by Martina Cole
Terri knew that she should tell this woman the truth, but she was frightened. Peter Bates had warned her to keep stumm, and she knew he meant it. But Danielle had been murdered, and Terri knew she had to tell at least a bit about their daily lives.
‘We would have the flat at different times. We didn’t really have a system, we worked on bookings. We advertised in the local paper, men rang us up, and we . . . you know, we would entertain them. We always gave each other plenty of space. She had regulars like me, but we also had a lot of passing trade, you know. Men working in the area who might want a bit of company, men from nearby towns who look in the local papers for a bit of excitement. You know, as well as I do, that in our game you never know who’s going to turn up, and as long as they have the money they are guaranteed a warm welcome. I mean, we ain’t cheap, it’s a onner a time, straight sex, no kissing and oral sex is extra. We ain’t bloody stupid, we earned. But I can’t think of anyone who would do that. Most of them are the usual fucking idiots who have to pay for a nice-looking girl. Let’s face it, if they were on the ball, they wouldn’t have to pay for it, would they?’ She started to cry again and Annie instinctively put out her arms and, holding the girl gently, she let her cry.
She wished Kate would hurry up, she needed her expertise at this point, she had never before been involved in anything like this. This kind of murder would hit the papers and the place would be crawling with reporters by the morning. This kind of crime brought a spotlight down on the police involved that made their job even harder. She needed Kate’s experience and her level-headed approach to life. She needed her to walk her through this because it was unlike anything Annie had seen before.
As Terri sobbed out her shock and her fear, Annie wondered what the coroner would find out from the girl’s body. She knew it was imperative to get the autopsy out of the way as soon as possible. The door opened and a young PC said loudly, ‘Mrs Crosby is here, ma’am.’
Annie saw that Kate was talking to the men outside. She was already taking charge, and Annie was grateful for that. It meant she had Kate’s support from the off, and she needed that more than she cared to admit.
‘Are you saying a punter murdered the girl in my property?’
Peter Bates liked Pat Kelly but sometimes he could quite happily smack him one. The fact that Pat Kelly was a foot taller and two stone heavier was the main reason he didn’t bring that wish to fruition.
‘Yes, Pat, but I wasn’t to know that was going to happen, was I? The girls have been working out of there for yonks. How could anyone predict a fucking nut-bag turning up and outing one of them? I think it’s a fucking diabolical liberty meself.’
‘Oh you do, do you? How about the fact that I thought the flats were for renting purposes only and, forgive me for being somewhat obtuse, but why ain’t I been paid the going rate for letting my drums be used as fucking brothels! Kate will have my nuts in a carrier bag for this, boy. She won’t believe I knew nothing about it . . .’
Peter Bates was short and stocky and, when the fancy took him, extremely argumentative. He was known for his quick temper, and even quicker departures. Especially when he thought he might have overstayed his welcome. He could never resist a con, and now his partnership with Patrick Kelly had been dragged into the daylight his serious earnings were suddenly looking very precarious. He was a worried man, he had not let on about the flats’ real use. He had not thought he would have to. It had been a doddle so far, an easy earn. Now though, it had well and truly fallen out of bed. In more ways than one.
Book One
Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm:
For love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave.
Song of Solomon, 8:6
Chapter One
Janie Moore was tired out. She had been working for hours. She had a virus, and it had really knocked her for six. She had to keep going though. After all, once she finished, she had a few days off. She preferred it like this. She loved having a bit of time to herself, a bit of time with her kids. She liked the money, but she also liked the hours. It suited her to work all day, then she could have a couple of days off. She was new to the game and still had the wide-eyed naivety, the belief that it was only for the interim. That she would stop once she either found Mr Right, or she found another job that paid enough for her to keep her and her kids. Deep down she knew that was never going to happen. Some of the girls who used the flat were paying for themselves through college, or for some kind of education. They were determined to better themselves. Janie knew inside that she was never going to be like them. She was hoping for a man to take her life over, but she saw that, after this job, whoever it was would not only need to be passable in the looks department, but generous in the financial sense. Sex was not something she craved any more. In fact, it was something best left out of any marriage equation, she had had her fill of it in all its scummy, pretend glory.
But all in all, she thanked her lucky stars for the work because she had two kids under three, and the fathers had both gone on the trot early on in her pregnancies. They’d abandoned her and their offspring without a second thought. Janie had learned the hard way that money was important, and talk was bloody cheap. She’d learned that promises were something that only the rich could afford. She had been promised so much in her young life, and she had believed that the men making the promises would make good on them. Instead, she had been left with two babies, a mountain of debt and a drug problem. She’d been helped off that. She counted herself fortunate because she had not suffered physically after giving birth. She had hardly a stretch-mark on her, and she still looked good in her underwear. She knew how devastating a pregnancy could be on the body, had seen mates who had delivered a child and been left with a stomach that looked like a map of the London Underground. She had carried low and had not put on much weight. She had popped both her boys out quickly and cleanly, and she had loved them both with a passion from their first breaths. She’d nearly lost them over the drugs. She had ended up on the bash for them, to give them everything they needed. To ensure they had a better start in life than she had. She was saving, building a little nest egg, she wanted to take them on holidays, wanted to see them play in the sea, thrive under a foreign sun. They would have everything, and she would do anything to make sure that was the case. She dreamed of a man, a kind man, who would love her and her boys. Who would give her security and love.
