by Linda Regan
No smart answer came to Isabelle’s lips. She hated the way he made her feel. Normally she was completely sure of herself. She could pull anyone. She had only gone after Col to get him on her side; once she’d slept with a man she reckoned she knew his weak spots, and she needed to know his so she could beat him to the sergeant’s post. But it hadn’t worked out quite as she planned.
“Why did you dump me?” she heard herself ask, in a small voice that revealed her vulnerability. “Most men would give anything for a night with me.”
Crowther didn’t look at her. “That’s cos they haven’t had one,” he said. “One’s enough.”
That floored her. He had turned the tables on her, and had her exactly where he wanted her. And she didn’t like it.
Before she had time to gather herself, a brand-new, shiny silver Mercedes mounted the pavement beside them. The driver jumped out, followed by the passenger, a heavier, older man with a crowbar in his hand.
“Take the number,” Crowther hissed, and flashed his ID. “Not a good idea,” he said. “I advise you not to get on the wrong side of us.”
The men swiftly retreated into the vehicle and drove off.
“That,” said Crowther thoughtfully, “is who runs this street.”
She couldn’t help admiring his bottle. If only admiration was all it was.
But Isabelle Walsh was falling in love.
The café was a family business. The Diantes were an Italian couple in their early sixties. They told Crowther and Isabelle that they had bought the lease six years ago as an investment for their old age. Downstairs was now a café, and upstairs was a flat where they lived.
The man gave Crowther a pile of bills. They included receipts from the auction they had held, and a list of names and addresses of purchasers.
The list was hand written and almost illegible. They settled at a table to attempt to decipher it. Isabelle ordered herself a large cappuccino and Crowther spaghetti bolognaise.
She had to fight to concentrate. Crowther was an arrogant, cockney, know-all, but surprisingly she had enjoyed her night with him. She hated to admit it, but he knew how to pleasure a woman, and she wanted more. She watched his hands flicking through the papers and remembered the way they had felt on her body. She wanted him like crazy. And she was furious with herself. She had fallen into her own trap. And even worse, Crowther’s girlfriend Penny Starr was a senior SOCO, not someone an ambitious detective constable like Isabelle could afford to offend.
Suddenly she was aware he was looking at her.
“What?”
He tapped the piece of paper he had just put in front of her. It read: 4 wardrobe skips @ £50 each. Kim Davis and an address she recognised as the house Kim shared with Judy Gardener.
“My God,” she breathed. “Do you think Judy knows?”
Crowther shrugged, then dropped another piece of paper on the table. She read: Miscellaneous items of clothing – £25. Two dozen videotapes – £30. Kenneth Stone followed by the address in Cherry Walk.
13
Banham sat down again and Alison clicked the tape back on. Finn’s eyes darted nervously from one to the other.
“You were popular in the nick,” Alison said, dropping the visiting records in front of him.
His Adam’s apple moved up and down as if he was trying to digest his fear. “What d’ya mean?”
“You had more visitors than you told us.” She paused to rack up his discomfort level. “Either you’ve got a bad memory, or you have something to hide.”
“I’ve never said nothing wrong.”
“You withheld evidence,” Banham said. “That’s not just wrong. It’s an offence.”
Finn leaned across the table. “You’ve got the wrong man.” He flung his hands in the air. “Lock me up, then. I ain’t got no fucking life now, anyway.” His voice grew deeper and more menacing. “You’d better. Coos if you don’t, I will commit murder. I’ll top the fucker who killed my Theresa.”
“That’s enough.” Banham spoke loudly and firmly.
Finn subsided into his chair, still glowering. Alison gave him a few seconds to calm himself. “I didn’t have you down as a friend of Ken Stone,” she said conversationally.
“You’re right. I ain’t.”
“He visited you regularly in the Scrubs,” she pointed out.
Finn didn’t answer.
She leaned in toward him. “Well, he did. Didn’t he?”
