The Madam

by Jaime Raven

  ‘The bottle’s empty,’ Scar said. ‘Shall I get another?’

  My eyes slid to her face and I raised a quick smile.

  ‘Yes, please, babe,’ I said. Then, on impulse, I leaned over and kissed her on the lips.

  ‘What was that for?’ she said.

  ‘For bringing this man to my attention,’ I told her. ‘At least now I don’t have to rely on the police to give me information. And I feel less worried about my mum and brother.’

  ‘Does that mean he’s got the job?’ Scar said.

  I turned back to Tiny and raised my glass towards him.

  ‘Of course it does,’ I said. ‘So how about we all drink to it?’

  After we clinked our glasses, it was back to business, with me pumping Tiny for more information. He told me what I already suspected – that Joe Strickland was a ruthless individual.

  ‘He comes across as open and friendly,’ Tiny said. ‘When he interviewed me he was softly spoken, polite. But I soon discovered that he has an ugly, vicious streak. I was on duty once when he got two of his bodyguards to hold a punter up against a wall while he kicked him repeatedly in the bollocks. I was then ordered to cart the poor sod outside.’

  ‘What had he done?’ I asked.

  ‘Believe it or not, all he did was smile at Strickland’s wife who was in the place with him at the time.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Scar said. ‘He sounds like a right nut job.’

  ‘He is,’ Tiny said. ‘During my time working for him I heard a lot of stories that convinced me he lives up to his reputation as a hard, vindictive thug.’

  Scar nudged me with her elbow. ‘In other words someone you should be steering clear of, Lizzie. Not the kind of dude you want to go up against.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘So what about those two bodyguards, Tiny? Did either of them have a tattoo on his chest depicting a growling pit bull?’

  He creased up his brow. ‘Not that I know of. But then I don’t think I ever saw their chests.’

  I asked him to describe the men. He said they were both English and about his size and build, with cropped hair and bad attitudes. I then described the two men who had attacked me in the alley.

  ‘Leaving the tattoo aside,’ he said. ‘Those descriptions match about half the heavies on the south coast. I haven’t a clue if the pair who attacked you and your brother are on Strickland’s books. He’s got quite a few blokes working for him.’

  I then asked Tiny if he knew for sure whether Strickland was involved in prostitution.

  He shook his head. ‘It’s only what I’ve heard.’

  ‘Would you be able to find out for me? I’d really like to know if he’s ever been involved with Ruby Gillespie’s agency.’

  ‘I could ask around, I suppose.’

  ‘Thanks. I’d really appreciate it. If he is then it’s probably him who Ruby is scared of.’

  ‘But surely the police can tell you that,’ Scar said. ‘Why don’t you ask them?’

  ‘Given what Tiny has told us about the cops, I doubt I’d get an honest answer,’ I said.

  ‘What about Detective McGrath? You said you were going to try to win him over. Get his support.’

  ‘I will if I can,’ I replied. Then I asked Tiny if he had ever come across DS McGrath.

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ Tiny said. ‘But I’ve heard the name mentioned. As far as I know he doesn’t have a bad rep.’

  ‘Has it ever been determined why Ferris threw himself under a train?’ I asked.

  Tiny shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. It was hot gossip for a while, and there was a lot of speculation, but it soon died down and I haven’t heard his name mentioned in ages.’

  Ferris’s suicide had come as a shock when I read about it just a week after Leo’s funeral. I hadn’t known Ferris well, but he’d spent many hours interviewing me, and I would never have considered him the type to kill himself. He’d seemed too smart and well adjusted.

  ‘I think it’s time we called a halt to the drinking,’ Scar said. ‘We’ve gone through two bottles of wine, and if I have another glass I’ll be over the limit.’

  She was right. I was already feeling slightly drunk. I asked Tiny when he could start keeping an eye on my mother’s house.

  ‘I came prepared to start this evening,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a flask of coffee and some sandwiches in the car. You just need to tell me where it is.’