Janie was already settled into the life, and she knew deep down that she didn’t want a real relationship; the job she had chosen made sure of that. She would accept security over passion. She was too used to strange men climbing on top of her, using her for a given amount of time, and paying her for the privilege. She had her regulars, and she had her appointments. She also had her other life, with her sons, her mum, and her friends.
The only man she would want now was one who could offer her and her boys a good standard of living, and who would not make too many demands on her. A decent man with a few quid and a nice disposition. It wasn’t really that much to ask.
Janie Moore repaired her lipstick and waited for her next appointment. She was tired and irritable, but what could she do? Work was work, and she needed the money.
Kate was sipping her tea. She stared out of the window at the cold winter’s day. It was freezing. The frost was still glistening on the rooftops, and the wind was loud enough to be heard through the walls. The view from the police station was depressing - it was all cement buildings and car parks.
Every time she closed her eyes she saw the body of Danielle Crosby, saw the way she had been butchered. She could still see the terror etched in her young face. Even the coroner had been shocked by the severity of the attack, especially after death.
The coroner had been specific about the cause of death. It was the acid. The young woman had been drugged with Rohypnol and GHB then, when she had been unable to move, caustic soda had been poured down her throat, burning her, killing her. The bastard ha
d set about his business, slicing, burning and raping her while she choked in agony, until, finally, Danielle Crosby was a bloody corpse. There was nothing left to remind anyone of the young woman she had been. All Kate saw was the devastation of her young body, the hate that had caused her death, and the reminder of how vicious human beings could be.
What a terrible way to die. How much fear had she endured before she had finally been released to death? It grieved Kate that she would have been happy to die just to escape her tormentor. It was tragic that a young woman had been cut down before she had even had a chance to really live.
Kate knew she was going to have to help Annie, that she would need her to take the brunt of the investigation because she was the seasoned detective and had experienced the bloody aftermath of a violent murderer. This wasn’t a spur of the moment killing caused by rage, by anger. Kate knew this was a calculated and cruel death, and she also knew that this was simply the start. Whoever had done this would want to do it again, and soon. They would have been planning this for a long time; they had decided on their victim, and then they had arranged it so that they had not just the time to carry out their plan, but also the privacy. They had even taken the girl’s mobile.
It was the staging of the body that bothered Kate, it was reminiscent of her first murder case all those years ago. George Markham, the Grantley Ripper. He had enjoyed the knowledge that whoever came across the bodies of his victims would never forget how each of them had been placed. That they’d never forget what they had seen, would never get the image from their minds. It was a form of humiliation against the dead person so, whoever the killer was, he had a grudge. It was this that told Kate that whoever had done this, they were going to do it again. He was already planning the next one, was already coming down from the initial high, needing the euphoria of feeling he had the power over life and death again. He needed to be noticed, and she knew the papers would make sure that he was granted that wish.
It was George Markham all over again.
Annie Carr was nervous, she knew that the press would be all over this murder, that it was gruesome enough to catch the attention of the dailies. She looked into her Chief Super’s face. Lionel Dart was not a handsome man by any stretch of the imagination. He was tall, skinny to the point of emaciation, and he stooped when he walked, making him look as if he was on the defensive. That was not the case, however. He was, in fact, a very aggressive man, given to resenting slights, real and imagined, and he was known for his petty-mindedness and his ability to hold a grudge. He was not a man who could be trusted, he’d serve up his own children to further his career. And now he was terrified of the furore that this death would create; it would bring with it too many questions and the spotlight would fall on Grantley Police Station.
‘Any idea how we are going to deal with this?’
Annie shrugged. ‘In what way? Do you mean the media or the finding of the culprit? Only Kate thinks that whoever did this is not going to retire gracefully, it’s not a one-off, and it’s going to get worse.’
She felt bad about using Kate in this way, but she knew it was the only way she would get any kind of sense from her boss. He was frightened of Kate and her reputation. Unlike him, Kate was a real police officer. She hadn’t wanted the career this man had craved, but she did have the experience and he couldn’t argue with that. Kate just wanted the facts, and Annie understood that, it was all she was interested in too. But her limited experience had taught her that the truth was often unwelcome. Especially where this man and his cronies were concerned. He didn’t respond, but then that was what she had expected.
