Strangers

by Paul Finch

  Lucy nearly lost control of the car. They were back on the East Lancs by now, and at ten o’clock on a Friday night it was almost bare of traffic, but she still skidded from one lane to the next.’

  ‘What’s up?’ Tammy asked, grabbing the dashboard with fright.

  ‘Nothing … oil slick on the road. We’re fine, but what’s that you just said … your mate collects dicks and ball sacks?’

  ‘Nah.’ Tammy waved it away. ‘Lotta was just talking. When you get to know her, she’s lovely. You wouldn’t want to cross her though. Big strapping lass, built like one of them wrestling babes. And just as sexy.’

  ‘And Lotta works the streets?’

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? Way too classy for that. Back in the day, I was …’ She halted mid-flow, as if unsure whether or not to continue. Was it possible there was something that even the brash, indecorous Tammy could be embarrassed about? ‘Well … there’s this club in Cheetham Hill. Don’t know if you’ve ever heard of it. SugaBabes?’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘When I say I’m new to the game, I mean it.’

  ‘It’s the crème de la crème. Dead posh inside, dead well paid. Only the best-looking girls work there, but Lotta’s the star attraction. I’m telling you, Keira, it’s amazing. The only punters who come in are loaded. You don’t get toe-rags staggering in at the end of piss-ups.’

  ‘And you used to work there?’ Lucy tried not to sound too sceptical that an alcoholic street-girl like Tammy could find work in such a cultured establishment.

  ‘Yeaaaah,’ Tammy said, again defensive. ‘When I started out.’ She took another swig of vodka. ‘Suppose you’re wondering how I finished up out here?’

  ‘I’m not actually,’ Lucy replied. ‘But if this is as classy a place as you say, I’m wondering what the chances are of me getting a gig there?’

  Tammy pondered this. ‘Well, you look good enough. You’re clean … I presume you’re clean?’

  ‘Yeah, course.’

  ‘Because they’ll give you a raft of medical checks.’

  ‘I’m clean.’

  ‘There’ll probably be a try-out session.’

  Lucy glanced sidelong at her. ‘Try-out session?’

  ‘Course. Someone’ll try you out first. See if you’re any good. That always happens.’

  ‘I see …’

  ‘But I wouldn’t bother if I were you.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘You never heard of the Twisted Sisters? Jayne and Suzy McIvar?’

  Lucy considered. Those names did ring a bell, though she couldn’t quite place them. In any case, she didn’t want to let on that she had any kind of inside knowledge. She shook her head.

  ‘They run the place,’ Tammy explained. ‘And trust me, if you don’t want to get on the wrong side of Lotta, you really don’t want to get on the wrong side of those two.’

  ‘Lotta still works there then?’

  ‘Far as I know.’ Tammy swilled more vodka. ‘Nothing higher you can aim for round here if you’re intent on staying in. Good dosh, no skanks putting their hands all over you, stinking of Kentucky Fried, grease and engine oil under their fucking fingernails …’

  When she put it like that, Lucy had to admit – a berth at SugaBabes, try-out session or not, almost sounded desirable.

  *

  ‘And what on Earth are you supposed to be?’ Cora Clayburn wondered.

  Lucy spun around from the kettle, shocked. It wasn’t yet five o’clock in the morning. The very last thing she’d expected was that her mother would already be awake. Cora stood in the kitchen doorway in a house-robe and slippers. Her hair was tousled, and she was sallow-cheeked, but clearly, like mothers the world over when their offspring are out and about in the early hours, she hadn’t been deeply asleep. Most likely, the sound of her daughter returning home unexpectedly early had disturbed her.

  That said, she looked wide awake now. In fact, she was goggle-eyed as she advanced into the kitchen. And with more than a little reason, given that Lucy was standing making herself a brew while wearing her camisole, hot pants and thigh-boots.

  ‘What are you doing up?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘I asked first.’ Cora sat unsteadily at the kitchen table, eyes fixed on her daughter’s attire as if it was the worst thing she’d ever seen.

  ‘I guess you already know the answer to that,’ Lucy said, finishing off the tea. She’d deliberately withheld from her mother the actual details of her new role, to avoid scaring her. But Cora wasn’t dim.

