The Madam

by Jaime Raven

  Anger coursed through my body. ‘Why would I make it up, you stupid fuck?’

  He bristled. ‘To get attention and lend weight to your story that you’re the victim of some ridiculous conspiracy.’

  ‘Are you saying my brother made it up too – even though my girlfriend and I saw him being pushed out of a car?’

  Ash threw a glance at McGrath. ‘What’s your take on it, Paul? You just interviewed the brother.’

  McGrath didn’t appear to be intimidated.

  ‘Mark Wells claims he was beaten up by two men, guv,’ he said. ‘And he says they told him it was a warning to his sister.’

  Ash turned back to me. ‘So did you or your girlfriend get the car’s registration number?’

  I had to admit that neither of us had. ‘It happened too quickly. The car sped off as soon as my brother was pushed out.’

  He stepped further into the room and stood right in front of me, glowering. I could smell his aftershave and see small hairs poking out of his flared nostrils.

  ‘That’s a real shame,’ he said. ‘Just like it’s a shame that nobody saw you being attacked and that it took place at a spot where there are no street cameras. It means all we have is your word and that concerns me.’

  He stared down at me, his eyebrows arched inquisitively. At the same time he put both hands into his pockets and started jangling some loose change.

  I had to fight down the urge to leap out of the chair and throw myself at him. The arrogant sod was baiting me. He would have liked nothing better than for me to lose it and strike him. I’d be back in a cell in the blink of an eye.

  ‘I know what your problem is,’ I said. ‘You don’t want me to find out who really killed Benedict because if I do it’ll mean you got it badly wrong. You’ll look like a twat. So you’re going to rubbish everything I say and do and use pathetic threats to shut me up. Well, it won’t work. If you don’t properly investigate both attacks I’ll get onto the papers and the Police Complaints Commission.’

  He clenched his jaw and struggled to control the tremor in his voice.

  ‘I never said we wouldn’t investigate,’ he said. ‘DS McGrath here has been put in charge of both inquiries and he’s one of my best detectives. But let me tell you this, Lizzie Wells. If it turns out you’re lying about the attack, or if you upset any more people, then I’ll come down on you so hard you won’t know what’s hit you.’

  He then stepped towards the open door, but before walking through it, he turned and said, ‘And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll never call me a stupid fuck again.’

  It wasn’t the first time I’d called Ash a stupid fuck. I’d said it four years ago, when he and Neil Ferris were questioning me in this very building.

  He’d reacted then by grabbing the collar of my blouse and yelling into my face that he was going to put me away for a long time. If Ferris hadn’t urged him to calm down I was pretty sure that Ash would have given me a slap.

  Ferris had always been more patient and less volatile than Ash. My rants and insults seemed to just bounce off him. I’d got the impression that he hadn’t regarded me as pond life, even though he’d believed I’d killed a man. But Ash had been a bully from the start, which had only served to ignite my fiery temper.

  On one occasion I threw a cup of water at the wall because he called me a filthy whore and a rotten mother. My reaction had probably had as much to do with the truth of his words as the fact that he had hurled them at me.

  ‘Are you all right?’ McGrath said, breaking into my thoughts.

  I let out a sigh and nodded. ‘I was just thinking how much I hate that man. Is he always so obnoxious?’

  McGrath started to answer, but thought better of it. Instead, he asked me to describe my two attackers.

  Their faces were still etched on the back of my retinas so it wasn’t difficult.

  ‘The descriptions match those given by your brother,’ he said. ‘The tattoo is especially significant. It might turn up on our database.’

  ‘They told me that I’d made certain people very angry,’ I said. ‘And that if I carry on asking questions, I’ll wind up dead.’

  ‘So are you intending to carry on?’ he asked.

  ‘Too bloody right I am,’ I said. ‘I’m not letting those thugs or your dickhead boss stop me. I’ve been thinking about this for too long and I’m not giving up at the first hurdle.’

