by Linda Regan
Banham nodded acquiescence. “Why didn’t you tell me you visited Brian Finn in prison?” he asked Kenneth.
“I didn’t.” Kenneth narrowed his eyes angrily at his wife.
Banham folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wall. Alison stood by the table.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Olivia said. “They’ve got the records – times, dates, everything. It says clearly Mr K Stone and Mrs O Stone. I’ve seen them. You might as well admit it.”
“I didn’t visit him,” Ken said again.
“Do you want to get arrested for obstructing a murder enquiry?” Olivia said through gritted teeth. “Tell them, or they’ll arrest you again.”
“All right.” Ken threw his arms in the air. “I visited Brian Finn regularly in prison. Satisfied?”
“So why deny it?” asked Alison quietly.
“Oh, for Chrissake!” He slapped his forehead. “I’ve had a very long day and you’re trying my patience.”
“Three women have been murdered,” Banham said, battening down the urge to shout. “It’s my job to find out who did it, before he does it again. I don’t have time for patience.”
Ken’s gaze settled on Olivia’s cleavage. “I visited him because my wife is a whore, and had embarrassed me by making pornographic videos. I need to get them back. If they get into the public domain, my career is down the tube.” He glared at Banham. “Anything else?”
“Yes, as it happens. Why did you buy two skips of costumes at the Scarlet Pussy Club auction?”
Olivia’s head shot up. “I didn’t know that.” She looked at Banham. “I definitely didn’t know that.”
“What auction?” Kenneth said wearily.
Alison sighed. “Mr Stone, we have the receipts.”
“Then arrest me.”
“Ken, for goodness sake, just tell them.” Olivia’s voice sounded taut and stretched.
He took a step towards her. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“What happened to your wife’s face, Mr Stone?” Alison said.
Colour flooded Kenneth’s face. “Are you trying to set me up?” he snarled. “I’m telling you once and for all, I didn’t kill those women.” He flew at Alison, grabbing her arm and dragging her towards the door. “Fuck off out of my house.”
Banham grabbed the shirttail, which was hanging out of his trousers and twisted him round. He grabbed his wrists and pulled them firmly behind his back as Alison pulled out handcuffs. She clicked them around Stone’s wrists as Banham recited the caution: “Kenneth Stone, I am arresting you for attempting to assault a police officer, and for withholding information that is vital in a murder investigation…”
Olivia started crying, and Katie and Kevin ran in to comfort her. While Alison marched Ken to the unmarked police car at the bottom of the drive, Banham stayed with the women. “He did that to your face,” he said to Olivia.
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“I have told you. I walked into a door.”
Kevin and Katie Faye exchanged glances. Kevin said, “Mum, tell him what happened.”
Olivia shook her head.
“You tell him, Auntie Katie.”
Katie looked nervously at Banham, then lowered her gaze.
Banham pulled his wallet from his pocket and handed Olivia a card. “If you change your mind and want to press charges, just give me a call.”
“Will you let him go?” she asked anxiously.
“We’ll keep him overnight, at least.”
“Mum feels nervous when Dad’s not here,” Kevin said. “I have no idea why.”
“No need,” Banham assured them. “There are officers keeping guard twenty-four hours a day. If you go out, they’ll be right with you. And you can call me any time, night or day.”
The women see med to relax a little. Time to leave, Banham thought. But something held him back. “Can I have a private word with you?” he asked, with a quick glance at Kevin.
“It’s all right, don’t mind him,” Olivia said. “What is it?”
“Your stripper names? Have you remembered who was who?”
Olivia answered quickly. “Honestly, we can’t. I think I was Candyfloss and Katie was Honeysuckle.”
“Honeysuckle?” That was a new one on Banham.
“Wasn’t it the other way round?” Katie said.
“What about Strawberry? One of you was Strawberry, isn’t that right?” Banham said.
“I don’t remember,” Katie said. Olivia shook her head. “Why does it matter?”
