Passion Killers

by Linda Regan

  “But not of Shaheen?”

  “No, but…” Katie looked helplessly at Olivia.

  “Shaheen was one of us. We all worked at the club together. We contacted her, but she didn’t want to know. We left it at that – it was up to her. We never thought for a moment…”

  “You’ve all stayed in touch? After a summer job nearly twenty years ago?” Alison sounded incredulous.

  The dark flecks in Alison’s eyes were clearly visible. It was plain to Banham that she didn’t like Katie. Since both women were being very co-operative, he had no idea why.

  “Stripping is a strange job,” Olivia said thoughtfully. “Strippers bond together; it’s you against the world. We all got on, and we stayed friends.”

  Katie’s voice rose a couple of tones. “We were young and stupid and we needed money for college. The manager made it sound as if those videos were a condition of the stripping job. We all regret it now and are deeply embarrassed, but it bonded us and we stayed in touch.”

  “Tell me about the other women,” Banham said.

  “Theresa and I both got pregnant that summer,” Olivia said. “We had our babies within a few weeks of each other. Her little girl was born handicapped, and I had a healthy, clever son. I wanted to help her, especially since the baby’s father was in prison.”

  “Kim got involved with drugs when she was at college,” Katie went on. “She studied dance, and I did drama. I did everything I could to help get her get clean.”

  “I married into money,” Olivia said, “so I helped them both. There were no grants for drama school or ballet, not even back then. And none of us had parents to help.”

  “What about Shaheen Hakhti?” Banham asked.

  Katie looked at him with those big blue eyes. “She went home to her family in Leicester and got married. No one really stayed close to her. Only Christmas cards. But when Brian’s note arrived, we asked her what she thought we should do. She was one of us back then, after all.”

  “She was supposed to come down to stay with Susan,” Olivia said, “but she didn’t turn up. I can’t say any of us were especially bothered.”

  “Including Susan,” Katie added. “We just assumed she didn’t want to bring up the past.”

  “She had nothing to lose,” Olivia said flatly.

  “Except her life,” said Alison quietly.

  This time the women didn’t look at each other.

  “We know the knickers found in her mouth were about twenty years old,” Alison said.

  “We wore scarlet g-strings at the club,” Katie said, her voice hardly above a whisper. “They were uniform for all the strippers.”

  “Judy Gardener told us that,” Banham said.

  There was a silence. Then Olivia asked, “What else did she tell you?”

  “Enough to show that you could be in danger,” Banham said gently. “We’re having Brian Finn brought in for questioning. He has killed once; we know he is capable of it.”

  For some reason Banham couldn’t quite grasp, a look of relief seemed to pass across both women’s faces.

  “When Finn was convicted,” Alison said, “he refused to give any explanation of why he killed Ahmed Abdullah, the club owner. Have you any idea why he did it?”

  “Ahmed was cruel,” Katie said quickly. “He made us all do horrible, perverted things, and he videoed them. Theresa worked for Ahmed, and Brian loved Theresa. He probably stood up for her.”

  “Ahmed was a horrible man. No one mourned him,” Olivia added.

  “Does your husband know about the videos?” Alison asked Olivia.

  “It was a secret that we six girls kept between ourselves,” Olivia said. “We didn’t tell anyone else at all.” She clasped and unclasped her hands. “Theresa and I have children. And the others all have careers.”

  “Kim obviously told Judy,” Katie said. The hard edge to her tone surprised Banham.

  “Do you know how Brian Finn killed Ahmed Abdullah?” he asked, looking from Olivia to Katie and back again.

  There was another moment of silence. Again Banham noticed the women didn’t look at each other.

  “I think they had a fight,” Katie said quietly.

  “Everyone hated Ahmed,” Olivia said again.

  “I don’t expect he meant to kill him,” Katie said quickly.

  “We weren’t there, so how would we know what happened?” Olivia added almost as an afterthought.

  “You should ask Theresa,” Katie said. “He was her bloke. If he told anyone, it would be her.”

