A Narrow Trajectory

by Faith Martin

  ‘Hey troops, how’s it going?’

  Jimmy grunted. Wendy sighed.

  ‘Like that, huh?’ Hillary said with a grin.

  ‘Oh, guv, all those poor girls,’ Wendy said, leaning back in her chair and glaring at Hillary balefully. As if everything wrong with the world was all her fault. ‘I never realized how … well … normal they are.’

  Hillary blinked and gave Jimmy a puzzled glance. The old man grinned.

  ‘Wendy ran into one of her old school pals, guv,’ he explained succinctly.

  ‘Ah,’ Hillary said neutrally.

  ‘Yeah. I mean, I thought girls got trapped into that sort of thing,’ Wendy swept on. ‘You know, they grow up in care and so don’t have any support system in place to help them when they hit eighteen. And when times are hard economically, they can’t get work and fall victim to sweet-talking pimps. I know as well, from what I learned at uni, that a lot of them have learning difficulties, or long-standing alcohol or substance abuse problems to begin with. I just didn’t realize that they could be like … well … like …’

  ‘You and me?’ Hillary put in helpfully. ‘But you, especially. Young, healthy and reasonably intelligent. And from what anyone would say is a normal, happy, working-class family home?’

  The goth flushed unhappily. ‘It’s not that I think I’m better than anyone else,’ she began, but Hillary held up a hand to ward her off.

  ‘I understand. And I know what you mean.’

  ‘But why can’t anybody help them, guv?’ Wendy said, sounding angry now rather than defensive. ‘I’ve been chatting to them all day long, and none of them want to be doing what they’re doing. The pimps take practically all the money off them, they can’t afford to rent even a basic sort of place. And half of them are off their heads, or ill.’ She shuddered suddenly and looked on the verge of tears.

  Hillary regarded her steadily for a while. ‘Do you want to be reassigned?’ she asked quietly.

  Jimmy looked back up from his typing at this, his glance going between the youngster and his boss, his old eyes curious, concerned, but assessing.

  Wendy too looked up. Her mascara was so black and thick it gave her panda-like eyes, but if they were bright with tears, they slowly hardened.

  ‘No, guv, I’m fine,’ she said.

  Hillary continued to look at her steadily for a while, then her lips twitched a little in approval. You could say what you liked about the goth, but there was no denying she had spunk.

  ‘OK then. Tomorrow, you need to get out and do it all over again: different neighbourhood, different faces, same shit.’

  Wendy’s black-painted lips firmed into a grim, straight line. ‘Yes, guv.’

  Hillary nodded. ‘OK. Carry on with the report then.’ She looked up and across at the old man, and jerked her head towards the left. ‘Jimmy – a quick word in my office.’

  ‘Coming, guv.’

  In her office, she slumped down behind her desk and gave him a weak smile. ‘Our girl is growing up.’

  ‘Yeah. She’s gonna be a good one, guv. I’m just not sure she’s the right fit for us, that’s all.’

  Hillary nodded. She too had doubts that Wendy was copper material, but it was up to Wendy to come to the same conclusion. No doubt time would sort it all out.

  ‘OK, I’ve just had a word with someone who knew Jas Sudbury back when she was a wild child,’ Hillary began, and quickly filled him in on the interview. When she was finished, she added, ‘From now on, I’m going to type up the notes on Jas straight onto a memory stick and print off hard copies. I don’t want Jake hacking into our hard drive and learning all sorts of stuff that is going to mess with his head.’

  Jimmy nodded, looking grave.

  ‘And when I’ve done that, I’m going to give you a copy of every­thing I’ve got on her so far – the interview with Jake’s parents, her old friends, the lot. I want you to take a second look at it for me. See what you think.’

  ‘Guv?’ Jimmy said. He was willing enough, but looked slightly puzzled. He’d never known Hillary Greene ask to be second-guessed.

  As if sensing his uncertainty, she grinned wryly. ‘I just want a second opinion, that’s all,’ she said carefully. ‘A second pair of eyes on it won’t hurt.’

  In truth, she wanted to see if Jimmy – as old and seasoned a hand as herself – got the same reading on things that she did. She hoped not. She might, after all, be worrying about nothing. She might, just possibly – be adding up two and two and getting five.

