The Red Light Girls (Unsolved Mysteries Book 2)

by Kim Knight

  Madeline rose to her feet and approached the door. She looked Janssen up and down and could feel the rage as it radiated off of the detective.

  “Detective.” Swallowing hard, she found her voice. “I have some information. Please, just hear me out.”

  Janssen stood firm for a moment, keeping her hazel eyes locked. She tipped her head to one side, then said, “This better be good. Otherwise, you’re wasting my time.”

  The detective held the entrance open wide enough for Madeline to pass through. The moment she stepped over the threshold, Janssen slammed the door shut.

  “This way.” The detective gave her a two-fingered wave to follow.

  Madeline’s heels clicked against the concrete floor. She turned a corner, then continued down a narrow hallway.

  “Inside.” Janssen motioned for her to enter an office.

  “Take a seat.” Janssen sat behind a desk. “What did I tell you at the crime scene?” The detective’s voice rose.

  “Detective Janssen, please just hear me out.”

  “I clearly recall I told you, the media aren’t to get involved where they’re not wanted—at all. What part of that was unclear?”

  Madeline ignored Janssen’s fury. “I went to the club Suzy worked at earlier this week, and I got talking to one of the waitresses.”

  Janssen widened her eyes and glared at Madeline. “And what?” she demanded, impatiently.

  “Ana was using an online website, and Suzy too. The last time a barmaid saw her, which was a week before her murder, she had a date, possibly with a man from that site.”

  Janssen leaned forward on her desk, clasped her hands together in prayer position, then looked Madeline dead in the eye. “What website?”

  Madeline felt the anger and intimidation bouncing off of Janssen. Especially since she knew the detective wasn’t a push over. The woman took her job seriously.

  Hell, Madeline had a lot of respected for Janssen, even if she had crossed the line, going against Janssen’s instructions.

  “Sugar Daddies. That’s what it’s called,” she whispered and watched Janssen for any sign of recognition. “Did you guys even check out the clubs around the district as soon as those girls started disappearing?” Madeline asked bravely, not wanting to overstep the line, but she had to know.

  Janssen took a deep breath and looked away from her gaze. Her silence was answer enough.

  “Thought as much.” Madeline tried to remain cool. “What? You didn’t think it was worth the hassle? Detective,” she said, her voice rising. “How could you all overlook this? Ana’s been missing for over eight months.”

  “Hey, keep your voice down,” Janssen snapped, her booming voice bounced around the office.

  Madeline shrunk in her chair.

  “Don’t come into my office shouting the odds at me.” Janssen leaned over her desk again and pinned Madeline with a look that could kill. “I only have so much manpower. And we’ve had a lot to deal with around the city.”

  She sat back in her chair, put her feet up on her desk, then picked up a copy of De Telegraaf, snapping it open.

  “Have you had any responses to your little appeal you put out today?” Janssen dropped the newspaper on her desk.

  Madeline froze in place. She had gone head-to-head with Janssen before on several petty crime scenes in the past. And on each one, the detective tried to shoo her away.

  But this is different, she thought. Janssen is pissed.

  “Well, I asked you a question, Madeline,” Janssen snapped again.

  “I’ll have to check when I get back to the office.” She paused a moment to steel her voice. “Will you follow up on this? On the Sugar Daddies site, and the girls’ online use or accounts, please?” Madeline met Janssen’s gaze. “It’s vital information, Detective.”

  Janssen pulled out a notepad from her desk drawer. “Leave it with me. What’s the name of the club you went to, and who did you speak with?” Her pen remained posed and ready.

  “I went to Erotica in the Red Light District. I uhm, I never got the name of the girl I spoke to there. But I did talk to a girl called Dolly where Suzy worked. I didn’t wanna ask too many questions. She was there on Wednesday night at around nine and had a pink wig on, white girl, about my height, slim build. While I was in the lady’s room, I overheard a couple of girls talking about it too.”

  “What time did you leave?”

  “I was out of there by about ten.”

  “Okay.” Janssen finished taking down all the information. “And this website, Sugar Daddies, you say?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Thanks. Let me know if you get any responses from your article.”

  Madeline got to her feet and headed to the door. She could still feel how pissed Janssen was, and took it as her cue to leave.

  “Ms. Sloane,” said Janssen. “The Red Light girls are just as important as every other case this department has to deal with. Don’t think they’re not.”

  Madeline placed a hand on the door knob.

  “Prove it then, Detective,” Madeline responded over her shoulder, then slammed the door closed behind her.

  She made her way back to the reception area. And as she exited the station, a feeling of unease settled over her. One that she couldn’t shake.

  There’s a link between all the girl’s disappearances, their murders, and that website, she just knew it.

  Slowly, she made her way back to the train station, heading back to work with a heavy heart.

  Once back at her desk, Madeline opened her inbox, and she gasped at the amount of unopened mail.

  I’ve only been gone just over an hour. Damn, she thought, scanning over the new incoming mail and subject lines. She clicked on the first one and started to read.

