by Linda Regan
She issued a few more rapid instructions, then picked up her own bundle of paperwork and was about to declare the briefing at an end. Banham was there before her. “OK, troops, let’s get cracking,” he said decisively. “I’m on my mobile if you need me.”
Alison stared at him. She could hardly remind him, in front of the whole team, that this was her case, but she really wished he would let her get on and run it.
The incident room door opened slowly, taking Alison’s attention. Millie Payne crept in, looking round nervously. Alison was dumbfounded. Didn’t she know she couldn’t just walk into a murder enquiry?
“Um, sorry to interrupt,” Millie said to her. “I didn’t know what to do. I’m very worried about my friend. She thinks she is being stalked.”
Alison was angry now. Millie Payne wasn’t even a uniformed constable; she was a support officer, and a new one at that. She clearly didn’t know the first thing about detective work, and she had just walked into the incident room without even knocking.
“You need to report that to the duty sergeant,” she snapped. “You don’t bring anything in here unless it’s relevant to this murder enquiry.”
Millie was unchastened. “I think it could be. My friend is playing Marilyn Monroe in a play.”
The room fell silent.
“Where does your friend live?” Banham asked.
“About four miles away. She said she keeps seeing the same man wherever she is. She used to work at Doubles with Sadie. She was a Marilyn impersonator too – a really good one.”
“Is she at home now? Banham asked her.
“Yes.”
“I’ll go round and see her,” Crowther butted in.
“She doesn’t know about Sadie,” Millie told them. “I thought I’d better not tell her. I didn’t want to frighten her.”
At last, she’s managed to do the right thing, Alison thought.
Banham was talking to Crowther. “You’ve got a lot on already, Colin. Your informant, and the husband.”
“It’s OK,” Crowther said. “I’ll go after that. I’m pulling a double shift, working all night.” He turned back to Millie. “Tell her to lock her door, and give her my mobile number.”
Isabelle gathered up her phone and other bits and pieces and looked across at Crowther to see if he was ready. Millie was still hovering by his desk.
“Do you think there might be a connection?” she heard the girl ask him.
“It’s unlikely,” Crowther reassured her. “But since she worked at Doubles it won’t harm to take a statement from her.”
“I’m going round to her place now I’ll wait for you there.”
Crowther squeezed Millie’s arm and said something else, too quietly for Isabelle to hear. Isabelle stared at them, and slowly the penny dropped.
“Keep your phone on,” Crowther was saying. “And ring me if you are concerned about anything.” He busied himself at his desk for a moment, and Millie perched on the side of it.
Isabelle was seething, but well aware there wasn’t a thing she could do. Then his phone rang, and to her horror, Millie slid off the edge of the desk and walked towards her.
“I’m really worried for Lily’s safety,” she said to Isabelle. “She’s a Marilyn Monroe impersonator, like Sadie – surely there must be a connection.”
“We think we have a lead Sadie Morgan’s death,” Isabelle said tersely. “It’s nothing to do with Marilyn Monroe.”
Millie’s eyes opened wide. “What is it?”
“I can’t discuss that with you. We’ll go and take a statement from your friend, though.”
“I’ll stay with her till you and Col get there.”
Col? Who did this little slag think she was?
Isabelle sat in silence as Crowther drove through the busy streets. Her pride had taken another battering, but she decided she couldn’t afford to make an issue of it. Her best bet was to hang on to the little dignity she had left.
Not that that stopped her turning things over and over in her mind. Crowther had spent one night with her, then gone back to Penny – and now he was having it off with a new PCSO. How demoralising was that? Had she lost her touch? Normally she decided she wanted a man – never the other way round. She’d come up the hard way from a council estate, and learned to use what she had. And what she had was her looks, and whatever quality it was that made men fancy her. She chose carefully; each man had a purpose: usually a step up the promotion ladder. She and Crowther were both hell bent on getting that sergeant’s post, and she had seduced him, thinking she could knock him off balance. But she had come unstuck; her plan had backfired. He got the promotion, and she had fallen hook, line and sinker for the tiny twerp. She still wanted him; it was like an addiction. Worst of all, the whole office knew what had happened. That was humiliating enough – but now to top everything he was bonking a bloody PCSO recruit. How bad could her day get?
