Hidden Killers

by Lynda La Plante

  “I just want to have a few words with the boy I saw coming in here. I am not here for any other reason. This lady here denied seeing him when I saw him walking in.”

  “What you want with Ginger?”

  “I don’t think that is any of your business. Now, if he is here please could I talk to him?”

  Jane was losing patience but at the same time becoming very unnerved by Stevie’s attitude.

  “He works for the girls and would have gone out the back way. Now, you just piss off, all right?”

  “I’m sorry but he looked about twelve years old . . . What exactly do you mean that he works here?”

  Stevie hitched up his trousers and gestured to the blonde to leave.

  “He’s just earnin’ a few quid, darlin’ . . . the strippers don’t like leavin’ their gear unattended in the clubs’ dressin’ rooms when they’re on the stage, so they pay him and he makes sure nothin’ gets nicked.”

  Jane was shocked but stood her ground.

  “I really don’t want to come back. I just want to have a few words with him here, or outside your shop. It’s about someone I need to contact.”

  Two more girls walked in and it was obvious by the way they were dressed they were on the game. They smiled at Stevie and went into the back room. Stevie hesitated, then followed them.

  He bellowed, “Oi Ginger, come outta there . . . now, before you get me angry.”

  The same ginger-haired boy slunk out and Stevie gripped him by his neck, pushing him toward Jane.

  “I dunno what you been up to but this copper wants to talk to you. Now get outta here wiv her, and if it’s thievin’ I’ll have ya knocked to hell an’ back.”

  The boy was not afraid of the muscle head man, instead he shrugged him away and looked at Jane.

  “What you want?”

  “Get the hell outta the shop . . . go on, move it!” Stevie jerked his thumb toward the door.

  Jane went outside with the boy, who didn’t seem at all bothered by her presence. He leaned against a wall near the shop entrance.

  “I don’t want to get you into trouble, Ginger, but I saw you getting out of a taxi, then a woman wearing a blue rabbit fur coat got inside.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “I saw you not ten minutes ago. Now, I need to know where she was going.”

  “No fuckin’ idea . . . She works the clubs, that’s all I know. She taxi hops, goin’ to any amount of strip clubs round here, or maybe goin’ home.”

  “Do you know her address?”

  “No.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “You pick one . . . they all use different ones. I think it’s Janine, but don’t quote me. That’s show business, ain’t it.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  Jane sighed and tried another tack. “Look, you are only young and shouldn’t even be out here at this hour, never mind working the clubs as Stevie told me.”

  “Yeah, well, I got a sick mother wiv lung cancer and no dad . . . I gotta earn a crust for me sisters. All I do is just look out for their belongings and they give us a few coppers.”

  “I don’t want to report you to the social services, Ginger, so please tell me where you think I might be able to contact that woman.”

  “She might have gone over to the nightclub in Swallow Street. I swear by Almighty God that’s all I know . . . ! Give us a break, darlin’, I don’t want Stevie and the old lady givin’ me a hard time.”

  Jane sighed and shook her head.

  “All right, thank you.”

  He gave her a cheeky, gap-toothed smile. “Any time, sweetheart . . . take it easy.”

  Jane walked off, contemplated heading over to Swallow Street, which was a narrow lane off Piccadilly Circus leading into Regent Street. But remembering Gibbs’s warning about working alone, she caught the late bus back to the section house.

  Over the last few days, Jane had been inundated with a number of petty crimes connected to the major upheaval with the proposed move of the Covent Garden market to southwest London. As she had the entire weekend off, she decided that she would see her parents. She was looking forward to the safe normality of her home after her week in the murky world of strip clubs and prostitution.

  Jane had made thorough notes about her encounter in the adult bookshop, which she was sure was also a brothel, and would check everything out the following Monday. It had been such a revelation being in that seedy part of London, and she was concerned about the references to CID being paid off to turn a blind eye.

  When Jane arrived at the flat it was, unusually, her father who answered the door and ushered her in, indicating for her to be quiet.

