As he spoke, he swung his car round into Royal Terrace, then pulled into a parking space he had spotted. ‘We’ll walk from here,’ he said. ‘It’s just round the corner, in Elm Row.’
‘Do you know the place?’ Haddock asked.
‘I’ve been to Lacey’s once,’ he admitted, ‘at a stag night.’
‘Rough?’
‘Not that bad.’
‘I’d never heard of it until it came up today. I thought all the pole-dancing activity went on up at the pubic triangle, in the West Port.’
‘No, not all; just most of it. You used to live there, didn’t you?’
‘Yup.’
‘What was it like?’
‘Interesting.’
There was a burly doorman on duty outside their destination. ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘You look like newcomers to Lacey’s. The house rules are very simple: look all you like, but touching is not allowed. You want a private dance, in a booth, you negotiate with the ladies.’
‘Thanks for that,’ Haddock growled, showing his warrant card. ‘We’ll bear it in mind.’
‘Ahh,’ the bouncer murmured as he opened the door for them. ‘See the boss about a discount.’
Lacey’s was dimly lit apart from four poles arranged around an oval-shaped bar. Two were in use, by dark-haired, pale-skinned, long-legged women, each wearing a G-string and black platform shoes with six-inch heels, but very little else, and gyrating vigorously to disco music with a heavy, thumping bass.
They were being watched by no more than half a dozen men, three at the bar, the others in a group at a table. Along the walls were a series of booths; two of those had curtains drawn across them with light showing behind.
Pye whistled the opening bars of Tina Turner’s ‘Private Dancer’ as he walked up to the bar. ‘Who’s the manager here?’ he asked a fully clothed blond woman, who was in the act of pouring a pint of golden Peroni that the DCI recalled from his earlier visit as being horrendously expensive.
‘That would be me, officer,’ she said. ‘Mary O’Herlihy.’
‘Word gets around pretty fast in this place,’ Haddock observed.
‘There’s an intercom at the door,’ she replied, as she handed the pint to its purchaser and took the money. ‘Big Shane tells me whenever he lets somebody in he thinks might be a wee bit dodgy.’
‘I think we’ll take that as a compliment, Mary,’ Pye said. ‘We need a word, about one of your girls.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Anna Harmony. We were told she’s working tonight.’
‘That’s what I thought too,’ the manager replied, checking her watch. ‘Want a drink? On the house,’ she added.
‘Thanks, but we’ll pass on that. When was she due here?’
‘Fifteen minutes ago. But it’s a quiet night. If she’s just late, like she’s missed her bus, no problem. If she’s stood me up, though, that’ll be a different story.’
‘What’s her nationality?’ the DS asked. ‘We’ve been told she might be east European.’
‘She’s Polish.’ Mary O’Herlihy chuckled. ‘Appropriate, eh, for a Pole to be working in here. Maybe it’s their national sport; could be, because she’s bloody good at it.’
‘What’s her real name? For sure it’s not Harmony.’
‘No, it’s Hojnowski, Anna Hojnowski. That’s how she introduced herself to me when she did her audition, and that’s the name on her payslip. The other one, though, Harmony, that’s what she uses.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Twenty-three; at least that’s what she told me. I don’t ask to see birth certificates.’
‘Maybe you should,’ Pye observed. ‘What can you tell us about her?’
‘Not a lot,’ O’Herlihy said. ‘She’s a nice girl, she’s clean, she never lets the punters get out of hand, not even in the private booths, and she never gives me any bother. Also she gets more in tips than any of the other girls. Apart from that, I know nothing about her.’
‘Do you know where she lives?’ the DCI asked.
‘No.’
‘How about a phone number?’
Her attention was commandeered by one of the trio from the table, who came up to the bar with a drink order. ‘Gimme a minute,’ she told the detectives as she moved to serve him.
‘Fucking music’s doing my head in,’ Pye complained as they waited.
‘You’re showing your age, gaffer,’ Haddock laughed, ‘by that and by the fact that you haven’t shot the two birds on the poles a single glance, not one.’
