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  ‘Makes my blood run cold just thinking about it. What a way to die. I think we should consider working in pairs for a while, just in case it’s not him.’

  Lucy shrugged, her shoulders looking even more impressive than usual because of the sheer material of her Matalan top. ‘Well, let’s wait and see. I am on till six and I have a full quota. I’m going to put a heavy ornament by the bed in case of emergencies. But I can’t see anything happening tonight.’

  Janie poured herself another wine and, taking a large swig, she said sadly, ‘I never liked Danielle, she was a flash prat, but I wouldn’t wish anything like that on my worst enemy.’

  ‘Who the fuck would? But it will bring heat with it, you can depend on that.’

  Jimmy Heart was worried. He had been arrested, but not charged, and he had been sitting in the interview room for over an hour and a half without anyone even looking in on him. He was terrified. He had last had a toot about an hour before his arrest, and he was just about to go and score when he had been rudely detained. Now he was starting to rock; he needed another hit, and he needed it soon. He was sweating and his heart was racing. He knew that there was something serious going down, but he wasn’t sure about what his part was in all of it. He was shrewd enough to know that he was going to be accused of something, he was also shrewd enough to know that, whatever it was, he probably was involved in some way because he normally was. Unfortunately for him, he had no recollection of anything that might have brought him to the Filth’s attention. He also knew that if he was being detained and ignored by the said Filth, it was a serious tug. But he had not done anything to his knowledge that warranted such a production.

  Jimmy was genuinely bewildered, but he was also worried. The police were more than capable of fitting a person up when the fancy took them. He could name many people who had not only been accused, but put away for a crime they had no knowledge of nor, more importantly, the intelligence to prove their innocence of. It was a worry, but it was also a given. For all his fear, he knew he was nothing more than a junkie, a dealer. In the grand scheme of things he was a nobody. So his sensible head was asking him repeatedly why he was waiting for the big interrogation. He knew he did not warrant this kind of treatment. He talked a big game but, in reality, he had never actually experienced one. He was a ponce, no more, and no less.

  It never occurred to Jimmy that he might be there because of his love life, his girlfriend. She was not even important enough to register on his radar, all she was to him was an earn. He supplied her drugs and relieved her of money on a regular basis. It was an arrangement that seemed to suit them both.

  So, when he was finally confronted about his personal life, no one was more shocked than he was when he realised that Danielle had been erased. He played the part well; he looked shocked and horrified while thanking the powers that be because he had a cast iron alibi for the time of death.

  Whoever had outed her had done it on the quiet. She had always favoured the evening shifts. She would. That was the real allure of her game, the hours. She worked the nights because it gave her the freedom to have the day to herself. She also liked the fact she was paid more on the night shifts. It was mental really, but men were happy to pay the extra for a late-night assignation.

  So as Jimmy explained that while Danielle was being murdered, he had been scoring in a very public venue, her actual death didn’t register with him at all.

  Jennifer James looked over the books before her with a trained eye. A tall girl, she had the most unusual eyes, a deep blue with heavy black lashes. She had inherited the best of her parentage; her mother’s English looks, and her Spanish father’s colouring. She was striking. Well built, she had a presence about her. She also had a good head for figures, and she kept the accounts for Peter Bates. She worked her shifts like all the others, but her mathematical abilities were enough to get her a second earn.

  The books were not for the tax man, they were for the sole use of the girls and Peter Bates. Most of the men concerned paid in cash and a small number by credit card - only a few of the girls accepted them. Jennifer made sure that Peter got his due from them all, and she collated the customers’ details. She noted the purchase price and, where possible, a name and address. It was laughable the amount of men who were willing to part with that kind of information. The girls were booked over the phone, and they were encouraged to not develop any interest in their dates for the obvious reasons. Peter used the information for his own ends, and that was his business.

  Jennifer’s job was to make sure that Peter got his due. The girls were on a good earn, but they were also more than capable of trying to hide some of their customers. No one minded a bit of it as long as they didn’t take the piss. They had to pay for the privilege of working the flats, as annoying as that might be, they had to do it. Peter Bates ran it like a taxi rank; they paid a percentage for the use of the premises.

  As Jennifer looked back over the last few weeks of Danielle’s appointments she tried to see if there was anything unusual, but she found nothing. She had wondered if the man who murdered Danielle was a regular. But when she looked over the list it seemed unlikely. They all seemed kosher. It was more likely that the night she died Danielle had to have taken the call herself at some point. There were often loners, as they were known, who rang on the off-chance after seeing the adverts in the local papers.

  Sighing heavily, she wondered if she had enough time to get herself a quick meal before she had to take over her own shift for the night. Danielle’s murder had thrown them off-kilter, and she knew that they would all have to be doubly careful in the future.

  It grieved her that the girl’s demise was being talked about in hushed tones, but by the same token, the girls concerned were not about to publicise their involvement in any way. Even though Danielle’s death was horrendous, it still wasn’t enough to make any of them step out of the shadows. Their whole lives were lived by a code of secrecy and they all had far too much to lose.