  Banham looked speculatively at Katie. “Why do you think he didn’t mean to kill him?”

  “Brian wasn’t like that. He was gentle.” She threw Olivia a quick, nervous glance.

  “He was a club bouncer,” Banham reminded her.

  “And asking you for a hundred thousand pounds for your videos isn’t too gentle,” Alison pointed out.

  Neither answered.

  “I’ll ask again. Does your husband know about the videos?” Alison asked Olivia.

  Another brief glance passed between the women. Then Olivia shrugged. “He knows we were strippers. That’s where we met. He was a law student and he used to come into the club and watch Katie and me doing our turn. We had a lot in common. I wanted to be a barrister too in those days. We had an affair, I got pregnant, and we got married. End of story.”

  “Does he know about the videos?” Alison persisted.

  Olivia looked at the floor. “Yes, he does.”

  Katie stared at Olivia, but said nothing.

  Another silence fell, and Banham rubbed his mouth thoughtfully. Perhaps best not to push Olivia too hard on that for the moment, he thought. “Let’s go back to Shaheen,” he said, with a quick glance at Alison. “What do you know about her family?”

  “Hardly anything.” Katie shook her head.

  “I told you, she didn’t keep in touch,” Olivia said.

  “You sent Christmas cards. Didn’t you exchange news?”

  “She married a plumber and had three sons,” Katie said doubtfully. “I don’t know what use that is to you.”

  Olivia sat forward. “Her parents were religious fanatics,” she said. “We never met them – she told us. That’s why she ran away from home and came to work at the club. She didn’t need money. It was her way of rebelling.”

  “She never really fitted in,” Katie added.

  “So you didn’t like her?” said Alison.

  “I didn’t say that,” Katie snapped.

  “Have you any idea who might want to kill her?” Banham asked. “Did she have any enemies as far as you knew?”

  “Not that we know,” Olivia answered. “But why would we?”

  “Well, whoever did kill her had something to do with that club,” Alison said. “What’s more, they want us to know it. That’s why they left the g-string.” She handed Olivia a photo of the knickers. “They’re with forensics at present.”

  Olivia held the photograph by a corner; she and Katie both grimaced. “The uniform g-strings were scarlet, with black leather ribbons,” Katie said, looking at Olivia. “I can’t be sure - that one looks such a mess. But it’s certainly the right shape.”

  A picture of Katie Faye wearing nothing but a scarlet g-string with black leather ribbons jumped into Banham’s mind. The thought excited him, and he allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sensation. Perhaps the counselling was working.

  Alison was drawing the interview to a close, a strange expression on her face. Banham shook away the mental image of Katie and took one of his cards from his pocket. He wrote his mobile number on it before handing it to Katie. “If you think of anything else, just phone me,” he said, speaking directly to her. “Meanwhile, we’ll need you both to come to the station and make a formal statement.”

  The women exchanged another worried glance.

  “No one apart from my team will need to see them,” Banham reassured them.

  “Unless they become vital evidence in Shaheen Hakhti’s murde
r,” said Alison.

  Olivia opened the door to reveal Ken Stone hovering in the hall with a worried expression. It was clear to Banham that he had been listening.

  “May we have a few words now, sir?”

  “Not possible, I’m afraid.” Ken jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. The door was wide open, and his son and daughter sat at the table devouring the remnants of the Chinese supper. They were clearly listening in too.

  Ken moved close Banham and lowered his voice. “Inspector, I really don’t want this getting into the papers. A man in my position can’t afford adverse publicity.”

  “I understand,” Banham said. “Somewhere more private?”

  Ken led the way upstairs. He unlocked a door at the end of the corridor and stood back to allow them inside.

  It was small office equipped with the usual phones, faxes, computer and printer. Banham noticed the whole of one wall was covered with pictures of naked women. Even the desk lamp was a nude.

  Banham showed him the picture of Shaheen.

  “I recognise her,” Ken said after a few moments. “She was one of the strippers at that appalling club. I think. Mind you, it’s been nineteen years, and the old memory isn’t what it was…”

  “I’m sure you’re aware we’re investigating a murder,” Banham said coldly.