His voice cut through her churning thoughts. “Penny for them?”
“What?”
“What are you thinking about?”
“The case.” She paused pointedly. “How about you?”
He flicked a glance at her, smiling his mischievous smile. “Same as you. Let’s hope Penny finds us some DNA from that knife. Question is, why did Sadie have it? The drugs I can understand – they could have been Chang’s, or she could have been dealing for someone else. She might even have been stupid enough to try to blackmail Chang.”
“That would be a motive,” Isabelle agreed. She fell silent again, but found she couldn’t keep it in. “That brainless PSCO was saying there may be a Marilyn stalker.”
“She’s naïve, not brainless,” he said, too quickly.
“Alison and I think she watches too many TV cop shows.”
Now it was Crowther’s turn to fall silent. It was a couple of minutes before he said, “Chang told Alison and the guv that Sadie took drugs. It may just be as cut and dried as that. Drugs make you do stupid things.”
“So now we believe what Chang says?”
His phone rang. He flicked a glance at her as he pushed the button. “Sergeant Crowther,” he said, with a slight emphasis on the first word.
Isabelle stared out of the window. He wasn’t going to let her forget that he was the one who got the promotion.
***
“When will you go and see the kids?” Alison asked Banham. “You really need to find out what’s bothering Bobby.”
They had been sitting in her new office for almost an hour, drinking coffee and making lists and throwing ideas around. She flicked her wrist to check the time. “If you go now you’ll get to read Madeleine a bedtime story.”
“But...”
“If anything important comes up, I’ll call you.”
Alison wavered between exasperation because he couldn’t leave her to run the case, and sympathy for his concern for the children. The missed trip to the zoo would have been playing on his mind all afternoon. “Bobby will be delighted if you go and kick a football around with him for an hour, and I’ll be glad to know you’re getting some exercise.”
The memory of last night jumped into her mind again and her cheeks mottled with heat. Those soulful blue eyes that she had loved so long stared at her. She looked away.
“I was hoping to stay the whole night with you tonight,” he said quietly.
There was a knock on her door and one of the detectives peered round it. “Something interesting on the CCTV from Doubles,” he said. “Wanna take a look?
Banham nodded and stood up. Madeleine and Bobby were going to miss out again, Alison thought. She’d have to make sure he saw them tomorrow.
They followed the detective to his desk, and he jiggled the mouse to bring the picture up on the computer screen. “Most of the images are in darkness,” he told them. “But look, that’s Sadie at the bar, and there she is coming out of the club. The time counter says three a m.” He rolled the film onwards. “Now look at this. Isn’t that the new PCSO by the bar? Fisher, isn’t it?” He poin
ted to the time in the corner of the screen: 03:10.
“He said he didn’t go in.” Alison banged the desk with her fist. “He said he waited outside on the street for her. He’s lying again.”
“Oh, he went in,” the detective told them. He stabbed a long finger at the membership book on the desk. “Look, there. He signed in at 2.50 a m as a guest.”
“I think we need to talk to him again,” Banham said.
“Is that everything?” Alison asked the detective.
“Well, it’s dark, but I think that’s Sadie again, going out the door. And isn’t that the doorman waiting for her? Johnny Gladman?” He ran the tape back. “Then there’s this.” There was a shot of the back of Terry King arguing with Sadie. “Looks like she’s having a bit of a go with that woman.”
“That’s Terry King,” Banham said. “He’s a cross-dresser. Anything else?”
“A lot is quite grainy, but here earlier, we’ve got Sadie again. Looks like she’s taking something from Gladman.”
“Drugs,” Banham said. “Gladman has a record for dealing.”
“What about PCSO Payne? Is she in the club anywhere?”
“Haven’t seen her yet.”
“She was there last night having a costume fitting, she admitted that.”
