Damaged Goods

by Helen Black

  She sounded unconvinced. ‘A pair of lesbian sex tourists.’

  Lilly gave her friend a wink. ‘Just say you’re after some girl-on-girl action.’

  Tye Cross was synonymous with sex. Everyone in the area knew that this was the place to find a prostitute. Lilly had seen the name appear in numerous court papers, as many of her young clients had mothers working there. Some of them went there themselves, particularly if the lure of drugs had already sucked them into a black hole. Lilly, however, had never actually been to Tye Cross and was surprised to discover what amounted to little more than a few dingy streets dotted with sex shops and strip-clubs. In between were flats where customers prepared to pay a bit extra could satisfy themselves in the comfort of a bed rather than the back seat of a car. A couple of pawnbrokers, an Indian takeaway and an all-night café were the only other signs of life.

  Several prostitutes lingered in doorways or wandered along the kerbside and peered into passing cars.

  ‘Looking for business, love?’

  Taking a deep breath, Lilly approached a prostitute standing alone outside a disused sari shop.

  Everything must go. 50% discount, declared the peeling posters above the girl’s head. Up close she seemed impossibly thin, and even tonight, when the temperature had not dropped below 65, her legs were mottled with purple honeycomb and she wrapped an oversized cardigan tightly around her tiny frame.

  ‘I’m looking for a girl,’ said Lilly.

  The woman didn’t respond but blew smoke in Lilly’s direction.

  ‘Her name is Mandy,’ Lilly added.

  The girl shivered, flicked her cigarette at Lilly and walked away.

  Another woman, older and almost plump, called to them from her spot further up the road.

  ‘Don’t mind her, darling, she’s waiting on a fix.’

  She smiled at Lilly’s blank expression. ‘He’s late tonight, the man that sells them young ones the drugs.’

  Lilly nodded her comprehension. ‘I’m looking for a girl called Mandy.’

  ‘Oh aye.’

  ‘Blonde, early twenties, I think she’s foreign.’

  The woman became distracted as a car pulled to a halt only a few feet away. ‘They’re all foreign these days, honey.’

  Lilly realised that in one night she’d been called baby, darling, sweetie and honey by women she’d never met before in her life. It was intimacy at its most fake, and the women used these names without thinking.

  The woman spoke over her shoulder as she moved towards a potential client. ‘Try the girl on the counter in Sizzle, she knows most of them. Me, I keep my distance.’

  Lilly watched her lean into the driver’s window then crossed the road to Miriam, who was embroiled in conversation with two women who seemed to find the whole thing hilarious.

  ‘Honestly, I’m not from any church,’ said Miriam.

  The taller of the two tugged absently at her holdup stockings whose elastic had clearly seen much service and better days. ‘Sure you are, sweetheart, you lot are always round here. Come to save our souls.’

  Miriam persisted. ‘No, really.’

  ‘Never mind our souls, try our bloody arses,’ roared the smaller woman, ‘cos mine’s as raw as a frigging bullet wound tonight.’

  The women collapsed into laughter and careered across the road, arm in arm.

  Miriam sighed. ‘Any luck?’

  Lilly was about to mention Sizzle when she spotted a familiar face. She gestured towards a group of young boys working the other side of the street. When they realised they were being scrutinised all but one scarpered.

  The boy pulled down his baseball cap. ‘Fuck it.’

  ‘Hello Jermaine,’ said Miriam.

  ‘I ain’t doing what you think, Miriam,’ he said.

  Miriam cocked her head to the left. ‘No?’

  ‘I’m clipping. You know, I’m pretending to work and then taking off with the money.’

  Miriam kissed her teeth. ‘I know what clipping is, and I know it’s a stupid boy who thinks he can get away with it before someone gives him a kicking or worse.’

  ‘Take him home in a cab, I’ll stay a bit longer,’ said Lilly.

  ‘You going to be all right on your own?’ asked Miriam.

  ‘Course. I’ve got a lead I need to follow up.’

