The Madam

by Jaime Raven

  I leaned across the table and tried to get her to look at me. But she refused to make eye contact and stared instead at a spot on the wall.

  ‘I haven’t seen or heard from you since the funeral,’ I said. ‘Have you been okay?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Mark told me that he wrote to you regularly.’

  I nodded. ‘He did and it was great to hear from him. He said you had a job for a while, but got made redundant. He also wrote that he kept begging you to bring him to see me in prison.’

  She chewed on the inside of her cheek and said nothing.

  ‘So why didn’t you come and see me, Mum?’ I said. ‘And it upset me when you refused to bring Leo in.’

  Now she looked at me, and her gaze made me feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Do you really need to ask that question, Lizzie? On that day the police came here my world was shattered. Not only did I learn that you had stabbed a man to death, but also that you had done it while working as a prostitute. Can you even begin to imagine what that was like? The shock, the shame.’

  ‘But when you came to see me at the police station I told you that I didn’t kill him,’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you believe me?’

  ‘Because it was obvious to me that you were lying. The police told me about the knife and the blood. They said there was no question you stabbed that man.’

  ‘I was stitched up, Mum. I really want you to believe that. Why do you think I’m determined to get to the truth now that I’m out?’

  ‘I don’t know, Lizzie. All I do know is that you betrayed your mother and your son. You sold your body for money and then you killed a man. And because of what you did you weren’t around to take care of Leo.’

  ‘And you blame me for the fact that he died?’

  Her eyes sparkled with tears and she drew her lips together in a thin line.

  ‘Of course I do. But I also blame myself for what happened to Leo. I should have suspected that he had more than just a headache. I shouldn’t have simply accepted what the doctor said. If I’d taken him straight to the hospital I’m certain he would still be alive. And that’s why I can’t forgive you. I’ll carry the burden of guilt around with me until my dying day. That’s thanks to you, Lizzie. You weren’t here because you gave yourself to the devil and in doing so you destroyed the lives of the people who loved you.’

  I was stunned by my mother’s words, and it was all I could do not to cry.

  I hadn’t realised that she too was struggling to cope with the guilt. It helped explain her behaviour towards me, especially after Leo died.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ I said, because I couldn’t think what else to say.

  I felt my heart sink into my shoes and my throat catch. I started to rise from the chair, intent on giving my mum a cuddle, but just then Scar and Mark came back into the kitchen, and the moment was lost.

  Scar sensed the tension in the air and gave me a look. But my brother was oblivious to it and started telling me about the flowers he’d planted in the garden and how well they were doing.

  ‘That reminds me,’ I said to my mother, in the hope of easing the tension. ‘I would like to put some flowers on Leo’s grave. Those roses that you left there were beautiful. Where did you get them?’

  She had to compose herself before responding.

  ‘They weren’t from me,’ she said.

  ‘Oh? Then who …?’

  My mother shrugged. ‘I don’t know who she is, but some woman has been putting flowers on the grave every week for the past eleven months or so. It started soon after Leo died.’

  ‘Have you asked her who she is?’

  ‘I haven’t actually seen her. I only know it’s a woman because I asked the cemetery manager and he told me.’

  ‘Did he describe this woman?’

  ‘She’s middle-aged apparently and blonde. That’s all he could say because he’s only seen her a couple of times and from a distance.’

  ‘So when does she put them there?’

  ‘Usually on a Saturday morning, he said. I go to the grave during the week so I’ve never bumped into her. I did pop along one Saturday in the hope of seeing her, but she didn’t turn up.’

  The woman’s identity was a mystery to me. I didn’t know any middle-aged blonde women. There were no relatives who fitted that description, and if my mother suspected who she was I was pretty sure she would have said.

  ‘Maybe she’s just someone who visits the graves of strangers,’ Scar said. ‘I’ve read about people who do that. It’s more common than you think.’

