesn’t sound too happy.”

  The woman had positioned herself against the sink, aiming for the laid-back look. “Keep away from her. She’s too young even for you.”

  He didn’t say anything, just slowly – very slowly – looked her up and down. Everything about her was faded: ill-fitting denims, sloppy sweater, mouse-coloured hair. Taking his time, he walked towards her, shaking his head, tutting. “Didn’t get the message, did you?”

  “What message?” Had Vicki sent another note?

  The expression ‘didn’t know what hit her’ made sense now. She saw the hand, subconsciously admired the long, manicured nails, but the blow didn’t register for several seconds. Then, tentatively, she ran her tongue along her teeth; the loose one at the front was hanging by a thread. She knew he was watching her, waiting for a reaction, but she was too busy bracing herself for the next strike.

  He lifted his hand but only to reach for a greying dishcloth festering on the draining board. He held it between thumb and index finger and flung it in her face. “Told you to watch your mouth, didn’t I?”

  The blood tasted vile. She could feel it oozing down her chin. Her lip was probably split as well. He was close enough for her to count the tiny flecks of hazel in his eyes. She was shaking so much only the sink was keeping her upright. She used every ounce of effort to keep her voice level. “You don’t scare me, you little shit.”

  He stroked a finger along his jawbone then tapped it slowly several times on his chin. The silence was awful. She broke it without thinking. “Soon as you’re out of here, I’m on to the cops.”

  He sighed. “I don’t think so.”

  Steeling himself to touch her, he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her head back. The cold water was a shock. It was splashing into her eyes, running into her mouth and nose. Struggling made it worse. She couldn’t catch her breath. The panic accelerated when she realised his hand wasn’t on the cold tap.

  His eyes were searching the window sill behind her. “Watch it. Wash it. It’s all the same to me, Annie.”

  She stiffened as he reached across her for a spray gun, held it in front of her eyes.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll save you a bit. You’ll be able to give the place a good scrubbing when I’m gone. I’m surprised at you, Annie. You could age trees with the rings on that top over there. Get a grip, girl. The social wouldn’t like it. Not with young Lucie around.”

  The baby was transfixed: staring, wide-eyed.

  He held the container aloft, apparently studying the label. “It’s good stuff, this, Annie. Anti-bacterial. Just the job.”

  She screwed her eyes, tried not to scream as the liquid hit her lip. It tasted worse than the blood. When she spat, he rammed it into her mouth. She started to gag and her knees gave way. He held on for a few seconds, then let her drop. There was a hank of hair in his fist. He leaned over her, rinsed it off his hands. He curled his lip as the hairs joined tea-leaves and eggshells clinging to the bottom of the sink.

  The woman was on the floor, slumped against a cupboard, her sweater soaked and blood-stained. He nudged her with his foot. “Accidents in the home, huh?” He tutted. “Who’d have thought it? Sooner you get that seen to, the better.” He looked round for a cloth to dry his hands. A tea towel had dropped from a hook on to a dish of dried-up cat food. He left it, shook his head, knelt beside her. “Look, Annie. You’re a busy woman. I only came to get a few things straight, then I’ll get out of your hair. Okay?” He gently lifted her face towards him. “Okay?”

  She didn’t react so he moved her head up and down in an exaggerated nod. “Thing is, we don’t want Mr Policeman round asking tricky questions, do we?” Now a heavy-handed shake. “Lost your tongue, have you?”

  She tried to speak but her lips were swollen, her mouth on fire.

  “What did you say, Annie?” He paused. “Did you say you swear on Lucie’s pathetic little life you won’t talk to the police?”

  She nodded.

  “And did you say you’d rather eat shit than breathe a word against me?”

  Another nod.

  “And did you say you’ll be only too delighted to let them know Vicki’s with a friend, in Brighton, you think. You’d like to help more of course, but you don’t know the friend’s name, let alone her address.”

  “Shore.”

  He laughed. “That’s right. Sea shore. Now. Just to show there are no hard feelings.” He reached into an inside pocket and handed her the envelope. “There’s a few quid in here. Don’t spend it down the boozer. It’s from me and Vicki, for you. Right?”