  “What’s wrong, Dad?”

  Mr. Tennison shut the door. “Your mother’s in with Pam . . . it’s not good news . . . she’s very distressed. When she got here she was crying her eyes out.”

  “What’s happened?”

  Mrs. Tennison came out into the corridor.

  “Jane . . . I didn’t expect you. You never called, did you?”

  “No, Mum. I’ve got the day off. Is everything all right?”

  “No . . . Did you tell her, Daddy?”

  “No, she’s only just arrived.”

  “Mum, what’s happened?”

  Mrs. Tennison gestured for Jane to follow her into the lounge.

  “Pam has had a miscarriage. She started feeling poorly and then had terrible stomach cramps. She went into the toilet and . . .”

  “Has she been to the hospital?”

  “Yes. Tony took her to the emergency ward at St. Mary’s but they confirmed it. Nothing they could do. Are you going to stay for lunch?”

  “Yes, if it’s not too much trouble?”

  “No, I’m doing a pork roast. You go on into our bedroom and talk to Pam.”

  Pam was lying down with a wet flannel folded on her forehead. Jane sat beside her.

  “I am so sorry, Pam . . . Mum’s just told me.”

  Pam slowly removed the face cloth. Her face was puffy and she was red eyed from crying.

  “It happened when I went to the toilet . . . such terrible pains, and then . . .”

  “Did they tell you why it happened?”

  “No, Tony said it was because of being on my feet all day at the salon, but this very nice doctor said that pregnant women can work up to eight and a half months so it wasn’t because of me working. But I won’t go back just yet.”

  “No, you should just rest.”

  “I started getting all the baby things. I didn’t choose pink or blue because we didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl,” Pam said as she began to cry.

  Mrs. Tennison walked in carrying a mug of tea for Jane. “Here you are, Jane dear. Would you like another cup before lunch, Pam?”

  “Yes please, Mum.”

  Mrs. Tennison walked out and closed the door silently behind her.

  “It won’t be the end, Pam . . . I’m sure you’ll get pregnant again.”

  “I know, I know . . . that’s what the doctors said. But it won’t be for a while, because I have to give my body time to heal.”

  “Yes, I know, the body is very resilient.”

  “I know that. I’m on my feet all day. You have no idea how long it takes to do a perm. And I’ve wondered if it is the smell of doing a perm that’s caused the miscarriage. It’s very pungent, you know.

  “I had this client who was really very objectionable. Complained that the rubber of the rollers smelt. I said to her, ‘Well, if you think they smell bad, you should go to another salon.’ Well, she didn’t like that. And then as she was leaving she wanted to book in a second appointment. I said to her, ‘I might not be here in three months’ time.’ Because that’s how long you have to wait before you can do a perm again. Well, she got very upset and apologized to me for being rude. And then I said, ‘I’m pregnant, that’s why I won’t be here.’” Pam’s face crumpled.

  Jane patted her hand. “Don’t ups
et yourself.”

  “Well, I am upset. I’m not pregnant, am I?”

  It was a difficult couple of hours before they eventually left the bedroom and went to have lunch. Mrs. Tennison had set the small table in the living room, as she liked to keep the dining room for formal occasions. The pork had already been carved and there were roast potatoes, carrots, spinach and gravy.

  “Have you got any apple sauce, Mother?” Pam asked.

  Mrs. Tennison jumped up.

  “Of course, darling, of course we have . . . it’s apple and mint jelly, is that all right, Pam?”

  “I’d prefer just apple sauce, but never mind . . .”

  Jane noticed that, as distraught as her sister was, Pam still managed to pile the food onto her plate.

  Mrs. Tennison said that she’d made an apple pie, but she was out of custard so they were going to have it with Wall’s ice-cream instead.

  Jane reached over and patted her mother’s hand. “That sounds lovely, Mum.”

  Mrs. Tennison smiled.

