The Indecent Death of a Madam

by Simon Parke

  ‘No wig, if that’s what you mean.’ For the first time, Blessings was a little uncomfortable.

  ‘Do you provide this visiting service for all those you send down?’

  ‘Ah, the “num” question!’ Blessings laughed at her own observation.

  ‘You’ll have to explain your hilarity.’ Tamsin was thrown.

  ‘It’s a question that expects the answer “no”,’ said Peter quietly. ‘In Latin, nonne at the beginning of the question expects the answer “yes”. Num anticipates the answer “no”. As in, “Surely you don’t visit every criminal you send down?”’

  ‘Very good, Abbot,’ said Blessings. ‘Very good! You were clearly listening in class. And of course the “num” and “nonne” questions are the bread and butter of any cross-examination. They’re designed to expose a weakness in the other person’s case – and they do it very well. In this instance, it’s highlighting the fact that clearly I don’t do this for everybody – so why do it for Francisco?’

  ‘So why did you do it for Francisco?’ Tamsin continued to fume.

  ‘Everyone deserves a second chance.’

  Now it was Tamsin’s turn to mock with her face, suggesting an entirely inadequate response.

  ‘So he’s a lodger here?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘He isn’t more than that?’

  ‘He does other things, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘He looks after the house when I’m away. Circuit judges travel a lot; I spend far too much of my life with room service in appalling hotels.’

  The abbot quite liked the idea of an appalling hotel. He’d never actually slept in a hotel, so it couldn’t help but sound intriguing. And room service sounded particularly exotic.

  ‘Anything else?’ asked Tamsin.

  ‘He’s a very good gardener, a pretty handy chef. And to forestall further questions from any grubby minds in the room’ – she looked around cheekily – ‘he’s gay. He likes men. Is your interest calmed a little?’

  Tamsin tried to hide her mirth at this suggestion. The abbot would later tell her she was only partially successful.

  ‘Not really, no, Blessings. In fact, if anything, it’s stirred a little.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘And we have old Sidney Stokes to thank – former newspaper man, but in retirement a keen-eyed amateur film-maker.’

  ‘No doubt you will explain.’

  ‘Well, according to his video footage, the gay Francisco, the one who likes men, has been a most committed visitor to a brothel in Church Street. Quite a regular there, apparently.’

  ‘A brothel?’

  ‘But perhaps he’s doing their gardening. Or knocking up a soufflé for everyone?’

  Blessings sat still as if stunned; and then melted and nodded in appreciation. ‘You played your hand well,’ she said. ‘Expertly played, Detective Inspector.’

  Tamsin could scarcely have been happier . . . such applause from a judge. Warmth towards this woman flooded through her body.

  ‘And now, Blessings, I need to ask a favour of you. About tonight.’

  ‘Brothel etiquette?’

  said Tara. ‘It’s very important, of course it is. Rosemary was very strong on etiquette, as you know, Abbot.’

  Peter sat alone with Tara in No. 9, Church Street. He’d been sent.

  Tamsin’s afternoon was to be spent arranging a meeting of the Stormhaven Etiquette Society that evening. Peter’s was to be spent here, digging.

  ‘I think we all need to sit down and have a chat together,’ she’d told him earlier. ‘Let’s see what the oddest society in Europe has to say about the death of Rosemary. But while I’m organizing that, I want you to find out everything you can about Model Service. All right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I mean, you’re OK with a brothel? You won’t do anything stupid?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You were a long time in the desert.’

  ‘I’ll try and limit my vice to ignorance. I didn’t score well in the quiz.’

  ‘Which makes you ideal. Play the idiot; you do it very well.’ Peter was not sure if that was a compliment. But he did play it well, and knowingly when necessary. ‘Ask every question you can. They’ll talk more freely to you . . . what with your habit. You’ll be cute, other-worldly. They’ll want to help you, want to explain. They’ve probably never explained a brothel to a monk. And I think Tara’s got a soft spot for you.’

  ‘I hardly think so.’

  ‘She kept looking across at you in the asylum, hoping you were going to save her. Are you going to save her?’