“Like I said,” he repeated. “I can’t see anything of her.”
“Never mind,” Alison said. “You’ve done some good work. Even better if you’ve got the address handy for Andrew Fisher.”
The detective grinned and picked up the members’ book. “54 Lupin Road.”
***
Johnny Gladman was on his hands and knees, using a dustpan and brush to pick up the pieces of broken beer glass. When Eddie Chang flew into one of rages, everyone kept their head down.
Eddie was holding Terry King by the throat against the wall outside his office. Terry coughed and gasped for breath. Eddie had thrown the glass at him, and it had shattered against the wall. Johnny was busying himself cleaning up, trying to pretend he wasn’t there.
“I didn’t give her anything,” Terry wheezed. “Those pills are mine, I swear, for when I can’t cope.”
Eddie squeezed Terry’s cheekbones and slammed the back of his head into the wall. “Don’t fucking lie to me. She was drugged up when she did her turn. Any of the customers will tell that to the police.” He hit Terry twice across the face, his signet ring grazing the already bleeding skin. “You stupid fucking bitch.” He stepped back, straight on to Johnny’s hand.
Johnny gritted his teeth to hold back the yell of pain. Eddie didn’t even acknowledge him.
Terry covered his face with shaking hands. “I’m sorry,” he shrieked. “I just gave her water. She seemed dizzy. I thought she had taken something.”
As he took his hands from his face, Eddie head-butted Terry, and blood and snot spurted from his nose. Terry’s scream was cut short as the doorbell shrilled.
Alison recognised the man who answered the door; she had been watching Terry King earlier, on the CCTV footage. Now his shaking hand held a tissue against his bleeding nose, and blood and mascara were smeared across his face.
She flashed her warrant card.
“It’s about Sadie Morgan, is it?” Terry asked in a nervous, lispy voice. He stood back to let them into the club.
Alison exchanged glances with Banham before asking Terry, “What happened to your face?”
“Oh, I er... I’ve just walked into the edge of the mirror. I wasn’t looking.” He pretended to brush it aside, but he wasn’t very convincing. “I dress the wigs here, so I work with mirrors a lot.” He gave a false laugh. “I caught my cheek, that’s all.” His trembling hand patted the damage and he pulled it away quickly. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Banham walked away, leaving Alison alone with him. “You must have known Sadie well if you dress the wigs?” she said.
“Yes. Yes, I did.” There was fear in Terry’s eyes. “I make the costumes and dress the wigs here, so I know all the girls.”
“Tell me about her.”
Terry dabbed a handkerchief over the congealing blood on his face. His voice went up in pitch. “She was a very good Marilyn impersonator and a very nice girl.”
Alison raised her eyebrows. “Did you know much about her personally? Did she confide in you, you know, girl to girl?”
She regretted the last remark the moment it left her lips, but it seemed to please him; the beginnings of a smile curved his dark lipsticked mouth. “She told me she was going through a rough divorce.”
Alison noticed that one of his false nails was broken. “Did she do drugs?”
Terry looked down. “I... couldn’t say.”
“Could you say if she sold drugs?”
The fear returned to his face, and he still didn’t meet her eyes. “I... wouldn’t know.”
“We have reason to believe she did,” Alison told him. “Perhaps Eddie Chang would know. Where is he?”
“He’s in his office. I’ll take you through.” He seemed keen to cut the conversation short.
“In a moment,” Alison said. “Were you working here last night?”
“Yes.” Terry picked at his nail varnish and looked round to see if anyone was listening.
“How did she seem to you?”
He spoke quietly. “OK. She was OK.”
Alison stared at him for a few moments. The more uncomfortable he was, the more he might say. “OK? Just OK?”
“Yes.” He swallowed. “OK.”
“What time did you leave the club?”
“When it closed. About five-thirty.”
“Where did you go?”
“Home.
“Can anyone verify that?”
Terry shrank back. “What do you mean?”
Alison sighed. “Do you live alone, Terry?”
“No.”