  But she didn’t think so.

  Jimmy looked at her thoughtfully for a long moment, then slowly nodded. ‘OK, guv. And how is Jake doing? I haven’t seen him around much. The two bosses seem to have him well in hand.’

  Hillary smiled. ‘By the end of the week we’ll be down to just the one boss,’ she reminded him. Although she knew it was coming, it still felt odd to her to realize that Steven would no longer be the man she reported to. She shook off the thought angrily and forced herself to concentrate on the matter in hand. Jimmy needed to be kept in the loop if they were to avoid any snags. And she’d long since determined that business and personal issues were to be kept strictly compartmentalized.

  ‘But yes. They’re arranging for him to meet with Darren Chivnor again,’ she swept on. ‘This time, though, he’ll be properly covered and we’ll have eyes and ears on him at all times.’

  Jimmy whistled through his teeth. He didn’t need telling this could be a risky strategy. With a clever thug like Chivnor, you couldn’t afford to be lax. It only took the blink of an eye for a concealed knife to be whipped out and buried in someone’s ribs.

  ‘You think anything will actually come of all this?’ he asked a shade sceptically.

  ‘Who knows?’ Hillary said. ‘Medcalfe’s been around a long time. Plenty of coppers have tried to topple him and failed. And Steven hasn’t even got his own team up and running yet so the whole thing has got a flying-by-the-seat-of-our-pants feel to it. The timing could hardly be worse. On the other hand, this opportunity with Jake and Chivnor is too good to miss. And you know what they say about looking gift horses in the mouth. We’ll just have to wait and see what develops.’

  ‘When’s the meeting?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘Tomorrow afternoon. So none of us senior management will be in,’ she said, with a definite twinkle in her eye now. ‘You’ll just have to hold the fort for a couple of hours. Keep Wendy out of trouble.’

  Jimmy grunted.

  ‘So, did you and Wendy get anything at all from your day of pavement pounding?’ she changed the subject.

  ‘Not a lot, guv. Everyone’s being as tight-mouthed as the proverbial aquatic bird’s rear end. Medcalfe’s obviously got the word out already to play dumb. We just got one or two useless titbits on one of your cases, actually. Lydia Allen?’ He related what little he’d learned, and Hillary nodded.

  ‘Yeah. That ties in. Her mother said that she had this fantasy about meeting a wealthy student,’ she sighed. ‘So it makes sense that she would have specialized in the colleges. A lot of Medcalfe’s girls would have been taught how to target the wealthy male students – especially the ones from overseas. They tend to be more impressed with that sort of the thing than our home-grown lot – or so Vice tell me. I’ll start checking that aspect out when I get the chance.’

  Mentally she added it to her to-do list. ‘Right now I’m off to see her former flat-mate. According to her mother, they didn’t get on.’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘Anyone we know?’

  ‘According to Vice, she’s gone on to be something big in the S&M scene. A proper madam whiplash, from what I can tell. A real specialist.’

  Jimmy grinned. ‘You get to meet the most interesting people, guv.’

  ‘Wanna come with me?’

  Jimmy patted his chest over the area of his heart. ‘Not sure I could stand the excitement, guv,’ he grinned. Then he stood up and all but yelped as a spasm of pain shot up his back.

  Hillary shook her
head sorrowfully and theatrically tut-tutted.

  Jimmy said something unprintable under his breath, and left.

  And, after dealing with her emails and typing up her report on the Cheryl Murray interview, Hillary did the same.

  This time, she drove towards the Oxford suburb of Osney Mead. And if the ageing Volkswagen thought that this was a definite comedown after his brief interlude parked under the cherry trees of Belgravia, he kept it to himself.

  Sasha Yoo’s address turned out to be a flat in a large Edwardian house in a leafy lane overlooking the canal locks. In winter, the residential area looked smart and well-kept. In the warmer months, Hillary realized with a slight jolt of surprise, it would probably look major-league pleasant. The surrounding gardens belonging to similar houses were all large and full of planting, and even in the dark, November street-lighting, the evergreens shone lushly. In daylight, there might even be some rural greenery showing elsewhere, since they were on the edge of the city.

