She continued more slowly, outlining how she’d applied online, receiving a reply inviting her to visit an office in Cornmarket. She’d gone, but for some reason that she couldn’t work out she’d had the sense to give false contact details. Maybe she was more streetwise than Craig had thought.
Brooks had called her back a week later and told her that she was hired. Then she’d been given an address to go to on Sunday night - 40 Marrion Park. With strict instructions not to tell anyone about her appointment.
Craig interrupted her. “Did she say why you weren’t to tell anyone?”
Hannah nodded. “Because the men were very important, and some of them were well-known.” She shot him a look of disgust. “They didn’t mind doing it, but God forbid anyone at the golf-club should find out.”
Craig nodded, knowing that what she said was true. Northern Ireland was a small place. That was a good thing in lots of ways but it could make for snobbishness and hypocrisy.
She kept on talking, outlining her planned meeting the night before. And the myriad of phone-calls she’d received from Sylvia Brooks, leading up to it.
“She called me every hour on Sunday, right up to when I was in the taxi to Marrion. She was driving me mad so eventually I turned off my phone. Then she called me again late last night, furious that I hadn’t turned up. I ripped the SIM out of the phone. It was the pay-as-you-go number I’d given her.”
“Good. If you gave her false details it’s unlikely she’ll be able to trace you. We’ll warn her off you when we lift her. Tell me what happened when you got to Marrion Park last night.”
Hannah swallowed and outlined her journey in the taxi, and disembarkation in Marrion Park. Across the street from number forty, the house with the white wall where they’d found their male victim. She recounted how a car had accelerated past her and turned to enter the house, pausing at the intercom.
Craig was convinced that intercom had saved her life. He didn’t need to say it, the look on Hannah’s face said that she already knew.
“I recognised him. The man who was driving the car. His name is Timothy Morgan. He’s a surgeon at St Marys.”
A doctor. Craig wondered what other high status men would crawl out of the woodwork in this case. He kept his face neutral and asked her how she knew him.
“I’m a medical student. He was one of my tutors last year.”
“You’re sure that it was him? It was getting dark and you were across the street.”
She nodded furiously. “Positive. He taught a group of five of us every week for three months. I would recognise him anywhere.” She looked away. “He was always so nice.”
Craig wasn’t surprised. Evil men looked and acted like everyone else, except when they didn’t. He would bet when Hannah looked back she’d see he was much nicer to the female students than the males.
Craig looked at her. She was flagging. She needed a rest, and so did her friend. She’d been willing Hannah on through every word. He nodded to the W.P.C. and stood up, smiling at them.
“Thank you Hannah. And you, Fiona. You’ve been very helpful. Now, the officer will get you some refreshments and wait here with you, until your parents arrive.”
He turned towards Hannah pointedly. “It’s up to you what you tell them Miss Benner. But, if you want to say you’ve been assisting us with enquiries on your friend’s disappearance, I’ll support that. Please don’t either of you give anyone Britt’s name yet. We need to contact her father first.”
Hannah nodded at Craig gratefully and he left the room.
Chapter Eleven
Sylvia leaned forward, tapping out a cigarette as the P.C. scribbled furiously in his notebook. Her hand trembled so much that the whole pack emptied onto the floor. She scrabbled around beneath her settee with both hands, searching for one to calm her nerves. She found it and lit it urgently, inhaling the nicotine as if it was oxygen. Its calming effect was more psychological than real, but perception was everything.
“So, Mrs Brooks. Tell me again why you allowed this man into your home if you didn’t know him?”
The young man’s tone was sceptical, already cynical beyond his years. Sylvia tutted mentally. It had taken her until she was forty to get that disillusioned with life.
“He said he was from the council. He had a pass and everything.”
He eyed the darkening marks on her throat cynically. “But why would he attack you without, and I’m sorry to push this, but without trying to steal anything or sexually assault you? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Sylvia shrugged as if she was equally puzzled, but the P.C. was starting to annoy her now and she needed to get out of Belfast. She stood up quickly, extending her hand.
