The Madam

by Jaime Raven

  ‘Well I have to try,’ I said. ‘I’m guessing this is the only chance I’ll get to put him on the spot.’

  I sat at the table with my back to the wall, wishing I hadn’t drunk so much.

  I hadn’t really worked out in my head all the questions I wanted to ask him and the booze would only make it more difficult for me to make sense of his responses.

  But then why should I have expected any more of myself? I was a twenty-something former prostitute and all round bad girl. Not an experienced detective or hard-bitten private eye. Ash had been spot on when he’d told me that I was way out of my depth.

  Joe Strickland walked towards me with an exaggerated swagger. If I hadn’t known better I would have taken him for a flashy car salesman or estate agent.

  As he sat down opposite me, I tried to play it cool by rattling the ice that was melting in my glass.

  ‘Okay, Lizzie Wells,’ he said. ‘You have my attention for the next ten minutes. That’s about how long it will take the police to get here.’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  He leaned across the table towards me, a menacing glare in his dark eyes. ‘I just asked my companion to phone them to say you’re here causing trouble. You didn’t seriously think I’d let you get away with talking to me the way you just did? As far as I’m concerned you’re a filthy little whore who should still be in jail. You’re also barking mad if you think you’re going to get me or anyone else to admit to being involved in a crime that happened years ago.’

  I felt like I’d been slapped around the face. The bastard had played me. I was now on the back foot, conscious that the police were on their way. He had also managed to separate me from Scar, so there was no one to hear him if he threatened me or confessed to something.

  ‘So come on,’ he said. ‘Get it off that near-flat chest of yours before the Old Bill cart you away and put you back where you belong.’

  I sucked in air between my teeth and tried to ignore the acidic rise of heartburn.

  ‘You must have something to hide if you feel the need to call the police,’ I said.

  ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘It’s obvious. Why else would you panic because I’ve turned up here?’

  He made a show of looking at his watch.

  ‘I reckon you’ve got seven minutes at the most before the uniforms come crashing through the door. So I suggest you get on with it.’

  I read his eyes. Saw that he was now enjoying himself, having seized control of the situation.

  ‘I’m not scared of you,’ I said.

  He shrugged. ‘There’s no reason why you should be. If you keep your nose out of my business and stop stirring up shit, I won’t have a problem, and you can get on with the rest of your life.’

  ‘So you are behind what’s happened to me.’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘You didn’t have to.’

  He sat back in his chair and passed his tongue over his upper lip.

  ‘Look, you’re living in fantasyland if you seriously believe that this crazy quest of yours will achieve anything,’ he said. ‘Even if I had been involved in Benedict’s murder there’s no way you would ever prove it.’

  ‘Then what are you worried about?’

  ‘I’m not worried. I’m annoyed because some stupid bitch is trying to blacken my name and ruin my reputation.’

  ‘What reputation? Everyone in this town knows you’re a crook. Isn’t that why Benedict was trying to expose you?’

  His mouth tightened, and I could sense his anger mounting.

  ‘So how did it work?’ I said. ‘Did Ruby Gillespie tip you off that Benedict was in the hotel room with me that night? And then your people came to kill him? Afterwards they made it look like it was me who stabbed him so that you, as the obvious suspect, would be in the clear?’

  ‘The police know I had nothing to do with it. Ask them yourself.’

  ‘Oh, I have. And they told me that you had an alibi for that night and that there’s no evidence linking you to any of it.’

  ‘So why isn’t that good enough for you?’

  ‘Because I know it’s a pile of crap. You’ve got them in your pocket.’

  ‘You must be confusing me with someone else,’ he said. ‘I’m a respectable businessman.’

  ‘Who also happens to be into drugs and prostitution and God knows what else.’

  ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.’

  ‘I don’t, but I do believe that you were involved. It stands to reason. You had the motive and the resources to see it through.’