  The bravado was for his benefit. I didn’t want him or anyone else to think that I could be so easily intimidated. But in truth I could feel the nerves bunching up inside me, the fear growing. I was sure that any sensible, level-headed person would have decided that now was the time to call a halt and accept that carrying on would be bonkers. Maybe even suicidal. But then I’d never been sensible or level headed. That was why my life had become such a train wreck.

  ‘So what if anything are you going to do to find these men?’ I said.

  He sat back in the chair and crossed his legs.

  ‘We’ll trawl the system and with your help work up some photofits,’ he said. ‘Officers are on their way to Bevois Valley to see if any of the shopkeepers saw anything. The lack of CCTV footage is really unfortunate.’

  ‘You should talk to Joe Strickland. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s involved.’

  He raised his brow at me. ‘I take it you mean Mr Strickland, the prominent Southampton businessman.’

  ‘Who else would I mean?’

  ‘But what would he have to do with it?’

  I gave him a disdainful look. ‘You’ve got a short bloody memory, detective. Or else you’re pretending for some reason you don’t know that Rufus Benedict was investigating corruption involving Strickland in the weeks before his murder. My lawyer told me Strickland made verbal threats against Benedict and Benedict went to the police. He would have been prime suspect if the evidence against me hadn’t been so convincing.’

  ‘But Strickland was cleared of any involvement,’ McGrath said. ‘He had an alibi for that night and Benedict’s investigation didn’t turn up anything sinister. His editor at The Post confirmed this and told us that Benedict’s suspicions were unfounded. And as for the threat – well Strickland apologised, said he overreacted.’

  ‘All very convenient,’ I said. ‘Unlike me, Strickland had a motive for killing Benedict. And unlike me, he had friends in high places. I’d love to know how many strings were pulled to keep him out of it.’

  McGrath looked uncomfortable suddenly and I wasn’t about to let the subject drop.

  ‘You know as well as I do that Strickland is a shady character,’ I said. ‘He’s been involved in all kinds of shit in this city for years. For every legit business he runs there are two as bent as a nine-bob note. The only reason he’s not behind bars is because he’s got enough money to grease plenty of palms.’

  ‘I don’t imagine Joe Strickland is as honest as the Pope,’ McGrath said. ‘But we have no reason to believe he has anything to do with these attacks.’

  ‘Well, if you won’t talk to him I will,’ I said.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that, Lizzie. If you go anywhere near the man he’ll be straight on the phone to us and there’ll be consequences.’

  ‘Is that another veiled threat?’ I said. ‘You’re starting to sound like your boss.’

  He gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Wise up, Lizzie, for pity’s sake. I’m just giving you some sound advice. I for one don’t want to see you back in Holloway.’

  His concern sounded genuine, which made me warm to him. So I flashed him a wide smile to let him know I was grateful. And I kept it in place for a touch longer than was necessary. It went against the grain to flirt with a copper, but I wanted at least one of them on my side. I knew he was married from the ring on his finger, but that didn’t mean he didn’t fantasise about getting into my knickers.

  ‘What about camera footage from around the flat and my mother’s house?’ I said. ‘Surely the car the attackers were in would have been picked up.’

&n
bsp; ‘We’re on it,’ he said. ‘But there are no cameras in those streets and the roads around them are very busy. It would help if we at least knew the make and colour of the vehicle.’

  ‘It was a dark car,’ I said. ‘That’s all I can remember.’

  ‘At least it’s more than your brother can recall,’ he said. ‘So we can only hope we get lucky.’

  ‘What about cameras at The Court Hotel? Are there any covering the car park?’

  ‘There’s one,’ he said. ‘In fact, I’ve just looked at the footage and I can confirm that a man is captured on video walking into shot and placing a note on the windscreen of your girlfriend’s car. But he’s some distance away, and his face can’t be seen because he’s wearing a cap. So identification isn’t possible, even when we enhance the image. We’re now checking other cameras in the area to see if we can pick him up on one or more of those.’