  Hello Ms. Sloane,

  This is Jenna Van Snitt. I read your appeal this morning, and this contact email was at the bottom of the article. I’ve used the Sugar Daddies web site before. I contacted a man named Noah. And he was asking me a lot of unusual questions. The guy came on very strong, so I backed off.

  He asked me if I worked as a Red Light Girl. I found this strange. And when I told him no, he said that was a shame. After that, he never responded to any more of my emails. I still have my profile on the website, but I’ve not used it since.

  Thank you,

  Jenna Van Snitt

  Madeline pressed forward, she couldn’t give up or stop now, not with the information she just read.

  She entered Detective Janssen’s email address, and then added a simple message.

  Detective Janssen,

  Follow up on this! —Madeline

  Her finger hovered over the keys of her laptop. After a couple of seconds, she hit enter, and sent the email on its way.

  Damn, who am I? Telling a detective what to do, she laughed to herself.

  At the rate these girls had been dropping dead around the city, someone had to. Clearly, they were not a priority, but they should be.

  She clicked on another email farther down the list.

  Hi Ma’am,

  I’ve used that site. I am still using it now. I have plans to meet one of the sugar daddies for dinner. I work in the District. I’m one of the window girls. Please don’t judge me. I need to change my life! Anyway, this man is keen to meet with me, and he seems really nice.

  Thanks,

  Lucy Hanssen

  Madeline hit reply without delay and typed out a message.

  Lucy,

  Thanks for coming forward. When is the date? And what’s the name of the man? Do you have any other information?

  Sincerely,

  Madeline Sloane

  Madeline forwarded Lucy’s message to Janssen too, then sat back in her chair with an uneasy feeling again. Her eyes moved down the list of unopened emails. Scanning the content, she jumped forward for a closer look.

  Her eyes stopped on a familiar sender’s name. It was the same one that had sent her the threatening email, the one she d
eleted.

  What do we have here?

  She pushed the cursor over the email, clicked it open, then at once, started reading it.

  Hello ‘Cat’,

  That was a cute little appeal in the paper this morning. I’m watching you. Remember what curiosity did to the cat. You’ve been warned. I’m sure you’ve got much more interesting things to write about, rather than opening a can of worms you can’t ever hope to close.

  Your friend,

  Curiosity

  Madeline’s blood ran cold, and the life drained from her. Stunned, she sat gazing at the message. She read it three times, then glanced out over the open-floor plan of the office.

  Who the fuck is this?

  No one batted an eye at her. And all her co-workers continued about their duties. Her email had been listed on both of the articles she had written for the De Telegraaf paper—just like every other journalist. It was the house style for the newspaper. All reporters remained open to contact by readers of the paper.

  Well, hell, seems this reader doesn’t care for my interest in the Red Light Girl’s cases.

  For months, the media had brushed over it. And in Madeline’s eyes, the Politie had clearly done limited digging into the attacks.

  If they had, they would’ve known about Ana using the Sugar Daddies site and Suzy’s potential date, she mused as she read over the threatening email once more.

  With a shaky hand, she picked up the phone to dial her bosses’ office extension, then decided against it. Instead, she pulled up the Politie Bureau’s website and dialled the number.

  “Hello, Politie Bureau,” a male voice answered.

  “Hi. This is Madeline Sloane. Can you please put me through to Detective Janssen? It’s urgent.”

  “Ms. Sloane, didn’t you just leave us?”

  “Yes, I did. But it’s imperative I speak to Detective Janssen. It really is urgent.”

  “One moment.” The line clicked over.

  Madeline listened to classical music while she held the line.

  “Ms. Sloane, what can I do for you?” Janssen’s grumpy voice came over the line.

  “Hi, Detective.” She wasn’t sure how to relay the information, so she just blurted it out. “I’ve received two threatening emails about the articles on the Red Light Girls.”

  “Okay. Go on,” said the detective. “I’m listening.”

  Madeline brought the receiver closer to her face, then looked around her office quickly. “On Monday,” her voice remained low, almost a whisper. “After I ran the first article, I got this email, uhm, basically telling me to back off. I thought it was one of my co-workers, so I deleted it.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “But while I was at your office this afternoon, I received another email warning me.”

  Madeline heard Janssen bite into what sounded like an apple on the other end of the line.

  “Right, okay. We’ll need to check out the IP address it was sent from,” she said between chews. “Whatever you do, don’t delete anything else.”

  “Oh, I uhm,” she said. “I forwarded a few of them to you—the emails, that is.”

  An awkward, silent pause hit the line, and Madeline wasn’t sure if the detective had stopped talking, had hung up, or it the line had disconnected.

  “Detective?”

  “Yeah, I’m still here.” Rapid typing of keys sounded. “And I see the emails. Opening them now.”

  “Those aren’t all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve got a ton of emails in response to the appeal that I did this morning. A couple of the ones I’ve opened, came from women using that site. One of the women said she got freaked out by a guy there, and another’s gonna meet a man.”

  “Okay, save them all,” said the detective. “I’ll need to speak to your boss about access to your account.”

  “Wait. What? I’ve not told her yet.”