  ‘You were being quite hostile.’

  ‘Oh, you’re not in love with her as well, Abbot? Is any attractive middle-aged woman in Stormhaven safe?’

  Peter rang the bell of Model Service with trepidation. Four years earlier, as an abbot in the desert, he would not have expected to be visiting a brothel. But then the future does surprise, and here he was in Church Street entering a whorehouse. Model Service was tastefully engraved, discreet black on bronze, like a solicitor or financial adviser. And Tara was the perfect host, opening the door, welcoming him in and sitting him down in the reception area, as if everything was quite normal; which for her it was, to a degree. She pulled a curtain across, enclosing the space where they sat, like a nurse giving a hospital patient privacy.

  ‘The girls will answer the door to their clients,’ she said, explaining. ‘But they won’t want to see us . . . particularly a monk. You’re not the first churchman, obviously,’ she added, ‘but you are the first monk. I’d have remembered a monk. Though I was once asked to dress as an abbess. Should that be your fancy.’

  ‘You do realize I’m here on business.’ He was suddenly concerned that he hadn’t made himself clear.

  ‘Everyone’s here on business!’

  ‘No – I mean, it’s the investigation.’

  ‘I do understand,’ said Tara, smiling. ‘Though disappointed, of course.’

  Peter was finding this difficult and Tara’s easy-going charm wasn’t helping.

  ‘So you might not see everyone who uses the place?’ asked the abbot. ‘I mean, if the curtain is drawn.’

  The question felt clumsy; he felt clumsy.

  ‘No, I don’t see everyone and wouldn’t expect to. The girls work independently and I trust them.’ Peter nodded and wondered where trust came into it. Perhaps it was about the income, which presumably would be shared in some manner, Model Service taking its cut.

  ‘It must have been a bit of a shock to find us in the asylum today,’ he said, reminding himself that this was a normal investigation, where normal rules applied. Create a relationship and see what emerges.

  ‘No – the shock was the place, believe me; I’d heard it was bleak, but, well . . .’

  ‘Not a good place to die.’

  ‘Someone didn’t like her,’ said Tara.

  ‘No.’ There was a slight pause. ‘Did you like her?’

  ‘Of course. She was a good person.’ The abbot nodded. She was a good person. ‘What – you think this place may have something to do with the murder?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘She kept it very quiet and deliberately so, but she believed in the business, no question about that. It was her idea.’

  ‘Her idea? The brothel?’

  Tara recounted her first meeting with Rosemary.

  ‘She had her reasons. I don’t know what they were, but she had them. She was very clear about what she wanted, particularly concerning the care of the workers.’

  ‘That was uppermost in her thinking?’

  ‘It was, yes. Which is fine, I had no problems with that, but it has to work as a business as well. I told her it wasn’t a charity.’

  ‘No, I think that would be stretching it.’

  ‘Not that she expected anyone else to understand her involvement. “It’s the best thing I do,” she once said, and I believed he
r. But she kept her ownership of this place secret. She only told her closest friends.’

  ‘Quite.’ He was hurt by that idea. ‘And who were her closest friends?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Did anyone know? wondered Peter. ‘But who here would want to murder Rosemary?’ asked Tara.

  ‘You might, I suppose,’ said the abbot. ‘You do now own the business.’

  ‘I was warned by Rosemary’s solicitor I would be the number one suspect.’

  ‘So I’m sure you have a water-tight story, carefully prepared.’

  Tara paused for a moment before speaking. ‘We did have a small incident here the other day.’

  ‘What sort of an incident?’

  ‘Katrina found a sticker on her door, after one of the clients left.’

  ‘Placed there by him?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t put it there, and I don’t think Katrina did.’

  ‘What sort of sticker?’

  ‘It’s the sign they use.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Stormhaven Etiquette Society. A bit strange, really. Given that we now discover Rosemary was a member.’

  Peter was thinking of his Venn diagram and the overlapping circles.

  ‘And what did the sticker say? Do you still have it?’

  Tara reached for the desk drawer.

