by Roberta Kray
‘Shall we go?’
‘Just a minute.’ She reached up, twisted the rear-view mirror and checked her hair and face. Feeling Swann’s eyes on her, she turned her head to look at him. ‘What?’
He smirked. ‘You thinking of applying for a job while you’re in there?’
‘Why, do you think I’m not up to it?’ As soon as she’d asked the question, she wished she hadn’t. A blush rose to her cheeks as she remembered that Kieran Swann was in a better position than most to evaluate her assets. When he’d saved her from the Whisperer, he’d also seen her in all her glory, naked as the day she’d been born. And that was a memory she had no desire to dwell on. Before he could even begin to think of one of his smart-arse replies, she quickly changed the subject. Turning the mirror back into position, she flapped a hand towards a massive black guy standing just outside the door to Belles. He was staring hard at them whilst speaking rapidly into a walkie-talkie. ‘I think we’ve been spotted.’
‘Solomon Vale,’ Swann said. ‘He’ll be passing on the good news to Street.’
‘And giving him time to clear the place of anything incriminating.’
They got out of the car and strode over to the door. Solomon shifted back a few steps, his massive bulk effectively blocking the entrance. Valerie looked up at him. The guy must be six foot five, maybe even taller. And solid with it. The muscles in his upper arms strained against the fabric of his dark suit. She took her ID from her pocket and flashed it at him. ‘DI Middleton and DS Swann. We’re here to see Chris Street.’
Solomon made a show of carefully examining her ID, even though he’d already sussed them as cops. ‘If you’d like to wait a moment, I’ll let him know that you’re here.’
‘No point in telling him what he already knows,’ Valerie said. She moved forward until they were only inches apart, all the time keeping her eyes locked on his. ‘So if you wouldn’t mind …’
Solomon hesitated, but not for long. Winding up the law was a pleasure, but it wasn’t as important as business. Another black cab had pulled in, and the occupants, four middle-aged businessmen, were already in the process of climbing out. It was never good for trade to have cops hanging around, and so with a shrug of his huge shoulders he stood aside and waved the two of them in.
It was a while since Valerie had last been in the club, and it had certainly smartened up a lot since then. The foyer was all gleaming chrome, potted palms and arty black-and-white photographs. But she knew it was entirely cosmetic. Underneath the slick exterior lay the same sleazy lap-dancing joint with the same sleazy lowlife owners.
The girl on reception was a bored-looking blonde wearing a tight silver dress with a lot of cleavage on view. Her breasts, almost ludicrously large, must have depleted the UK stocks of silicone. Valerie flashed her ID again. ‘Chris Street,’ she said. ‘Where’s his office, please?’
The girl looked past her towards the main door they’d just come in by. Valerie turned to see Solomon Vale standing there. He gave the receptionist a brief nod before heading back outside again.
‘Take a right, end of the corridor,’ the blonde drawled lazily.
‘Thank you.’ As Valerie turned to go, she noticed Swann’s gaze fixed firmly on the girl’s breasts. ‘If you’ve quite finished,’ she said to him.
‘I was just making sure that—’
‘Yes, I know exactly what you were making sure of.’
Swann gave another of his annoying smirks as they walked towards the rear of the foyer. Valerie took a deep breath, trying to suppress her irritation. Even after all the years they’d worked together, she was never sure how much of Swann’s behaviour was natural and how much was deliberately contrived to wind her up.
Straight ahead was a pair of heavy double doors, from beyond which came the sound of music, the chink of glasses and applause. Veering to the right, Valerie pushed open the door marked Staff Only and stepped into the corridor. ‘Ever get the feeling you’re being watched?’ she said as she glanced up at the cameras set high on the walls and close to the ceiling.
‘Our Mr Street doesn’t like any unhappy surprises.’
‘Clearly. He’s got more security here than we’ve got down the nick.’
‘Yeah, well, he’s probably got a lot he needs to keep secure.’