“So was your partner awake? Can she – or he – verify the time you got home?”
Terry’s eyes opened wide. “I... I live with Eddie.”
“Eddie Chang?”
“Yes.”
Alison closed her eyes. That was it, then; she wouldn’t get any more out of Terry King. She thanked him brusquely and walked into the club.
Banham was studying the pictures on the wall. They were all of Marilyn Monroe, yet the board outside advertised a different lookalike show every night: Marilyn, Liza Minelli, Judy Garland, Sinatra, Elton John, Marilyn again, and Elvis. Tonight was obviously Liza Minelli; New York, New York was playing in the background. It was early and the night had yet to get going; only a couple of customers were in there drinking. The barmaid was dressed as Marilyn Monroe, and she seemed ill at ease.
Johnny Gladman was still sweeping the floor with a dustpan and brush. “Someone’s a big Marilyn fan,” Banham said to him.
Johnny carried on sweeping.
Banham knocked sharply on Eddie Chang’s office door. “Come in,” Eddie’s clipped voice shouted. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he added sarcastically as Banham and Alison walked in.
“We want the CCTV footage from the front of the building,” Banham said without preamble.
“I already told you, there’s no camera there.”
Banham looked speculatively at Chang. “I’m conducting a murder enquiry, and I need all your CCTV tapes. You know every person that arrives at the front of the club – it doesn’t take much of a detective to work out there is CCTV out there. I want the last night’s footage from outside that door.”
Chang said nothing.
“Co-operate with us, Eddie,” Alison said wearily. “If we have to, we’ll take this building apart.”
Chang fixed her with a cold gaze. “You think I don’t want this killer found? Sadie Morgan was my top Monroe impersonator. It’s a race between you and me. I want to be the one to dish out the punishment.”
Alison held his stare. “You lied to us. Earlier today you said you didn’t know Andrew Fisher. He signed in last night, as a guest.”
He s
miled, but not with his eyes. “I have no idea who all my guests are. That’s why they have to sign in. If this Andrew signed in, he must have been here. I gave you the CCTV from last night. I have nothing to hide.” He cupped his chin with his hand. “Now, is there anything else? Only if you keep coming here I may start believing I’m being harassed.”
“You’d be right,” Banham retorted. “We want last night’s CCTV footage from the front of the club.”
Chang shrugged. “OK. Since it’s to help a murder enquiry, I’ll admit I do have CCTV at the front entrance.” His mouth curved into a travesty of a smile. “I keep it quiet. It helps me to keep the wrong sort out of my club.”
“I’ll bet it does,” Banham said.
“Terry dear,” Chang called over Alison’s shoulder. Terry King appeared silently in the doorway, still holding a tissue to his bleeding nose. “The detective inspector and his little friend – ” Alison gritted her teeth – “would like yesterday’s CCTV tapes from the front of the club too.”
Alison wanted nothing more than to arrest him there and then for assault on Terry King. She dreaded to imagine how he treated the girls he imported for prostitution. But his days were numbered; within days CO19 would bust his sordid operation wide open and he would get his comeuppance.
When Terry King returned with the CCTV tapes she said, “You should get your face properly seen to. It looks nasty.”
Terry opened his mouth to answer, but Chang cut in smoothly, “I hope that’s everything. We don’t want to waste any more time, do we? We have a killer to catch.”
“Leave that to the police,” Alison said thinking how much like a snake he looked: slanting eyes, small flat nose, thin, wide mouth made even wider by the slanting scar.
Johnny Gladman followed them to the door. He raised his head, and Alison followed his glance to a tiny flashing red light on the roof. It was yet another CCTV camera, and it pointed to the courtyard behind the club. The cottage was back there, the place Crowther’s snout had told them Chang used for the Ukrainian girls.
Was Johnny unconsciously checking the CCTV, Alison wondered. Or was he trying to drop them a hint that it existed?
Chapter Seven
It was hard to see the front of the house, let alone read the number. An overloaded washing line had been strung right across the front lawn.