  Sizzle was clean, bright and spacious inside. Lilly had never been in a sex shop and was amused to find neat racks of magazines and ordered rows of videotapes. The assistant eyed her solitary customer without interest and went back to pricing up outfits from a box marked, ‘Fantasy Wear’.

  Eventually Lilly made her way to the counter and peered in the glass cabinet displaying a forest of vibrators and dildos, the largest of which was over twenty centimetres and tartan.

  The girl spoke through a wad of bubble gum, its saccharine smell filling the air. ‘You want one of those?’

  Lilly shook her head. ‘I’m looking for someone.’

  The girl’s jaws moved up and down like a piston. ‘This ain’t a dating agency.’

  ‘She’s foreign. Russian, I think,’ said Lilly. ‘Calls herself Randy Mandy.’

  The girl shrugged.

  ‘Come on,’ Lilly smiled, ‘you must know all the regulars round here.’

  The girl wasn’t disarmed. ‘I come in, do my job and go home. End of story.’

  ‘But you must hear what’s going on? Who’s working which patch?’

  ‘I make four quid an hour. It ain’t enough for chitchat.’

  Lilly took out her purse and pulled out a twenty-pound note. ‘She does a chat room called Maximum Exposure.’

  The girl took the money. ‘Most of the Russians work out of Fat Eric’s. I think he’s got a Mandy over there.’

  Lilly smiled her thanks and turned to leave.

  ‘He won’t let you near her,’ said the girl, sliding the banknote into her back pocket, her gum pushed into her cheek like a hamster.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Lilly.

  ‘It’s regulars only, so the girls don’t get ideas.’

  ‘What sort of ideas?’

  The girl went back to her uniforms and her chewing.

  Outside, the air seemed heavier, and Lilly’s feet stuck to the pavement as she made her way to the small strip-club called Eric’s. The windows were blackened and an enormous man with a strangely small and shaven head sat on a stool in the entrance, one buttock hanging in midair. European disco music filtered through a velvet drape behind him. He was eating an equally colossal sandwich, and Lilly was transfixed by the white film of mayonnaise that covered his entire top lip in an oily moustache. A girl in hot pants and bra pushed aside the drape. She whispered something into the man’s ear and he nodded without taking his mouth from his food. She was just about to disappear inside when she glanced at Lilly. It was the eyes, they were unmistakable.

  ‘Mandy,’ shouted Lilly.

  The girl looked surprised.

  ‘We spoke on the net, Mandy,’ said Lilly. ‘About Max Hardy.’

  The man jerked back his head and Mandy scuttled back inside.

  ‘Can I come in?’ asked Lilly.

  She heard the too-breezy manner and knew it wouldn’t wash.

  The man swallowed a mouthful and shook his head. ‘Members only.’

  ‘I have plenty of money to spend,’ she said.

  The man, who had already taken another bite, spoke through a mouthful of lettuce and chicken. ‘Spend it somewhere else.’

  Lilly stood firm. ‘I just want to talk to Mandy.’

  The man wiped his mouth with the back of his meaty fist.

  ‘Please,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Nobody by that name here,’ he answered and turned back to his supper.

  ‘Could I at least leave her a message?’ asked Lilly.

  ‘Listen, love, sling your hook before the boss turns up.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’

  He sighed and gave her a small push backwards with one slippery hand. Given the differe
nce in their sizes Lilly hurtled across the pavement and landed flat on her back. The man gave her a pitying look and went inside, no doubt to eat his sandwich in peace.

  ‘You okay, honey?’

  Lilly gratefully received a hand to help her to her feet from the doughy prostitute she had met earlier.

  ‘Something tells me I’m not on his Christmas-card list.’

  ‘I doubt that bastard’s even got his granny on it.’

  Lilly smiled, but as the other woman let go her knees buckled.

  ‘Where I’m from they’d say you need a stiff drink.’

  ‘A cup of tea would do.’ Lilly leaned on the other woman’s arm. ‘I’m buying.’