  As she climbed out of her vehicle and looked around, she noticed the great number of parked cars meant that most of the area’s inhabitants were at least two-car families, speaking even more conspicuously of comfortable lifestyles.

  Which rather begged the question. What was an escort girl doing living here?

  From the files, she knew that it was not the same address as the one she’d once shared with Lydia Allen before her mother had reported her missing. And had Sasha Yoo not still been known to Vice, Hillary would have assumed that the girl had got out of the game and had found herself a wealthy sugar daddy.

  As she approached the house, she noticed some minor signs of wear and tear. The paint could have done with a little touching up on the windows and the main door. And the gardens, although full of laurels, weren’t particularly tidy, and some hardy weeds had sprouted up on the paved path to the door.

  As Hillary made her way to the main entrance, she noted that in some of the neighbouring houses, with December only two days away, some people had already put up colourful Christmas lights. And, on one or two doors, holly wreaths festooned with red ribbons had also been hung.

  Hillary scowled at them. It was one of her pet hates, how Christmas seemed to be forced down her throat earlier and earlier nowadays. Shops started stocking up in September for pity’s sake, and the citizenry was gradually being cajoled into getting excited about the so-called season of goodwill practically before the clocks went back. And all because the retailers were anxious to get you to part with your money. To buy presents and gifts for relatives and friends you hardly ever saw at any other time of the year, and which they probably neither wanted nor needed. Let alone appreciated. And then there was the price hike in chocolates, which really made her see red!

  She forced herself to stop channelling her inner Grinch and rang the bell. Nothing happened for quite some time, then a female voice came over the intercom. It sounded sleepy, wary, and curious.

  ‘Yes? You sure you got the right address, love?’

  Hillary blinked, rather wrong-footed by the friendly question and then instantly sensed eyes on her – of the non-human variety. Knowing that somewhere in the porch entranceway a camera had to be on her, she kept her face obstinately angled forward, and even dipped her chin a little. Not that it mattered if her face was seen or even recognized. It was just a copper’s instinct to be cautious.

  ‘Yes. I’m here to see Sasha. Sasha Yoo,’ Hillary said firmly.

  ‘Of course you are, love,’ the voice now sounded knowing and warm. Almost amused. And Hillary knew why. Whoever was on the other end of the video screen was assuming she was a customer. The truth had finally dawned.

  Hillary was standing on the doorstep of an old-fashioned knocking shop.

  For a moment, she wasn’t quite sure whether to be amused or insulted. Being taken for a pervert on the search for a bit of female-on-female S&M action wasn’t exactly the highlight of her day so far. Or even her week come to think of it. On the other hand, it did have entertainment value. She could imagine Steven, for one, laughing his socks off when she told him about it later.

  ‘You know the way?’ the voice asked as the door was buzzed open.

  ‘Of course,’ Hillary lied nonchalantly, and slipped inside.

  If the exterior of the house lacked any obvious signs of recent upkeep, the same could not be said of the interior – which was both eye-catching and luxurious. In an odd, almost touching way. For the nostalgia had been plastered on so thick she could almost taste it at the back of her throat. The hall tiles were of the traditional black and white kind, and the wooden banisters leading upstairs were ornately carved, depicting mainly acorns and grapevines. A tall grandfather clock ticked ponderously in one corner – and was telling the right time, too. The original stained glass windows had been retained, as had a large crystal-drop chandelier hanging from an ornate frame.

  And everywhere there was red. Full-length red curtains at the windows and, used as draught-excluders and for added privacy, at the internal doors. Ornate and curvaceous ormolu chairs were upholstered in fat upholstery in matching crimson. On the walls were prints of naked women wearing nothing but strategically placed feather boas and come-hither coy smiles. One almost expected to see Queen Victoria’s naughty son, the Prince Regent, come sauntering down the stairs with a scantily clad beauty on each arm.

  The only note that looked out of place was a display cabinet full of metal and leather. Metal chains. Handcuffs. Leather riding crops. Leather face masks with zips where the mouth should be. And instruments that looked like they belonged in a medieval torture chamber.

  ‘Oh my,’ Hillary murmured to herself as she walked past the offending articles and headed for the stairs.