‘It’s been said many times by many people, but I’ve seen better at home.’
‘Is that right? Funny, I’ve been to your house but I’ve never noticed a pole. Do you keep it in the garage?’
‘Phone number,’ O’Herlihy resumed, as she returned. ‘That I do have; two, in fact. One’s a mobile, the other’s a landline. They’re in the office. I’ll dig them out when Kyle, the barman, gets back. Cigarette break,’ she explained.
‘Do you know Dean Francey, Anna’s boyfriend?’
Her face darkened. ‘Him!’ she snorted. ‘I know about young Dino all right. He’s not welcome here. The laddie is nothing but trouble. I’ve told Anna she should do herself a favour and get shot of him, but the lass is in love. God knows why, because he’s nothing but a lanky lump of malice.’
‘You don’t like him then,’ Haddock said, drily.
‘Not a bit.’
‘What did he do to get barred . . . or is being in your black books cause enough around here?’
‘It can be,’ she admitted, ‘but in this case the offence was starting a fight. The first time he came in here when Anna was working I didn’t like the way he was looking at punters. The second time it got worse, and I warned him. The third time, Anna went into a booth with a punter . . . by the way, the girls aren’t supposed to touch the guys, but what happens in there, that’s their business . . . when they came out, Dino squared up to the bloke. The man didn’t back down and a fight started. Kyle jumped the bar to break it up and Dino started on him. I called Shane in from the door, because Kyle was getting battered, and the idiot stuck one on him as well. That was when I hit him with the baton we keep behind the bar.’
‘Technically that was probably assault,’ Pye pointed out.
‘I regarded it as damage control. Big Shane would have hospitalised him.’ She paused. ‘So that’s why he was barred.’
‘When all that was happening, what did Anna do?’
‘She screamed at him to stop, but he took no notice. The red mist was down. The laddie will do someone some serious damage one day.’
‘We think he may have done that already,’ Haddock confessed. ‘That’s why we need to find Anna.’
‘In that case I’m not waiting for Kyle,’ the manager said. ‘I’ll get you those numbers now. If anyone wants serving, tell them I won’t be a minute.’
She left the oval bar through an opening on the other side, and disappeared from their sight. One of the patrons at the bar disengaged his eyes from the gyrating form above him and stared into an almost empty pint tumbler, just as Kyle, the barman, returned to his post.
‘Do you still think Cheeky would want you to bring her here?’ Pye asked.
‘Once maybe,’ his colleague replied, ‘but not twice, that’s for sure. It’s depressing, isn’t it? I feel sorry for these women, doing this for money. Did you actually enjoy the stag do you came to?’
‘To be honest,’ the DCI chuckled, ‘I don’t remember much about it. It was mine; but I didn’t choose the venue, my best man did that. He told me afterwards that I wound up dancing on a pole in my Y-fronts. He was lying though; I know that ’cos I wear boxers.’
‘Is there photographic evidence of this event?’
&nb
sp; ‘No, a couple of the guests vetoed that.’
‘Bloody killjoys!’ Haddock snorted. ‘Why would they do that?’
‘Neither Bob Skinner nor Andy Martin fancied being in any of the pictures. Neil McIlhenney wasn’t too keen either.’
‘What about McGuire?’
‘He was on the other pole.’
‘Right, gentlemen,’ the returning Mary O’Herlihy declared, ‘there you are.’ She handed a sheet of paper to Pye. ‘Those are the numbers. I called the mobile while I was away; got no reply.’
The DCI frowned. ‘You didn’t call the landline, did you?’
‘No.’
‘Good. We’ll run a reverse check on it and find where it’s located. We don’t want to give Anna advance notice of our interest.’
‘What if she shows up here?’
‘Say nothing to her about our visit, but call me on that number.’ He took a card from his pocket and handed it over. ‘We’ll come back.’
‘What if the boyfriend’s with her?’
‘Little chance of that,’ Haddock answered, ‘but if he is, call us and have big Shane keep him company till we get here. I’m sure he’d enjoy that.’