  ‘He must have followed me from Holloway,’ I said. ‘How else could he have known I’d go to the hotel?’

  ‘Well, your friend Donna knew that you were planning to go there, so perhaps she mentioned it to someone.’

  ‘She didn’t.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because she told me so and I believe her.’

  McGrath then asked me if I’d sit with a police artist and work up a couple of photofits of my attackers. I said okay but called Scar first to tell her I didn’t know how long I’d be. She told me she’d go back to the flat and wait for me to call her.

  In the event it took just under an hour to complete two pictures of the thugs who’d mugged me. The images were not bad likenesses, and they looked like a pair of Mafia gangsters.

  The artist also produced a picture of the growling dog tattoo.

  ‘It’s a pit bull terrier,’ McGrath said. ‘They’re the most common image for a dog tattoo and are meant to symbolise toughness and fearlessness. That’s why they’re popular with street gangs and hardened criminals.’

  ‘And murderers,’ I said ‘I came across two women in Holloway who had them on their arms. Between them they’d murdered five people.’

  9

  Scar picked me up after my session with McGrath and the police artist.

  ‘I need a drink,’ I said.

  She took me to the one of the city’s best-known pubs, The Titanic in Upper Bugle Street. It used to be one of my favourite watering holes back in the day.

  I gulped down a pint of lager and scoffed a bag of cheese and onion crisps. I hadn’t eaten all day, but they seemed to fill me up.

  I gave Scar a fuller rundown of what had happened to me, and her face went stiff with concern.

  ‘So what did the coppers say?’ she asked.

  I told her about the Q and A with DS McGrath and DCI Ash.

  ‘I’ve no reason to believe that McGrath won’t carry out a proper investigation,’ I said. ‘He seems a decent bloke and I’m sure he knows I’m not lying to him about the attack. But Ash is a different matter. He’s a nasty piece of work and he doesn’t want me making waves.’

  ‘You need to be careful, Lizzie. All he needs is an excuse to put you back inside. He’s probably just as dangerous as those thugs.’

  ‘I think I know that,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to encourage Ruby to make an official complaint. If she does then things could get difficult.’

  ‘There must be some way to get her to come clean,’ Scar said.

  ‘I doubt it. She’s either too terrified to speak out or she’s lied to me about the threats against her.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  I shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. I just had this gut feeling that she wasn’t being honest. Maybe she was a willing participant in what happened. Maybe she did send me to that hotel knowing what was going to happen.’

  A quiet moment settled between us before Scar said, ‘Did you manage to get anything useful out of the detectives?’

  I shook my head. ‘I didn’t really get a chance. I did tell McGrath to talk to Joe Strickland but he said that wasn’t going to happen.’

  ‘No surprise there then.’

  I shrugged. ‘But I have a feeling that McGrath might be inclined to open up a bit – and maybe even help out – if only I can convince him that I didn’t kill Benedict. I just need to spend some time with him. Try to win his confidence.’

  Scar flashed me an insipid smile. ‘Sounds to me as though that detective has made quite an impression on you. Please tell me that he’s a fat, ugly bloke with bad breath.’

  I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. ‘As a matter of fact he’s fairly good looking. A bit like Brad Pitt.’

  ‘Does that mean you’re attracted to him?’

  I grinned. ‘Why would I be? He’s a man and I’m well and truly spoken for.’

  Scar chuckled. ‘Right answer, my dear. You’ve just earned yourself a bucketful of brownie points.’

  When we left the pub we went straight to my mother’s house. Her face dropped when she opened the door.

  Her first words were: ‘Why didn’t you tell me the police were going to come here asking questions?’

  ‘I didn’t know myself until I left here this morning,’ I said.

  ‘Well, it came as an unpleasant surprise. Marky was scared and confused.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here,’ I said. ‘I’ve come to see how he is.’

  My mother glanced at Scar, who was standing next to me.

  ‘And who’s this?’ she said.