  She hadn’t quite reached the top when a door down the landing opened. Onto a lushly, red-patterned carpet (that looked to Hillary’s eyes like a genuine antique Axminster) a tall Asian girl stepped out. She was totally eye-catching at nearly six feet tall, and had a slender, almost boyish figure that was currently clad in a tight-fitting leather body suit cut high on the thigh and low at the bust. She wasn’t particularly well endowed, but large brass studs, carefully positioned, drew the eye – and presumably the mind – away from any sense of disappointment. Her hair was truly amazing – long, jet black, shimmering straight as water and falling very nearly to her thighs. She stood in the doorway, flicking back impatiently a strand or two of that amazing hair, her black eyes watching Hillary with a narrow, cold look.

  ‘I don’t know you. You have no appointment.’ The accent was totally English, but the staccato and slightly awkward delivery of the statements sounded distinctly oriental.

  Play acting?

  Hillary smiled and held out her ID.

  Sasha Yoo glanced at it, sighed elaborately, sneered and then reluctantly beckoned her inside.

  And instantly, Hillary felt the hackles on the back of her neck stand to rigid attention. A cold hand seemed to press against her lower back and for a second she had to fight the urge to run. This sensation, near paralyzing as it was, wasn’t totally new to her, and by force of will, she was able to keep her expression neutral and carry on walking. But she was now on high alert.

  Because she had experienced what she was feeling now only a handful of times before in her life. And always it had warned her of real and present danger.

  She’d first felt it when still in uniform and she and her partner, a twenty-year veteran, had been called out to what had seemed to be a routine domestic – a woman with a black eye, a drunken husband. And, as it turned out, a seriously out-of-his-head-on-cocaine lodger who, for some reason, had decided that he wanted to kill someone. Copper, landlord or landlady, it hadn’t appeared to matter. And when he’d suddenly popped up from behind the sofa where he’d been sleeping off his fix, she’d taken one look at him and felt what she was feeling now. Luckily, her partner had been a big man and had been able to subdue him – with the help of not only Hillary but, as it turned out, the husband and wife as well.
It had been Hillary’s first lesson of how someone crazed on drugs seemed to acquire near super-human strength.

  The same feeling had engulfed her years later, when she’d had to visit a mental patient in a secure facility. Although there had been no physical violence on that occasion, Hillary’s skin had almost literally crawled.

  And finally, about ten years ago, she’d experienced this same atavistic sense of apprehension when she’d been interviewing a member of the public about a brutal rape. They hadn’t brought that rape home to the man who’d raised her hackles, but years later, he’d been convicted and sent down for life for murdering his sister.

  And now the feeling was back.

  So as Sasha Yoo shut the door behind her, Hillary Greene was already turned to face her, and balancing lightly on the balls of her feet. She carried no weapons of course – she wasn’t permitted to. And she was aware that her heart was beating slightly too fast, and that the sudden tension she felt was making her feel slightly sick. But it was too late now to remember the reason why coppers should always go about in pairs. Besides, even if she had had Wendy or Jimmy with her, she’d be more worried about taking care of them and ensuring their safety, rather than on relying on them to help her out. Wendy would have been too young and innocent to know how to help defend herself, and Jimmy, who’d certainly know how, and would probably be getting the same vibe as herself, would be too old. And with his current back pain, too frail.

  Sasha had very good body tone, and her biceps on both arms looked remarkably firm. Here was a woman who liked to keep fit. Was maybe into martial arts? And who certainly knew how to wield riding crops and whips all right. And, unless Hillary’s internal radar had lost it completely, was a stone cold psychopath.

  ‘So what do the coppers want this time?’ Sasha drawled with a playful smile. She was wearing dark red lipstick and had small, charming white teeth. But whilst they smiled, her eyes had a flat, reptilian coldness to them that made Hillary’s mouth go dry.

  ‘Just a few routine questions, Miss Yoo.’ Hillary forced herself to sound polite and unimpressed. She might have just walked unknowingly into a spider’s den – and a black widow at that – but she was no unwary bluebottle. But she wasn’t sure if she could take the girl in a straight fight – although she’d give it a bloody good go if she had to. So that meant playing it smart.