‘Fine. As we’ve got no other suspects at the moment, let’s assume that Amelia Finch is behind Viola’s disappearance. So we’ve got to ask why. Who would do this? What sort of female would book a high-class call girl for whatever reason and then possibly abduct or kill them? You’d be taking an incredible risk and you’d be leaving a significant paper trail behind.’
‘Taking a large amount of cash out of your bank account is a risky thing to do,’ she says. ‘You’d have to careful about that if you were married, I would think.’
‘Not to mention the cost of the hotel, travel, meals etc.’
‘And clothing, maybe. Perfume. Lingerie. Sex toys, perhaps. But if people want to keep a secret badly enough, they can usually find a way. The money may not have come out of her own bank account, of course. We’re just assuming that it did.’
‘She paid you in cash, but I’m not sure that she would have done the same in the hotel. How much would a room in a hotel like that cost?’
‘I think about four hundred pounds per night, minus any meals or extras. And she would have booked two rooms, don’t forget, Daniel.’
‘I’m sure the hotel would have taken the cash if she’d offered it, but if she was booking those rooms on the phone, they’d have wanted credit card details. The same goes if you were booking online or arriving there in person.’
‘But that’s not true, Daniel. About them taking the cash, I mean. Big hotels like The Bolton Mayfair won’t take big chunks of cash now. They’re afraid of money laundering and getting forged notes.’
‘I didn’t know. Thanks.’
‘As soon as you walked into reception they would ask for your credit card to do a validation on it. The same is true even if you booked online, otherwise they could lose money on people who booked and didn’t turn up. If that happens, many hotels will charge a no-show penalty on your card. It would mention this in the small print on their websites and literature. They also need your card details even if you’ve paid for your whole stay in advance.’
‘Why?’
‘Because of the extras you didn’t think about when you booked. Minibus, using the telephone, all those sort of things. People would have tried to skip without paying for extras in the past and now they’ve got wise to it. They would have to do a pre-authorisation on your card. They don’t want people fucking them over, particularly hotels like The Bolton Mayfair. There are not many people without a credit card of some sort now, and if they exist, they probably wouldn’t be staying in a hotel like the Bolton.’
‘So it’s about ninety-nine per cent certain that Amelia Finch paid for the rooms with a credit card.’
‘Yes.’
So you could do a fair amount of this with untraceable cash, but probably not the hotel. I’ll have to check this. I want to see the place and, if possible, look at the rooms that our lovebirds stayed in. I’d also like to speak to some relevant staff. I wonder if I can get them to give me Amelia’s credit card number. If I can get that, I can get her address, unless there’s fakery of a high level going on here.
‘Let’s assume, for a moment, that it wasn’t strictly about Viola. Let’s assume it was about you. Is there anyone you know of who might want to set you up in some way? Steal or spirit away one of your best girls? Persuade her to go off with them? Perhaps to work abroad? You said yourself that services like yours were few and far between.’
‘Yes, but I also said there were a lot of girls who wanted this type of work. I’ve had two I’ve had to reject in the last month. Fashion model types; both delightful and edible, but I’m happy with the number I have now. I’m not greedy and once you start running too many girls, the personal touch goes out of the window. At least that’s my philosophy. It isn’t shared by others.’
‘Who’s your biggest business rival in London?’
‘That would be Sally Webster. The last time I was in contact with her, she was running about sixty girls, as opposed to my twenty-four.’
‘And there’s no way she would poach off you?’
‘She isn’t like that. Plus, we don’t – we don’t really get on very well. For her to steal from me would be an admission that one of my girls was superior to one of hers, do you see? She would never let me know that a thought like that had entered her head.’
‘Any other notable rivals?’
‘There’s Abigail Gastrell. But her company caters for everyone. Many of her girls are fake bi, and I couldn’t say how many are genuine lesbo. Some of these girls will do lesbo, plus lesbo and hetero threesomes, but they’re basically hetero themselves. It’s all a bit phoney and I don’t approve. In a way, though, those girls are pure prostitutes, so it’s quite admirable, in a way, do you see? None of her girls do tantric, though, and only two of Sally Webster’s do it. It may have changed, I wouldn’t know.’
‘Are Abigail’s girls better looking than yours?’
‘Are you suggesting that Abigail might steal off me?’
‘Not if you don’t think so, but remember how Amelia Finch narrowed her choices down from twenty-four to three to one, until she’d booked your most beautiful girl and also one who did tantric. I think it’s something worth thinking about.’
‘I don’t think so. Poaching like that is just not done. I’ve never, ever heard of it happening. Even Novak was magnanimous enough to see if someone else could do anything with Viola, even if it was for money. Besides, Abigail, apart from the fake lesbo thing, is really top notch. Her girls are always in great demand from wealthy clients and businesses. It’s the reason she has so many girls on her books. I told her to stop some years ago, but she just keeps on expanding and expanding. I think she runs over two hundred girls now.’
