Dead Blonde

by Beck Robertson

  Closing the lid, he slipped the box into the pocket of his woollen coat and shimmied backwards out from under the bed, still clasping the torch. Scrambling to his feet, he dusted himself off; he had to get going, she’d be returning home soon.

  Sweeping the beam around, he allowed himself one final glance around before he slipped out of the room, making his way hurriedly down the small staircase and exiting unseen out the front door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR – DEACON

  Deacon flashed his badge at the stony faced bouncers who glowered at him from their relative position of power, manning the door to the shabby little strip bar tucked away in the back streets of Soho.

  The body that had been discovered belonged to Caroline Meagan, a UCL student and part time waitress. She’d been murdered the same way as all the others had, her throat slit, a pool of blood beside her on the ground. Birthstone had struck again alright. He was in a foul mood. Not wanting to go home after they had finished briefing forensics, he’d been determined to do some investigating on his own.

  The bouncers, squinting closer, took in the fact he was a police officer and he noted with some satisfaction their facial expressions rapidly became rather more welcoming. One of them moved quickly to pull back the velvet boundary rope and motion him through.

  “Just through the corridor and down the stairs and you’ll be in the club Sir,” the balding doorman who informed him. Nodding his thanks, he made his way through the shadowy entranceway and down the small flight of steps that would carry him into the very bowels of the small basement club.

  Pushing through the flimsy, cheap looking silver coloured strip curtain, he entered the establishment, looking about him, his eyes taking in the sleazy looking set up, as the bassy, heavy beat of the music assaulted his eardrums.

  The punters were mostly seated in chairs arrayed around the podiums where the strippers dancing that night were stationed. A few others lurked behind the counter that ran along the back of the room, preferring to watch from afar, their identities cloaked by the shadows.

  His eyes wandered to the two inhabited podiums where a blonde and a redhead ground their bodies around the cold steel of a dance-pole; the blonde, wearing a silver bikini and fringed white cowboy boots bent low to shake her silicone enhanced cleavage at the spectators. He watched, mildly fascinated, why did some women see fit to mutilate their bodies in such an unnatural looking way, he could never understand it?

  His gaze flicked to the redhead who was at that moment hanging upside down on the pole, her long legs locked around it, the cascading russet curls of her hair nearly touching the floor as she arched her back. She hung there suspended, for several seconds before using her stomach muscles to pull herself upright again, she grasped the pole with her hands. Releasing the grip she had on the pole with her thighs, her feet found the floor again, and her body began to sway once more to the music.

  Noticing him, she beckoned him over, waggling her long painted red fingernail in a gesture he supposed was intended to be seductive. Pretending not to notice her, he looked away to the corner of the room, where to his relief he noticed a little neon lit bar was positioned. Strippers and the like had never really done it for him, he preferred some kind of real connection.

  Making his way over to the bar, he nodded to the heavily made up blonde serving behind it, who looked up at him as he approached. His right hand slipped inside his jacket pocket to retrieve his ID, automatically, as it had done so many times before.

  Flashing the badge, he craned his neck towards her so she might hear him speak over the pounding insistence of the music.

  “Chief Inspector Deacon Gaine, Serious Crimes Squad, Metropolitan Police. I’m investigating the murder of Marilyn Channing a former employee here.” Pausing he looked at her and she nodded in recognition.

  “I wondered if I might ask you and the other members of staff a few questions to help us with our enquiries?” She nodded again in reply, her expression blank, not showing surprise nor giving anything away. She had probably known he was a police officer from the moment she glanced up at him, even before he had opened his mouth.

  “Well I’ll tell you what I can but I don’t know how helpful it’s going to be.” Even above the loud music he could hear she had a cockney accent.

  “I must admit I dunno who would have wanted Marilyn dead. She was a nice girl, it’s upset everyone this, and bad for business too,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Yes indeed, I can assure you we’re doing our best to catch him Madam,” he said, straining to be heard above the hard, insistent thump of the music.