“Well, thank you constable. You’ve been very helpful, but I really need to get on now.” She indicated the chaos in the hall. “He’s left rather a mess as you can see.”
The constable eyed her suspiciously. Something was definitely ‘off’ about the scenario.
“No Mrs Brooks.”
His tone had changed abruptly, from conciliatory to firm, taking Sylvia by surprise.
“This man is dangerous and he could assault someone else. I’m calling my sergeant and we’ll be investigating this matter further. Please sit down. I’m afraid you’re going nowhere.”
***
6.30pm
“OK. Each of you tell me where you are with things, then I’ll update you with I have. Liam?”
Liam hastily swallowed his mouthful of Rich Tea. “Aye, right. The girl first. The neighbours saw nothing as expected, but then it was Friday night in a student area so what can you expect? What with partying and hangovers. I tell you when Erin gets to that stage she’ll be living at home.”
Craig smiled at him fast-forwarding his toddler’s life sixteen years.
“Anyway. We have the girl’s I.D. now and I’ve a call out to her father, so that joy lies in our future.”
Craig thought that anyone listening might think Liam was being callous, but they didn’t know him. He was angry at the killer and sometimes forgot that the nice words mattered too. This was where they needed Annette. His mind wandered for a second, wondering how she was. He made a note to call her later, and then realised that Liam was still talking.
“The wee lassies she was friendly with have given us a lead and a name, Dr Timothy Morgan. And, coincidentally, he links to the house where we found the second body, so we’re following-up on that now.”
Craig leaned forward, interrupting. “Before we leave that topic I’d better update the rest of you on the interview we held earlier with Hannah Benner and Fiona Torney. They’re the two friends of Britt Ackerman who reported her disappearance.”
He paused, rubbing his hand across his face, hardly believing what he was going to say next. “It turns out that Britt Ackerman and Hannah Benner had both joined an escort agency.”
Nicky gasped loudly. “For goodness sake why, sir? They came from good families, didn’t they? So presumably they weren’t short of money?”
Craig nodded tiredly. “That was my first reaction too, Nicky. But apparently it runs deeper than the money. We can only guess at Britt’s motive but Hannah said that she thought she felt over-protected, even controlled, by her father. Hannah’s excuse was the same, only this time it was her step-father.”
“So they became hookers to rebel? Couldn’t they just have got a tattoo or something?”
“I know, it sounds crazy. But who knows what makes teenagers tick.”
He thought ruefully of some of his younger sister’s early rebellions. And the number of times she still got told off by police at protests even now, at thirty-two years old.
“We’re not talking about street-walkers, Nicky. These girls were being offered thousands of pounds. That’s a lot of money to a student.”
Liam snorted derisively. “Aye and the Madam made even more I bet. Anyway, we have a name for the Madam now, Sylvia Brooks. And an office address. So I’ve uniform out lifting her today.”<
br />
“There was another dimension to this that made it even more sinister, Liam. That was why Hannah wanted you to leave the room. She didn’t want to talk to two men.”
Liam sniffed, still huffing about his forced exit.
“Sorry about that, but we needed their information urgently.” Craig paused. “The agency dealt in a very special market.”
Nicky looked at him, puzzled, and Liam screwed up his face, thinking. Only Davy nodded, understanding instantly and saving Craig’s blushes by saying the word. “Virgins, s…sir.”
Nicky was as horrified as Liam, but his expression changed quickly to one of murderous anger. “The dirty bastards, I’ll bloody kill them.” He knew now why Craig had wanted him to leave the room. His reaction would definitely have made the girls clam up.
“S…Some men pay a fortune for sex with inexperienced girls. There’s a lot of it on the internet.”
“So I hear Davy, but I had to admit to being shocked that it was happening in Northern Ireland.”
Nicky snorted. “Wherever there are men there’ll be prostitution.”
Craig nodded at her, unoffended. He knew that she didn’t mean them.