  ‘You’re not on one of these awful undercover operations … when you go out all night dressed as a prostitute?’

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about. We’re not actually getting picked up.’

  Cora didn’t look in any way reassured. ‘That’s hardly the point! What if someone we know spots you?’

  ‘It’s not happening around here.’

  ‘So let me get this straight … they’ve actually got you standing on street-corners to try and catch this maniac?’

  ‘Mum …’ Lucy bustled across the room and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I understand your concern, but the murderer’s not looking for female victims. We’re genuinely not in danger.’

  ‘Okay, so what happened to your hand?’

  ‘Oh …’ Lucy had forgotten that she’d notched a couple of knuckles. In fact, the whole of that part of her right hand was enflamed and throbbing. ‘It’s nothing.’

  Cora fished a pair of glasses from her house-robe pocket. ‘Let me have a look.’

  Reluctantly, Lucy offered her sore paw.

  Cora examined it, and then stood up and moved to the medicine cabinet, taking out some antiseptic wipes, a tube of ointment and a roll of wraparound sticking-plaster. ‘Who did you punch?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s no concern of yours.’

  Very delicately, Cora cleansed the bruised and swollen flesh. ‘I suppose I should just be grateful it wasn’t the other way around.’

  ‘I told you. We’re not in danger … we are the danger.’

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, my girl.’

  ‘I ought to after ten years.’

  ‘There are some very, very bad people out there.’

  ‘Yeah, well … if I get my way, there’ll soon be one less.’

  Chapter 12

  ‘So what do we know about this Tammy Nethercot?’ DSU Nehwal asked.

  She sat on the desk at the front of the Ripper Chicks office, fidgeting with a pen. Slater stood to one side.

  ‘She’s in the system, ma’am,’ Lucy said from her own desk, stifling a yawn. It was mid-afternoon and she hadn’t long been back on duty, but as usual she hadn’t slept well during the interim period. ‘Form for tomming obviously, but also for shoplifting, drunk and disorderly, possession …’

  ‘Not the most reliable witness then?’

  ‘She’s been on the game a long time. Probably since she was well underage. I’d be inclined to trust her on this, though … at least a little bit. Plus, that thing I helped her out with last night. She reckons she owes me one. And those are her words, not mine.’

  ‘On which subject,’ Slater said, ‘I traced the VRM of that van, as you requested in your report. Belongs to a certain Gavin Longton, apprentice diesel-fitter from Little Hulton. He and his associate, Jamie Hargreaves, have been done twice in the past for indecent assault against prostitutes. Basically, they want the works but don’t like paying for it. The third one, the kid … we’ve no name for him yet, but it shouldn’t be difficult pinching all three of them if that’s how you’d like to proceed. Though given the extreme methods you yourself employed, I don’t think that’d be a very good idea.’

  ‘It certainly bloody wouldn’t,’ Nehwal chipped in.

  Lucy pondered. It had never occurred to her that the attack on Tammy might have any direct relevance to the enquiry. She had considered that it may indicate an escalation in violence against working girls in general as retaliation for the murders, though there wasn’t broad eviden
ce of that as yet. Now it sounded as if the three bastards involved had been nothing more than a scummy-arsed rape-team on the look-out for action.

  ‘I don’t think it’d be practical to pull them in this time, sir,’ she said. ‘Tammy would never cooperate anyway – she’s too frightened of her pimp. Plus it’d blow my cover. But at the very least we need to watch those three.’

  ‘Already taken care of,’ Slater replied. ‘I’ve forwarded their details to Salford Robbery. They’ve got the resources to sit on them for a few weeks.’

  ‘The main thing from our perspective,’ Lucy added, ‘is that it’s given me a real in with Tammy. She’s now desperate to do me a favour.’

  There was a pause, before Nehwal glanced at Slater. ‘SugaBabes? What do you think?’

  He shrugged. ‘I think it’s the best lead we’ve had so far. I mean, there are other lines of enquiry, but none of them seem to be going anywhere.’

  ‘The real problem here is the McIvar sisters,’ Nehwal said ‘They’re not small-time.’

  ‘It’s not really them we’re after, though, ma’am,’ Lucy replied. ‘It’s someone on their books.’

  ‘You’re certain this Lotta still works at the SugaBabes Club?’ Slater asked.