  “Come through ‘ere if you wanna talk,” she said, turning to push open a door behind the bar to her left that he hadn’t noticed was previously there.

  Following her hurriedly he ducked behind the little bar and stepped through the door into a bright corridor illuminated by fluorescent strip lights. She walked ahead of him, her red stilettos click clacking on the tiled floor.

  Reaching the end of the corridor, she pushed open another door to reveal a small office with a leather covered desk and two high backed swivel chairs; one big, black, leather covered squishy one, the other smaller and red in colour, the type most office workers might sit at.

  Motioning to him to take a chair she turned to him.

  “Can I get you anything to drink Inspector, coffee, tea, or something stronger?” she said, raising an overly plucked eyebrow at him to indicate she was awaiting his response. He shook his head;

  “No, no I’m all right thank you.” She smiled a thin hollow smile, her red lips curling to reveal slightly yellowed teeth as she nodded to him.

  “Well do sit down hope you don’t’ mind if I smoke, I’m gasping, gone the whole shift without having a ciggy yet.” Smiling he waved her away.

  “No, no, feel free I don’t mind at all.” Chivalrously, he took the smaller, harder looking chair and she positioned herself in the larger one across the desk from him.

  Reaching into the large white leather handbag she wore slung over one shoulder, she fumbled into its contents, retrieving a packet of cigarettes and a red plastic lighter. She pulled a cigarette out of the packet and placing it in her mouth, lit it. Taking a deep drag, her eyes narrowed as she inhaled the nicotine, breathing deeply and exhaling the smoke through her nostrils as she regarded him with those round fish like blue eyes. For some reason her smoking was making him crave a bloody cigarette. He tried to push the thought out of his mind.

  “So Inspector how may I help you?” she said, her eyes guarded. Grimacing he nodded. She was wary, he’d have to be careful to try not to sound too aggressive or she might clam up. She was hiding something, of that much he was certain but what was it?

  “As I told you earlier Miss...Mrs?” He paused, waiting for her to tell him her name.

  “Miss, Inspector. I was married but I kicked the bastard out when I found him in bed with me best mate. Miss Michelle Swan.” He smiled politely.

  “Miss Swan, I’m investigating Marilyn Channing’s murder, trying to track down who might be responsible for her death. Can you try and remember anyone behaving suspiciously at the club in the weeks leading up to the incident?” She shook her head at him, the same blank expression on her face he’d seen earlier. He tried again;

  “Or anything she may have mentioned? Any abusive clients she told you about or perhaps a jealous boyfriend?”

  She paused for a moment, as if considering something, smoke from the cigarette curling from her right hand. She was holding something back.

  “What about Vincent Kemp?” Her black heavy lashed eyes widened slightly at that and she started.

  “Wh…what about-“

  “We’ve had him in for questioning as you probably knew,” he said interrupting her, “what can you tell me about him Miss Swan?” She continued to eye him suspiciously, biting her lower lip as if she were unsure somehow.

  “Yeah he was a regular,” she said, her tone flat, reluctant.

  “What about
him though? Did he have a favourite? Was Marilyn his favourite?” She looked away.

  “I dunno,” she muttered, “he went through a few of the girls.”

  “Was he polite, when he was in the club? Did he ever get abusive, have to be thrown out?” She bit her lip again, her face stony.

  “Nah nothing like that.”

  “So Kemp’s alright then?” She hesitated for the merest of moments before nodding.

  “Yeah Kemp’s alright.”

  “Was there anyone else then?” She wasn’t telling him everything, he knew. She paused, started to say something then stopped.

  “Look if you know anything at all, it’ll be better for you if you tell me now,” he said, urging her. He had to put the screws on her a bit. Exhaling she sighed.

  “Alright there was a man who came in to the club. I saw him here all over Marilyn few weeks before she was killed.” His ears pricked up.

