Two Lovers, Six Deaths

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  They sat in silence. After a while, her head fell back and he saw that she was dozing. Now and again her limbs twitched like a marionette’s. She looked a hundred years old, her face sagging, the waxy colour of molten candles. He took a yellow patchwork quilt patterned with hares and rabbits from the back of the sofa and laid it over her, turned off the main light and switched a lamp on. He washed up the tea cups, checked that the doors and windows were locked and left her a note in the kitchen saying he would phone her. He closed the front door quietly.

  CHAPTER 12

  The night was unexpectedly chilly with a full, glowing moon. Swift started walking, having a general idea of his route, thinking, puzzling, trying out ideas as he paced street after street. An empty taxi slowed, looking for business but he shook his head and walked on. His blood flowed and the cold, dry air was invigorating. A sleek, confident fox crossed his path at a junction. It stopped and stared at him, then trotted away. As he entered Fulham, he was reflecting on his last conversation with Isabella Alfaro. Fully alert despite the hour, he stopped for a moment, concentrating on an idea, and then ploughed on. In just under two hours, he opened his front door, knowing what his next move would be.

  As he took off his jacket, he had a text from Ruth:

  In hospital overnight. Had abdominal pain but they say it’s caused by ligaments being stretched. Keeping me here until morning to be on safe side. Just thought I’d let you know. Will ring you when I’m home x

  Home with Emlyn, he thought. Perhaps Emlyn was there in the hospital with Ruth now, sitting by her bed, holding her hand. It was all too much to bear and yet it had to be borne. He felt suddenly shattered and aware of the niggling ache in his chest. He poured himself a large whisky, swallowed a couple of strong codeine tablets, and sat on the sofa, texting Ruth. Okay, thanks for letting me know. Sleep well and speak tomorrow x

  He finished his drink and lay back on the cushions for a moment. At half past four he woke, his neck aching. Cats were fighting in the night, yowling and hissing. One of them started a thin, high wail like a crying baby. It made his scalp prickle. Groggy from the codeine, he stumbled to bed, sinking under the duvet still clothed.

  * * *

  Swift wanted to get to Cressida before she heard about Harry. If it got him into trouble with Kharal, so be it. He was up at seven, had a shower, groaning under first scalding and then cold water, grabbed a muesli bar and a banana and was parked outside Willow Bank by eight fifteen. He kept his finger on the bell, ringing six times.

  ‘Yes?’

  Not Cressida. A woman’s voice, sleepy sounding, grumpy.

  ‘I need to speak to Cressida Wellings urgently. My name’s Tyrone Swift.’

  ‘Hold on.’

  He waited. Several minutes passed. The early light was clear, dappling the water. He watched the tree tops swaying in the breeze and envied a six-woman crew rowing down the river, their oars lifting and dipping in beautiful harmony.

  ‘Cressida speaking.’

  ‘I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.’

  ‘It’s not convenient. I’ve nothing to tell you anyway.’

  ‘I have serious news about Harry, that’s why I’m here so early. You need to let me in.’

  The door clicked open. When he arrived, she was in a short blue satin dressing gown, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Free of make-up she looked younger, except for her bleary eyes.

  She stood in the doorway, blocking entry. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m not talking here.’

  She tapped a bare foot, then stood aside and led him in. The place reeked of alcohol, although the bar was now closed up. She opened a window and ran her fingers under her eyelids.

  ‘Hard night?’ Swift asked, sitting down and taking off his jacket.

  ‘Late night.’ She sat opposite him. Her dressing gown slid open, revealing a length of thigh. She didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘What do you charge?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘If I asked you for an hour of your time, what would you charge? I understand the man who was here yesterday usually has two hours.’

  She stared at him and folded her arms. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s happened to Harry?’

  He shook his head at her. The movement hurt from his collision with the scooter. ‘You’re lying to me. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You lied about the night Lisa died as well. You were at her flat. Harry was there too, with his scooter. He told me about it.’

  ‘He can’t have.’ She stopped.