“I’m trying to piece things together. If you do remember, you will call me?” He handed another card to Katie. “Any time. Night or day.”
He turned to find Alison standing in the doorway. Her arms were folded across her chest, and the black flecks in her eyes shining.
“Are you OK?” Banham asked as they walked down the gravel driveway.
“I’m fine. Stone reeks of alcohol.”
“We’ll leave him in a cell to sober up. Interview him later, even in the morning.”
“Good. That gives us time to visit Lottie. Shall I call her and say we’ll pop by?”
“No point; she’ll be on the phone. We’ll just turn up.”
It was seven-twenty by the time Alison had negotiated the rush hour traffic. The low hanging branches in Cherry Tree Walk had again caught the paintwork on the roof of her car, and after they parked in Lottie’s street she examined it for damage.
There was an excited squeal as seven-year-old Madeleine spotted her Uncle Paul, and clattered down the street to greet him in her mother’s high-heeled shoes. She carried a doll under one arm and a burger in the other hand; between those and the oversized shoes, Alison was afraid she might fall over.
Banham obviously thought the same. He ran to meet her and scooped her into his arms. From one pocket he pulled a handkerchief, which he used to wipe the lipstick covering her mouth. From the other he took a packet of chocolate raisins, and offered them to her. Madeleine struggled out of his arms and sat on the edge of the pavement, discarding the burger and emptying the sweets all over her lap.
“It’s too cold to sit out here,” Banham said, throwing Alison an anxious look. “Let’s go indoors.”
“Mummy says we’re to eat our tea out here, then play out until bedtime,” the little girl told him.
“Where’s Bobby?” Alison asked.
“Round the corner, playing football,” Madeleine answered through a mouthful of chocolate.
“Who with?”
“Shane and Leyton, I think.”
“Come on.” Banham held out a hand. “Let’s go and find him.”
The look on his face told Alison it was all he could do not to explode.
She waited till they had turned the corner, then walked up the path. The front door was on the latch.
“Lottie?” She put her head round the lounge door just as Lottie replaced the phone on its cradle. “Hi. The front door was open, so I came in out of the cold.”
“Is Paul with you?” Lottie sounded wary.
“He’s playing football with the children.”
Lottie looked sheepish. “Do you want some tea? Or something stronger?”
“Tea’s fine. I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?”
The small, compact kitchen was decorated with children’s drawings in brightly coloured crayon. On the fridge door was one of a green pin man marked Uncle Paul, and beside that a pink pin woman, holding a telephone. That one was labeled Mummy.
“You have observant children,” Alison said casually.
“I’ve got a telephone job at the moment,” Lottie said, reaching for the teapot. “I need a job I can do at home.”
Alison looked Lottie directly in the eye. “Tell me to mind my own business if you want, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“I need a job I can do at home,” Lottie insisted. “Derek owes me back maintenance. I need to earn some money.”
“I understand,” Alison said, cove
ring Lottie’s hand with her own. “But – telephone sex?”
“It’s well paid.”
“And dangerous. Who know what it might lead to?”
“What do you know about it?”
“Lottie, we’re detectives. We see things. And Paul cares so much for you. He worries terribly, you know, about you and the kids.”
Lottie banged the milk jug on the worktop. “It’s none of his business.”
“Perhaps not. It’s even less mine, but I’m still concerned about you. Thanks, but I don’t take milk.”
“You’re too thin. You shouldn’t diet.”
“I’m not dieting. I’m allergic to milk. Look, Lottie, can I talk to you, in confidence?”
Lottie looked at her and her face softened. “Sure.”
“We’re on a very nasty murder case. The killer has tracked down a group of women who worked together nineteen years ago, in a strip club. They were just students at the time, and they needed money. But the job didn’t stop at stripping. The girls got involved in pornographic videos, and now it’s led to blackmail. It was all nearly twenty years ago, but three of the women have been murdered, and the other three are living in fear. That all started because they all needed a job that earned them quick and easy money. They all thought the sex trade would provide it.”