  It was an explanation, I supposed, but I wasn’t convinced. I couldn’t believe that anyone would visit the grave of someone they hadn’t known, every week for almost a year. Surely there had to be a more valid reason.

  Various scenarios spun around inside my mind until one of them stood out.

  I was suddenly convinced that Leo’s grave hadn’t been chosen at random by the woman. She was leaving the flowers there because she felt compelled to. Not because she had read about him dying. Or because she’d been moved by the words on his headstone.

  No, it was more likely out of a sense of guilt.

  It seemed to me that this was the most plausible explanation. And if so then it raised two very interesting questions.

  Who the hell was this woman?

  And why did she feel guilty?

  We stayed at my mother’s longer than I’d intended because Mark invited us to dinner.

  My mother clearly wasn’t happy about it. She rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. But she didn’t voice an objection, probably because her son looked so happy and she didn’t want to upset him.

  I had a feeling that she was also curious about Scar and did not want to pass up the opportunity to find out more about her – and the relationship she had with me.

  It was a bit awkward to begin with, and Mark was the only one doing the talking as my mother set about preparing four portions of cheese on toast.

  The scene brought a lump to my throat. It was years since my mother had cooked a meal for me, and I was reminded of my childhood and the happy years before things started to go wrong.

  It was hard to believe that not all my memories were bad ones. But most of them were. Fate had been unkind to my family, and at the same time I’d brought pain upon myself.

  Oh, how I bitterly regretted turning into an obnoxious, rebellious teenager from the age of fifteen, driven by the sheer arrogance of youth.

  My mother had described me as a bad seed and told me more than once that I had made too many wrong choices. And she’d been right. My only achievement in life had been giving birth to a beautiful boy. A boy whose unconditional love I’d had and then lost.

  As we sat around my mother’s table, I was only half-listening to the rather stilted conversation between her and Scar and my brother’s often incoherent babble.

  My mind was focused instead on the disturbing thought that by pursuing the truth behind Benedict’s murder I might well be unleashing another torrent of pain and misery on myself and my family.

  10

  The evening was drawing in by the time we left my mother’s house and dark clouds had formed overhead. I came away heartened by the fact that we hadn’t argued.

  In fact it had been a rather pleasant couple of hours, and my mother seemed quite taken with Scar. Turned out they had a few things in common. They were both big fans of Coronation Street. George Clooney was their all-time favourite actor. And they were both Cancerians.

  My mother did not enquire directly as to the nature of our relationship. But she didn’t have to because Scar dropped so many hints that even my brother must have realised we were lovers.

  Thankfully it didn’t become an issue, although I could tell from the way my mother looked at me that she was confused and maybe disappointed.

  ‘I like your mum,’ Scar said, when we were in the car. ‘She was friendlier than I thought she would be.’

  ‘That took me by surprise too,’ I said. ‘S
he probably didn’t want to kick off in front of you. Besides, it was obvious you made a good impression. On my brother as well.’

  Scar grinned. ‘I hope so. Mark is adorable.’

  I told her what my mother had said about feeling guilty over Leo’s death. This steered the conversation towards my son’s grave, and the lady who’d been leaving flowers there for almost a year.

  ‘It’s kind of freaky,’ Scar said. ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘It must be because she feels guilty,’ I said. ‘I can’t think of any other plausible explanation. I don’t know any middle-aged blonde women and neither does my mother.’

  ‘So if she didn’t know Leo and doesn’t know you then what would she have to feel guilty about?’

  ‘That’s the million-dollar question.’

  ‘Could she be the GP who misdiagnosed Leo’s condition?’ Scar said. ‘This is her way of assuaging her guilt?’

  ‘The doctor is a man,’ I said. ‘His name’s Patel, and according to my mum he moved back to India six months ago.’

  ‘Then maybe she is just some kind-hearted stranger.’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t buy that. I’m sure there must be more to it. I need to find out what it is and who she is.’