  “So, let’s talk about something different . . . Jane, why don’t you tell us what you’ve been doing this week? We haven’t seen you since you started your new job. Are there any other female officers working at the station?”

  “I am actually the only female detective . . . but I do have a wonderful mentor, Edith, who runs the main office.” Jane exaggerated to reassure her mother. “She used to be a policewoman so she knows all the ropes, and she has a lot to deal with because her mother sadly suffers from dementia.”

  Pam pushed her empty plate to one side, and leaned her elbows on the table.

  “Well, that’s worrying, having the only other policewoman suffering from dementia.”

  “No, Pam, Edith doesn’t have dementia—her mother does. Sometimes she escapes from the house, and once poor Edith found her wandering naked in the street!”

  The doorbell prevented her having to continue her description of Edith. Mrs. Tennison started clearing the lunch plates as Pam’s husband, Tony, came into the living room.

  “Would you like some apple pie and ice-cream, Tony?” Mrs. Tennison asked him.

  “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  Tony pulled up a chair to sit beside Pam.

  “How are you feeling, my darling?”

  Pam picked up her napkin and used it as a handkerchief, blowing her nose.

  “It comes over me in waves, Tony, the grief . . . I’m finding it very hard to deal with. One minute I was wondering what maternity dress to put on, and the next I was on the toilet . . .”

  Tony patted her hand.

  “I know, darling, it’s terrible, just terrible, but we have to be strong.”

  Jane looked at her rather overweight brother-in-law as he too started to weep.

  “I am so sorry, Tony . . . it’s very sad, and we all feel deeply for your loss.”

  “Could I just have the apple pie without the ice-cream, please?” Tony asked, as Mrs. Tennison placed the apple pie on the table.

  By the time they both left Jane just wanted to go back to the section house and really didn’t feel in the mood to discuss her work. It wasn’t until she was about to leave that her father asked if everything was all right at Bow Street.

  “Everything’s fine, Dad. I really like being in plain clothes with the CID.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “Not really . . . I’m just a fledgling detective so I’m not assigned to anything important.” She gently placed her hand to touch his lips, whispering, “I’m all right, Daddy.”

  Jane didn’t mention being used as a decoy, the fact that she had been assaulted, or that she was now working on her first possible murder inquiry. She never even broached the subject of the strip clubs or young Ginger working with the strippers. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, but her life was so different to Pam’s and she understood that they had lost their first grandchild and that was all they were really interested in for the moment.

  After Jane had left the Tennison flat, her father had made a pot of tea for her mother and they had sat down beside each other on the sofa.

  “I thought she looked well,” Mr. Tennison said.

  “She didn’t, poor girl . . . but it’s hardly surprising. Mind you, she’s still young so they’ve got many more years to keep trying.”

  “I meant Jane . . .”

  “Oh, yes . . . I was going to say to her that she should call more often and not just turn up without letting us know. It was lucky I was doing a pork roast so we had plenty of food.”

  Mr. Tennison stood up, saying that he would start on the washing up.

  “Thank you, dear. I noticed Jane didn’t offer to help . . . but that’s her, never very domestic really, was she?”

  Mr. Tennison turned on the hot water and began to scrape off the grease from the baking tray. He looked over the array of pans and dirty dishes as his wife sat cupping her hands round her tea. He squirted in the washing-up liquid and used the plastic bowl to soak the dishes. It took him almost half an hour, balancing the plates on the draining board before moving on to scrub the baking trays he had left to soak. Mrs. Tennison was still sitting staring into space, her tea cup empty, when he went in to take it from her.

  “Are you all right, darling?”

  Mrs. Tennison seemed to be miles away and was almost startled when he took the cup from her hands.

  “I had a scare, do you remember, with Michael? I went to bed for two weeks, and didn’t dare put my feet on the ground in case I had a miscarriage. But it was all right, and then I had Jane and then Pam so I’m sure she’ll get pregnant again. But she should give up work at the salon . . . she spends too many hours standing.”