Twenty-Two
‘Is there anything in this part of Edinburgh that isn’t a student flat?’ Sammy Pye wondered, as he and his sergeant walked along Davie Street, searching for number seventy-seven.
‘Not much,’ Haddock replied. ‘I lived here myself for a while when I was one of the rarely washed. My mum was terrified; she thought the place was a fire trap. She was probably right, but it looks as if it’s been refurbished since then.’
‘What was the number again?’
‘Seventy-seven, F two A. That’s it, look.’ He pointed to a backlit panel beside a blue-painted entrance door, then pressed a button.
‘Hi, who’s that?’ a bright young female voice asked.
‘Detective Sergeant Harold Haddock, Edinburgh CID, with Detective Chief Inspector Pye. We’re looking for Anna Hojnowski, also known as Anna Harmony.’
‘Singer? She’s out. I suppose she’s down at Lacey’s, dancing on her pole.’ The speaker fell silent. The DS pressed the button again.
‘What?’ The girl had a low annoyance threshold.
‘We need a word,’ Haddock said.
‘Sure you do,’ she drawled, sarcastically. ‘This is a raid, isn’t it? I’ve heard you lot have been cracking down on students lately, since the national shock troops replaced our so-called friendly local bobbies.’
‘So young and yet so cynical,’ the DS chuckled. ‘If this was a drugs bust, it would be two detective constables ringing your doorbell, and at least one would be female . . . in case of a strip search,’ he added. ‘We don’t give a bugger what you’ve been inhaling, miss. We need to talk to you about Singer, okay? You can come down here if you want but it’s fucking Baltic.’
The young woman gave in. ‘All right, all right. Come on up, if you insist.’ A buzzing sound came from the doorframe; the DS pushed and it swung open.
‘Nice touch about the female DC,’ Pye murmured as they jogged up the two flights of stairs.
The door of 2A was open as they stepped on to the second-floor landing; a tall blond girl in black leggings and a sweatshirt with Prince Harry’s face emblazoned on it stood, waiting. ‘I’m Celia Brown,’ she announced, in a polished accent that came from somewhere well south of Edinburgh. ‘Can I see your ID?’
‘We insist that you do,’ the DCI said as they produced their warrant cards and held them up for inspection.
When Celia was satisfied, she stood aside and let them in; the atmosphere was a cocktail of odours, a mix of cosmetics and fried food. ‘The living room is straight ahead.’
They stepped through the door she indicated. Inside, another blonde, who was lounging on a sofa, frowned at them over her shoulder. ‘Corrie’s on,’ she complained. ‘Take them into the kitchen, Celia.’
Haddock smiled; he picked up a remote from the arm of the couch and pressed a button. The screen froze. ‘I’ve got the same Freeview box,’ he explained. ‘You can watch the rest when we’re done.’
‘Bugger!’
‘And you are, miss?’ Pye asked.
‘Ilse Brogan.’
‘You’re a student too?’
‘Of course, we all are. Celia and I are doing math and economics, Singer’s doing business studies.’
‘Anna’s a student?’
‘Of course. Just because she pays her way by gyrating round a pole for sweaty middle-aged losers, don’t assume that she’s dumb.’
‘That’s right,’ Celia chipped in. ‘She makes more cash on that bloody pole than she will when she graduates and gets a proper job.’
‘The tips are that good?’
‘They are in the private booths, where special services can be offered.’
‘Are you saying Singer’s a hooker?’ Haddock exclaimed.
‘Not really, but if a punter wants a hand job, it’s fifty quid. She’s a nice girl, but she’s not a posh bird like us, with a well-heeled daddy behind her, so it’s hard for her to turn down easy money.’
‘Is that why her boyfriend caused a ruck in there one night?’
‘Dino could start a ruck in an empty house,’ Ilse volunteered. ‘He’s a creep. I don’t know why she’s so smitten by him.’
Celia smiled. ‘There is a certain rough charm about him.’