  ‘No, wait,’ said Peter. He handed Tara a clear plastic bag. ‘Fingerprints,’ he said.

  ‘Well, I’ve handled it already.’

  ‘You just won’t be handling it again and obscuring other prints. We wouldn’t want you falsely accused.’

  ‘I think I was falsely accused this morning by your colleague.’

  ‘The detective inspector accuses everybody; it’s part of the dance. She accuses me in most of our investigations – including this one. I was her first suspect.’

  Tara held the sticker and read the message out loud: ‘TO THE SLUT CREW OF CHURCH STREET, BE WARNED: YOU’RE NOT QUITE WHAT WE WANT. THE STORMHAVEN ETIQUETTE SOCIETY.’

  ‘They don’t pull any punches, do they?’ Peter was now feeling a little ashamed that he had been their guest speaker.

  ‘Other people have received them,’ she continued. ‘A flower seller received one for not putting the apostrophe in the right place on her sign. I mean, I ask you! Another shop got one after a wheelchair user was moved out of a shop, against their will, because they were blocking an aisle.’

  ‘I sense Rosemary’s hand there.’

  ‘But, of course, nothing’s attributable because no one knows who they are,’ said Tara. ‘So they can do as they please.’

  ‘They make great play of their secret membership. On my visit there, I was told they were like Bletchley Park, pledged to silence.’

  ‘Like a group of silly little boys.’

  ‘And girls. So who’s behind this one?’ asked the abbot, looking at the sticker.

  ‘How would I know? Completely sick, if you ask me.’

  ‘Well, your old friend Blessings is a member . . . should it make any difference.’ Would this stir anything?

  ‘A judge in her free time as well? Well, I’m hardly surprised.’

  ‘But you aren’t in contact with her.’

  The coincidence of Roedean and Rosemary seemed to link them, but Tara was having none of it.

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Is there anything else?’

  There was something else. But how could he say this? It was hard to drop casually into conversation.

  ‘I need to understand,’ said Peter.

  ‘Understand what?’

  ‘I know how a monastery works, Tara; and I don’t need to know all the details, I’m not here as a voyeur.’ Tara was now smiling. ‘But, I mean, how does a place like this work?’

  ‘A brothel, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You want all the ins and outs, Abbot?’ Tara was quite shameless.

  ‘I just need to understand Model Service, how this place works.’

  ‘You want a guided tour, Abbot?’ She was enjoying his embarrassment.

  ‘Well, not a guided tour. I just need to understand . . .’

  ‘Follow me,’ said Tara. ‘And let me help you understand.’ She got up from behind the desk, pulled back the curtain, and led him up the small but steep stairs, two floors, to the top of the house.

  ‘I’m told that stairs are very good for you,’ said Peter on arrival at the top. ‘Perhaps you could advertise as a health club as well.’

  They were now standing outside a door.

  ‘So, this is Katrina’s room, where the sticker was left – here on the door.’ Peter noted that a sticky stain remained. ‘She’s not in until later. So shall we go inside?’

  ‘It isn’t optional, Martin,’

  explained Tamsin on the phone. ‘There will be a meeting of the Stormhaven Etiquette Society tonight.’

  ‘But it isn’t convenient,’ said the editor, who had other plans for the evening. He really didn’t feel like the Etiquette Society. Somehow the fun had left this particular adventure.

  ‘Nor is the cold-blooded killing of Rosemary,’ said Tamsin. ‘It’s ruining everyone’s evening.’

  He could hear she was in a determined mood.

  ‘I just don’t understand why the Etiquette Society is getting dragged into it, Detective Inspector.’ Tamsin enjoyed his discomfort. ‘I mean, it’s our task to civilize people rather than murder them. So it’s hardly likely—’

  ‘Perhaps you murder them if they refuse to be civilized. Or, if they turn out to be the madam of a local brothel.’

  ‘Well, I was as amazed as you are.’

  ‘And I’m not at all amazed. So how amazed are you?’

  ‘Touché, Detective Inspector!’

  She did have a feisty spirit which he rather admired. And she wasn’t finished.