Finn’s eyes flicked away. He still said nothing.
“Answer the sergeant, Finn.”
Finn looked nervous now. “Yeah. Yeah, he did,” he said quickly.
“What for? Hardly a social visit if he isn’t a friend. Why did he come?” Alison probed.
“That’s my business.” Finn scratched his forearm.
“Not any more,” Banham told him.
Finn shrugged.
“Was it because he wanted to get those videos back?” Alison asked.
“Yeah, that was it.”
“And you wouldn’t tell him where they were, so he kept coming back.”
“You’ve got it.”
“Is that what Olivia Stone wanted too? She visited you more than a few times.”
“That’s right, yeah.”
“And the other girls?”
Finn sat up. “No.” He looked Alison in the eye. “Theresa came because she’s my girl.”
“And Susan?”
“We were mates.”
“You don’t blackmail your mates for a hundred thousand pounds,” Banham said.
Finn hesitated. “I wasn’t asking for money from her.”
“You were,” Alison said. “Indirectly.”
“Where are the videos now?” Banham asked.
Silence.
Banham spoke a little louder. “Where are the videos now, Finn?”
“Under the sink.” Finn dropped his voice.
“At your mother’s?”
“At Theresa’s.”
Banham looked at Alison.
“Long story,” Finn said.
“We have plenty of time,” Banham said. “Tell us.”
“It doesn’t matter now.” Finn closed his eyes. “Nothing matters any more.”
Banham’s tone softened. “Tell us,” he repeated.
Finn seemed to have shrunk. It was several moments before he spoke, and when he did, he sounded defeated. “We wanted to start our lives again. We were gonna to buy two of those beach huts in Canvey Island. One for us and Berny and one for the mums.”
“Who’s idea was that? Theresa’s?” Alison wasn’t sure why she was asking.
“Mine. Am I going back to prison?”
“Depends,” Banham said. “If Katie Faye and Olivia Stone press charges you will. If you murdered those three women you definitely will. That’s what interests me. I don’t give a stuff about the blackmail.”
Finn shook his head. “You’re wasting your time. I’d never kill anybody.”
“Well, somebody did, and it’s my job to find out who. Could Katie and Olivia have known the blackmail was Theresa’s idea?”
“I don’t know. I don’t see how, unless she told them.”
“Think very hard,” Alison said. “Olivia and Katie. Who was Candy floss and who was Strawberry?” Something told her this was important.
Finn became flustered. “I don’t remember. Really I don’t.”
Ten minutes later Alison was outside the station, organising uniformed officers and a detective to go to Theresa’s flat to look for the videos. As the officers set off, Judy Gardener and Kim Davis pulled up in their car. Judy wound the window down. “We’ve been asked to come in again,” Judy told Alison. “Do you know what it’s all about?”
“We need to know about the costumes Kim bought when they auctioned the club property,” Alison replied. “If you’d mentioned it before, you’d have saved us a lot of trouble.”
“I’m sorry,” Judy said. “We didn’t think it was relevant. They were for Kim’s dance scho
ol. There were no red g-strings in the skips.”
“You still should have told us before.”
Judy parked the car and Alison escorted them back into the station and took Kim to an interview room. Judy tried to follow.
“No, just Kim,” Alison told her.
“I’ve promised her I’ll stay close to her. I’ll wait outside.”
Alison didn’t try to hide her impatience. Judy knew the procedure. “She’ll be safe with us,” she said curtly. “Wait in the canteen, please.”
“I’m Kim’s surveillance officer,” Judy protested. “My brief is not to let her out of my sight.”
Alison called Isabelle to take her to the canteen. Judy looked furious but stopped arguing. As she walked down the corridor, Alison noticed how tall and broad she was.
Crowther was with Kim in the interview room.
“How are you feeling?” Alison asked.
“OK.” Kim’s tone implied the opposite.
“We are putting twenty-four hour surveillance on you and Judy too, for added protection, as from this evening. We’re going to keep you safe.”