  Lilly sipped her tea. It was so strong and sweet she was filled with a longing for her home in Yorkshire. Or perhaps it was the incident outside Eric’s. Vulnerability had always sent her scurrying back up the M1. She’d packed her bags a dozen times since she found out about Cara, only to pour herself a glass of wine and empty them again. How had she ended up here, away from her friends and family? Where she felt out of step with the zeitgeist and often, too often, out of her depth. It was a question she regularly posed, and she knew all the answers, but at times like this they didn’t seem good enough.

  The other woman squeezed behind the seat opposite. In the harsh, fluorescent lights of the all-night café Lilly saw the skin of the woman’s stomach peep through the gaping spaces between her buttons. Around her neck hung a necklace with gold letters that spelled out the word ‘ANGIE’.

  ‘I feel a bit of a fraud,’ said Lilly. ‘I mean, he hardly touched me.’

  Angie lit a cigarette and blew the smoke above her head. ‘You’re just shook up.’

  She took another long drag and eyed her companion. ‘Can I ask what you’re doing here?’

  Lilly knew better than to dive in. If she was to get anything useful from Angie she’d need to strengthen their connection.

  ‘I could ask the same of you. Is that a Scottish accent?’

  ‘Aye. Still haven’t lost it in twenty years.’ Was it pride in her voice or nostalgia?

  ‘What brought you down south?’ asked Lilly.

  Angie eyed her suspiciously through the smoke. Eventually she shrugged, perhaps acknowledging that she may as well tell the truth.

  ‘A fella. I was sixteen and I followed him to London.’

  A man. Always a man. Hadn’t Lilly done the same thing herself?

  ‘What did your parents think to that?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have given a shit as they put me in care at twelve.’

  Lilly wasn’t surprised.

  ‘Once we got to the city we’d no money for rent or nothing so we slept in a shop doorway.’ Angie didn’t court sympathy. These were the plain facts of her story. ‘After a couple of nights a man offered me a fiver for a blowjob and the rest, as they say, is history.’

  ‘What brought you to Luton?’ asked Lilly, her interest genuine.

  ‘My man ended up in prison over this way and I got sick of the train ride. Anyways, the brothels were full of foreign girls in London and there was still plenty of work over here.’

  They watched two younger women enter the café and order coffee at the counter to take away. Both spoke with heavy accents and their dark complexions set them apart.

  ‘But it’s the bloody same here now. Russians, Turks, Albanians. It’s the United Nations out there.’

  ‘The girl I was looking for is from Eastern Europe. Russia, perhaps. She works for Fat Eric,’ said Lilly.

  ‘They’re all from over there in his place. He brings them here himself, or gets his brothers to do it for him. Not one of them girls is legal.’

  ‘Is that why the man on the door wouldn’t let me in?’

  Angie nodded. ‘They don’t talk to outsiders. Poor cows, they work that club sixteen hours a day. If it’s quiet they do the chat rooms and the porn sites.’

  ‘Where do they sleep?’ Lilly asked.

  ‘He’s got some flats just outside the Cross. They get taken there after work.’

  ‘You make it sound like they’re prisoners.’

  Angie’s over-plucked eyebrows shot up like speech marks around her forehead and accentuated the thick layer of foundation that had sunk into every crevice. ‘What else can you call it when they’re watched twenty-four seven?’

  ‘Why don’t they run away? Even without passports they could disappear. London’s so close.’

  ‘These girls are from small places, villages and that, Eric knows their families. One tried to leg it and her uncle’s throat got cut in front of his kiddies. She soon came back.’ Angie pointed a stubby finger at Lilly, its tip stained an unhealthy yellow, not unlike the colour of Kelsey’s hair. ‘So if you’re here to help Mandy, or whatever she’s called, I’d think twice if I were you.’

  ‘I’ve never met her, I just wanted to ask her some questions about a website called Maximum Exposure.’

  Angie nodded to a silver Volvo that had pulled up outside. It was clean, brand-new, its owner obviously well-heeled.

  ‘Punter,’ she said, and made for the door.

  As Lilly drank the dregs of her tea, Angie turned back.

  ‘I’ve never heard of that site, but I bet it’s got something to do with Max Hardy.’

  Before Lilly could open her mouth, Angie had sprinted to the car with an astounding fleetness of foot and jumped inside.