‘Could you do me a favour, Sakura? Could you speak to Sally Webster and Abigail Gastrell? Just a general chat; you don’t have to tell them about what’s been going on. Just see if you can detect anything in their voices. It may be a waste of time, but we might get something out of it. Even the smallest thing will help. If you feel you can trust either of them, tell them about Viola. You never know, one of them might have heard something through the grapevine, even if it’s just gossip.’
She wrinkles her nose in distaste. She obviously doesn’t want to do this, but it’s tough. She meets my gaze and nods her head. Good. I start wondering if Novak would be involved, then dismiss it.
First of all, it’s doubtful whether he could be bothered to organise something as relatively complicated as Viola’s disappearance, and his reasons for getting rid of her would still be uppermost in his mind, no matter how much Sakura had cleaned up her act and profited from her rehabilitation.
Also, if he was involved, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself bragging about it. I still feel angry when I think about him and Jeremy, and can remember every single thing they both said.
‘What was the name of the courier that brought you the cash deposit of five hundred pounds?’
‘I’ve no idea. It was just some guy.’
‘What sort of courier was he?’
‘Motorcycle. He had a helmet, you know? Leathers.’
‘Did you get a receipt or anything?’
‘No. I just signed something, gave it back to him and he handed me a big card envelope with the money in. Like a FedEx envelope but plain white.’
‘Was there a logo or anything on his helmet? Anything on his leathers?’
‘I guess so, but I can’t remember what it said. Now you mention it, it did look like a uniform. The leathers definitely matched the helmet, in colour, at least. White and bright green. But that’s all I can remember. That could have been his personal style, of course.’
‘How long between you opening the door to him and shutting it again?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe ten seconds.’
I get up and allow Sakura to adjust her position, without me there to lean against.
‘Aw. What are you doing?’
‘Lie down flat on your back. Put a pillow under your head. Close your eyes.�
��
‘I have a blindfold in the drawer.’
‘No. It’s OK. No blindfold required just yet.’
‘Some lover you turned out to be.’
‘You are Satan’s daughter.’
14
A LITTLE TRIM OF LACE
I place one hand on her forehead and with the other I gently hold her hand.
‘Breathe deeply, slowly and regularly. Inhale so that the air you breathe in travels down to a spot a little below your navel. When you breathe out, release about half the inhalation. We’re just going to do a little visualisation exercise.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Just shut up and do what I say.’
She keeps her eyes closed and breathes slowly in and out.
‘Clear your mind of everything else, and let’s go back to that time when the five hundred pound deposit arrived from Amelia Finch. When you took the packet off the courier, what was the first thing you did?’
‘I closed the front door, tore the package open and counted the money.’
‘By which time, the courier was out of your mind. But your brain must have taken in something about his appearance. You recalled the helmet, his leather and the type of envelope he gave you. We just need a little more. You saw everything. We just need to get it back.’
‘Well, the thing I signed was one of those little electric things. You sign it with a stylus. My signature looked a mess, as if I was drunk.’
‘See? That’s good. You didn’t mention that a moment ago. Then you gave it back to him. He says thanks or something. You’re looking at him now. What colour was his crash helmet.’
‘Um – green. Green and white.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. The green was a bright green. Some sort of pattern. Circles, maybe. The visor was black. It was lifted up. He had blue eyes and a monobrow. Looked friendly. He’d been eating mints, but there was a cigarette smell, too.’
‘And the leathers?’
She frowns. ‘The same colour. It was like a uniform. The helmet matched the leathers, but the leathers didn’t have the circles pattern.’
‘Were there any words on the leathers or on the helmet? Anything like a logo?’
‘Wait. The pattern wasn’t circles. Not really. It was like that plant. On the helmet, anyway. It was…he had a badge on his chest with this plant on it, too. Three leaves. Green. I can see it. I can’t think what the word is. It’s lucky. It’s a lucky plant.’
‘A lucky plant? Was it a clover leaf? Three or four heart-shaped leaves?’
‘Yes! That’s it! Clover!’
She’s grinning all over her face, pleased with remembering this.
‘Were they called Clover Couriers or something? Do you remember seeing any words at all?’
‘I can almost see a scribble across the clover on his chest. But it’s not the letter C. At least, I don’t think it is. I can’t really see it.’
I try to think what else it can be. Lucky Couriers, maybe? Four Leaf Courier Service? Am I wasting my time on this anyway? No. I might get to speak to someone who actually saw Amelia Finch with their own eyes. It could be the only lead I’ll have. Then the answer pops into my head.
‘Sakura. Could it have been Shamrock Couriers?’
‘Shamrock?’ She laughs and nods her head. ‘Yes! Yes, that was it! I can see it now. And it was on his helmet as well. Shamrock Courier Services. God.’
‘Well done.’ I lean forward and kiss her on the mouth. ‘Can I use your computer, please?’
London-based, five branches. There’s even a photograph of one of their despatch riders (or a model pretending to be one), a glamorous and busty blonde girl leaning against a motorbike, holding her crash helmet under her arm.
‘Sakura. Come and look at this.’
She rests both hands on my shoulders and looks at the screen. ‘That’s it. That’s exactly the same uniform.’
‘Let’s have a look at where their branches are.’
Head office in Chiswick, other branches in Harlesden, Acton, Kilburn and Shepherd’s Bush. All West London, none of them local to Sakura.