Kim pulled her face into a tight smile. “Thank you.”
“This way we’ll all sleep easier in our beds.”
Kim managed a nod, but was clearly uncomfortable.
“Kim, why didn’t you tell us you bought some costumes from the club?”
Kim stared wide-eyed at Alison. “I didn’t think it mattered. Ken Stone bought some skips too, and he hasn’t even got a dance school. Have you talked to him about it?”
“Oh, we will,” Alison assured her.
“There were no g-strings in the skips,” Kim said firmly.
“You’re absolutely sure?”
Kim’s cheeks reddened. “Of course.”
“Did any of the costumes have names or initials on them?”
“No, but we didn’t use our real names.”
Crowther had been taking notes. He looked up. “What was yours?”
“Dusty Springfield.”
“I think my mum was a fan of hers,” Crowther said. The soul of tact as usual, Alison thought.
“She was a gay icon,” Kim told him. “Ahmed Abdullah gave me that name. He hated me because I’m gay.” She looked away. “And the feeling was mutual.”
Alison couldn’t let go of the S connection. All the girls shared that initial in some way, except Candyfloss. And Theresa, of course; her nickname was Trixie or Cherry.
Unless Cherry was actually Sherry?
She decided to have one more go. “What was Katie Faye’s stage name?” she asked.
“I can’t be sure. I was on drugs for so long. Heroin takes your memory. Strawberry, I think.”
“So Olivia was Candyfloss?”
“I’m sorry, I really don’t remember.”
Alison glanced at Crowther. “Fair enough,” he said flatly.
“What did you write on your g-strings? Do you remember that? Was it Dusty, or just the initials?”
“DS – I think, but…”
“All right, it was a long time ago. Can you remember what colour ink?”
“Olivia was the only one with a biro, I do remember that. She always had one on her. We all used it. It was just an ordinary blue biro.”
“We’ll pick up your car at the garage on the way, and you can drive,” Banham said.
“You want me to use my car again? In the Stones’ road?” Alison looked at the end of her tether.
“If you want to claim the repair on expenses, I have to justify it,” Banham said. “The super wants photos.”
“But it’ll get more scratches. And what if the sump gets damaged again?”
“Then we’ll get it mended again. We’ll get photos of the road, and bring Ken Stone back for questioning. By the time he gets hold of his solicitor to spring him, forensics may have turned something up.” He ignored Alison’s pained expression. “I’m going to enjoy bringing him in again. He’ll know what police harassment is when I’ve finished with him.”
“If we could persuade his son to make a statement, we could get him locked up,” Alison said. “And save my car in the bargain.”
“Better still if we could get his wife to lodge a complaint about domestic violence.”
“I don’t trust any of those women,” Alison declared. “What do you make of Judy and Kim not telling us they bought costumes from the club auction?”
“Maybe they were concerned about putting Gardener’s job on the line,” Banham suggested. “Ken Stone didn’t mention he went to the auction either – or that he visited Finn in the nick.”
“You think he did it, don’t you?”
Banham turned the car into the garage forecourt and stopped the engine. He rubbed his mouth and looked at Alison. “I don’t know for sure, but I’d feel a lot happier if he was locked up.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“You think it’s one of the women? You don’t trust Katie Faye or Olivia Stone, do you?”
He’d noticed, then. “No further than I could throw them.”
“I’m surprised at you.” Banham sounded like a teacher talking to a pupil. “You’re normally more astute than that. They are both very vulnerable.”
“Oh please!”
“Alison, neither of them had families, and they had to learn to survive. They were young and naïve, and they made mistakes. And now they’re paying a big price.”
“You should get out more,” Alison snapped back. “You’re the naïve one. Olivia married Stone for his money, and I’ll bet Katie Faye wasn’t too particular who she used to get where she is today.”
Banham shook his head. “You’re wrong. She’s a victim in all this.”