  ‘Are you seriously telling me, Mr Channing, that the Sussex Silt – which knows the name of every insect under every stone along the Sussex coast – knew nothing about Model Service?’

  ‘I have a piano lesson this evening,’ added Martin. ‘It really isn’t a good night.’

  ‘A piano lesson?’

  ‘And she’s not a teacher who appreciates excuses, really not – rules me with a rod of iron. She’ll think I haven’t been practising, when truthfully young Mozart has had a great deal of my attention this week. Though I have to say, he’s very awkward company – particularly the left hand, which he took very seriously. Did you know that, Detective Inspector?’

  ‘You’re presuming way too much interest.’

  ‘Oh yes, it was all about the left hand with Wolfgang Amadeus.’

  ‘Well, be glad for your left hand that you’re free of Mozart tonight, Martin.’

  She wanted to be clear.

  ‘Oh, thankfully I am never free from genius – his or my own.’

  ‘But you’ll be there on time or you’ll find every aspect of your life made very difficult.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’

  ‘It’s just a fact, Martin, so it probably won’t appear in your paper . . .’

  There would need to be another murder.

  The killer of Rosemary Weller had realized this at about nine o’clock that morning, while drying their cereal bowl at the kitchen sink . . . always good to clear away the meal. Who wants dirty cups and plates sitting on the sideboard all day? No decent human being wishes for that – though the thought of a further fatality brought with it a sudden tightening in the chest, tension in the body.

  It was a reluctant realization, and brought a heaviness of spirit as blue sky momentarily appeared from behind the clouds. It was like the emergence of some magical turquoise ocean, another world, another life. But it didn’t change anything . . . what must be, must be. The law of unintended consequences had a lot to answer for, and all very difficult because they liked Rosemary, as much as one could; just as they also liked dear— The doorbell rang.

  A young postman handed over a large envelope, which, once opened, off
ered details of a number of properties in Suffolk – pictures, floor plans, prices.

  A change of air might be good; perhaps inland, away from the sea. Everything could be moved, once this was over. They had thought it was all over, of course, all done and dusted . . . but no, it wasn’t. And Suffolk was nice – saner than Norfolk, so perhaps there was blue sky beyond all this, a fresh start in Suffolk. Does God speak with murderers in this way, somehow knowing that not everyone can live, and that someone has to kill them? That someone has to play Judas?

  There would have to be one more killing; and then, even as they watched, the cloud slowly covered the blue, as if it had never been there.

  And never would be again.

  ‘It might start with a bubble bath,’

  said Tara. They were standing in Katrina’s small bathroom, the tour of Model Service now under way. ‘An assisted bubble bath.’

  ‘Assisted? Is that for the more elderly clients?’

  ‘Hunt the soap, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Is it not in the soap holder?’

  ‘It’s in the bath, Abbot . . . sliding around in the bath.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘And it does make life much more pleasant for the sex worker if the client doesn’t smell. I’m sure you can imagine.’

  ‘Oh quite, I’m against smelling. Some of the monks – you really didn’t wish to sit next to them for the evening office.’

  ‘But if you want the client to have a bath, it has to be fun, part of the pleasure.’

  ‘I normally read a book.’

  ‘That’s because you’re alone, Abbot, so your options are limited. Imagine if you had company. You might put the book away.’

  ‘Or hold on to it more firmly.’

  ‘A bath relaxes the client as well, so it’s good in every way. After which you can help them dry, give them a good rub down.’

  ‘I’ve probably heard enough now.’

  ‘We’ve hardly started!’ said Tara briskly. What was the abbot afraid of here? He did seem strangely vulnerable. ‘And then you wrap them up in a bathrobe and give them tea and ginger nuts,’ continued Tara, ‘while you get everything ready.’

  ‘Tea and ginger nuts?’

  ‘It’s strange, yes, but that is peculiarly enjoyable for a lot of them. Ginger nut biscuits are very important for a brothel, Abbot. I sometimes think it’s more about the biscuits than the sex . . . particularly for those of mature years.’ Instinctively, Tara was checking the towel cupboard, which displayed a good selection, neatly stacked.