  We agreed that he would watch the house during the evening up to midnight – the period when I thought Mum and Mark would be most vulnerable. If one of them left the house he would follow on foot to make sure they came to no harm. He said that £50 a day was fine and that I could pay him when the job was finished.

  We shook on it and I told him to follow us to my mother’s house. Before setting off he asked me if I intended talking to Joe Strickland.

  ‘I have to,’ I said. ‘The more I think about it, the more sure I am that he was somehow involved in Benedict’s murder.’

  ‘Then you need to be careful, Lizzie. He won’t take kindly to you asking questions. If he is the person who’s been warning you off then he might decide to take it to another level.’

  ‘He doesn’t scare me,’ I said.

  Tiny tutted. ‘Well, he ought to. The man’s dangerous, and he won’t baulk at hurting you.’

  ‘You let me worry about that, Tiny.’

  ‘So when are you going to see him?’

  I looked at my watch. Nine o’clock.

  ‘I had been toying with the idea of going to his house this evening, but maybe it’s too late now.’

  ‘He won’t be there anyway,’ Tiny said. ‘Most nights he’s at the Centurion until about eleven.’

  I felt my brow shoot up involuntarily.

  ‘Oh shit,’ Scar said. ‘I’m not sure you should have told her that.’

  11

  The Centurion was a relatively new venue in the Oxford Street area of the city. It had opened shortly after I went to prison, and according to Tiny it was popular with a more mature crowd.

  Scar tried to talk me out of going there, but it seemed like too good an opportunity to miss. I declined Tiny’s offer to accompany us as I felt that was a sure way to antagonise Strickland. So instead he followed us to my mother’s street and I watched him park his Renault on the kerb directly across the road from her house. When I knew he had his bearings and was settled we went back to the flat and changed.

  I put on my new black skirt that was short and clingy and a yellow blouse that showed off some flesh. The shoes felt less comfortable because it was so long since I’d worn high heels.

  I stood in front of the hall mirror and thought that I didn’t look too bad for a bird who had spent the best part of four years in jail. There was plenty of room for improvement, though. My skin was too pale from lack of sunshine. I needed to put on a bit of weight, to bring back some curves, and get rid of the shadows beneath my eyes. But that would come. I was sure of it.

  Scar, on the other hand, looked absolutely ravishing in a pair of tight beige trousers and a white sleeveless top. She’d applied enough make-up to almost cover the scar and her dark hair was sprinkled with glitter.

  My jaw dropped as I stared at her, and I realised just how much I’d changed. Four years ago I would not have been turned on by the woman who stood before me. But I was now. In fact I had to resist the urge to drag her into the bedroom and make mad, passionate love to her.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ she asked me. ‘I really don’t think it’s a good idea.’

  I picked up my purse from the table. ‘Look, Strickland might not even be there. If he isn’t we can go somewhere else. A bar crawl maybe.’

  ‘But if he is there what do you think is going to happen?’

  ‘I don’t know. It depends how he reacts when I confront him.’

  ‘That’s what I’m worried about, Lizzie. His bloody reaction.’

  ‘Then don’t come,’ I said. ‘I really won’t mind. I can go by myself and meet you afte
rwards.’

  ‘Yeah, like I’m going to let you do that.’

  Just then a car’s horn blared outside. The taxi we had ordered. As we walked out of the flat I registered a knot of tension in my stomach. I knew that what I was about to do was risky and perhaps extremely stupid. But I was going to do it nonetheless, regardless of the consequences.

  It said a lot about my state of mind after so long in prison.

  And about the burning sense of righteous indignation that was no doubt clouding my judgement.

  It was Friday night so town was busy. Southampton is a university city so it’s always full of students. They were out in force as usual, mostly in raucous groups. A couple of cruise ships were in, adding to the number of revellers.

  It was only my second night of freedom, and yet I already felt like I’d been out for a lot longer. So much had happened in such a short space of time. My mind was buzzing and my body felt electrified.

  I was like an animal that had been let out of a cage. Restless. Determined. Eager to release all the pent-up energy – and desperate to find out why I had lost so many years of my life.