“You fancy her, and your judgement is clouded!” She knew she was overstepping the mark but she couldn’t stop herself. Banham stared at her open-mouthed. She opened the door to get out of the car. “And you haven’t even noticed that Olivia’s tits aren’t real.”
She slammed the door so hard the noise reverberated in his ear.
God, that woman had a temper.
Kenneth Stone was in his study when the doorbell sounded. He was indulging in his favourite pastime – playing with himself. Normally he liked to watch a pornographic film to aid his wrist action, but now that the police had taken his collection away, he was reduced to studying the curves of a nude model in the men’s magazine he had read a couple of days ago during a particularly tedious discussion in the House.
It was hard work, but he needed the release. He hadn’t had sex with Olivia since this business began, and he knew that if he didn’t relieve his pent-up sexual feelings his cruel streak would come out again. He hated upsetting his children, and he didn’t mean to hurt Olivia either, but the way she looked at him sometimes was enough to drive a saint to violence. Who did she think she was? He’d dragged her out of the gutter and this was how she repaid him.
She’d refused to wear the French maid’s outfit he had bought her, with black stockings and no knickers. She said it made her look like a slag, and couldn’t understand that that was the point – that it turned him on like crazy. His erection withered as he remembered the look of disdain on her face.
He needed sex. His collection of pornographic films were his life-saver. If he couldn’t spill out those feelings, he had no control at all over his temper.
The doorbell rang again, and his erection wilted completely. Whoever it was could go to hell. He needed this; Katie Faye was staying with them and he didn’t want her to witness him hitting Olivia again. He started to work his wrist, slowly and evenly.
The doorbell rang for a third time.
“Someone’s definitely in, guv,” Alison said. “There are lights on, and four cars in the driveway.”
A moment later Kevin opened the door. Alison stepped in the hallway without waiting to be invited. “We need another word with your mother and father.”
“How are you?” Banham asked Kevin, keeping his voice down.
“
I’m all right, but Mum’s not. Dad’s back, and she’s in a real state.”
“Where is he?”
“I’ll get him.” Kevin ushered them into the living room. Olivia was sitting on the pale leather sofa and Katie was cross-legged on a rug on the floor, hair newly washed and hanging damp around her shoulders. She turned her wideset blue eyes on Banham, and Alison tried to ignore the jealousy that stirred in the pit of her stomach.
“Is anything wrong?” Katie asked.
“We need to ask Mr Stone a couple more questions,” Banham told her.
Olivia stood up. “Can I get you something? A drink?”
Banham shook his head. “You didn’t mention that you visited Brian Finn in prison,” he said.
Katie still had those eyes fixed on Banham.
“It was only a couple of times,” Olivia said. “It didn’t seem relevant.”
“Actually that’s not true,” Alison said crisply. “We’ve got the visiting records. You visited him quite regularly. Why?”
Olivia shrugged. “I thought if I befriended him he might give me those embarrassing videos back.”
Raised voices came from upstairs. Banham looked up at the ceiling, than back at Olivia. Her cheek was still bruised. “What really happened to your face?” he asked her.
“I told you. I walked into a door.” She looked at Katie, but the other woman turned her head away.
The lounge door opened and Kenneth walked in, his shirt hanging out of his trousers. Kevin followed him.
“What do you want this time?” Kenneth demanded. “This is beginning to look like police harassment.”
“We need a word, in private,” Banham said coldly.
Ken looked at Olivia. She didn’t move. “Take them to your study,” she said.
“I can’t. There are confidential papers out. You’d better come through to the kitchen,” he said irritably.
“He’s got Big and Bouncy open on the desk,” Kevin told them as they left the lounge.
Olivia followed them.
“I hope you’ve got a good reason for bothering me like this,” Kenneth said, shifting his eyes from Alison to Banham as he ushered them in the kitchen.
Olivia perched on the stool by the door. “I presume I’m allowed in,” she said.