The Madam

by Jaime Raven

  He nodded and took a small slip of paper from his pocket, which he consulted before speaking.

  ‘His name is Sean Delaney and he’s worked for Strickland for five years. I actually did come across him a few times but I didn’t know about the tattoo. And it seems he’s changed his appearance since I last saw him. He used to have long hair. He’s a hard case who’s done time for assault and for being in possession of a handgun. He has a reputation for being a brutal enforcer for Strickland and usually works with his cousin, a bloke named Ron Parks. He might have been his accomplice in the alley. Before moving to Southampton they both worked doors in London and were involved with a gang that operated south of the river.’

  ‘Where did you learn all that?’

  ‘From a mate who worked for Strickland until a few months ago. He described Delaney as a psycho and said no one messes with him.’

  ‘Did you get an address for him?’

  He laughed. ‘No, and I’m glad I didn’t. At least you won’t be tempted to call on him. He’s a dangerous dude, Lizzie. You need to stay away from him.’

  His words sent a chill along my spine as I remembered what Delaney had done to me in the alley and what he’d done to my brother.

  At least I knew his name now. That was progress even if I didn’t have a clue what to do with it.

  I thanked Tiny for his help and he assured me he would continue to keep an eye on my mother and brother.

  It was Mark who answered the door to me. He beamed a wide smile and said he’d been hoping I would drop by.

  ‘How are you feeling, bruv?’ I asked him.

  He gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’m good, sis. It’s stopped hurting now.’

  My mother was in the kitchen and had started to fill the kettle. To my surprise she didn’t seem unhappy to see me. At least that was the impression I got from her body language and insipient smile.

  She turned away from the sink and asked me what I’d been up to. I didn’t tell her what had happened in the bar or about my session with the police. But I did tell her that I had met the woman who’d been putting flowers on Leo’s grave.

  ‘She’s the widow of one of the detectives who arrested me,’ I said. ‘The one who killed himself.’

  Mum was puzzled, as was I, and she told me she’d never been in contact with Pamela Ferris.

  ‘It makes no sense,’ she said. ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘Beats me, Mum. She ran away and wouldn’t answer my questions. I know she works in town, though.’

  ‘So where does she live?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue, but you’ve given me an idea.’

  I got out my phone and went online. I typed in Neil Ferris’s name on Google and was soon scrolling through stories about his suicide a year previously. One news item reported that he and his wife lived in Water Lane, Totton, on the outskirts of Southampton.

  I told my mother and she said she didn’t know the road or anyone who lived in Totton.

  ‘I’ll pay her a visit,’ I said. ‘Either at home or work. I want to know what’s been going on.’

  I then told her I’d given an interview to The Post.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, that was a stupid thing to do,’ she snapped. ‘Everyone will be talking about it again.’

  ‘That’s just the point,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I’m not happy about it, and I don’t for the life of me see what good can come of it.’

  ‘The publicity might encourage someone to open up and tell the truth,’ I said.

  She snorted. ‘It’s a mistake. Mark my words.’

  ‘Well, it’s done now so we’ll see.’

  My mother shook her head. ‘You’ve always been headstrong, Lizzie. And you’ve never been prepared to listen to sensible advice. That’s why you’ve made such a mess of your life.’

  Her reaction stopped me from mentioning my encounter with Anne Benedict in the car park. And I sensed that she was about to launch into a major lecture that would inevitably lead to a full-blown argument.

  So it came as a relief when my phone rang at that moment. I held up my hand to silence her and whipped it out.

  ‘It’s me,’ Scar said. ‘I’ve found Karina Gorski’s brother. He’s with me now and I think you should hear what he’s got to say about his sister.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘The Fountain pub, just off Derby Road.’

  ‘I’m on my way,’ I said.

  The Fountain had seen better days. Everything about it was faded, from the scuffed leather sofas to the threadbare carpets.