  He started to respond, but at that moment the bar door was pushed open, and it seized my attention. I stared over his shoulder, fearing the police would appear.

  But it wasn’t the police who came through the door. It was a guy in a leather jacket and jeans.

  As I watched him walk up to the bar, I felt the blood turn to ice in my veins.

  The man was instantly recognisable to me.

  He was the tattooed prick who had attacked me in the alley.

  I had a fleeting glimpse of Strickland’s shocked expression as I dropped my glass on the table and sprang to my feet.

  I pushed the table aside and brushed against him as I threw myself towards the bar.

  I was halfway there before the tattooed creep turned and saw me approaching him.

  ‘You’re the bastard who attacked me,’ I yelled out in order to draw him to the attention of everyone in the bar.

  His face registered alarm and he seemed confused as to how to react. Before he could I went charging into him with all the force I could muster.

  We both crashed against the bar a few feet from where Scar was standing. I heard her scream as I grabbed the man’s T-shirt and pulled him down with me.

  We hit the floor together, with him on his back and me on my left side. It gave me a slight advantage, which I was quick to seize.

  I rolled towards him and lashed out with my right fist, striking a savage blow against his jaw. As he cried out, I grabbed him by the throat, and dug my nails into his windpipe.

  He reacted instantly by seizing my wrist in a vice-like grip. But I was so fired up with hate and adrenaline that I managed to hold firm as he tried to prise my hand away. At the same time I kept screaming: ‘You bastard … you bastard … you bastard.’

  I would probably have choked him to death if I hadn’t been dragged off him. I felt hands grab me. I heard people yelling. But I was in such a state that it was a good twenty seconds before I loosened my grip on his throat.

  And I didn’t stop screaming until they had me up against the bar, and voices were telling me to calm down. Scar’s was among them, and it was her face I saw when I opened my eyes.

  ‘It’s okay, babe,’ she was saying. ‘I’ve got you. Just relax.’

  ‘He’s one of the men who attacked me in the alley,’ I shouted. ‘Don’t let him run away.’

  The tattooed man was being helped to his feet by the other customers. He was holding his throat and struggling to breathe.

  I felt myself being pulled away from him. For a brief moment we locked eyes on each other. His were out on stalks and filled with a dark rage.

  ‘He beat me up,’ I yelled. ‘Get the police.’

  He pulled his hand away from his throat and stabbed the air with his finger.

  ‘Keep that crazy bitch away from me,’ he shrieked. ‘I’ve never seen her before in my life.’

  I tried to break free so that I could have another go at him, but I was restrained and pulled unceremoniously towards the far end of the bar.

  My heart was pounding in my chest, and I was panicked into thinking that he would be allowed to walk away.

  But I wasn’t so far gone not to realise that my outburst had created a degree of chaos and confusion. Some of the onlookers were probably alarmed by my claim that the guy had attacked me earlier. Others might have already jumped to the conclusion that I was a drunk who had attacked him for no
apparent reason.

  ‘Don’t worry, Lizzie. The police are here.’

  It was Scar’s soothing voice, and she was standing in front of me as two men pushed me into a chair.

  ‘Everything’s all right, babe,’ she said. ‘That man isn’t going anywhere.’

  My lungs were struggling for oxygen as I focused on her face, which was now as grey as a tombstone. I could see the anxiety in her eyes.

  ‘It’s him,’ I said again. ‘He was one of them.’

  She placed a hand against me cheek. ‘I believe you, Lizzie.’

  They let go of my arms, but I could still feel pressure on my shoulders, so I just sat there, gulping air to try to fill my lungs.

  I stared at the throng of people in front of me, desperate to work out what was going on. But it was difficult because my vision was clouded with tears.

  After what seemed an eternity, two cops in uniform appeared and stepped up to me. They were accompanied by Joe Strickland who had a manic gleam in his eyes.

  ‘That’s her,’ he said accusingly. ‘Everyone here was a witness to what she did. It was a totally unprovoked attack on an innocent man.’