‘By the way, the place had been tampered with before we arrived. So it’s going to be hard to get decent forensics.’
Her boss nodded, as if resigned to his fate.
Lucy Painter was as shocked as everyone else when she heard about the slaughter of Danielle. Though they didn’t know each other very well, they worked in the same business. Sometimes they’d even worked out of the same flat. Like most of the girls in the know, she too was wondering if she had inadvertently entertained the nutter who had killed their colleague.
It had suddenly become crystal clear just how dangerous their job actually was. It was a risky occupation and, deep inside, they all knew and accepted that. But, like your house burning down or finding out you had HIV, it was always something that happened to somebody else. None of them really believed they were in danger, after all, they weren’t on the pavement, were they? Because they worked out of nice flats and houses, and because they worked with other like-minded girls, they didn’t see themselves as prostitutes, let alone being in any kind of peril. They earned a good wedge for a start and they didn’t have to procure anyone; they had a good clientele thanks to the advertising. None of them had ever known life any different. They felt quite glamorous, that they were a cut above the usual brasses. It was a well-paid job, and it was a secret part of their lives. Danielle’s death was tragic and shocking but, in all honesty, they were more concerned about being exposed as Toms. If their occupations were to become public knowledge, they would be destroyed. Like the men who frequented their establishments, the girls concerned primarily didn’t want to be outed. They had no interest in the men’s private lives, their wives, children or work, and they expected the same respect in return. They were a commodity, nothing more and nothing less. They provided a service, and that service was not something they dwelled on. They wanted them in, and out, with the minimum of aggro.
Personally, Lucy often felt a spark of sympathy for the men who used her. Most of them were more nervous than her, and she prided herself on being able to suss them out quickly and easily. She had never really had any trouble from them. Only once had she ever had to assert herself with a client, and that was because he had finished before he had even begun, and then had the nerve to expect a second go for free. He had been a short, bald-headed Turkish bloke with bad breath and a very expensive phone. It was strange what you noticed. She had sternly informed him that he had to pay again or she would call her husband. He had swallowed the bluff and left cursing her in his native tongue.
But, for the most part, the men who frequented her establishment were timid, overawed by her sheer height and statuesque build, and they tended to come back again and again. Recent events had made her realise she had become a bit too complacent and she was determined to make sure that never happened again.
As Lucy let herself into the flat she heard Janie singing in the kitchen. Taking off her coat, she walked through the hallway calling out, ‘Pour me one and all, will you.’
Janie was already dressed in her street clothes, she looked like any other young girl now. Bereft of make-up and in baggy jeans and an oversized sweatshirt she was the archetypal young mum. Hair scraped back into a ponytail, and her feet encased in a pair of Nike Airs, she was still pretty enough to get a second glance from most men. She looked a thousand miles away from the girl she became while at work.
‘What would you like? There’s white wine or Bacardi Breezers in the fridge. I know you like a few before you start your shift.’
‘White wine please. Did you have a nice couple of days off ?’
Janie took a deep draught of her drink then she said quietly, ‘Too right. I heard about Danielle.’
Lucy nodded. ‘It’s fucking mad, ain’t it? Terri found her, and you know what she’s like. Coked out of her fucking nut by all accounts. She reckons Bates cleared the place of anything that could cause aggravation. Wiped the whole place down because of prints, and poor Danni was lying there the whole time, dead as a doornail. She had been really done over and all, but no one can get the full bifta. Terri’s frightened of getting involved; Bates told her to keep her nose out, and who can blame her? If her family finds out what she’s doing, there’ll be murders.’
‘What did she tell the Old Bill?’
‘That she came in and found the body. She pretended she was a newbie, though if they believe that, they’ll believe anything
; she’s been on the game since she left school. The thing is though, what can she do? If she spills the beans she would be putting everyone in it, most of us do this on the quiet. It’s not like the Filth would give us a swerve, is it? Do you think we’re safe, Janie?’
Janie sighed heavily, her face as bewildered as her friend’s. ‘What’s safe in this game? What with dogging and the internet, I’m amazed there’s anyone who still requires our services, they can get a free fuck in any council car park providing they don’t mind an audience. I know one thing though, we’re safer here than on the streets, and whoever did Danielle will be loath to repeat it with all the furore it’s caused. That flat is closed down, but all the others are still going. Old Batesy thinks it was the ex-boyfriend, she was seeing that druggie for years on and off. I can’t see a stranger doing something like that, it’s too personal. I heard she had a chair leg shoved up inside her. I mean, what the fuck would make someone do that to her? And if you remember, she had a few good hidings off that idiot over the years. He put her in hospital more than once.’
‘Well, if it was him he’s going to be collared sooner rather than later. Her mum will see to that, she hated him because he kept taking all Danielle’s money.’