  “Well, I suggest you do. We need to move quickly. I’ll be in touch within the hour. Don’t delete anything.” Janssen dropped the call.

  Madeline removed to phone from her ear and frowned. She placed the receiver on top of the cradle, then made her way over to Fleur’s office.

  Well, this isn’t gonna be pleasant, she thought with a heavy sigh.

  19

  The Ancestral Realm

  Mrs. Chan

  Hong Kong, China

  Mrs. Chan stood by the window overlooking the grounds of her home. The grand landscape before her rolled back for what seemed like miles. The green grass, dragons, buddha, and deity statues along with lanterns, and fairy lights, took her breath away.

  Her eyes settled on the large Japanese cherry tree in full blossom, with pink flowers, next to the pond with the tropical fish the Chinese considered lucky.

  Suzy used to read right there under the tree as a child. Her heart sank at the memory. Now, she’s gone.

  She pondered death and how important it was in her culture to have the correct burial and preparations in order to ward off further bad luck, following a death in the family.

  Closing the bamboo blinds in the study, she blocked the sun light from entering the grand room filled with books, paperwork, a large oak desk, and leather sofas.

  Pictures of important Chinese and Japanese figures, doctors, teachers, medicine men and women, hung on the walls. She looked at them all, one by one, as if waiting for some kind of advice. After several minutes had passed, her eyes moved over to her ancestor’s wall of pictures, and she nodded, hoping that their spirits would surround Suzy as she transitioned over to the other side.

  She sighed into the darkness. Fishing around inside her white kimono, she grasped a small box, then extracted a single match. With one smooth swipe she struck it, then lit the incense stick on the table to her left.

  A puff of sage infused the air.

  She breathed in the fresh scent deep into her lungs. It was believed to cleanse and clear bad energy. Next, she lit the tea-light candles on the table and stood for a moment to watch the orange hues of the flames flicker against the red and gold tablecloth covering the surface.

  Slowly, she made her way around the grand room. With care, she removed the two mirrors on the wall, then placed them face down on the desk, to not invite in bad luck or evil spirits during her ritual. As she moved around the room, she hummed the tune of the song played at her own mother’s funeral years ago.

  From one of her deep pockets, she pulled out a sage smudge stick, lit it, the made her way around the room with it. She sang a soft tune, allowing the smoke to move over every corner of the room. After a bit, she placed the stick on a plate on the desk, leaving it to burn.

  Turning around, she faced the table she had prepared. She had to be quick, and not allow the housekeeper to realise that she had gone against the wishes of the head of the household—her husband. He had refused to prepare an ancestor altar for their deceased daughter.

  Traditionally, a younger or unmarried family member, such as Suzy, who transitioned into the ancestral realm, wasn’t fussed over. Mrs. Chan refused to not acknowledge that her only daughter had passed—the only girl she had managed to bare, in hopes that she would make something of herself. Hence, the reason she encouraged her husband to allow Suzy to explore Europe.

  Mrs. Chan clasped the fabric of her kimono and walked over to the table. Her wooden sandals clicked against to solid floor. She knelt in front of the low table filled with incense, candles, flowers, crystals, a glass of water, a plate of fruit, a statue of a Chinese deity, and photographs of her daughter.

  She lit the candles and incense, then held up the glass of water. Bowing her head respectfully at Suzy’s picture, she placed it in front of her with a half-smile.

  The fruit she had prepared on the table she picked it up, bowed her head respectfully, then placed it in front of the Chinese deity as an offering. She lowered her head in prayer and recited a Chinese a prayer.

  Once done, and with tears in her eyes, she pulled her phone out from her
kimono and dialled the international number to the coroner’s office. As she waited for the phone to connect, she thought about life in general, as well as her own.

  Holding the line, waiting, her gaze settled on Suzy’s smiling face. When someone answered the phone in perfect English, with excellent pronunciation she asked to be put through to Dr. Cleveland’s office. Anyone would think that she was brought up in the UK. Being well educated, and from a wealthy Chinese family, it was her mother who had insisted she perfected it, just as she had insisted Suzy perfected hers.

  Her father was a high-profile politician, and her deceased mother was the author of more than sixty books on Chinese and Buddhist philosophy. Which now paid Mrs. Chan a handsome sum of royalties each month, as her mother’s fortune passed to her upon the woman’s death.

  Mrs. Chan had qualified as a lawyer and even had the reputation of being a fierce litigator, with a high success rate. The thought of this made her smile, then chuckle to herself. She had so loved the court-room action in her younger days.

  Her gaze moved to Suzy’s picture, and through her tears, she smiled.

  “Those were the days, my dear child,” she whispered in her native language Cantonese.

  She had given up work in her late thirties to raise Suzy. Once her fortune rolled in from her mother’s published work, she continued to fight cases on behalf of poor Chinese women for no legal fees—her way to give back to society.

  Now, in her sixties, she continued her work as a free legal representative, and was a figure head for a number of charities.

  What good is my life if my only child can be buried before me? She thought to herself.

  “Hello, Coroner’s Office, Dr. Cleveland’s secretary how can I help you?” A bubbly voice came across the line.