  ‘But he did. He told me enough. You can carry on lying but there’s no point.’

  She put a hand on her lips, and then rallied. ‘Harry wouldn’t have told you. He’s not like that. He promised me.’

  ‘Every time you open your mouth you put your foot in it. You’re not as hard and streetwise as you think. The cracks are visible. Harry’s father hanged himself and you contributed to his reasons for doing that. You are in deep trouble here, you know. When did you last talk to Harry?’

  She sat back. He could see her spinning through her thoughts, trying to gauge how much he knew.

  ‘Yesterday morning. He rang me. He was on his way back from Wales.’

  ‘He told you he was going to talk to me?’

  ‘Yes, but then after we spoke he agreed he wouldn’t. I asked him not to and he said okay. What is it about him? Has he had an accident?’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  He watched her face. Her eyes widened and filled with tears. The shock seemed genuine.

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘Someone murdered him last night. Stabbed him in the back.’

  She stared past him, biting the edge of her thumbnail. Tears ran down her face and she made no effort to wipe them away. ‘But . . . I don’t understand. Where did it happen?’

  ‘In the garage at his home. I found him.’ He watched her weep. She had a defeated air. He couldn’t feel much sympathy for her when he thought of Georgie Merrell sobbing on the tarmac. ‘Cressida, you need to tell me why you were at Lisa’s with Harry on the night she died. I don’t think you killed her because I cannot believe Harry would have concealed that. Harry’s mother is in pieces. Think about that. Think about a woman who has lost her husband and eldest son within months of each other.’

  There were footsteps and the sound of running water. She got up and closed a door at the other end of the room, moving sluggishly. She stood at the wide window, looking at the river, laying her head against the glass. When she sat again she pulled her dressing gown tight around her. Her voice was nasal now, as if she had a heavy cold.

  ‘I went to Lisa’s flat on my own in a taxi. It was around half five in the morning. Like you said, Lisa was sniffing around my dad again, coming on to him. I knew he had gone to the party. She did his head in, he couldn’t say no to her. He had told me she was threatening to close the business as well and I felt bad about that because it was down to my stupidity.’ She took a breath, real pain in her voice. ‘My mum threw him out in the end because of Lisa. It broke her heart. Everything was destroyed. He has ended up living in a rented place and I can’t stand the guy my mum’s with now. I flunked out of school at sixteen because everything was messed up. That night Lisa died, I couldn’t sleep, thinking about it all. I had met her the week before, you see, and begged her to leave my dad alone. I went to her place and said if she kept the business going, I’d try to get a loan or something to pay towards any compensation awarded to that bloody woman I injured. I told her how sorry I was.’ She broke off, panting slightly.

  ‘And Lisa didn’t want to know?’

  ‘No. She was on her high horse. Said her life and what she did was none of my affair. She was furious with me for causing the injury and all the hassle it was bringing her way. She told me to get lost or she’d tell my dad . . .’ She closed her eyes.

  ‘Tell him you’re a sex worker?’

  She nodded, wincing.

  ‘How did Lisa know?’

&nb
sp; ‘Harry told her. I don’t know why I told him about it and I wish I hadn’t. JoJo had warned us all to keep it confidential. He drummed it into us that a high-class operation like this relies on staying hush-hush. I was high on the excitement of it one night. I had earned a lot that week and I was dying to tell someone. I’d met Harry when he visited Body Balm with Lisa. We hit it off straight away. Harry was such a good mate and, well . . . anyway, I talked to him about my work. He got drunk with Lisa one night when she took him to meet that band she sang with and he told her. She was like that. She would weasel things out of people. She didn’t know I live here with JoJo. She didn’t realise he is involved. Harry wasn’t pissed or daft enough to tell her that, he knew it would be dynamite. He was mortified afterwards, asked her not to tell anyone and she said she wouldn’t. Oh God, poor Harry! Did he . . . would he have been in much pain?’

  ‘I doubt it. I think he would have died quickly. Let’s go back to that night. You took a taxi to Dulwich.’