  Ken nodded. “All a bit embarrassing for me, old chap. OK, so I met my wife in the Scarlet Pussy, but one hopes to leave one’s wild youth in the past. Pity Olivia couldn’t. She’ll have told you about that damned video. You’ll see why I can’t afford for any of this to get out – my parliamentary career would hit the skids.”

  “It won’t,” Alison said, looking up from her pocket book. “Not from us. So you know Brian Finn has been released from prison and is blackmailing your wife?”

  Ken said nothing for a few moments. Then he sat down in his comfortable leather office chair and locked his hands behind his head. “Yes, of course I know. And yes, I should have come straight to you people, but I decided to give Olivia the money and pay the bastard off. I can’t take risks with my career.”

  Alison and Banham exchanged a look, and he continued, “When was the last time you saw Shaheen Hakhti?”

  “Nineteen years ago. The Scarlet Pussy Club. I admit I was quite friendly with her then, but that all came to an end. I married Olivia, and she didn’t keep in touch. The other girls are still friends, but Shaheen moved back to Leicester.”

  “What about Brian Finn? Did you know him well?” Banham asked.

  Kenneth became noticeably agitated. He tapped his foot and sighed impatiently. “No. Hardly at all.”

  “So he never threw you out of the club when you were young and wild and carefree?” Alison asked with a lacing of sarcasm.

  He gazed coolly at Alison. “He wouldn’t have dared. I was one of their best customers. And he was besotted with Olivia, even though she was my girl.”

  “Then I’d lay odds you didn’t like each other,” Banham said quickly.

  “I don’t know about him, but I had no feelings either way. He had an affair with the Irish girl, Theresa McGann. She has his daughter. Talk to her.”

  “Oh, we intend to,” Banham said.

  “Olivia can give you her address.”

  “We already have it,” Alison said.

  “Where from? Oh, of course. PC Judy. Kim’s other half.” He looked from Banham to Alison. “Well, isn’t that lucky? Inside information. Better get on with it then, hadn’t you? Get the murder solved. I don’t want Olivia getting in a state.”

  Alison consulted her notes. “What about Susan Rogers? Another stripper from that club. Do you know her too?”

  He gave an embarrassed bark of laughter. “Oh yes. She manages in a sex shop in Soho. Sex and the Titties. I try to keep my wife away from her.” He looked sharply at Banham. “I’m sure you can see my point, Inspector. Imagine the pictures in the tabloids – minister’s wife shops at erotica emporium!”

  “Do you know if she kept in touch with Brian Finn?”

  “I have no idea. I do know what I’d like to do to Brian bloody Finn…”

  Banham gave him a long look. “Please leave it to us, Mr Stone. We’re bringing him in for questioning.” He handed Stone a card. “If you think of anything we should know about, please you give us a ring.”

  Stone accepted the card. Banham thought he looked more than a little worried.

  Alison stood up and took out a photograph. “One last question. Do you recognise this?”

  Kenneth Stone glanced at the photo. An unpleasant leer spread across his face. “They’re a bit of a mess, aren’t they? But no man forgets knickers like that. I watched a lot of girls take them off.”

  “Nasty, greasy upper class lecher,” Alison Grainger spat as she fired up the car.

  Banham clicked his seat belt shut. “I think he fancies you,” he grinned.

  She looked at him with a quick frown, unsure whether he was serious. Either way, it wasn’t the kind of thing he usually came out with.

  Banham’s mobile chirped, saving her the need to comment. She reversed into a three-point turn and headed down the wide driveway.

  “Good man,” Banham said into his phone. He flipped it off and put it back in his pocket. “Crowther has interviewed Theresa McGann. She’s coming to the station tomorrow. He’s sitting outside Finn’s mother’s flat. The mother is on medication and can’t be left too long; he’ll have to come back soon.”

  “Good. Bloody hell, who do all these belong to!” Gravel flew into the air on both sides of the car as Alison manoeuvred forward two inches and then back three, in an attempt to get around the three large cars parked in the Stones’ drive. “What’s this doing to my exhaust?” she said, half to herself.

