by Kim Knight
The Red Light Girls
Unsolved Mysteries Series
Kim Knight
Contents
Also by Kim Knight
Author Acknowledgement
1. Damsel In Distress
2. One Woman Down
3. The Hand of Fate
4. Dig Deep
5. Make The Link
6. Peeping Tom
7. The Bachelor
8. Puzzle Pieces
9. The Coroner’s Office
10. Needle in a Haystack
11. Last Sighting
12. Daydreamer
13. A New Friend
14. Messenger
15. Undercover
16. Out of the Woodwork
17. Dead End
18. You’ve Got Mail
19. The Ancestral Realm
20. Date Night
21. Do the Math
22. Amsterdam Centraal
23. Stuck Between the Two
24. A Word of Warning
25. Sleepless Night
26. The Pieces Fall
27. Odd Places
28. Hot Seat
29. Bite Sized Pieces
30. Return to Sender…
31. Honey Trap
32. In the Clear?
33. Curiosity, Almost Killed the Cat
34. Exhale
35. Forever Friends
36. The Red Light Girls
Sneak Peek of ’Til Death Do Us Part
1. The Confession
2. Unanswered Questions
3. Run Away Wife?
About the Author
Also by Kim Knight
Unsolved Mysteries Series
The Note
The Red Light Girls
’Til Death Do Us Part
Standalone Books
Sacrifices
NonFiction Works
My Mum and Me
Blurb
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Amsterdam’s a fun and exciting city set on edge.
When women linked to the Red Light District turn up dead in the Amsterdamse Bos woodland area or missing, not many take notice.
Madeline Sloane, a ballsy journalist for London’s tabloid papers, is bored with her job and surroundings. She finds herself in Amsterdam, working for De Telegraaf newspaper. Her new job becomes her obsession. A deep-seated determination drives her to close-in on the person responsible for the fates of the Red Light Girls. She reports on the city’s events, appeals for information, and forms a plan of action—one born of her intuition that guides her to a suspect.
One person stands in her way of finding Amsterdam’s serial killer, and not everything is as it seems in Madeline’s world.
The Red Light Girls is a novella-length, fast-moving story with a touch of mystery, Madeline Sloane is a head-strong female on a mission to cover areas the local police have failed, and the more she digs, the closer she comes to solving an unsolved mystery.
Connect with Kim on Social Media:
Author Website: https://kimknightauthor.com/
Facebook: @kimknightauthoruk
Twitter: @kimknightauthor
She’s also on Bookbub @KimKnight
THE RED LIGHT GIRLS
UNSOLVED MYSTERIES SERIES
COPYRIGHT©2021
KIM KNIGHT
Cover Design by Wren Taylor
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.
Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Published in the United States of America by:
DLG Publishing Partners
San Antonio, TX 78217
www.DLGPublishingPartners.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Author’s Dedication
When I wrote this, I thought a lot about the families of people who are reported as missing persons and how hard it must be to come to terms with, and the why, when, where, and how. May your closure and peace of mind come.
Author Acknowledgement
Also, a shout out to all the ‘working girls’ around Amsterdam’s district. I love that city. For the record, you all looked fantastic in the windows as I walked by! Thanks for the inspiration, but may none of you meet the fate my characters do. —Kim Knight
1
Damsel In Distress
Madeline Sloane
One Afternoon, in Ansterdam…
“Shit, I can't believe this.” Madeline pounded the steering wheel with her fist, then rolled her eyes.
Her car came to a standstill on a deserted road.
“Arggh, I really don't need this today,” she whined.
She narrowed her eyes to try to see through the heavy sheet of rain, pounding against the windows. Her view was blurred.
The open woodland and trees were all she could see. This was not good news. She closed her lids, then rested her head back on the headrest, to block out the nightmare she had just entered.
“Could this day get any worse,” she asked herself. “I should’ve stayed put in London. This move better be worth it.”
Come on, get it together.
Madeline leaned over to the passenger seat, reached into her bag, and fished out her mobile phone. With hesitation, she stepped out of the car and slammed the door. To shield herself from the rain, she pulled her thin jacket around her.
The bullets of rain drummed against her with a heavy thud.
“Argh,” she cried out. “Give me a break, will you? I’ve just had my hair done!”