  She nodded again, followed him with her eyes as he got to his feet and walked to the carry-cot. He bent down and chucked the baby’s chin. Lucie’s bottom lip quivered but then she grinned revealing two perfect white teeth. Charlie turned his head to the woman. “Got your eyes, hasn’t she, Annie?” He stroked the child’s hair, reached into his pocket and laid a small furry bundle by the child. “And that’s something for the kid. Just from Vicki. Special delivery.”

  He was back across the room in seconds, grin like a Cheshire cat on cream. “That seems to be everything… for now. Make sure you have got it right, won’t you, Annie? Next time, it’ll be bleach. And I’ll bring my own shooter.”

  12

  Bev jabbed Byford’s number into the car phone. There was a slim chance he’d still be at Henry Brand’s place. The way Ozzie was driving, they’d find out soon enough anyway.

  “Come on. Dammit.”

  “Can’t go any faster, Sarge.”

  She stopped drumming the dashboard. “Not you. Where’s the guv? Why isn’t he answering?”

  “Search me.” It was an enticing prospect but not one to dwell on. If Lil Higgs was right, the last man to have been seen with Michelle Lucas was currently entertaining the governor and the DI. Lil had seen it all from the steamed-up window of a number 50. Friday night was bingo night and she’d been on her way to meet a mate out of the Essoldo. She’d spotted two figures arguing near a car parked on double yellows just up from the Taj Mahal. She’d clocked Brand straight off and – curious – had swivelled round to see the girl’s face. Lil had been in no doubt: “Michelle Lucas or I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

  Bev shook her head. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  Ozzie, who was taking a corner on two wheels and a prayer, beamed. “Thanks, Sarge. Reckon I should go in for the advanced course?”

  “What?”

  “Driving, the —”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She swatted the words away. “I mean, as a rule, Lil’s as canny as a barn full of owls. But ’cause it’s Henry Brand she didn’t even think about it.”


  “She did. Just didn’t think it worth mentioning.”

  “’Cause he wears dark suits and talks posh?”

  “Because he taught her kids and her grandkids and she’s known him for years.”

  “That’s okay, then. Proper gent, isn’t he?”

  “I’m only trying to see it from Lil’s point of view, Sarge. Women of her generation still look up to men like that: teachers, doctors, vicars. You know what I mean.”

  Bev closed her gaping mouth. “Well done, Khan. That’s a clean sweep. Ageist, sexist and élitist.”

  She saw his hands tighten on the wheel. “Doesn’t make me wrong.”

  They drove in silence. Ozzie slowed at one point to allow an ambulance to overtake, blue lights flashing. She tried Byford again; this time the number was engaged. A couple of times, she caught Ozzie glancing at her, something obviously on his mind. They were almost at Brand’s before he decided to share it. “You know, even if Lil did see Brand with Michelle – it doesn’t follow that he killed her.”

  “It follows that she was dead not long after. It follows that he’s a lying toe-rag. And it follows that he’s got a stack of questions to answer.”

  She folded her arms, waiting for a response.

  “What the fuck —?”

  She followed his gaze. The F-word from Ozzie was a shock; so was the scene outside Brand’s house. Byford’s motor was all but hidden by a bank of police patrol cars, estates emblazoned with media logos and an ambulance with its lights still flashing.

  Big Val was feeling small. She stood in the middle of the pavement looking up at Highgate nick. She’d never gone in through the front door before. Come to think of it, she’d never been near the place without a police escort. She’d been hauled in more times than a fishing net but always accompanied by a couple of vice boys. They’d drive round the back and drop her off in the custody suite where she was on first-name terms with everyone and even more familiar with the routine: form-filling followed by cash and condom-counting. As long as a girl wasn’t pissed or stoned, she could be processed and back on the patch within an hour. Being brought in was one thing, to turn up voluntarily something else. She caught a glimpse of herself in the huge glass edifice: black boots, white leggings, chequered blouson. She looked like a nun on a zebra crossing. Christ, if she didn’t stop dithering, she’d get taken in anyway. She sucked a last drag on her fag and slung it in the gutter.