  Scar and her male companion were the only people in the bar. On the table between them stood three wine glasses.

  ‘I got you the house Chardonnay,’ Scar said as I stepped up to them. ‘It’s quite nice.’

  I thanked her with a smile and turned my attention to Karina Gorski’s brother. He was in his thirties, thin, with a dark beard that swallowed the lower half of his face.

  Scar introduced us, and I sat between them. His name was Jakub and he lived close by and was unemployed. This pub was where he spent much of his time along with his benefits money. He had a thick Polish accent, but a decent command of English.

  ‘I’ve told Mr Gorski who you are and why you’re enquiring about his sister,’ Scar said.

  I began by telling him that I had actually met Karina and that I’d been struck by her good looks and charm.

  ‘We shared a bottle of wine,’ I said. ‘Unfortunately it was the one and only time our paths crossed. I’m only sorry I didn’t get to know her.’

  ‘She’s a kind and generous person,’ Jakub said. ‘But she started mixing with the wrong people soon after moving to this country, and they led her astray.’

  His voice shrank to a whisper as he told me he had moved to England from a village just outside Krakow seven years ago in search of a better life. His sister had followed two years later and they’d rented the house in Derby Road, along with several other Polish immigrants.

  But Karina had struggled to find work and had got involved with a group of people who were into heavy drinking and drug taking. She turned to prostitution as a way of financing her increasingly expensive lifestyle.

  ‘She went to work for that Gillespie woman because she thought it would be safer than standing on street corners,’ he said. ‘And things went well for a time. The money rolled in and she even opened a savings account.’

  ‘Did she ever mention any of her clients by name?’ I asked.

  While speaking he had been staring into the middle distance. Now he turned to face me and I saw that his strikingly blue eyes had a profound intensity to them.

  ‘She mentioned Rufus Benedict a couple of times,’ he said. ‘She told me he was a reporter and as well as paying her for sex he was giving her money to help her with a story he was working on.’

  ‘Did you know what it was about?’

  ‘I didn’t then but I’ve since heard that he was investigating Joe Strickland, who I’m sure you know. At the time Karina wouldn’t tell me. She said it was best I didn’t know. I asked Benedict, but he wouldn’t tell me either.’

  ‘So you met Benedict?’

  He nodded. ‘He came to see me after Karina disappeared. He was really worried. He wanted to know if I knew where she was. But I didn’t then and I still don’t.’

  ‘Did you tell this to the police?’

  ‘Of course, but I don’t think any of it came as a surprise to them.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He shrugged. ‘Well on the day she disappeared the police came to the house to talk to her. They refused to say what it was about, but I assumed it was in connection with her sex work. Anyway, she wasn’t in and I didn’t know where she was. After they left I tried to phone Karina, but she didn’t pick up. I reported her missing to the police the following evening. The same two detectives came to see me and said they hadn’t been able to find her the previous day. Then they searched her room and took some of her belo
ngings away.’

  ‘And you haven’t seen her since?’

  ‘No I haven’t and I fear that something bad must have happened to her. Otherwise she would have contacted me.’

  ‘Had she ever gone missing before?’

  ‘Not since coming to England. She did go away occasionally at weekends, but she would always call me to let me know.’

  ‘The police think that Karina went back to Poland,’ I said.

  ‘Well, that’s only because they can’t be bothered to carry on looking for her,’ he said. ‘But she hasn’t turned up at the family home, and no one there has seen her.’

  ‘Tell me about the detectives who came to ask you questions,’ I said. ‘Can you remember their names?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. It was over four years ago and since then I’ve spoken to a lot of police officers.’

  I mulled it over for a few beats and said, ‘So do you know how your sister was able to help Benedict with his investigation into Joe Strickland? Was he one of her clients?’

  ‘I’m not sure. She did have a regular client who she said had a lot of money and I suppose it could have been him. She often stayed overnight at this guy’s flat in the city centre. When she turned up here the next morning she always had a pile of cash.’