With a shaky hand, she pushed away a few loose strands plastered to her face. As she rubbed her eyes to free them from the rain, her mascara smudged in the process. When she attempted to unlock her phone, she noticed the make-up stains had transferred to her fingers.
“Jesus. Great, just great,” she muttered.
The only sound she heard was the rain beating against the body of her car, and the wind as it rustled in and out of the trees. There was not a soul in sight.
After three months, life was no easier for her. And her decision to up and leave London was not an easy one but a necessity. Her job as a journalist in the UK’s capital no longer excited her. She had accepted a sabbatical placement with the Dutch newspaper De Telegraaf, as a last resort to revive her love for the profession.
Her employer back home, The Sun newspaper, offered a number of placements to exchange with international papers around the world. At the time, it sounded ideal to her. However which destination to apply for had baffled her.
One night, she opened an atlas after one too many glasses of wine. She stuck her finger on the map, and it landed on Amsterdam. The decision w
as made. That’s where she’d try her luck with falling back in love with being a journalist.
Lucky for her, a Dutch newspaper was included in the list of media sources taking part in the exchange program.
Madeline walked around the car and bent down to the wheel. She ran her hand over the visible damage on the wet, rubber treads, then shook her head.
“Great, punctured.”
Pulling herself to a standing position, she glanced up and down the quiet road in search of help. There was no one around. After some time had passed, she gave up on anyone passing by that could help her. Instead, she dialled the number on the windscreen sticker for the car breakdown service.
“Hello, my name’s . . . Sorry, excuse me. Hallo, mijn naam is Madeline,” she said to the call handler. There was a silence.
“Hello, hello,” she yelled.
Madeline tutted at the blank screen. Her battery had died.
Well, that’s just great. She groaned loudly and shoved the device into in her pocket.
The bitter wind whipped around her, and the rain assaulted the thin material of her coat. She shivered and cursed even more.
Leaning on the side of the car, tears welled up in her eyes, then spilt over onto her cheeks.
A dog barked somewhere in the distance.
Her eyes darted toward the woodland area.
“Hey, hello. Is anyone there?” she called out into the darkness.
Her voice echoed back as it bounced around the open space.
Overcome with a sliver of sudden fear, she hurried away and jumped onto the driver’s seat. She locked the doors and prayed someone would pass by and help her. With the weather as bad as it was, she wasn’t optimistic about it.
Why would anyone be out on foot in this?
She could only hope a car would drive by, sooner than later.
The dog barked again, and her heart pounded against her rib cage.
She narrowed her eyes and could just about make out in the distance, a man jogging out of the woods with a dog behind him.
Madeline lowered the window a few inches, then called out through the rain, “Hey, excuse me.”
The dog barked again in her direction.
From what little she could see through the heavy rain and hail stones, it looked as if the man glanced toward her.
“Excuse me,” she yelled out again. “I have a flat tyre. Can you help me?”
What the hell? He probably speaks no English. God, help me.
Madeline stepped out of the car, then waved her arms to beckon the man to come over. Once she had his attention, she pointed to the wheel. Through the rain, Madeline noticed the man was now jogging in her direction. She let out a breath and counted her blessings he had appeared.
“Are you okay? What's up?” he asked.
He removed his earphones and doubled over to catch his breath.
Madeline's heart fluttered. She was happy he spoke English.
“My tyre’s flat,” she said. “And I don't have any juice on my phone. Can I borrow yours?”
Impatiently, she waited as the stranger moved his gaze over her car, then he pulled out his phone.
“Sure.” He handed her his mobile. “Do you have breakdown cover?”
“Yes, thank God. That's one thing I do have.”
Madeline took his iPhone in hand, then quickly, she redialled the breakdown service.
“Yes, hello. It's . . . Oh, I'm sorry,” she said then paused. Madeline tried to recall what Dutch she could given the situation.
“Here, allow me,” the man said. “I speak fluent Dutch.”
Madeline's attention moved back to the stranger. Through the rain from under his hood, he looked down at her, his face was partly obscured. He held his hand out for the phone, and she passed it to him.
He nodded toward the car, then said, “Get inside. It’s pouring out here.”
“Thank you, my name's Madeline Sloane. I just need someone to change the wheel, that's all.”
“Do you have a spare?”