“What’s the motive? Paul always says there has to be a motive,” Lottie said. “Find that, and it will lead you to the killer. Don’t they reckon that in two out every three cases the victim knows the killer?” She passed Alison her mug of black tea.
They were going off the subject. But Lottie was right. “You’ve got it,” she said. “We’re stuck on motive. Maybe that’s the key.”
She shook her head as Lottie offered her a tin of rich tea biscuits.
“What about the other three women?” Lottie suggested.
Alison laughed. “You should be my twin, not Paul’s. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“Must be a woman’s mind. We’re devious.”
“And you’re changing the subject. We were talking about you. Listen, I think I might have a solution for you.”
“I won’t take money from Paul!”
“No, of course not. But surely you’ll accept a loan.”
“How can I pay him back if I give up the job?”
“That’s easy. Derek owes you big time – and that’s something Paul can take care off. He’ll enjoy going to see him, and he’ll make sure he pays up. Then you can pay Paul back.”
Lottie looked dubious.
“Think of the children, Lottie.”
For a moment Alison thought she had won, then Lottie shook her head.
“OK. If you won’t take a loan from Paul, how about from me?”
“You?”
“Yeah.” Alison winked. “Then I get to have a go at Derek. Am I allowed to punch his lights out?”
Lottie smiled. “OK, you win.” She laughed. “It’s a crap job anyway. Though I was getting good at it, especially with the older men.”
“So if I need help getting someone to fancy me, I can come to you?”
“You certainly can. I’ve learned all the tricks of the trade.”
“You didn’t talk to anyone with a fetish for red g-strings by any chance?”
“No. There was someone with a thing for older strippers, though.”
Alison’s antennae were suddenly on alert. “You haven’t got that on tape, have you?”
“Of course. I have to tape everything. I get paid per call. But I’d die if Paul heard me.”
“He won’t. You have my word. I’ll listen to it myself, and if it’s no use, I’ll return it. Or destroy it.”
“Return it, please,” Lottie said with a grin. “I haven’t been paid for it yet. Are you two staying for supper?”
“That would be nice – but we’ll have a takeaway, and my treat. You and I can fetch it while Paul puts Bobby and Madeleine to bed.”
Lottie went to get her coat. Alison went in search of Banham, who was playing football with the children.
“Sorted,” she told him. “I’m lending her the money. Better for her pride. You get the job of sorting Derek out. If you think you might hit him, maybe better let me.”
“He deserves a smack.”
“Yes, I know. I want to do it.”
“Uncle Paul, it’s your kick off,” Madeleine shouted from across the street. She had joined in the football wearing her mother’s shoes.
Banham walked over and picked her up. “It’s bedtime. I’m going to tell you your favourite story – Cinderella and her Fairy Godmother.”
Alison couldn’t help noticing Madeleine looked just like him.
“I wish Mummy had a fairy godmother,” Alison heard the little girl say to her plastic doll.
“She has,” Banham answered, with a glance over his shoulder at Alison.
Madeleine’s little eyes lit up. “Will she make Mummy’s dreams come true?”
“Yes.”
“And will we have lots of money, and be able to buy school shoes for Bobby, and nappies for Molly-Dolly?”
“Oh, yes,” Banham assured her, taking the shoes from her and tucking her feet under his jumper as he carried her up the path.
“And do fairy godmothers only grant wishes to people who are good?”
“That’s right.”
Bobby slouched up, his football under his arm, scowling to make sure they all knew he was too old for that silly stuff.
“No wonder we haven’t got any money,” Madeleine said. “Mummy is always saying bad words.”
Lottie was standing on the doorstep. Alison lowered her gaze as Banham locked eyes with his sister.
Then Lottie said, “Mummy isn’t going to say bad words ever again.”
14
Banham had been awake most of the night tossing thoughts around in his mind. He got up early, and rang Alison.