  Scar took her eyes off the road to look at me.

  ‘Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking, Lizzie? That this woman knows something about Benedict’s murder?’

  I shrugged. ‘It has to be a possibility. If she knows I didn’t kill Benedict then putting flowers on Leo’s grave might be her way of dealing with her conscience.’

  Scar gave a low whistle. ‘Now that’s what I call clutching at straws.’

  ‘Not at all. If I was a real detective I’d call it a possible lead. That’s why I intend to follow it up.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Too right I am. First thing tomorrow I’m going to the cemetery. According to my mum that’s when she usually visits. So if I’m to find out who this woman is then that’s the obvious place to start.’

  We didn’t go straight back to the flat. On the way Scar took a call from her ex-husband, Craig Decker – or Tiny as she preferred to call him – and he suggested meeting up at a city centre pub.

  I’d actually forgotten that he was coming to Southampton to see me, but in view of what had happened in the alley I was glad. I couldn’t rely on the police to keep an eye on my mother and Mark. It was therefore down to me to take steps to keep them safe.

  The King’s Tavern was a short walk from the main shopping street, and it overlooked a small leafy park. We left the car on a meter outside and went in.

  It was still fairly early so the place was almost empty, save for a couple of diehard drinkers at the bar. But even if it had been packed to the rafters, Tiny would have stood out.

  Scar hadn’t exaggerated when she’d told me that he was built like a brick shithouse. He was well over six feet tall and almost as wide across the chest. But he wasn’t fat. He was lean and solid and it was obvious that he took good care of himself.

  There was a touch of vanity about his appearance. His dark, shoulder-length hair was slicked back with gel, and the top three buttons of his white shirt were undone, revealing a mat of curly hairs on his chest.

  ‘I’m impressed,’ I said quietly to Scar as we walked towards him. ‘Seems you had good taste in men before you decided to give up on them.’

  Her eyes swivelled towards me and she flashed a smile that told me she considered it a compliment.

  Up close, Tiny was ruggedly handsome with a strong, square jaw and skin drawn tightly over his cheekbones. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, and he sported a faint designer stubble.

  He and Scar clearly still had a soft spot for each other. As we approached, he held his arms out, and she stepped eagerly into his embrace. It was a tender moment, and in my mind’s eye I had a fleeting image of them making love. And making a baby. It was weird, but touching.

  She then introduced him to me. He gave my hand a firm shake and said, ‘You’re a lucky lady, Lizzie. Donna is a wonderful woman.’

  The man was indeed a charmer, and I took to him instantly.

  ‘I have no idea how much she’s told you about me,’ he said. ‘But you should know that I still consider her a close friend. So when she asked me if I’d help you out, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. And it’s not just because I’m hard up financially.’

  I smiled. ‘I think I know that.’

  ‘Good. You should also know that she hasn’t given me the full story. I know why you went to prison. And I know you’ve only just been released. I also know that you’ve always claimed you were innocent, even though you pleaded guilty to manslaughter.’

  ‘So what else do you know?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Only that you want someone to watch out for your family because threats have been made against them.’

  ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘But I think you should be aware of what you’re letting yourself in for.’

  ‘Then why don’t you fill me in over a drink?’ he said. ‘What can I get you both?’

  We sat in a booth with leather seats and shared a bottle of white wine. I told Tiny everything, beginning with Benedict’s murder and how I had come to be in that hotel room.

  He listened intently and I had his full attention, his gaze unblinking. Only twice did he throw a glance at Scar – when I mentioned Leo’s death and when I said my goal was to track down the bastards who had framed me because I didn’t want them to get away with it.

  He was shocked to learn that both my brother and I had been attacked. Scar hadn’t conveyed to him the seriousness of the situation because I’d told her I wanted to tell him myself. That was so I could gauge his reaction and determine whether or not to enlist his help.

  After I’d put him in the picture, he sat back and blew out a breath between pursed lips.