  ‘Are you going back in then?’

  Kate nodded. She had showered and changed after her meal, and she was dressed in what Pat had always laughingly referred to as her work clothes. White shirt, tailored trousers, and a well-cut, expensive black jacket, the only light relief was the jacket’s purple silk lining. She looked good, though. If he was honest, her understated dress sense had always been a big part of her draw for him. But she was looking her age and they both knew it. He wasn’t a spring chicken any more either, but as a man that was not really an issue. For women, however, it was different. Pat had the money and the reputation for women to see him as a viable option, young women as well as the older, more experienced women. His preference had always been for the more mature, sophisticated type of female. But as he looked at Kate’s troubled countenance he had to admit that she was looking older these days, and this murder had really hit her hard.

  She was already miles away from him, was already gearing herself up for the hunt. It had been her sheer determination that had attracted him all those years ago. Now he was seeing it again and it was frightening him. He knew she was going to find out things that she would not want to believe, and those things concerned him and his business ventures. He could cut Peter’s nuts off and laugh while he was doing it, but he knew that would be a fruitless exercise.

  ‘Why are you so sure this ain’t a one-off, Kate?’

  She shrugged, her eyes already had the haunted look of someone who knows they’re about to experience a lengthy and protracted time of difficulty and heartbreak. She was preparing herself for it once more. Pat knew she worked on instinct, and her instincts were telling her that this was the start of something big, something horrendous and tragic. Pat knew that that something could possibly be the cause of them parting company. It was, after all, what Kate did, find out people’s secrets. He had to try and sort it all out, and sort it out soon.

  ‘I mean, it could have been a customer she tried to have over or something. You know, as well as I do, how the
se things can escalate.’

  Kate shook her head dismissively. ‘Not in a million years, Pat. Whoever did this was well prepared, it was a vicious and bloody act. It was planned, and executed, with precision. Whoever killed Danielle Crosby has been thinking about it for a long time. I wish these girls would understand the danger they place themselves in every time they entertain some sad fuck. It’s a waste, such a waste of a life.’ She paused then and looked at him, concerned. ‘Are you all right, Pat? You look awful.’ She went to him and placed her arms around him. His blue eyes looked tired and he looked old suddenly, it was as if he had aged in a few hours. ‘Is this bringing it all back, are you thinking about Mandy?’

  Pat’s daughter had been brutally murdered and it was the investigation into her murder that had originally brought them together. It pleased them both that something good had come out of George Markham’s reign of terror. Pat didn’t answer, just held her tightly and enjoyed the smell of her hair, the feel of her body. The familiarity of her was enough to break his heart. He knew she was too good for him on so many levels but, until now, until this moment, he had not really understood just how much he needed her in his life.

  ‘Get yourself off, Kate, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Are you sure, Pat?’

  He smiled sadly. ‘Go on, I’m fine. Like you say, this is a bit too close to home.’

  Annie Carr was glad to have Kate back in the building. The place was a hive of activity, everyone was in, no leave, no days off, and no way of knowing how it would pan out. It was being treated as a one-off murder, but no one believed that. This was the gut instinct of every officer, an instinct that the good ones hone over years and trust to give them a heads-up when needed. It was telling them all that this was the start of something big. Annie knew that Kate’s expertise would be invaluable, she also knew that she was going to be the cause of her friend being deeply troubled within the next few hours. She wished she knew how to lessen the blow. It was laughable really, but not so unexpected, if there hadn’t been a murder it would have gone by without a mention.

  Oblivious to the underlying tension in the room, Kate looked over the evidence reports and wondered at how no one could have heard anything. The block of flats was small. A low-rise with three storeys and a well-tended frontage, they were not cheap. Well built, they had an entry phone system, along with an expensive alarm system. They were not the type of flats that were easily accessible to the usual burglars or teenage thieves. They were in a nice, quiet road, and they backed on to the woods, from which you had access to the golf course. So someone had to have heard a commotion, had to have heard something.

  Kate would talk to everyone who lived there herself. The neighbours would be over the initial shock of the slaying and might open up about the girls’ work, the type of clientele that frequented the premises, if there was much foot traffic and, more importantly, how the men got access to the flats and if they parked in the car park or on the road.

  They had to have seen something, someone. It was amazing what people didn’t see, what people ignored, what they became immune to. They must have guessed what was going on there, and yet they were claiming ignorance. Kate had said as much to Annie Carr.

  ‘Well, Kate, you know what people are like. Anyway, they were probably worried about complaining.’

  ‘I suppose so. Annie, have we got the name of the person who owns the flat yet?’

  Annie nodded, and passed her a pale buff folder saying pointedly, ‘Peter Bates. But, Kate, I think you had better look at who he co-owns it with.’

  Kate felt the breath leave her body as the implications of her friend’s words sank in.