“I’d like to apologise on behalf of our sex, Nicky. You’re right. There are some animals out there and we need to catch them and put them away. Hannah Benner was due to meet a man for the first time on Sunday night, but as she approached her rendezvous point she saw someone that she recognised. A Dr Timothy Morgan. He was one of her tutors at medical school last year. Thank God Belfast’s so small. That type of co-incidence would never have happened in London. It probably saved her life.”
He turned to Liam. “That’s who Liam is going to be lifting today. Even more interestingly, the address she was given to go to was the same house in Marrion Park where we found our male victim.”
“So the murders are definitely linked, boss? When we get Morgan in he’ll be able to tell us who killed Britt Ackerman.”
Craig shook his head ruefully. “Somehow I don’t think it’s going to be that easy Liam.” He was about to wave him on with the rest of his update when Davy interjected.
“There’s an even darker s…side to this.” Craig stared at him curiously. “They don’t just have s…sex with virgins, they trade the girls and they disappear for good.”
Davy glanced away, hesitating over his next words and looking at Nicky as if he wished she would leave the room. She folded her arms stubbornly and he knew she was going nowhere.
“They torture and kill the girls, in s…snuff videos.”
Nicky gasped in shock. “Oh God Davy, they can’t.”
Craig shot her a defeated look. “I’m sorry Nicky, but they do. And Davy’s right, I think that’s the level we could be dealing with. Britt Ackerman’s was tortured before she died.” He nodded Liam on.
Liam ran through the practicalities of lifting Sylvia Brooks and Tim Morgan. If they got them they would interview them both in High Street that evening. Davy took over the briefing with details of Britt Ackerman’s watch, its serial number yielding her name too late. His searches on the theft of Hill and McCrae’s D.N.A. and the church access were still on-going.
Craig wrapped up quickly, telling them that they would have profiles from both John and Emily by tomorrow. He drew the two cases together and told them John said he had more on the man’s death. He would be at the lab if they needed him, and meet Liam at High Street as soon they had their two suspects for interrogation.
***
Monday 7pm
“Jimmy, don’t forget you’re collecting Melanie. She’s coming into Central Station on the 19.05 Enterprise.”
James Dawson frowned over the top of his Times, raising a questioning eyebrow at his wife. Anger coloured his voice. “Why so late? She was due back this morning.”
Catherine gave a nervous laugh. “You know girls. She was probably partying with Sinead all weekend.” She glanced at him pleadingly. “Please don’t tell her off, James. She’s young and she needs to have fun.”
He stared at her grimly, his voice cold. “She needs to study and pass her law exams, not gallivant around Dublin all weekend dressed like a slut.”
“She doesn’t dress like a slut! It’s just fashion.”
His voice rose menacingly. “Don’t argue with me! She looks like a tramp and I’m not having it. I know exactly how men think about women, and I’m not having my daughter drooled over by some grubby adolescent.”
Catherine stood up and faced him, foolishly brave in her daughter’s defence. She knew she would pay for it later. “So it’s one rule for you and another one for everybody else. Is that how it is?”
Dawson sprang to his feet and crossed the drawing room in three strides, his face flushed with anger. He shouted his next words into her face. “I said don’t argue with me you stupid bitch. Or don’t you remember what happens if you do?”
He stood so close that his breath felt warm on her cheek and she could see her reflection in his glasses. She had a random thought that she looked quite pretty today, but her pleasure was short-lived. His hand shot forward, grasping her throat and cutting off her breath as he lifted her off her feet. His other hand curled in a fist and then swung through the air, making loud contact with her jaw and splitting open her lip. He dropped her on the floor and she curled up in a ball, bracing herself for the beating she’d been expecting since Friday night’s dinner.
Chapter Twelve
Stranmillis Road Station
“There’s no point in your being silent. Now is there?”
Sylvia gazed coolly at the young man and tapped her long nails against the interview room desk. She scanned her surroundings with the eye of a woman used to placing value on appearance.