  I realised then that I was in trouble. I tried to speak, but my jaw didn’t work. I watched as Scar stepped in front of me and started to remonstrate with the officers. But I was only vaguely aware of what she was saying.

  My brain had been scrambled by booze and adrenaline. I closed my eyes to try to stop my thoughts spinning out of control. But instead it made me feel dizzy and sick.

  And it triggered a fierce tide of emotion that caused my body to slump forward, and my face to collapse under a weighty flood of tears.

  12

  The coppers led me outside onto the pavement and asked me to give them my version of events. Scar stood close by, and I was glad to see that she’d retrieved my purse which I’d forgotten about.

  They told me that the man I’d attacked was being interviewed in the bar manager’s office and was claiming he had no idea who I was.

  ‘That’s bullshit,’ I snapped. ‘I recognised him straight away as one of the two men who beat me up earlier.’

  I told them to contact DS McGrath or DCI Ash, but they said that would have to wait until I was at the station. I said I wanted Scar to go with me, but they said that was out of the question.

  ‘Don’t worry, Lizzie,’ Scar said. ‘I’ll go home and wait for you to call me. And please don’t make things worse for yourself.’

  I had no intention of kicking up a fuss. I didn’t want the plods to think I was just another dopey bird who became violent after having too much to drink.

  Two patrol cars were parked at the kerb in front of the bar, and I was told to get in the back of one of them.

  ‘Don’t let that bastard talk his way out of it,’ I told the officers who got in the front. ‘He’s as guilty as sin.’

  ‘We’ll bring him in as well if necessary,’ one of them said. ‘And for your information we’ll also get witness statements from customers and staff.’

  It wasn’t until we set off that I realised it had started to rain. At first it was just a light drizzle smudging the windscreen, but by the time we got to the central police station it was beating a rough percussion on the patrol car’s roof.

  The station was busy, just as I’d expected it to be. Southampton, in common with most other British towns and cities, is a hotbed of violence and drunkenness on Friday and Saturday nights. Gobby, aggressive behaviour that puts an enormous strain on the emergency services.

  During my own late teens I got into trouble a few times. Twice I collapsed after binge drinking myself into oblivion and had to be taken to hospital. And once I got mixed up in a fight and ended up in a cell until the following morning.

  I wasn’t proud of that period of my life. I was wild and irresponsible, and the strain it put on my mother must have been intolerable.

  This time I wasn’t put in a holding cell while they decided what to do with me. The custody sergeant said I was to be taken up to an interview room where I’d have to await the arrival of DS McGrath. I was relieved, and I hoped it meant they were taking my allegation seriously.

  While I waited for McGrath to arrive I was watched over by a uniformed officer who wouldn’t let me use my phone, so I couldn’t call Scar. In the jungle heat of the room I was beset by feelings of dread and foreboding.

  What if no one believed me? After all, it would be my word against the tattooed thug. I had no proof that he had attacked me.

  Joe Strickland’s voice rang in my ears: ‘Everyone here was a witness to what she did. It was a totally unprovoked attack on an innocent man.’

  Sweet Jesus.

  I rested my elbows on the table and buried my head in my hands. As I gradually sobered up I became more conscious of the headache that was hammering away at the base of my skull.

  It was glaringly obvious to me now that I should have taken a more measured approach. I could have drawn everyone’s attention to the creep without getting physical. But if I’d done that then he would probably have fled as soon as he saw me.

  The upside was that at least now the police got to question him, and his presence in the bar was proof – at least for me – that he was known to Joe Strickland.

  But there was a downside too. What I’d done could result in an assault charge and get me sent straight back to prison.

  I resigned myself to having a long wait, and since I had nothing better to do I closed my eyes and let the memories accost me.

  I was carried back to the day I was told that Leo had died. Even after all this time the governor’s words still resonated inside my head and kept we awake at night.