  “Go on,” he said, nodding for her to continue..

  “A big spender, think he was a city boy, he certainly flashed the cash anyway.

  I remember thinking he must have money cos he ordered several bottles of champagne to their table. Those don’t come cheap ere an he had several lap dances as well. Must have spent nearly a grand ere that night, impressed her so much she gave him her number. That’s what she told me anyway.”

  Nodding, he took in the information.

  “What did this man look like? Can you recall his appearance at all?” She paused for a minute before bobbing her head at him in assent.

  “Yeah, he was dressed proper smartly. That was another reason I thought he was one of those city boys. All in black he was, very posh looking shoes.” Internally he rolled his eyes, hoping this avenue of enquiry wasn’t going to become a massive waste of his time.

  “I see, do go on Miss Swan,” he said, smiling encouragingly.

  “Well I always notice the shoes people wear, very telling footwear can be I tell you,” she said, nodding at him as if she had imparted some kind of insider information. He smiled courteously, wanting to make her feel at ease. Taking another drag of the cigarette she flicked the ash that had gathered at the end before continuing.

  “He was young looking, younger than the usual type we get in here, quite good looking too. Short dark hair, bout 5ft 8” or 9”, bit smaller than you.” Could it be Adam Jackson? No, the thought was ridiculous.

  “So this man, why are you telling me about him? Was he abusive while he was here?”

  “No but thing was, he came back here a few nights after I first seen him. He was hanging around, behaving a bit strange…” Hang on that’s what Kemp had said wasn’t it?

  “What do you mean by a bit strange?”

  “Well I noticed him a couple of nights before Marilyn was killed, standing at the back of the room, just watching her like. Staring right at her as she was dancing, stood there practically all night he was. Not once did he speak to her, not even a wave, just stood there right at the back.”

  “Did Marilyn notice him there?”

  “I told her he was there yeah. She seemed a bit surprised, he hadn’t come up and said something to her. I think he’d told her he was quite keen on her but well, the girls get used to it ere Inspector. They know how it goes, boys will be boys an all,” she said, winking at him.

  “What do you mean the girls get used to it?” he frowned at her, puzzled.

  “Well the men, they move on quite quick. Say things, things they don’t mean. Make promises, all sorts. But thing was this one seemed to be struck by her, despite not saying nothing to her. Came to the bar a few times to get a drink but didn’t say much. He was there right up til she left the stage then he must have left cos I didn’t see him after that.”

  Nodding, he scratched his chin as he mulled over the information. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Granted it did seem a little odd but perhaps the man was just shy. Or broke. Possibly he was married like Kemp was and feeling guilty.

  “Maybe he didn’t have as much money this time around? Or maybe he just wanted to be alone?”

  She shook her head adamantly.

  “Look, in my 20 years working in clubs like this I’ve seen a lot of men and I haven’t never seen one behave like that before.”

  “Behave like what exactly?” He was really confused now.

  “Well if they’re shy or just want to be left alone, they don’t usually come forward so bold like that in the first place. He came on strong, she told me that much. Didn’t look like he was broke neither, had a wad of notes in his wallet when he came to the bar and he didn’t take his change. Gave me a £20 as a tip too.”

  “He could have gotten bored with her?”

  “Yeah but if he’d gotten bored with her then why was he staring at her all night?”

  “Perhaps he was married, maybe he didn’t want to stand out?” he suggested, shrugging his shoulders. She shook her head again.

  “Then why come on strong like that in the first place? I don’t think he was no, had no ring on his finger an’ I always notice that. Marilyn said he’d told her he weren’t married. Course he could have been lying through his teeth but there was something else, he had… an aura…” she looked at him, her gaze intense.

  “An aura?” Grinding his teeth, he willed himself to be patient.

  “Look I won’t say he was flat out sinister but there was something about him, something dark. I didn’t like it.” Great, now he had superstition to go on. Something dark? That was helpful to know when you were trying to catch a killer.