  By now Jakub’s eyes were filled with unshed tears. He was clearly still upset by his sister’s disappearance. He told us he had looked everywhere for her and had been in constant touch with the police, both in Hampshire and in Poland. But no one had heard anything from her and there hadn’t been any sightings.

  I could see why he had come to the conclusion that she had probably been harmed in some way.

  By the time we left the pub I myself was convinced that if Karina Gorski ever did turn up it would be in a shallow grave somewhere.

  16

  It was a relief to get back to the flat. I was tired, and my head was in a constant spin.

  The first thing we did when we closed the door behind us was to give each other a hug. The heat from Scar’s body filled the cold space inside me. It made me feel so much better.

  ‘Methinks you need to relax, babe,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you have a shower while I fix us some dinner?’

  ‘I’d rather have something to drink,’ I said. ‘It’ll help me wind down.’

  ‘Well, there’s more wine in the fridge. I’ll open a bottle while you go and freshen up. We can settle down to a cosy evening, and you can tell me all about your day.’

  I stripped off and stepped in the shower. I endured the jagged needles of hot water while reliving the events of the day in my head. I tried to put all the fragments of information I’d gathered into something that made sense. And the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that it was all connected.

  Benedict’s murder.

  Karina Gorski’s disappearance.

  The Ferris woman’s visits to my son’s grave.

  There’d been a cover-up that extended beyond the murder and involved Joe Strickland and the police. I was absolutely sure of it. But my reappearance on the scene was now a threat to them – hence the intimidation against me and my family.

  I was like a dog with a bone, though. And they must have realised by now that I wasn’t going to throw in the towel. It made what I was doing all the more dangerous.

  Scar and I trashed a bottle of wine while I told her about my day. The irony of what we were doing was not lost on either of us. We were two ex-cons talking as though we were a pair of off-duty coppers. It was more than a little bizarre.

  But for me it was cathartic. I desperately needed to express my thoughts and put into words how worried I was about where it was all going.

  Scar, as usual, was a good listener and she clearly saw how confused and anxious I was.

  I told her exactly what had happened in the cemetery with Neil Ferris’s widow, then gave her a rundown of what Dewar had said about Benedict.

  ‘I already knew that Benedict was working on a story about Strickland,’ I said. ‘What I didn’t know was that Karina Gorski was helping him in some way. And she was seeing Strickland at the same time.’

  ‘But what kind of information could she possibly have been giving him?’ Scar said.

  I shrugged. ‘All we know is that he was willing to pay for it. Dewar said he signed over a total of four thousand pounds to her.’

  ‘So perhaps she decided to use that money and go somewhere to start a new life.’

  ‘It’s not enough,’ I said. ‘She’d need a lot more than four grand.’

  ‘Well, you don’t know what she’d saved. Her brother told you the money rolled in after she joined the agency.’

  ‘But I got the impression that she and her brother are close. So why wouldn’t she have told him where she was going? And why not contact him at all in four years?’

  ‘She might be running scared and doesn’t want anyone to know where she is.’

  ‘Or she could be dead,’ I suggested.

  I explained why I’d come to that conclusion. The facts were clear-cut, I said. Rufus Benedict had been digging up the dirt on Joe Strickland, a ruthless villain who hid behind a moody front of respectability. Before or during his investigation the reporter got involved with Karina Gorski, who he said was providing him with incriminating information against Strickland. At the same time Karina was apparently also involved with Strickland, which presumably gave her access to the information. Suddenly Karina disappeared and then a week or so later Benedict was murdered in a hotel room.

  ‘So Strickland could have got wind of what was going on and had Karina killed by one or more of his henchmen,’ I said. ‘Then he set about planning Benedict’s murder.’

  ‘So why didn’t he just make Benedict disappear as well?’ Scar said. ‘Why have him killed while he was with you? It was messy and risky.’