  ‘I’ve got some bad news for you, Lizzie … Leo passed away.’

  It took days for me to get over that initial shock. If it hadn’t been for Scar’s support I might well have topped myself.

  Fortunately it took Sofi Crane a lot longer to recover from the injuries I inflicted. The bitch was laid up for a week with a broken nose and fractured rib.

  I lost some privileges but I got off reasonably lightly because of my state of mind at the time, and because I’d been goaded into attacking her.

  When Sofi was back on her feet I made a point of going to her cell and warning her to steer clear of me.

  ‘If you ever try to wind me up again I’ll break every bone in your body,’ I said.

  She gave me a look of sneering contempt, but that was to save face. It was clear she got the message and after that she avoided me like the plague. As did all the other wind-up merchants who decided I was too dangerous and unpredictable to mess with.

  And that was good because it meant that I was able to stay out of trouble during those last months inside. I didn’t lose my temper or have cause to resort to violence.

  I wondered now if I’d just been saving it up until I got out.

  I was kept waiting for almost two hours. When DS McGrath finally turned up, he looked none too happy to see me. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt so I guessed he’d been off duty.

  ‘You took your time getting here,’ I said.

  He sat down, gave me a disapproving look.

  ‘I’ve been at the Centurion, talking to people who said they saw you flip.’

  ‘Have you also talked to the bloke with the tattoo?’

  ‘I’ve actually just finished interviewing him in another room. I’m sure it will come as no surprise that he’s denying he attacked you. He says he’s never seen you before.’

  ‘Well, he’s lying. How else would I have known about the tattoo?’

  ‘Lots of people have tattoos, Lizzie.’

  ‘You’re joking, right? Have you even checked to see that he’s got one?’

  He nodded. ‘He has and it’s like the one you described. But I’m afraid that’s not enough for us to bring a charge against him. For one thing the tattoo is high up on his chest and visible through the open shirt he’s wearing. So you could have seen it when he walked in. He als
o says he was nowhere near Bevois Valley around the time the assault on you took place.’

  ‘Well, I’m not mistaken. I know it was him. You only have to look at the photofit. He’s the bloke I described.’

  ‘That’s not enough, Lizzie.’

  ‘Then find out where he was when I was attacked.’

  ‘We already know. The guy works for Joe Strickland and Strickland says he was with him at the time you were attacked. They were driving around together in Strickland’s car. It’s a watertight alibi.’

  ‘Well, does he also have an alibi for Thursday night when Mark was beaten up?’

  ‘He does. He was at home in bed apparently, and he’s given us the name of a woman who he says will confirm that. We’re checking it out.’

  ‘So who is he?’

  ‘You know I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  He sighed. ‘If I gave you his name you’d only use it to dig yourself a deeper hole.’

  I tried to ignore the panic that flared inside me, but it wasn’t easy. I’d made a bad situation a whole lot worse.

  ‘I think you should go home, Lizzie,’ McGrath said. ‘You’re in no condition to make a formal statement. We can do that tomorrow.’

  ‘So is that it?’ I said, surprised. ‘You’re letting me go?’

  ‘Well, I don’t see the point in keeping you here overnight. I don’t think there’s a risk of you fleeing the country. We’ll decide in the morning what action, if any, to take. By then we’ll be in possession of all the facts, and we’ll know if the guy wants to press charges.’

  ‘It’s me who should be pressing charges,’ I said. ‘That man is a violent thug.’

  ‘That’s what he’s saying about you.’

  I felt the anger swell up inside me. ‘This is like a bad dream.’

  ‘You only have yourself to blame, Lizzie. You shouldn’t have tried to take the law into your own hands.’

  ‘So what was I supposed to have done? I saw the man who gave me a hiding, and I tried to stop him doing a runner.’

  ‘You knew the police were about to arrive because Strickland told you. Why didn’t you just keep your head down and wait for them?’