“Heather’s doing the post mortem on Theresa McGann this morning. I’d like you to come with me.”
There was a silence. Then, “What about Ken Stone?” she asked.
“We’ll give him a bit more time to cool down.”
“OK. Um… you’re sure about the post mortem, guv?”
He wasn’t, but had no intention of admitting it.
The mortuary technician pulled open the cold-drawer containing Theresa McGann’s body. Her name was written on a label tied to her waxy white toe. As she was wheeled to the metal table in the middle of the room, Banham saw a look of concern pass between Alison and Heather Draper, the pathologist.
He felt in his pocket for the three clean handkerchiefs he had brought with him. He was determined to see this through.
The nauseating smell of disinfectant mixed with dead flesh suddenly hit his nostrils. He stared hard at the walls. He was coping. If he got through this, he would have made another leap forward. Maybe next time he would be able to look at a female corpse and not be reminded of his own tragedy. Sometimes he still believed that he’d come home and find Diane cooking supper, and Elizabeth, now eleven, doing her homework. At other times the memory of that tiny broken head hit him so hard the pain made him want to cry out.
Something touched his arm. “Are you all right, guv?” Alison asked.
He managed a nod.
Heather Draper shook her head. “It’s not imperative that you’re here,” she told him gently. “I’ll have the report on your desk by lunchtime.”
He hesitated, but he had made a promise to himself. For better or worse he was staying put.
“Make sure you get the mouth and broken teeth from all angles,” he said to the exhibits officer.
The officer nodded, and moved in closer to video the wounds on Theresa’s mouth. After a minute he stepped back. Banham felt in his pocket for handkerchiefs again as the cutting and the drilling and dissecting began.
He kept his eyes pinned on Theresa’s mouth, frozen ajar and smeared with stale blood, but he was sickeningly aware of a sound like a nail being dragged
across a television screen, which he knew was the stomach being cut open. He could see Heather out of the corner of his eye. She lifted the skin and went in with gloved hands to examine the contents. Banham forced himself to concentrate on why he had come. He now had a good idea who the killer was, but he needed evidence. And he hoped it might be here.
“I’m not sure I could eat anything,” Katie Faye said, watching Kevin dish scrambled egg and tomato on to her plate.
“You must try, Auntie Katie.”
“I expect they’ll let Daddy out this morning,” Olivia said brightly.
Ianthe had been tucking heartily into her breakfast. Now she looked up at her mother and stopped chewing.
“Do they have to?” she asked Katie.
“He’s frightened, darling. He didn’t mean to hit Mummy. He won’t do that again.”
“Come off it. He does it all the time,” Kevin protested.
“He hits me and Kevin too,” Ianthe said. “I hate him.”
Katie looked at Olivia. She shook her head. “They’re exaggerating.”
“We’re not,” said Kevin.
There was an awkward silence. Katie fiddled with her food, then threw her fork down. “Come outside a minute,” she said to Olivia.
Olivia followed her into the lounge. Katie closed the door and leaned back against it, folding her arms across her figure-hugging lilac roll-neck sweater. “What’s going on, Liv?”
“You’ve never been married. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I understand more than you think. Kevin and Ianthe are my godchildren; I have a responsibility to them. If Ken’s been hitting them you should have told me.”
Olivia slumped on to the sofa.
“Look, it’s pretty obvious that whoever killed Susan and Shaheen and Theresa knows what happened to Ahmed.” She watched Olivia. “That really narrows things down. If Ken has a violent streak, you have to tell the police. Come on, Olivia, you must see you’re putting all our lives in danger.”
Olivia looked away. “My marriage is none of your business.”
“It’s very much my business if my godchildren are getting hurt and my life is at risk.”
“Kevin stands up for us. He’s bigger than Ken now – he makes him back down.”
Katie stared at her in disbelief. “Olivia, he shouldn’t have to do that! He’s only eighteen.” She narrowed her eyes. “How long has it been going on?”