  Mr. Tennison patted her head gently, knowing what she was really thinking about. Their first-born son, Michael, was only two when he had drowned in the neighbor’s pond. They had both buried their grief tightly beneath the surface, but when it rose the pain was excruciating. He returned to the sink to dry the plates as he recalled Jane running toward him, her arms outstretched with Michael’s small worn teddy bear in one hand.

  Mr. Tennison was ashamed about what had happened. After Michael’s tragic drowning he had hidden his son’s favorite toy in his desk drawer. Jane had somehow found it, even though he had given strict instructions that the room he used as a home office was out of bounds, as it was “where Daddy worked.” He had wrapped the small teddy bear in tissue paper and tucked it into the bottom drawer of his desk, along with a silver napkin ring and one of Michael’s small slippers. Jane had always been inquisitive and had discovered his secret mementos. She had gleefully run toward her father to share her discovery with him, and he had slapped her very hard and had scolded her for being so naughty and going into his office.

  The young Jane had been shocked as she had never been physically reprimanded so severely. Mr. Tennison recalled the way her blue eyes had glared at him, as she recoiled. In a very grown-up manner she had said, “I didn’t mean to upset you, but you shouldn’t be nasty to me. I thought you would like to hold Michael’s teddy bear and I was just happy that I found him.”

  Mr. Tennison had been left speechless, and had been unable for some time to go to her and apologize. He had tried to explain why he had reacted in such an awful way but Jane had just walked away from him. As young as she was it had been a considerable time before she forgave him. When she did she simply climbed up onto his knee one night and put her hand gently over his lips.

  “It’s all right, Daddy.”

  That had been the way she had said goodbye to him at the door earlier, her blue eyes holding his and touching his lips as she had done all those years ago as a child. Mr. Tennison wondered if everything was all right with her work. He felt guilty that neither he nor his wife had asked how her new job was going.

  Mrs. Tennison remained sitting by herself as he finished the dishes, drying them all and placing them back into the cupboards. He wiped all the kitchen surfaces.

  “All s
hip-shape, dear,” he said brightly, and she turned and smiled.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marie sat on the end seat of the lower deck of the number 73 bus. She’d been lucky to get a seat, as the bus was packed full of Saturday shoppers. She had the thick envelope containing the money on her lap, wrapped inside an old newspaper. When the bus stopped by The Grosvenor House Hotel in Park Lane she got off and watched as the bus drew away, just as she had done previously. As she had been instructed, Marie placed the parcel of money into the litter bin attached to the bus stop. She had to dig it in among dirty cartons and used bus tickets before she was able to make sure it wasn’t too visible. She then got onto the next bus as soon as it drew up.

  Marie remained on the foot stand, holding on to the bar, as the bus moved slowly down Park Lane. A few moments later her heart was pounding as she jumped from the moving bus. She had to gasp for breath as she hurried back toward the litter bin where she had left the money. Marie moved along the pavement close to the buildings in the hope she would not be seen, but she could clearly see the 73 bus stop and the litter bin. She kept on edging closer, just as Peter had instructed her to do, in the hope of catching the woman red-handed and being able to confront her.

  A scruffy red-haired boy was running toward Marie. He then stopped and with his back to her rummaged in the bin. Marie watched as he took out the wrapped envelope and tossed the newspaper covering aside, running back up Park Lane toward Marble Arch. Marie hurried after him and saw him turn into Green Street, then he disappeared from her sight for a moment.

  As she rounded the corner Marie could see the boy up ahead, approaching a taxi with its engine ticking over and the passenger door open. The boy dived inside and the door slammed shut as the taxi moved off. Marie closed her eyes, wanting to weep with frustration as she reluctantly turned back toward Park Lane.

  Inside the taxi Janet Brown hugged the envelope close to her chest and held a ten pound note up between her fingers.

  “Good work, Ginger . . . here you go, as promised.”

  He reached out to take it, but Janet held it away from him.