  ‘This is heavy shit,’ he said. ‘I can see why you’re so concerned about your mother and brother.’

  ‘So are you having second thoughts about helping us out?’ I asked him.

  He picked up his glass and drank some wine. Then he licked his lips. ‘If you knew me you wouldn’t be asking that question, Lizzie. I don’t scare easily and shitbags who threaten and intimidate vulnerable people really piss me off.’

  ‘So you’re not concerned that watching out for my family might place you in danger?’ I said.

  He grinned. ‘Of course I’m concerned. But it’s part of the job. And since this now sounds like an interview you ought to know that I’ve got experience in this area.’

  ‘Donna told me you’re a bouncer.’

  ‘Until recently I was,’ he said. ‘I worked off and on as a doorman outside clubs in Portsmouth and Southampton. Then about six months ago I realised it was a mug’s game and packed it in. And for your information the guy I worked for was none other than Joe Strickland.’

  ‘Well I didn’t expect that one,’ Scar said. ‘But then you always did mix with a bad crowd.’

  Tiny smiled and shrugged. ‘I’m also familiar with the two coppers who arrested you four years ago, Lizzie. Martin Ash and Neil Ferris. And I’m pretty sure that one or both of them were on Strickland’s payroll as well.’

  Tiny’s revelation shocked me into silence. I felt my chest inflate and my throat narrow. The air in the bar suddenly felt like it was charged with static.

  If what Tiny had said was true then it was no wonder the police had cleared Joe Strickland of any involvement in Benedict’s murder, despite the fact that he had made threats against the reporter.

  ‘Strickland owns two nightclubs in Portsmouth,’ Tiny said. ‘Plus the upmarket Centurion Bar and Restaurant in Southampton. He also owns a company that supplies doormen to clubs and pubs all over Hampshire. That’s how I came to work for him. I applied for a job and he gave me an interview. Took me on there and then and I did stints at all three of his establishments.’

  ‘I gather he’s got a bunch of other busines
ses,’ I said.

  Tiny nodded. ‘He’s into property big time all along the south coast. I actually live in a block of flats that his company built.’

  ‘According to my lawyer his property portfolio was one of the things that Benedict was looking into,’ I said.

  ‘That’s what I heard too. Allegations of corruption were flying all over the place apparently. But that’s no great surprise in an industry where bribes and backhanders are commonplace.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Mind you, whatever dubious business practices he employed when doing property deals would be nothing compared to what else he’s supposed to be getting up to.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He shrugged. ‘Well the rumours have been rife for years that he’s heavily involved in drugs and prostitution. It’s where the big money apparently comes from. But you’d struggle to prove it, especially since he’s had bent coppers looking out for him.’

  ‘You mean Ash and Ferris?’

  ‘Among others. Those two names came up time and again because they were pretty high profile. Both of them were frequent visitors to the Centurion when I was working the door there. That’s how I met them.’

  ‘But you can’t be sure they were on the take?’

  ‘Of course not, but I do know Strickland was on first-name terms with them. And I suspect that’s why he’s never had any hassle from the drug squad and vice.’

  ‘So you were working for Strickland at the time of the murder.’

  ‘Yeah. I heard he was interviewed by Ash and Ferris because Benedict had claimed Strickland had threatened to have him beaten up if he didn’t stop snooping around. But nothing came of it and then shortly after that the news broke about your arrest.’

  I sucked in a breath, let it go. I could feel my heart drumming in my chest. For me this was a breakthrough. A stroke of pure luck. Here was a man who had met Joe Strickland and had some knowledge of his nefarious activities. On top of that he’d been able to confirm my suspicions that the police were more than likely protecting him.

  I could barely contain my excitement. My head was filling up with questions and my palms were starting to prickle with sweat. It didn’t help that two glasses of wine had already gone to my head. I wasn’t used to drinking and I could feel it teasing my senses.