  Banham checked the time. “The post mortem results won’t be in till tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll be at the station later, but I’ve got a private appointment I want to keep first. Can you drop me en route?”

  “A date?”

  “An appointment.” Banham’s lips twitched. “A private appointment.”

  Alison’s eyes started to flare. Was she jealous? Perhaps there was a chance for him after all.

  “You didn’t exactly keep your feelings about Katie Faye private,” she said pointedly, crunching the car into forward gear and heading for the gateway just a tad too fast.

  He looked at her. What had he done? Katie Faye was gorgeous. Who wouldn’t think so? And those eyes… just like… He swallowed hard as the memories flooded his mind.

  But it wasn’t like that, whatever Alison was thinking.

  “I thought work and pleasure didn’t mix,” she said flatly.

  “Just keep your eyes on the road.”

  He loved it when the black specks shone in her sludgy eyes. If only he could tell her…

  Alison turned into the road, wheels bouncing in and out of the potholes. “I just hope she doesn’t turn out to be a suspect,” she said.

  “Alison, they’re frightened women. If we can win their trust, things will be a hell of a lot easier.”

  “Whatever you say, guv.” A stone flew up and hit the windscreen. “You’d think the occupants of this road would club together and get it surfaced,” she said. “They’re the ones who use it.”

  “I think that’s the point,” he explained. “They don’t want all and sundry turning it into a short cut. It keeps it private.”

  “Like your date tonight.”

  “I’m not going on a date.”

  “So where are you going?”

  “Watch the road!”

  The stench of putrefying fruit and vegetables filled the air in the market street in Soho, even though trading for the day had been over for a couple of hours. Some of the unsold stock still lay in the road, flattened by the wheels of the passing traffic, or sat rotting in nearby dustbins. And a few of the small shops in the road still remained open, hoping for some late business.

  Sex and the Titties was one of them. Susan had re-opened whe
n she arrived back from the meeting with the girls. Sex shops often did well in the early evening. Lonely men often came in to purchase a blow-up doll or a penis extender, or groups of girls on a night out wandered in to amuse themselves after a drink in the pub, and often bought the expensive underwear or sex toys.

  Susan had just finished serving a gaggle of teenage girls who wanted to see the vibrators in action. She had lined them all up on the counter and demonstrated each one in turn, and the girls had giggled hysterically, then left the shop. Their laughter could still be heard fifty yards down the road. Susan was well aware they had only come in for some entertainment, and had no intention of buying anything, but after such a tense day she had needed some amusement herself. What was more, she fully understood their need to explore their new-found sexuality; they reminded her of herself at their age, raw, silly and anxious to know all about sex. None of them could have been more than sixteen; Susan wished very briefly that she could turn back time.

  She decided to leave the shop open for another hour. She had lost this afternoon’s trade and was hopeful of making it up. She had to make a success of this job. It meant she no longer had to display her ageing body to drunks and sad perverts each night, and she didn’t have to worry about her cellulite and sagging boobs. She could finally throw away her tassels and fur g-strings and nipple-free bras, and stop fretting about the rapid approach of middle age.

  She enjoyed not having to be out till two or three in the morning working in seedy, damp clubs. She could curl up in front of the television with Tara, her beloved cat, in the warmth of the flat over the shop. She had started to feel content. There had never been a regular man in her life; most blokes had been one night stands, none ever seemed to want more. That was the way it was for strippers; they were regarded as an escape from reality, almost like prostitutes, and none of the men cared about the person inside.

  Her body bore the scars of men’s fetishes. A punter once stubbed his cigarette out on her backside when she turned away from him. Three of her back teeth were missing after an over-excited punter took a swing at her in the middle of her act. She no longer believed she would find a man to share her life with. Her close male friends were all gay, and had often worked with her in the seedy clubs as drag acts. They were the ones who knew her name, or were there on the end of the phone when her shelving fell down or her car wouldn’t start.