  The Centurion didn’t look much from the outside. It was sandwiched between two restaurants that had tables spilling out on the pavement. There was a doorman at the entrance dressed in a black suit and looking like a gorilla on steroids.

  His eyes were on us as we climbed out of the cab, and he smiled a greeting as we walked past him into the bar. I thought about asking him if he knew Tiny, but decided not to.

  The interior was upmarket, classy. There was a drinking area with a long, well-lit bar, a few leather sofas and about a dozen glass-topped tables, most of which were occupied by couples and groups. The average age was about forty.

  Scar and I drew looks from some of the guys as we stepped up to the bar. I’d forgotten what it was like to attract attention and I was flattered. I wondered if any of the guys suspected we were lovers. Or did most of them assume we were out on the pull? I prayed silently to myself that none of them had paid me for sex while I was an escort.

  ‘So what’s it to be?’ Scar said when we hit the bar. ‘Wine or a spirit?’

  ‘I fancy a vodka tonic,’ I said.

  We’d talked about how to approach things on the way over. The plan was to just act like a couple of women on a night out. If Joe Strickland was here I’d simply introduce myself to him and try to engage him in a conversation. I’d had to promise Scar that I wouldn’t lose my cool and get us thrown out.

  I didn’t know what he looked like, but Scar did. She’d made it her business during the past few weeks to find out. His picture had apparently appeared several times in the business section of The Post.

  I looked around as Scar ordered the drinks from a young Eastern European barmaid. We weren’t the only women without male companions. There were four other pairs and two groups of three. All of them, like us, dolled up to the nines. But, unlike us, they were here to have a good time – not stir up trouble.

  Scar handed me a large vodka and the first mouthful burned a warm glow down the middle of my chest. I was reminded of all those nights lying on the bunk in my cell when I would have sold an organ for a drink.

  Scar cast her eyes around the room while sipping at a glass of white wine. Lipstick smudged its rim.

  ‘I don’t see him,’ she said, sounding relieved.

  Half an hour and two more drinks later he still hadn’t appeared.

  ‘With any luck he might have decided to have a quiet night in with the missus,’ Scar said.

  She pressed out a smile, but behind it I could tell she was nervous. It made me feel guilty. I should have insisted on coming here alone. And perhaps I would have if not for the amount of wine I’d consumed in the pub earlier. Four glasses had made me act on impulse without really thinking it through. It was yet another example of the reckless behaviour that had blighted my life.

  I was about to ask Scar to forgive me, and tell her that we should go somewhere else, when her eyes suddenly flared and she almost choked on a mouthful of wine.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I said, gripping her elbow. ‘Are you all right?’

  She coughed and sucked in a sharp breath.

  ‘Not really,’ she said, keeping her voice low and her eyes on the floor. ‘Strickland just walked out of the restaurant. He’s right behind you.’

  I spun round. There were two middle-aged couples standing not six feet away. One of the men was suited up, the other in shirt sleeves and chinos.

  Both women wore summer dresses and had fake tans. One had shoulder-length blonde hair with dark roots and the other was a hard-faced brunette.

  ‘Strickland is the one in the suit,’ Scar said, lifting her eyes to look.

  Strickland was asking the others what they wanted to drink. His husky smoker’s voice carried above the general din of conversation in the bar.

  He was stockily built, about five eight, and not bad looking. Prominent cheekbones, strong rugged chin, neat grey hair.

  I felt a tightness in my chest as I eyeballed him and my fingers rolled into fists.

  Having taken the drinks order, he gestured towards an empty table, and as the others went to sit down Strickland stepped up to the bar.

  Scar had her back to him. She tilted her head towards me and whispered, ‘Not here, Lizzie. You’re a bit drunk and it’s too public. Let’s leave it.’

  But that wasn’t going to happen, not while the drink was instilling me with Dutch courage.

  Strickland was one of the people I’d obsessed about in prison and I couldn’t pass up the chance to finally confront him. No matter how many people were around.