  ‘Tammy doesn’t know that for sure,’ Lucy said. ‘And I can’t press her too hard on it, because she’d get suspicious. But the truth is we won’t know until we get inside.’

  He looked discomforted by the mere thought. ‘Wouldn’t it just be easier to send one of the lads as a prospective customer? Get him to ask for Lotta?’

  ‘Possibly,’ Lucy said. ‘But Tammy reckons Lotta’s her real name, not her stage name. One of our grunts goes into that club, starts asking for girls by their real names … that’ll go down with the McIvars like a lead balloon.’

  ‘Okay, so what’s her stage name?’ Nehwal asked.

  ‘Tammy doesn’t remember.’

  Slater looked dubious. ‘She doesn’t remember?’

  Lucy made a helpless gesture. ‘False names, stage names … whatever you want to call them, sir, they come thick and fast once you get out there. I mean I’ve already got two and I’ve only been on the game a fortnight. Some of the girls have a lot more than two – they chop and change them like no one’s business. On top of that, Tammy’s an alky. She’s met that many lasses in this line work over the last few years she struggles to remember most of them by their real names. And again, I can’t risk questioning her too much.’

  The two senior officers glanced at each other uneasily.

  ‘How do you propose to get inside, PC Clayburn?’ Nehwal eventually asked. ‘You going to offer to turn tricks for them?’

  ‘I’ve gained Tammy’s confidence a little, ma’am,’ Lucy replied. ‘I’ve told her my real name now, “Hayley” … and she’s got me tagged as a reluctant newcomer. She believes I’m only selling myself because I need the cash, and that actually I’d rather do a normal job. She reckons the SugaBabes Club is always looking for barmaids.’

  ‘There are a million barmaids in the north of England. Why would they employ you?’

  ‘Well, ma’am, the only girls who’d likely apply are the ones who know the place is there … which cuts the field down a bit. The most trustworthy would be girls who are ex-hookers themselves, in effect girls on the inside already. And Tammy reckons that if I … well, if I put my assets on show, that’ll catch their eye. It’s a brothel after all, not a country club.’

  Nehwal frowned. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Slater said. ‘But I still think it’s a good lead.’

  Nehwal eyed Lucy carefully. ‘You know the Twisted Sisters are suspects in three gangland murders?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I’ve read up on them.’

  ‘Suzy McIvar in particular is a known psychopath with repeated convictions for violence.’

  Lucy shrugged. She’d assessed both the McIvars’ mugshots, even though they were a little out of date. The twins were thirty-eight now, though the last official police images of them portrayed a pair of Longsight prostitutes in their mid-20s. They weren’t identical twins, but looked similar: of mixed-race parentage, lean-faced and mean. Pretty girls possibly if they’d made the effort, but on the occasion of these particular arrests, looking beaten-up and feral.

  ‘They’re also affiliated to the Crew,’ Nehwal said.

  ‘My understanding is that the Crew don’t actually own them, ma’am,’ Lucy replied.

  ‘The Crew don’t own anyone or anything. Not officially. But when they protect you, it’s as good as. And they protect the McIvars.’

  ‘Hey, whoa … I don’t suppose these Ripper killings could actually be connected to the McIvars?’ Slater suddenly said, thinking aloud. ‘Unpaid bills or something?’

  ‘Bit of an OTT reaction,’ Nehwal replied, but she looked interested all the same.

  ‘Maybe they were big bills,’ he suggested.

  Nehwal pursed her lips. ‘I’ll put a note on the file, but I’d say the odds were against that. Those other homicides the Twisted Sisters are suspected of were double-tap executions. Real professional stuff. On top of that, none of these victims were in the high-roller bracket that SugaBabes normally attracts.’

  ‘What about the Crew themselves?’ Slater said. ‘If this Lotta is Jill the Ripper, could she be a front … or a lure? Could these be Crew hits, ma’am?’

  But the more Nehwal pondered it, the more visibly sceptical she became.

  ‘Again, the sexual sadism wouldn’t fit that pattern. What do they stand to gain by making it look like a serial killer? Jill the Ripper’s actually costing the Crew money. It’s damping down the demand for girls. But like I say, I’ll put it forward at the next conflab.’