Their location may be of no use at all, though. I suppose if I was sending a cash payment to someone like Sakura, I might send it from some area of London where I wasn’t known if I was uptight about it in some way. Or maybe not. I might not even have to go there in person. Perhaps the courier company would pick up the package from me and take it directly to the recipient. If that was the case, the company would know the address. Whatever, there’s no clue there as to which branch that courier came from. I’ll just have to ring all of them.
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘Well, assuming the money was sent to you by Amelia Finch, that courier either went to wherever she was staying, or she went in personally. I’m betting it was the latter.’
Of course, the branch who delivered the package to Sakura was the very last one I rang. I told them that my name was Bianchi and gave them the date of the delivery. I said that I wanted to confirm which day the courier arrived, as the person who sent it needed the date for their tax return. Total illogical bullshit, of course, but they seemed to buy it and confirmed to me that it was the Chiswick branch I had to visit.
I shower, remind Sakura to have a chat with her fellow madams and take a cab to Chiswick, stopping at a cashpoint on the way to take out some more bribery money. I told the cab driver not to take the Hanger Lane route, but he knew better and we were stuck in shitty traffic for about twenty minutes.
Shamrock Courier Services has its offices on the ground floor of a skyscraper down the Chiswick Roundabout end of Chiswick High Road. I expected to see a lot of motorbikes and vans parked outside, but there’s nothing.
Just before I go in, my mobile rings. It’s Fisher.
‘Mr Beckett? I’m sorry to have to ring you up, but the old man has been fussing about how you’re doing. I know you’ve hardly started, really, but it’s hard to convince him that these things take time.’
His tone is too matey and there’s a fake undercurrent of collusion, as if we’re both know only too well that Raleigh is a bit of a worrier and we both know he’s being impatient, the silly old clod. I don’t buy it.
‘That’s quite alright. I’m making steady progress. Nothing of great interest yet, but I think I’m getting there slowly but surely.’
‘Excellent. That’s what we like to hear. Well, I’ll let you get back to work. What are you going to do next? Where will you be going?’
Too many unnecessary questions. What’s his game?
‘I’m going to see if I can have another chat with that police sergeant.’ I lie. ‘I think she was being cagey with me but she may have had time to reconsider.’
There’s a moment of silence before he replies. ‘Oh yes. Good. That’s good. I’ll let you get on with it. Sorry to interrupt you.’
He didn’t believe me, but fuck it. I click off and walk into Shamrock Courier Services.
The guy behind the reception desk is dressed in a smart suit plus a shirt and tie. I didn’t expect that, either. His ID badge says his name is Rob Wickham.
‘Can I help you, sir?’
I don’t think there’s any point in lying. I tell him what I am, what I’m doing and what I’m looking for, with a few added fictions thrown in to appeal to his better nature. In fact, I lay the sentiment on with a trowel. I decide against bribing him as I think he’d be insulted. He seems amused, appalled, concerned and entertained by the whole thing and is very serious about finding the correct information. He looks up the date on the computer.
‘Package delivered to Portman Street at 14.10. Signed for by Bianchi. Is that the one you’re talking about?’
‘That’s it. If it’s not too inconvenient, I’d like to know the name of your client for this job and whether she came here or you went to her place. I understand that this breaches client confidentiality and we can stop everything right now, if you wish. I’ll just tell the mother tha
t I could go no further.’
‘Well, if it’s helping some poor unfortunate, we can make an exception this once. I think if our client was an innocent party, then they won’t mind someone knowing when they came here. After all, we already know the name and address of the person the package was sent to, don’t we. How old was the girl who’s gone missing, did you say?’
‘I didn’t, but she was sixteen.’
‘Sixteen! Good lord. I’d like to get my hands on some of these people.’
He taps away at his keyboard and frowns frequently. ‘Here we are. I wasn’t here the day this payment was made, but the client came into the office with the package at 13.15 and paid in cash on the same day that the package was to be delivered.’
Cash. What a surprise.
‘Can you tell me the name? It would be very helpful.’
‘Name of the client was Lara Holland. Would you excuse me for a moment?’
Well, that was easy enough. He stands up and disappears through a door into a back room. He closes the door behind him. I can smell cigar smoke. Lara Holland. I’m hoping that Lara Holland is Amelia Finch, but that may not be the case. The woman on the phone to Sakura and the woman who booked the hotel rooms and the woman who paid the courier to deliver the deposit may all be different people. If that’s the case, this is going to be a nightmare. On the other hand, if I was organising something like this and it was bent in some way, I’d want to limit the number of people involved. It would be easier to trust one person than to trust three. It would all depend on the secrecy required and how much money I was prepared to spend on the whole endeavour.
Rob Wickham returns with a painfully thin black guy who’s dressed like he’s at the beach and is smoking a slim panatella.
‘Sorry about the wait. This is Declan. He was on the desk when Miss Holland made the payment. I’ve told him what you told me.’
Declan and I shake hands. He holds my gaze. ‘I fucking hope you find her, mate. That’s too young to go missing, especially in London.’
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