  I waited until he gave the barmaid his order and then eased Scar out of the way and sidled up to him like a hooker pouncing on a prospective punter.

  ‘Hi, Joe,’ I said breezily. ‘You and I need to have a chat.’

  He turned to me, slightly startled. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You heard me,’ I said, raising my voice an octave. ‘We need to have a chat. Right here. Right now.’

  I tried hard not to slur my words and just about managed it.

  ‘Am I supposed to know you?’ he said, frowning.

  ‘I’m Lizzie Wells. I’m sure you recognise the name. And you’ll know that I spent four fucking years in prison for killing a reporter named Rufus Benedict.’

  It dawned on him then and his face froze. But only for a couple of beats. He recovered quickly and dredged up a smile.

  ‘Lizzie Wells. Of course. I had no idea they’d let you out.’

  He was a smooth bastard, I thought. And a bare-faced liar. I could tell from his expression that he had probably been expecting me to turn up sooner or later.

  He rubbed a knuckle under his nose and said, ‘So why are you here and why do we need to have a chat?’

  I gave him a hard, uncompromising stare.

  ‘Because I didn’t kill Benedict,’ I said. ‘I was stitched up. Now I want to find out what you know about that.’

  He tossed a look at Scar like he expected her to say something. When she didn’t, he snapped his eyes back to me.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Why would I know about it? I didn’t really know Benedict and I don’t know you.’

  I exhaled a breath, willing my body to relax.

  ‘Benedict was investigating your business affairs at the time,’ I said. ‘He was going to expose you as a corrupt scumbag. And you threatened him. That’s why I’m convinced you had something to do with his murder.’

  I expected him to explode at this point. Instead, he curled his mouth into a wry smile and said, ‘That’s an outrageous allegation to make, Miss Wells. Did your spell in prison turn you into a raving lunatic?’

  ‘I’m glad you think it’s funny,’ I shot back at him. ‘But we both know it’s true. Which is why you’ve been trying to stop me from asking questions.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Really? So you didn’t
get two of your heavies to beat me up in an alley after I left Ruby Gillespie’s house?’

  ‘Are you insane? And who the hell is Ruby Gillespie?’

  ‘She’s the woman – or should I say the madam – who lied about me in court. And I reckon it was because you told her to.’

  He shook his head. ‘This is ridiculous. You’re obviously spouting nonsense because you’ve had too much to drink. So I want you to leave the premises before I lose my temper. I’m here to enjoy an evening out with my wife and our friends, and that’s what I intend to do.’

  ‘Why should I leave?’ I said.

  ‘Because I own this bar as I’m sure you know. And because you’re clearly here to cause trouble.’

  ‘But we haven’t had a proper chat yet. I’ve got more questions to ask you and I’m determined to bloody well ask them. If not now, then I can always drop in on you and your wife at home.’

  The barmaid placed his drinks on the bar and said something, but he ignored her and kept his eyes on me.

  I could tell he wasn’t sure how best to handle the situation. He obviously wanted to avoid an ugly scene, but at the same time he was probably curious about what I had to say.

  After giving it some thought, he said, ‘Very well. You’ve got ten minutes.’ He pointed to an empty table by the wall. ‘But just you and me. Your friend stays here.’

  I looked at Scar and she shrugged.

  ‘Okay,’ I said.

  ‘Then go and sit down while I take these drinks over to my party,’ he said.

  I watched him carry the drinks over to the table where he bent down and said something to his friend in the shirt. He then gave the blonde woman a quick kiss, and she shot me a disgruntled look.

  ‘Are you going to be all right here for a few minutes?’ I asked Scar.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘It’s you I’m worried about.’

  ‘Well, don’t be.’

  ‘Promise me you won’t lose your cool, Lizzie.’

  ‘I promise. I just need to suss him out and maybe get him to incriminate himself.’

  ‘Fat chance of that. The guy’s not stupid. He won’t tell you anything he doesn’t want you to know.’