  ‘This is my friend, Donna,’ I said. ‘Donna – meet my mum.’

  Much to my surprise and relief, my mother produced a smile of sorts and gave a slight nod.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs Wells,’ Donna said, laying on the charm as thick as cement. ‘Lizzie has told me a lot about you.’

  My mother lifted her brow. ‘Really? When was this?’

  That was the thing about my mother. She was as sharp as the tip of a dagger. She knew I didn’t have any close friends before I went to prison, so she’d no doubt guessed that Scar was another ex-jailbird.

  ‘If you must know, Mum,’ I said. ‘Donna was my cellmate inside as well as my soulmate. She was released a while ago, and we’re now sharing a flat not far from here.’

  My mother fixed her with a curious stare.

  ‘So who did you kill then?’ she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  It could have gone horribly wrong at that point if Scar had taken offence. But instead, she gave a brittle laugh and said, ‘I didn’t actually kill anyone, Mrs Wells. I just cut off a man’s balls because he raped me. I’m sure you would have done the same in the circumstances.’

  I felt my breath shorten and my heart spike. But my mother’s response took me completely by surprise, no doubt because Scar had obviously wrong-footed her.

  A smile split her features and she said, ‘Nowhere in the Bible does it say that a woman can’t defend herself, my love. So I’ve no doubt that God has forgiven you.’

  I stood there open-mouthed as my mother stepped back and ushered Scar inside the house.

  She then turned to me, and the smile vanished.

  ‘So are you coming in as well or are you planning to stay out there all afternoon?’ she said.

  There’s no denying my feelings were hurt. My mother had simply accepted that Scar had told her the truth – and that what she had done was deserving of forgiveness. What else would one expect from a church-going Christian?

  And yet I’d never been believed or forgiven. My mother had chosen to believe instead the falsehood behind the conviction of her own daughter.

  I tried hard not to let my feelings show as I closed the front door behind me and trailed my mother along the hall into the kitchen.

  Mark was sitting at the table with a mug of tea in front of him.

  ‘It’s your sister and her friend,’ Mum told him as she walked across the room to put the kettle on.

  Mark looked much better than he had this morning, and he beamed at me as h
e jumped up from the chair, as excited as a puppy dog.

  He gave me a hug and then did the same to Scar, even though he’d never met her before. I could tell that she immediately warmed to him. But then most people did. My brother’s disarming personality shone through despite his mental impairment.

  ‘So how are you, bruv?’ I said.

  He touched his forehead. ‘My head still hurts a bit, sis. And my nose.’

  My mother poured the teas as Mark explained how two police officers had come to talk to him.

  ‘The one named Paul was very nice,’ he said. ‘He promised to catch the men who took me away.’

  So despite what my mother had suggested, it was clear that he hadn’t been further traumatised by the experience. And that was a huge relief. In fact he was back to his old perky self.

  I decided not to reveal that the same two thugs had attacked me. It would only have made my mother worry even more. She poured the teas and stayed silent as Mark turned his attention to Scar, bombarding her with questions. It was a sign that he liked her, and she responded with good grace.

  When he said he wanted to show her his own little flower bed in the back garden, she was happy to follow him outside.

  The moment they were gone my mother said, ‘A man phoned here for you this morning. He said he worked for the local paper.’

  ‘Did he give a name?’

  ‘Kevin Dewar.’

  ‘He’s the editor of The Post,’ I said. ‘I remember his name.’

  ‘He heard you got out apparently and wants to talk to you. I told him you weren’t living with me and that I didn’t know how to contact you.’

  ‘I’ll call him. Did he leave a number?’

  She picked up a piece of paper from the worktop and placed it on the table in front of me.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down, Mum?’ I said. ‘Tell me how you’ve been.’

  She hesitated, and I thought she was going to blank me. But after a couple of beats she pulled out a chair and eased herself into it.

  They say that time heals, and I wondered if that would ever be the case with our relationship. Or was the damage that had been done irreparable?