  ‘I just wanted to try and talk to Lisa again. Plead with her. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much trouble she could cause for us. When I got there, the front door had been left open. Her door was open too. I thought there were people still there. Her parties sometimes lasted through to the next morning, especially when they all got wasted. I went in and . . . and she was lying there dead on the sofa. It was horrible, blood all over everything.’ She huddled into the chair, gnawing at her thumb again. ‘I ran back out into the street. I didn’t know what to do. I walked away fast, I just wanted to get away from there. I rang Harry and he came and fetched me from just up the street. You have to believe me, I didn’t do it to her. I couldn’t stick a knife in anyone!’

  No, he couldn’t see her doing it. ‘There was no one else at the flat?’

  ‘I didn’t see anyone. Then that awful thing happened with Harry’s dad. We knew he hadn’t killed Lisa because he was still at work when I found her. Then Harry reckoned his dad must have seen him when he was coming home and that is why he said he had stabbed her, because he thought Harry was responsible. Oh God, we talked about it for hours, Harry and me, but we couldn’t see how we could tell anyone. Harry was out of his mind.’

  ‘You mean you didn’t want Harry to tell anyone because your type of sales work would be exposed. You put pressure on him to keep quiet. JoJo Hayworth owns this apartment and runs your business from here, yes?’

  She nodded. ‘I met him when he was collecting something from Lisa, the time my dad was involved with her. We went for a drink. I came back here with him, slept with him a couple of times. He’s a good-looking guy. I was casting around for something to do. He’d had some big wins at the casino, bought this place, was setting up a few girls. He suggested I give this a go, said I could earn well and live in a great apartment.’

  ‘How many of you work for him?’

  ‘Six at the moment. Me and Shelley live here.’

  ‘Running a brothel is a criminal activity, no matter how high class you call it or how upmarket the premises.’

  She looked at him with a touch of the old boldness. ‘Whatever. It’s a good living. I do it because I want to. I have no qualifications and it beats working in a shop. I manage the business on a day-to-day basis, monitor bookings and clientele and JoJo gives me an extra percentage for that. We have more work than we can handle. JoJo is trying to recruit extra staff and set up another flat to work from. I’ll manage that one too. I get to live in this lovely place and I make good money. Probably more than you.’

  ‘I expect you do.’ He was thinking of a thin, brutalised girl forced to sell sex compared to the lucrative business carried out in this sleek penthouse with customers delivered by chauffeurs. A topsy-turvy world. ‘Did JoJo know that Harry had told Lisa about what you do?’

  Anxiety crossed her face. ‘Not till yesterday. After Lisa died, I thought it didn’t matter because we were safe. But he was here when Harry rang me yesterday and said he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. JoJo heard bits of the conversation and he could see how stressed out I was, so in the end I had to tell him. He was furious with me for telling Harry about our set-up here. I wish . . . I wish I never had. But he knew Harry had agreed not to tell you.’

  ‘Where is JoJo now?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since yesterday. I think he had a shoot.’

  ‘He didn’t come back last night?’

  ‘No. he’s got a girlfriend somewhere, he often stays at hers.’ The penny slowly dropped and she sat forward. ‘Oh no! You don’t think JoJo had anything to do with Harry . . . ?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. JoJo has a lot to lose here if word gets out. I’m not sure that prosecution for keeping a brothel would fit with his modelling image or impress his employers. He could go to prison. He would lose all his sources of income as well as having a criminal record. You don’t know where this girlfriend lives?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Was JoJo in London the night Lisa was killed?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t think so . . . No, no, he wasn’t, he was away working, abroad, I think. Hang on.’ She reached for her phone and scrolled through. ‘Yes, he was in Ibiza.’

  He turned and looked out of the window to watch the river running. He heard Cressida sniffing and blowing her nose. He stood and looked at her. She seemed to be shedding years and sophistication by the minute. Now she looked about twelve. The damaged, angry girl inside the glamorous shell was all too visible.