“I don't know. I guess so, probably.”
The man laughed at her, then placed the phone to his ear under his hood. He spoke in rapid Dutch to the call handler. Madeline hopped into the car to shield herself from the storm, and the dog approached, yapping at her feet.
Damn dog, move.
She kicked at the mutt as she took a seat, then slammed the door.
A few minutes later, the man tapped on the window, so she rolled it down.
“Okay, let's take a look in the boot,” he said.
“The boot?”
“Yeah, for the spare.”
“When will they get here to—”
“Don't worry,” he cut her off, “I'll handle it. It's just a puncture.”
“Oh, okay. But it's raining.” Madeline looked up at the dark grey sky.
“It's just water. I'm Chris, by the way.” The man chuckled at her again.
Slightly pissed off at his sarcasm, Madeline pressed the release button to open the boot.
Yeah right, just water, she thought.
Then smoothed a hand over what had been her sleek, bone straight styled hair, which was now back to its natural curly state.
Thirty minutes later with a fresh tyre change, Madeline started the engine, then turned to Chris.
“I really don't know how to thank you,” she told him. “You could’ve allowed the breakdown service to handle it and been home by now. You are soaked.”
“No problem, you’d still be waiting if I did that.”
Shyly, Madeline looked away from Chris' gaze and focused on the road ahead. A few seconds later, she glanced back to him.
He stood in the rain with his hoodie covering his head, shivering.
“Let me give you a lift home. It's the least I can do,” she called out through the window.
She watched Chris' expression. It was as if he mulled over her offer while he glanced up and down the road.
“Okay, thanks. Which way are you heading?” he asked.
“To Amsterdam Centraal, what about you?"
“Same.”
“Hop in. Let's go.”
Chris rounded the car to the passenger side and opened the door. He moved the chair back, then whistled for his dog to jump in.
“I'm sorry if he leaves mud on the seat,” he said. “I’ll clean it off.”
Madeline cringed at the thought of dog hair and mud all over the seat, then forced a lazy smile across her lips.
Once Chris and his dog were on board, she placed the car in gear and slowly took off. She navigated her way through the storm toward the city centre.
Along the way, he gave her directions. She had to stop occasionally and wait until she could see the road again. Almost an hour had passed.
“Here we go,” he said. “I'll jump out here.”
The journey had been longer than expected because the weather had caused Madeline to drive cautiously. She pulled over into a free space just past the tramline.
“Thanks for your help today, Chris.”
“No problem.”
Chris faced her head on. For the first time, Madeline noticed just how handsome he was.
His hair was slightly damp and had turned jet black. The ends curled up from the rain. It contrasted against his piercing blue, deep-set eyes, and a dark shadow of stubble ran across his chin.
There was an awkward silence between them.
“I better get going.” Chris broke the ice first. “It was nice to meet you.” He opened the door and got out of the car.
Madeline bit back the urge to ask more about him. Her eyes didn’t move from his well-built physique, emphasised by his Nike track suit that still clung to his body.
What's the point in getting to know him? He probably has a girlfriend.
She removed the thought from her mind as quickly as it had come. Instead, she watched him throw his hoodie up, and move the seat, so his dog could climb out the back.
A quick inspection of the seat, set o
ff a sense of relief.
Thank goodness, there’s no mud.
“Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Madeline.”
“You too, thanks again.”
Chris closed the door and jogged across the road, his dog trotted behind him.
Madeline followed them with her gaze until they disappeared from sight. She then put the car into gear and headed home.
Once she arrived home to her flat, Madeline opened the blinds to allow the view of Amsterdam’s night sky to flood in. She stood by the view of the city, and finally she allowed herself to relax after this afternoon's drama.
The sky was lit up with lights as far back as she could see across the dusk skyline. A view so different to what she was used to seeing back in London. The memories brought on a flood of tears.
She snapped her eyes shut, as if to block out the vivid details of her home. Her escape to Amsterdam had brought her to a new place in life, emotionally, and a new job. In some ways, it all allowed her to rebuild her life. That said, her first three months hadn’t been easy. Her Dutch was not perfect even with lessons paid for by work. And her social circle was almost non-existent.
Moving from the window she turned to face the living room. The small one-bedroom flat, located on the top floor of a three-storey building, needed a lot of work.