  ‘Because he wanted to divert attention away from himself,’ I said. ‘Like I told you before, Strickland would have been the obvious suspect if I hadn’t been framed.’

  Scar pondered this for a few moments as she lit a cigarette. Then she said, ‘It seems a bit extreme, doesn’t it? I mean, even an immoral twat like Strickland would have had to have a good reason for murdering two people.’

  ‘I agree, but then the story Benedict was pulling together with Karina’s help might have been a serious threat to his empire and even landed him in prison. So he took drastic measures to ensure it was never published.’

  ‘But even if it’s true it’ll be impossible to prove it,’ Scar said. ‘Especially without the cooperation of the police.’

  As if on cue my mobile rang. DS McGrath’s name popped up on the caller ID.

  ‘I hope you’re ringing to tell me you’ve arrested Sean Delaney,’ I said, before he could get a word in.

  McGrath was caught off guard. ‘How the hell did you get his name?’

  ‘That’s my business, but I take it he’s still swanning around the city while you lot do fuck all about it.’

  He left it several seconds before responding.

  ‘I’m calling to tell you that DCI Ash is spitting feathers,’ he said. ‘He can’t believe you went to the paper after the warning he gave you. The editor of The Post has already been on. He said you’re claiming that the police are part of a cover-up and that we’re not taking the threats against you seriously.’

  ‘Well it’s true isn’t it?’

  ‘Leave it out, Lizzie. The boss and I have told you that you’re wrong. The cover-up exists only in your head and you know full well that I’m investigating the attacks and threats against you.’

  ‘Well, forgive me for thinking that what you’re doing is just for show,’ I said. ‘I don’t believe for a single second that you’re taking it seriously. If you were, you’d be all over Sean Delaney and Joe Strickland.’

  ‘We don’t need you to tell us how to conduct an investigation,’ McGrath said. ‘We know what we’re doing.’

  A laugh erupted from my throat. ‘Of course you do. Y
ou’re letting Strickland and his cronies get away with murder. You know that Delaney beat me up in the alley and that Joe Strickland must have been behind it. Just like he was behind Benedict’s murder and Karina Gorski’s disappearance.’

  ‘What do you know about the Gorski woman?’ he said.

  ‘I know that she was somehow involved in what happened four years ago. She was helping Benedict’s investigation into Strickland’s affairs and most likely fucking both of them at the same time. And then she vanished and you haven’t been able to find her.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘From Dewar at the paper and from her brother.’

  ‘Well, it’s true that Karina Gorski is listed as a missing person,’ McGrath conceded. ‘But we strongly believe she went back to Poland so that she could avoid talking to us.’

  ‘Yeah, but you can’t be sure, can you? Just like you can’t be sure that she wasn’t killed on Strickland’s orders.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be absurd, Lizzie. This is Southampton, not Naples or New York. And Joe Strickland is a local businessman, not some Mafia don.’

  I felt my blood heat up and screeched down the phone at the top of my voice.

  ‘I’m fed up with you lot treating me like I’m an idiot and trying to gag me. What happened four years ago was not a straightforward case of murder, and I’ve got every right to do what I can to get at the truth. I don’t give a flying fuck if Ash isn’t happy or if it raises difficult questions for Hampshire police. The sooner you accept it the better.’

  And with that I severed the connection and sat for a moment breathing in shallow gulps of air.

  ‘I don’t get it, Lizzie,’ Scar said sharply. ‘Are you trying to wind the cops up so they’ll send you back to prison?’

  I was taken aback. ‘Why would you say that?’

  ‘Why do you think? You’ve only just got out of prison. Yet you just keep pushing your luck. There was no need to talk to him like that, especially since you said he seemed like one of the good guys. It was deliberately provocative, and Christ knows how he’s going to react.’

  I was shocked. Scar had never raised her voice to me before. Her pallor dropped several shades and an angry glint settled in her eyes.