They kept going until they came to the end of the corridor and a door marked Manager. Valerie gave a cursory knock and walked straight in without waiting for a response. The office was light and spacious, with royal blue walls, gold woodwork and a cream-coloured carpet with a pile so deep she could feel her heels sinking into it. The paintings on display, all of them of naked women, were bordering on the pornographic. The room was about as tasteful as a tart’s boudoir.
There were three desks, but only one of them was occupied, a pale wood affair curved around the left-hand corner. Behind it sat Chris Street, dressed in a smart grey suit and staring at a computer screen. He didn’t bother getting up. He simply raised his eyes and smiled.
‘Inspector. It’s been a while. And Sergeant Swann too. To what do I owe the pleasure?’
Valerie approached his desk and looked down on him. Street was about forty, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a pair of cheekbones sharp enough to cut your fingers on. She supposed that some women, especially those who didn’t mind their men a little rough around the edges, found him tolerably good-looking. ‘We’re here about Dan Livesey.’
He frowned. ‘Who?’
‘I’m sure your time, Mr Street, is as precious as mine. So let’s not waste it, huh? Dan Livesey, your employee, the man whose wages you pay every week.’
Street pushed the keyboard away from him, placed his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. ‘Ah, that Dan Livesey. I believe I furnished one of your officers with the information you required yesterday.’
Valerie tilted her head to one side. ‘That was yesterday. Things have moved on since then.’
‘Yes, things have a habit of doing that, don’t you find? But I don’t see how I can be of any further assistance.’
‘I’d like a list of all his known friends and associates.’
‘Well then you’ve come to the wrong place. I hardly know the man. I may pay his wages but I don’t organise his social life. I’m not his keeper, Inspector.’
Valerie leaned down, put her hands on the desk and lowered her voice. ‘But I’m sure, if you put your mind to it, you could come up with some names. Like who he regularly worked with both here and at the Lincoln.’
Street’s thin lips gradually widened into a mocking smile. ‘And why should I do that?’
Valerie stood up straight again and looked over at Swann. ‘Why don’t you tell him, Sergeant.’
Kieran Swann sauntered over to the desk, folded his arms across his chest and stared down at Street. ‘Because we’re dealing with the murder of a young woman and we have reason to believe that the suspect may still be in the area.’
Street gave a shrug. ‘I still don’t see what that has to do with me.’
‘He could be hiding out at a friend’s, or in a building he’s familiar with. A building like this one, for example. It must have lots of nooks and crannies. A basement too, I should think. We may have to make a thorough search.’
Street’s smile slowly faded. ‘Not without a warrant,’ he snapped.
‘Oh, that can be arranged,’ Valerie said. ‘But it will mean the cops crawling all over the place. I hope it won’t inconvenience you too much.’ She glanced at Swann. ‘How long do you think a search like that might take?’
Swann drew in an exaggerated breath and shook his head ruefully. ‘A place this size? Could take half the night, guv. And that kind of thing – well, it tends to scare the punters off. It would be a shame if that happened to a good upright business like this.’
Street looked from one to the other as he considered his options. His dark eyes had turned to stone. ‘Well,’ he said after a while. ‘It would be a shame to waste the taxpayers’ money on a futile search
. I can assure you that Livesey isn’t on the premises. However, as I always like to help the local constabulary, I can maybe sort that other little matter.’
‘Ah,’ Valerie said. ‘I knew we could rely on that public-spirited nature of yours.’
Chris Street stood up and strode over to a blue-and-gold metal filing cabinet on the other side of the room. He opened the top drawer, flicked through the files inside and drew out a sheaf of papers. Then he walked back to Valerie and held them out. ‘This is the best I can offer. It’s a list of the rotas for the past three months, showing where Livesey was working and who he was working with.’
‘Thank you,’ Valerie said, taking the papers. ‘It’ll do. For now.’ She gave him a nod. ‘Goodbye, Mr Street. We appreciate your cooperation.’
Street sat back down behind his desk. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you do.’