“A few flowers would make this place much homier. You should try it sometime.”
Jake McLean sat across from her, wiling her to stop the tapping and fighting the urge to grasp her hand. But that would be assaulting a prisoner and he needed the paperwork like a hole in the head. He straightened the papers in front of him and read the top sheet again slowly, letting her cope with his silence.
Sylvia Brooks was really Sylvia Bryce, well known as a Madam in Ballymena in the early 2000s. Running small groups of girls from rooms above a chippy - there were lots of chippies in Ballymena. She been lifted a few times for ‘living off immoral earnings’ but nothing had ever stuck. Rumours of friends in high places.
She’d moved to Belfast in 2010 and was suddenly able to afford a large house in Marrion Park, and discrete offices near the back of Belfast’s showcase shopping centre, Victoria Square. Sylvia had gone up-market in a hurry and there was no way that she’d done it by herself.
Jake squinted at her curiously, wondering what made her tick. Prostitution was always with them, like drugs and all the other plagues. But he couldn’t help feeling that supply and demand weren’t so much inevitability, as market opportunity for people like the woman in front of him.
“You haven’t been arrested since 2008 Mrs Bryce, how has that happened?”
She shrugged and the action set her earrings oscillating, like some strange modern Zebedee. She answered him in a hybrid Ballymena/Belfast accent. It wasn’t a good mix.
“I’m out of the game. Have been for years.” She smiled coyly at him and he was reminded of Harry Enfield’s creation of a pensioner leering at a ‘Young man’. He shuddered slightly and shook his head.
“Sorry, but I don’t believe that. Where did you get the money to set up in Belfast?”
She ignored his question, lifting an Emory board from her handbag and starting to file her nails. He continued undeterred. To the rest of the world it might look as if she was filing her nails, but he knew it was a displacement activity. Nail filing, finger inspecting, lighter flicking and scanning the room. Just some of the things guilty people did rather than meet the police’s stare.
“Are you going to help us find the man who attacked you?”
“No. He didn’t hurt me, so why s
hould I?”
Jake stared pointedly at the finger-tip bruising on her neck.
“He did hurt you. He’s dangerous. And you should tell us, because if you don’t he could hurt someone else.”
She sniffed indifferently. “Not my problem.”
He leaned forward, still staring and she regarded him curiously. His eyes were almost hypnotic. Green and angled, like a cats. It was an interesting look and not unattractive. She warmed to him slightly and decided to throw him a small bone. It would lead him nowhere, but it would keep her in custody and she’d decided that was what she wanted for a while. She needed time to think about her next step and while she was here she was safer from the club. Although not completely.
“If you sat me down with coffee and a sketch artist, I might be able to remember what he looked like.”
Jake scanned her face. He knew exactly what was running through her mind, and he was willing to go along with it. There was something behind her attack, and he needed to find out what. And that would be far easier if she was somewhere he could watch her.
***
7.30pm
Craig sipped at the steaming espresso, smiling gratefully at John for lots of things.
“Thank Natalie for me, will you? Actually I was thinking of sending her flowers, if she likes them?”
“She loves them and she doesn’t get them often enough from me. I keep meaning to, but…”
“You forget. I know, so do I usually. But it’s very good of her to take some leave and keep Julia company. She didn’t warn me that she would be staying this week, or I would have booked some time off myself. And then…” Two murder cases intervening hadn’t helped.
“Not to worry, Nat’s just pleased to have someone to shop with. I’m hopeless. When do you think Julia will move down permanently?”
Craig gave a sharp intake of breath, the reality of the next step in their relationship hitting home. They’d been talking about finding a place for two months. But the market was stagnant so selling his apartment wasn’t an option. Staying there wasn’t one either - it was too small for a couple. The third way was renting his place out and buying another one together. They’d talked about it the week before. He knew that Julia was itching to leave Limavady, but there was no point her requesting a transfer until they had somewhere to live. And even then, jobs in Belfast were scarce.
The Waiting Room (#4 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) Page 12