  “Did he use a credit card either of the times he was here Miss Swan?” He had to try and steer the conversation back to cover ground that could be proved or disproved, they certainly weren’t going to catch a killer using mere assumption. Perhaps if he had used a card they could trace him, eliminate him from their enquiries.

  “No he paid in cash both times. Seemed to have a lot of it too.”

  “What about the CCTV here?” She bit her lip, shaking her head.

  “There’s CCTV upstairs by the entrance but it’s not working down here in the club.”

  “Alright well we’re still going to need to take a look at it. I’ll send someone down to collect it later.” She pursed her lips.

  ”Yeah, well you’ll need to speak to security upstairs about that.” He eyed her, she seemed a little defensive what was she not telling him?

  “Miss Swan is there anything else you have to tell me that you think may be helpful?” he said, looking at her hopefully. She shook her head.

  “Can’t think of anything else, only what I’ve told you. You can speak to the door staff maybe they’ll be able to help you. Oh and course there’s the girls, but go easy on them. They’re still upset about it.”

  “Yes could I speak to the girls please?” That might be helpful, one of the dancers might know of the man Miss Swan was talking about.

  “Ashley’s going on her break soon and Kerry’s going after I’ll send em down if you’d like to talk to ‘em both?” she looked at him and he nodded.

  Could the other man be Jackson? He knew he was reaching but the description could fit, though he couldn’t picture Jackson frequenting such a dive. Still something about the man had certainly bothered him. Then again Kemp hadn’t exactly seemed above board either.

  “Yeah that’d be extremely helpful, and if you can get me a complete list of the dancers working on the nights you mentioned seeing the man you told me about, as well as their contact details, I’d be grateful.” She nodded, getting to her feet.

  “Alright well you stay ‘ere and I’ll send one of the bouncers down to talk to you. I’ll tell the girls to come down when they go on their break.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be getting back to my shift now if you don’t need me?” she said, looking at him quizzically. He nodded at her, not completely focused as his mind chewed the new information she had told him about over.

  “Yes please do. Thank you for your trouble Miss
Swan,” he said, bobbing his head politely at her.

  Jackson, Kemp, his head was pounding. Leaning forward on the desk he massaged his aching temples with a heavy sigh. They needed a lead on this case, something concrete, a suspect to focus their attention on. It had been months. Perhaps he was clutching at straws with Jackson, after all what reason did he really have to suspect him of anything?

  Still it wouldn’t hurt to see what he could unearth on the man. He’d send Barnes down to the club with a picture of Jackson; see if Michelle Swan recognized him. In the meantime Doyle could do a little digging in to Kemp’s background to see what else she could find that might prove incriminating.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE - BIRTHSTONE

  Closing his fingers over the buttons of the shirt, his eyes met the ones reflected in the mirror. An intense stare greeted him, the pin prick’s of his pupils fixed and hard, his tight smile betraying a hint of the inner turbulence within, though he fought to still it with thoughts of how it would be, after.

  What he was going to do was inevitable after all, everything led up to this, and the act had to be done. The time had come to end all of it, the awful cycle that had been started all those years ago. And perhaps, afterwards the voice in his head would finally quiet, would fall silent entirely and he could know something like peace.

  Then he could be with her again, Sally, his Sally. Even after all these years she still belonged to him. His feelings for her had never diminished, if anything they had merely grown stronger, weathered all the turmoil and turbulence. His heart leapt at the thought that very soon they would be reunited.

  First though, there was something important to be done, an event, an action he should have taken years ago. His right fist clenched and balled up in frustration, the familiar anger welling up within him the way it did whenever he remembered her.

  “You’re no child of mine, you’re an abomination, a freak!”

  There she was, standing behind him, reflected there in the mirror, her face twisted in an expression of perverse amusement, as she bent her head to his ear to taunt him.