  ‘Harry went through a lot for you. He ended up torn apart by wanting to keep his promise to you, because he had given away your secret, and through grief for his father and his family. He was in bits, at war with himself. You kept him in an impossible position, you know that?’

  ‘I didn’t know what else to do. We couldn’t think of any way to keep this set-up out of it if we told the police what had happened. We knew it would come out.’ She started crying in earnest, talking through sobs. ‘We were good friends, me and Harry, really close. We talked about everything. We were both mad at our dads, we’d both had our families ripped apart. We got each other. We talked about Lisa. He liked her. She was funny, good company, she talked to him about his drumming, treated him like a little brother and he enjoyed that. But then he hated himself for it because she had replaced his mother. There was nothing else between them. I can see why you might think that but there wasn’t. He was such a good bloke. He didn’t judge me for being an escort. I can’t believe this. It’s too horrible!’

  ‘You need to tell the truth now. Harry’s father suffered in ways that you don’t even know about. Harry’s mother and brother are suffering right this minute. You have to call the police. I’ll be contacting them about you anyway, and about JoJo.’ He wrote down Kharal’s number and passed it to her.

  She raised her puffy face. ‘What will my dad say?’

  ‘He loves you. He’ll stand by you. I’m going now. Make that call to the police.’ He moved away and stopped. ‘I’m about to have a daughter. I wouldn’t want her to end up selling sex, no matter how glamorous the address or how much she earned from it. Wash your face and pick up the phone.’

  She got up slowly. ‘What if JoJo comes back?’

  ‘The police will deal with him. I don’t think he will be back here for now, but don’t say anything to him about this if he does turn up in the meantime. In fact, bolt the door and call the police if he comes back and tries to get in. He could turn violent.’

  He drove to a nearby garage, bought a coffee and sat in the car sipping it. He didn’t want to talk to Kharal. He emailed him, telling him that Cressida Wellings would be ringing the police and why and giving him JoJo Hayworth’s address in Canterbury. Hayworth must be the likely suspect for Harry’s murder but if he had been abroad when Lisa was killed, then the perpetrator was still to be found. He pictured Merrell lying, despairing and hopeless on the bed in that awful hotel basement that was so much like a prison cell.

  Suddenly, he longed to see Ruth. He was su
pposed to make a statement but it could wait until later. He rang her, holding his breath for that moment when he would hear her say his name.

  * * *

  He had driven on to Brighton and was sitting with Ruth in a sun-filled conservatory full of plants and books. Emlyn Williams was attending various therapy sessions at a private clinic and would be out until late afternoon. They were sharing a lunch of cheese, fruit and pasta salad from a tray. Swift had sat outside the handsome, detached house for some time when he arrived, wanting to ring the bell and needing to drive away again, fast. The house and its occupants were too real — wisteria arching over the porch, window boxes of violas, a pale pink magnolia surrounded by bluebells. Finally, Ruth had opened the door and stood there, looking at him, holding out a hand.

  ‘Does Emlyn know I’m here?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I rang him. No secrets. He was fine. There’s no anger left in him, Ty. He’s burnt out and just grateful that I came back. Too grateful, almost. He keeps thanking me and it makes me uncomfortable.’

  On the way in, he had glanced into the downstairs room that had obviously been adapted for Williams — a high hospital bed with levers and a table across it, a hoist, and a chair with footrests. The diminished, cramped life of an invalid.

  ‘I’m glad you came here,’ she continued. ‘I know it was hard for you. A pain barrier.’

  ‘Yes. Well, I am here. And you’re really okay?’

  ‘Honestly, nothing to worry about. Just my bones and ligaments limbering up for the big push.’

  ‘Are you frightened? I am!’

  She laughed and nudged him. ‘Not frightened, a bit apprehensive. Who wouldn’t be? It’s good to be home, good to have you here. Tell me about you. Your poor nose!’

  He brought her up to date about the investigation and about Yana.

  ‘I don’t think she’ll agree to be a witness, she’s too scared. When I’ve wrapped up this case, I want to try to help her move somewhere. I’ve had an idea I’ll work on.’