  ‘Well, either way,’ Lucy said, ‘I’ve got to get in there before we can do anything else.’

  Slater still looked uncomfortable with it. ‘Whether the Crew are whacking johns or not, they’ve got a regular involvement with SugaBabes. You’ve already been made familiar with some of their main players, Lucy. That was on the off chance you’d hear about them while you were on the street. All along we told you there was next to zero chance of actually meeting one of these guys. But you go into that brothel, and the chance increases exponentially.’

  ‘Sir … I’m going in purely as a functionary. I mean, if there’re no barmaid jobs on offer, I’ll volunteer to clean. And whatever happens, I’ll only be there long enough to get some names.’

  ‘You realise you’ll be outside our help?’ Nehwal said. ‘I mean we know all about that place, of course … we’ve known about it for years, but for various operational reasons it’s suited us to keep it open. But there’s still no chance we can send anyone in to watch your back.’

  ‘Ma’am, I’ve considered all that …’

  ‘We can’t even risk fitting you with a wire. The likelihood is they’ll search you at the start and finish of each shift to check you haven’t been pilfering.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Lucy said, though this wasn’t a pleasing thought.

  ‘The other thing that concerns me,’ Nehwal said, ‘is your lack of experience.’

  ‘Ma’am, I’ve been a police officer for ten years …’

  ‘We know that. But this situation is all about covert enquiry, and that requires a completely different skill-set … as you know perfectly well.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s Lucy who’s inveigled her way into Tammy Nethercot’s confidence,’ Slater argued. ‘There’s no one else that can take her place at this stage.’

  Again, Nehwal looked unhappy. ‘How certain are you this Tammy Nethercot can get you a job?’

  ‘That’s where it may unravel,’ Lucy admitted. ‘I’m not one hundred per cent. I’m not even fifty per cent. But I’m meeting her for lunch on Monday, and she’s going to make an introduction for me.’

  Nehwal arched an eyebrow. ‘You’re meeting a street whore for lunch?’

  ‘In Tammy’s case I suspect it’ll be a liquid lunch. I�
�ve told her I’m buying, so she’s game.’

  ‘What’s your cover story going to be for this?’

  ‘Same as before, ma’am. My name’s Hayley Gibbs and I’m from Crowley. I was an admin assistant at Bradby & Sons in Clifton until I got caught with my hand in the till, at which point I got my marching orders.’

  ‘Bradby & Sons?’ Nehwal glanced at Slater. ‘That one of ours?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a good one,’ he said. Like all major metropolitan police forces, Greater Manchester operated a range of fake companies, telephone numbers, websites, email accounts and such, all carefully managed by highly trained admin staff, to provide phoney background info for officers engaged in undercover investigations.

  ‘I’ve also got boyfriend issues,’ Lucy added. ‘In short, I can’t give him any more cash to fuel his gambling habit, and to avoid him beating the shit out of me again I’m living with a friend … at least until I get myself back on my feet.’

  There was a lull in the conversation, Nehwal’s intense brown eyes fixed on Lucy for several seconds longer than was comfortable. ‘You sure you know what you’re doing here, PC Clayburn? I mean … you’re really sure?’

  ‘I’m ready, ma’am,’ Lucy said. ‘The only thing that’ll stop me is if we catch Jill the Ripper before then.’

  Nehwal snorted with unamused laughter. ‘Don’t hold your breath on that.’

  Lucy’s shift that Saturday night was uneventful, primarily because a cold autumn wind brought bouts of heavy rain, keeping all but the most desperate punters indoors. She only saw Tammy briefly, though that was sufficient for her to confirm their arrangements for the following week, which, when Lucy arose mid-morning on the Sunday, felt surreal.

  Even after shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, Lucy was tired and tense, already worried about the following day. Determined to tough it out, she pulled a sweater over her pyjamas and went downstairs. The house was quiet, the TV switched off, and there was no smell of eggs or bacon from the kitchen, so she assumed that her mother was out. That wasn’t unusual on a Sunday morning. Cora wasn’t a regular churchgoer, but she attended every so often. Lucy had even teased her about this, commenting that the handsome, recently widowed vicar, Roy Alderton, might have his eye on her, to which Cora, in a curt tone bordering on the disgusted, had replied, ‘Stuff and bloody nonsense!’