Valerie smiled as she and Swann left the office. It was nice to win the occasional battle in what was always going to be an ongoing war. Her good mood didn’t last for long, however. The foyer was much busier than when they’d arrived, and they had to force their way through a crowd of rowdy male customers. The normal social niceties had apparently been left at the door, and she was aware of eyes blatantly looking her up and down as if she was a piece of meat. If leering had been classed as an illegal activity, she could have arrested the whole damn lot of them.
Once they were outside, she tossed the car keys to Swann. ‘You drive. I want to look through these rotas.’
‘You okay, guv?’ he asked, seeing the expression on her face.
‘Why shouldn’t I be? It’s the twenty-first century, supposedly an age of equality, and yet women are still peeling off their clothes to give mindless overpaid wankers a lunchtime thrill.’
Swann grinned. ‘No change there, then.’
‘More’s the pity.’
They got into the car and Swann started the engine. ‘That Chris Street’s a piece of work.’
‘Like father, like son. Still, he’s an angel compared to his brother.’ Valerie was relieved that Danny hadn’t been around. The guy made her flesh creep. Chris’s psychotic younger brother was every woman’s nightmare – cruel and vicious and predatory. And if everything else they said about him was true … She shuddered at the thought.
‘Back to the nick?’ Swann said.
‘Back to the nick.’
As Swann drove along Shoreditch High Street, Valerie bent her head and flicked through the sheets Chris Street had reluctantly given her. Livesey had been working the door at the Lincoln on the night that Becky Hibbert had been murdered – and the Lincoln was right beside the Mansfield Estate. He must have gone there right after the pool hall closed for the night.
Working backwards through the rotas, she studied the list of people who had worked with Livesey over the past three months. There was obviously a fast turnover of staff, and some employees came and went within a matter of weeks. Being employed by the Streets probably wasn’t to everyone’s taste. There were three or four guys, however, who’d regularly done shifts with Livesey. Only one of the names was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.
‘Michael Higgs?’ she said, glancing over at Swann. ‘Mean anything to you?’
‘Yeah, I’ve heard that name somewhere.’ He thought about it for a while, his forehead creased in concentration. The seconds ticked by, and suddenly his brow cleared. With the tips of his fingers he did a mini drum roll on the steering wheel. ‘I’ve got it. That girl Harry told you about, the one Lister went to see yesterday. Paige something? The friend of Becky’s.’
‘Fielding,’ Valerie said. And then it came to her too. ‘Ah, Micky Higgs. That’s it. He’s the boyfriend, right? She flapped the sheets of paper against her right thigh. ‘Which means he’s not likely to be offering a helping hand to Livesey, not when the guy’s a prime suspect for murdering his girlfriend’s mate.’
Swann made a grunting sound in the back of his throat. ‘Can’t rule him out, though. Depends on how pally the two of them were. And what the girlfriend doesn’t know, the girlfriend isn’t going to grieve over.’
‘Is that the voice of experience speaking?’
‘Not me. I’m the honest, loyal type.’
In truth, Valerie hadn’t got a clue about Swann’s private life. She didn’t even know if he was in a relationship. Her own desire for privacy prevented her from enquiring too closely into the personal lives of her workmates. She did, however, recall the way he’d ogled the receptionist at Belles. ‘Yes, that’s you all right. Never one to lech over a woman’s cleavage without a perfectly valid reason.’
Swann grinned. ‘Not leching, guv, examining. She could have been carrying a concealed weapon. I was just covering your back.’
‘Concealed?’ Valerie said. ‘She couldn’t have concealed a bee’s kneecap in that dress.’ She looked back down at the rotas and sighed. ‘I suppose we’d better talk to this Micky Higgs. And there are a few others it could be worth having a chat with too.’
Swann gave her a sideways glance. ‘You thought any more about what Harry said?’
Valerie bristled. Partly this was down to a deep-seated insecurity about being compared to Harry Lind in a professional capacity, but mainly it was because she was still annoyed by the presence of Jessica Vaughan in his flat. ‘Harry?’