  ‘I’ve kept a lid on it, Kate, but I don’t know how long before someone else susses it out.’

  ‘Is it Patrick by any chance?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, mate.’

  Kate could hear the sorrow in Annie’s voice, and that just made the anger mounting inside her colder. She was numb with the shock of Patrick’s duplicity. He knew she would find this out, and yet he didn’t even attempt to give her a heads-up, allow her to at least have some dignity when the truth finally emerged. She had to be told by a subordinate, by someone who looked up to her and respected her.

  It meant that they were living off immoral earnings, that even though he was loaded, he still had to have a dabble, as he would put it. What was running through her mind now was, what else was he up to? What else was Pat hiding from her?

  Once this came out she would be implicated in it, and that was the last thing any of them needed. The crime scene had been messed with by either Bates or one of his minions, so that again put a different perspective on everything. Tampering with the evidence suggested to Kate that whoever visited the flat might not be just the usual weirdos, but could include rich, well-known weirdos. People with too much to lose and a lot to hide. It was an upmarket establishment, and that meant their job would be much harder.

  Kate couldn’t speak, she felt as if all the air had left her body, she could feel herself deflating with the hot flush of her humiliation. She closed her eyes, she was suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness.

  ‘You OK, Kate?’

  Kate shrugged and said flatly, ‘Well, I’ve had better fucking days.’

  Peter Bates was nervous, but then he always was. He knew that he was skating on thin ice. He had cleaned the flat up because he thought it was for the best. It was his first reaction, tidy away anything that could tie him to the offence. He was just protecting his interests.

  He had assumed the girl had been on the receiving end of a nut-bag, it wasn’t unheard of in their profession; after all, they were Toms. As well as the regulars, they took their own calls and arranged their own clients. The days of having a maid on the go were long gone, though a maid did offer them a level of security, he saw that now.

  In the fifties and sixties, no Tom worth her salt was ever alone with a customer. Nowadays, there were a few who still employed someone to make the tea and change the beds, but they were a dying breed. Girls today didn’t work out of their homes for a start, and they were a different sort to their forebears. When he cut into the game as a young lad, he had learned early on that a good pimp kept his girls chaperoned, not just for safety, but because they kept their eyes and ears open for any extra monies earned on the quiet. They also ran errands, kept the place clean and, more importantly, kept a beady eye out for anything of a suspicious nature.

  The women and girls these days were more on the ball, they had lives outside of their work. They weren’t as involved with the game now; it was basically just a job, a means to an end. While they were young and fresh-faced they had the chance to work out of a nice apartment, once the life took them over and they started to look a bit frayed around the edges, he outed them. It was only firm flesh that earned a wedge these days; men were inundated with young girls, and they were available at any time of the day or night. It was a competitive business now, albeit a lucrative one, but it was also a business that was being overtaken by the Eastern Europeans. They trafficked their flesh, and because of that they had most of the girls’ earnings. Peter saw himself as far above those fucking thieves, his girls came to him for a job, they were complicit. He had never forced a bird on to the bash in his life. That was an outrageous situation for any man who ran an orderly business.

  Peter might have done away with a maid, but he still had a head girl who kept an eye out. As far as he was concerned, he had taken all the precautions needed to keep his girls in the loop. But now the shock had worn off, and the enormity of what had happened had sunk in, he knew he had done a wrong one. But he had protected his business interests, protected his own arse. He had also attempted to protect Pat Kelly’s arse, even if Pat hadn’t been aware his arse needed protection. And he had the distinct impression Pat was not too impressed about it. And Patrick Kelly had never been a man to take aggravation without some kind of retaliation.

  Chapter Two

  Patrick Kelly was fuming, and
he knew he had no one to blame for his predicament but himself. That was why he was so angry. Even if Bates hadn’t told him exactly what the flats were being used for, he had to admit he hadn’t agonised over receiving the more than generous proceeds. It was bloody obvious really, particularly to someone like him. He could have got Danny Foster to check it out. If Kate found out she would de-bollock him without a second’s thought. Yet he had turned a blind eye to what had been going on. He had to face the consequences of his actions and that was not something he had had to do very often in his lifetime. He was a well-respected Face, he had his creds, and he had his reputation. He also had a weakness for easy money and, once more, it had caused his downfall.

  He was blaming Peter for his dilemma, but really it was all down to him. He knew what Bates was like, so he had to put his hand up and take the blame. Kate liked honesty; that was her biggest problem, she demanded it, and sometimes people were better off not being in the know. Not that he was going to point that fact out to her in the near future of course. He hoped she would look on this as an aberration of sorts, as a one-off. He would argue the fact that it was an investment, that was all. That he was just helping out a mate who needed a silent partner. He knew he was hoping for a miracle. Kate was not a fool and, worse than that, she was not a person who allowed herself to be treated like one. Patrick Kelly was up shit creek without the proverbial paddle and he knew it.