  Jack was working late at the station. He’d pulled out all the old files on Max Hardy, going right back to when he was a kid in care. The man had a sheet as long as the Dead Sea Scrolls.

  Lilly was right, he was a nasty piece of work.

  Jack remembered the first time he’d nicked him. Max must have been about fourteen, but he was small for his age, and Jack had seen more meat on a spare rib. Jack had let him off with a warning, like he always did, but it was only a matter of months before he was in again for possession, then for thieving cars.

  Over the years his name came up time and time again, running girls and drugs. And yet Jack had never had him down as a killer.

  During his years in the RUC, Jack had come across heavyweights on both sides of the divide. Hard men who knew what they wanted and how to get it. Shootings, kneecappings, Jack had seen it all, and Max Hardy didn’t fit the mould.

  Maybe things had changed.

  Jack sighed. Bradbury and the Chief Super had been in a huddle for hours now and he was itching to know what was going on. He’d love to be the one to tell Lilly the case against Kelsey had been dropped.

  He tried not to imagine her smile and opened his emails.

  To: Sergeant Jack McNally

  From: Detective Inspector Marcus Bradbury

  Subject: Grace Brand

  Here’s the extra piece of evidence we were looking for. Have sent it to CPS today. Technically we don’t need to disclose it to the defence at this stage, but feel free to give a copy to Valentine.

  I wish I could be there to see her face.

  ‘Shit,’ said Jack when he received another message.

  To: Jack McNally

  From: The desk of the Chief Superintendent

  Subject: Grace Brand

  By now you should have received the new information in the Brand case. Clearly this casts the situation in a new light, and although we do not wish to be seen to be putting all our eggs in one basket, you should keep resources to an absolute minimum in pursuing the second suspect.

  ‘Double shit.’

  He decided on a text. Yes it was cowardly, but what could he do?

  MEET ME AT THE STATION SUN 5 P.M.

  YES, LILLY, IT IS IMPORTANT.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sunday, 13 September

  Sundays spent in the office were anathema to Lilly, but Rupinder had made it clear that the other partners were placing her under pressure to ‘do something about the northerner’. Guilt about her boss’s position rather than fear for her own made Lilly agree to spend the da
y at her desk. Miriam had taken Sam to the cinema so there was no excuse not to put in a full one.

  By three thirty Lilly poked her head around the door to Rupinder’s office.

  ‘I’m going to meet McNally.’

  ‘You have other cases,’ Rupinder grumbled.

  Lilly waved her mobile phone as if Rupinder could read the text from her position at her desk. ‘He said it was important.’

  ‘I’m sure he did, but you must put time aside to catch up on paperwork,’ said Rupinder.

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘I mean it, Lilly, even if I have to tie you to your desk.’

  ‘Easy, tiger.’

  Rupinder went back to her work. ‘I’m ignoring you now.’

  Lilly was too preoccupied to worry about the mountain of forms and memos screaming for her attention. She just hoped Jack needed to see her about something he’d got on Max, something that would help Kelsey’s case. After she’d caught up with Jack she would head straight back to Tye Cross to track down Angie, who also knew something about Max.

  Things were looking up, and Lilly felt excited and buoyant.

  Jack was waiting for her at the entrance to the station.

  ‘Are you arresting me, McNally?’ Lilly teased. ‘I’m not coming quietly.’ She held out her hands to him. ‘You’ll need to cuff me for starters.’

  Jack said nothing but steered her through the security door to one of the evidence rooms inside the station.

  ‘As for the strip search …’ she continued.

  ‘Shut up and sit down, woman.’

  Lilly moved a box of trainers from a plastic chair. Each shoe was separately bagged in clear cellophane and labelled. Maybe one held a vital piece of information, a clue as to who had committed a burglary, a rape or some other crime. It occurred to her that investigations were like jigsaws, sometimes one piece would reveal the whole picture. Again she thought of the letter and how pivotal it might be if she revealed it to Jack. Although she felt bound by her client’s right to confidentiality, it did nothing to make her feel less disingenuous.