‘About a possible connection to Minnie Bright.’
‘Do you see a connection?’ she asked, a little more sharply than she’d intended.
Swann considered the question before giving his answer. ‘Well, from where I’m sitting it still looks like a straightforward domestic, but …’
‘But?’
He shrugged and heaved out a breath. ‘It could be that we’re missing something.’
Valerie turned her face away and gazed out of the side window. They were words she hadn’t wanted to hear. She was still convinced that Livesey was their man – why else would he have run? – but his reasons for killing Becky Hibbert might have their roots more in the past than the present. She couldn’t dismiss the possibility that there was more to this murder than they’d originally thought.
38
Jess had driven straight back from Bethnal Green. Now she was sitting at the table in Harry’s flat, her fingers flying over the keys of the laptop as she typed up her interview with Ralph Masterson. She wanted to get it all down while it was still fresh in her mind. He had provided some excellent background information, revealing to her a man who was perhaps more pathetic than demonic, and yet she was still no closer to knowing whether Donald Peck had been innocent or guilty.
As she worked, her gaze frequently darted out of the window and on to the street beneath. Since the fire, she’d been constantly alert, on the lookout for strangers hanging around or for anyone who might be acting suspiciously. She’d had one near-death experience and didn’t relish the prospect of another. Suspicious strangers, however, were pretty much the norm in London, and she knew that if she wasn’t careful, she’d develop a seething paranoia about every guy who had a shifty expression, who walked a little slower than he should or who stopped to light a cigarette.
The factual part of her summary flowed quickly and easily, but she hesitated when she came to the more subjective side. What did she actually feel? What did her instincts tell her? Well, for one thing she was sure that Ralph Masterson was hiding something – but then that was nothing new. The whole Minnie Bright case was underpinned by secrets. And for another, she hadn’t imagined Masterson’s anger. His words echoed in her ears: What kind of ten-year-old doesn’t know the difference between right and wrong? Now there was a man with an axe to grind. He’d also been evasive about Stella Towney.
Jess stopped typing, picked up her mug and drank the dregs of her coffee. It was cold but she barely noticed. Outside, the grey clouds had parted and a few thin rays of sunshine were slipping through. She got up from the chair and stretched her arms up over her head. What she needed was a walk, some exercise to get the blood
pumping to her brain again.
She put on her jacket, grabbed her bag and headed for the door. As she passed the first-floor landing, she could see the open door to Mackenzie, Lind and considered going in to get Harry’s take on what Masterson had told her. She stood for a moment, her hand on the curve of the banister, but then decided to leave it. Her news could wait until tonight.
Despite the sun, the air still had a chill to it. A cool breeze flapped at the thin fabric of her white shirt and made her shiver. She zipped up her jacket and bent her head as she walked to the end of Station Road and turned right on to the high street. What she had in mind was an afternoon of therapeutic shopping. If she was going to the casino with Harry tonight, she’d need a pair of killer heels to go with the little black dress that was hanging in the wardrobe. She could do with some jewellery too. Nothing fancy, just a few accessories to finish off the outfit.
She spent the next hour flitting from shop to shop, trying to balance her desire against her limited budget. She couldn’t afford to go mad; her choices had to be sensible ones. When she found the shoes, however, all thoughts of economy went straight out of the window. The black stilettos with the tiny cream bows on the front were irresistible. She tried them on and they fitted perfectly. She glanced at the price, ninety-five pounds, and winced. Still, she decided, it would be pointless to buy a cheaper pair that she might never wear again. At least she would get some use out of these. And every girl, even those who spent most of their lives in jeans and trainers, needed to be prepared for those occasional visits to the casino.
Having spent more than she’d intended, Jess put herself in budget mode as she entered Ruby’s. The jewellery store had plenty to tempt her, and she spent the next twenty minutes browsing the display cabinets. A gold chain? A silver one? Eventually she settled on a simple string of pearls with matching pearl earrings. They were fake, but would easily pass for real, especially in a dim light.