‘He’s as charming as a rabid dog,’ her flatmate declared. ‘I think that Celia puts up with him,’ she told the detectives, ‘because she has a crush on his friend.’
‘I don’t see Jagger as being in Celia’s league,’ the DCI observed.
Both young women laughed. ‘God, not him!’ Ilse hooted. ‘I mean the other one, Ian, the brooding guy that Dino’s going to call Drizzle once too often.’
‘How did they meet, Singer and Dean?’
Celia frowned. ‘I’m not sure. He just seemed to materialise, like some nasty weather.’
‘Does he ever stay over here?’
‘No, that’s not allowed; it’s a house rule. We don’t have the space here, plus the walls are like paper.’
‘So where do they go for . . . privacy?’
‘Dino’s place, I suppose. It’s out at the seaside somewhere, I believe. If she’s not on her pole . . .’
‘She isn’t,’ Haddock said.
‘Then that’s where I’d go looking for her.’
‘If they were there we’d have been told by now.’
‘I know how they met.’
Three heads turned towards Ilse Brogan.
‘Enlighten us, please,’ Pye invited her.
‘Singer’s a couple of years older than we are, yet she’s a year behind us at uni. She came to Scotland with Polish entrance qualifications, and had to get them upgraded before she could start a degree course. She had a job while she was studying for her Highers. She worked in a factory, and sometimes she babysat for the guy who owned it. Between us, I think she might have had a small fling with him, but if she did, it wasn’t serious.’
‘I’ve never heard this before,’ Celia murmured.
‘No, but you only moved in here last autumn. This story goes back before that.’
Haddock nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘Some time early last year, in the spring maybe, Singer told me that her old boss had been in touch and invited her to a party in his new house. His marriage had broken up and he was celebrating, he told her. She went along. I don’t know if the chap had any ideas, but if he did, they didn’t work out, for that was the night when Anna met Dino Francey. One of the people at the party was drunk and he made a pass at her. Dino saw him off, and that was the start of it all.’
‘Interesting,’ the DS said. ‘Can you r
emember where this party happened?’
‘Sure, and I can even tell you the name of the host. It was in North Berwick, and his name was Callum Sullivan. He introduced the two of them, Singer and Dino.’
The two detectives stared at each other. ‘Are you sure about that?’ Pye asked.
‘Of course. Singer had a Christmas card from him.’ Ilse frowned. ‘What’s this about anyway? Are you going to tell us? So far you’ve done nothing but ask questions.’
‘No, we’re not going to tell you,’ Pye replied. ‘All I will say is that it’s Dean Francey we need to locate, not Singer, but as far as we can see, she’s our best route to him. So when she shows up, tell her to get in touch with us. I repeat, tell her, don’t ask her.’
He caught a look in Celia’s eye, an anxious look. ‘Ian’s not involved in whatever it is, is he?’
He smiled. ‘No. As far as we can tell he’s on the side of the good guys.’
They left the two students to return to Coronation Street, and made their way back outside. ‘I’ll drop you at the office,’ the DCI told Haddock, ‘so you can pick up your car.’
‘I’d expect no less,’ Haddock replied cheerfully. ‘What’s tomorrow’s priority?’ he asked.
‘Assuming Dino hasn’t turned up, we visit the man Mackail. In fact, we might ask him to visit us, just to sweat him up a little. After that, another chat with Callum Sullivan would seem in order.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ the DS agreed.
He was just about to slide into Pye’s car when his phone sounded. ‘That’s probably Cheeky, telling me my salad’s in the oven,’ he said as he took it from his pocket. ‘No it’s not,’ he murmured as he checked the screen. ‘It’s Jackie.’
‘Sarge,’ she exclaimed as soon as he answered, ‘I’ve just had a call from the control room.’ Her tone told him, unequivocally, that their working day was not complete.
‘A patrol car just answered a call to a location on the road to the Glencorse Reservoir, just past the Flotterstone Inn. They found a Toyota car abandoned and burned out. The number matches Donna Rattray’s Aygo.’ Her voice quivered with tension.
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