Price to Pay, A (22 page)

‘Yes.’ Iona glanced at the whiteboard on the wall behind the woman. Staff rota, women’s names except for one – Patrick Spencer. He had the green shifts, Mary had blue, Diane yellow, Justine red and Anna orange. ‘And they’ve been missing now almost a week?’

Diane nodded. ‘I rather think they’re together, since they went missing at exactly the same time.’

‘Have they ever gone off together before?’ Martin asked, crossing his legs, sounding half-interested.

‘Not to stay out all night. Chloe has a few times on her own. As a pair, they’d arrive back late, but they’d always turn up, eventually.’

‘Where would Chloe say she’d been when she stayed out all night?’ Iona asked.

‘At a boyfriend’s. Don’t ask me who.’

‘Chloe is seventeen?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

Iona slid out the profile for Rihanna. Everything but the photo had been blanked out. ‘Do you think this is her?’

‘Oh my God,’ Diane’s hand was over her mouth. ‘That’s Chloe.’

Iona looked at Martin who was rapidly uncrossing his legs. ‘You’re certain?’

‘Absolutely. That is Chloe Shilling.’

‘Iona? Have you …?’

She slid out Shandy’s profile. ‘And her?’

‘Madison Fisher. Why are their photos on that … what is it? A form of some sort?’

Martin had his phone out. As he made the call, Iona returned the sheets to the folder. ‘Stuart? Martin Everington. Can you get word to Roebuck or an equivalent rank; we have an ID for the two missing girls.’

Iona knew a team would soon arrive to take over. She sat forward. ‘Would you describe the two of them as close friends?’

Diane’s eyes didn’t budge from the folder holding the two profiles. ‘I suppose I would. They both go to the local school – walking to and from it together. But they’d go shopping together, too. Or looking round shops, at least. Saturdays in town.’

Iona pictured the girl gangs who’d hang around on Market Street or hover outside Burger King in Piccadilly Gardens. If there were ten girls, at least five would be speaking at any one time. Loud, breathless comments. Sometimes directed at one another, sometimes at nearby lads, sometimes into mobile phones. Voices always full of delight or disgust. Life one big drama.

‘Chloe is more problematic,’ Diane said, lowering her voice. ‘She’s been here the longest of any. We’ve had issues with her arriving back under the influence of alcohol on several occasions. Madison actually does quite well, academically, when she bothers to apply herself.’

‘How many girls live here?’

‘We can accommodate sixteen. We rarely dip below that number for long.’

‘And these girls are sent to you by social services in the north-west?’

‘Some are. We have contracts with several other boroughs, too. One in Birmingham, Islington, one in Leeds; those are our main ones.’

‘Where are Chloe and Madison originally from?’

‘Chloe’s a local girl. Cheetham Hill, originally. Madison is from Derby.’

As Linda Bakowitz described, Iona thought. Stockport: preferred destination for the country’s care home overspill.

‘Where is everyone?’ Martin piped up. ‘Seems very quiet.’

‘This early on a Sunday? Most will be in their rooms asleep. A few will be up, maybe doing their hair, make-up, perhaps even homework. You never know.’

‘They all go to school, do they? I thought, you know, there’d be a few who are …’

Iona looked down, embarrassed by what Martin was implying.

‘Excluded?’ Diane said, a brittle edge to her words.

‘Did either girl ever mention anything that gave you cause for concern?’ Iona asked. ‘Anything about a change of scene, here or abroad?’

‘Certainly not to me.’ Diane thought for a second. ‘Actually, Jas is in the telly room. She’s quite friendly with Chloe. Let me fetch her.’ She scooted out of the office and down the corridor.

‘They all go to school, do they?’ Iona muttered. ‘Nice one, Martin.’

He flicked a finger. ‘Well, you know,’ he whispered. ‘I thought care home kids spent all day playing truant and going shoplifting. For glue.’

She shot him a look to check he wasn’t being serious. To her relief, there was a sarcastic grin on his face.

‘This is Jasmine.’

Iona looked round to see Diane ushering in a girl of about sixteen. She had thick hair that had been teased out to form a black cloud about her head. Her dark skin was dotted with small pimples. ‘Hello, Jasmine.’

She nodded cautiously as Diane pulled a chair over from the wall. ‘Jas, did Chloe or Madison mention anything to you about going abroad?’

‘Like a holiday?’ She had upper and lower braces. Purple blobs dotting her white teeth.

‘Possibly. Or just to leave the country,’ Iona said, keeping things as general as she could. ‘Maybe a holiday with a couple of blokes they’d met. Or to earn money. Or to meet someone who’d contacted them. Anything, really.’

Jasmine picked at a thumbnail that held the remains of some red polish. ‘Chloe was always going on about some scam. That was her thing, getting rich.’

‘What kind of scams?’

‘Rubbish stuff.’

Iona spotted the wary glance in Diane’s direction.

‘Jasmine, no one’s interested in if she was breaking the law,’ Iona stated. ‘Isn’t that right, Diane?’

‘No,’ Diane blustered, catching Iona’s loaded look. ‘We’re more concerned about making sure she’s safe.’

Jasmine picked at her nail again.

‘She’s been missing for a while,’ Iona prompted. ‘We’re getting really worried about the complete lack of contact.’

‘She said about getting cash one time. Like she was going to get loads.’

‘Doing what?’ Diane asked.

‘It might have been a nightclub. The name was like a cocktail.’

Iona tilted her head encouragingly. ‘How do you mean?’

‘You know, Club Libra, like that.’

‘Cuba Libra?’ Martin corrected. ‘That’s a cocktail.’

‘Not that. It was a name. Club something, I’m sure. Soda? That might have been it.’

‘Club Soda,’ repeated Iona. ‘And this was in Manchester?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Had they both been offered a job there?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘How did they hear about it?’

‘Some woman they met in town, I think. She told them.’

‘And she said it involved earning cash – they were going to earn cash?’

‘Yeah, but Chloe always went on about finding ways to do that.’

‘As opposed to trying hard and passing her exams,’ Diane said pointedly, eyes on Jasmine.

The girl ignored the comment.

‘And she didn’t give you any hint where this place was?’ Iona asked.

‘Nope.’

‘Ever hear Madison mention it?’

‘We didn’t talk.’

‘OK. Club Soda. Thanks. We’ll look into it.’

‘By the way,’ Diane announced. ‘You should know Chloe has no passport. She’s never been abroad.’

I know, Iona thought. Her profile mentioned it. Not wanting to reveal the fact, she looked back. ‘And Madison?’

‘She has. The last care home she was in took them to Holland, I think. A camping trip. Anyway, she has a passport.’

‘Do you have it?’

‘No – it would have been with her personal possessions. They have lockers.’

‘But it’s not now?’

‘No. I checked to see if she’d cleared all her stuff. I couldn’t see a passport.’

‘OK,’ Iona replied, making a mental note to get the team who took over to check with the Border Agency if a Madison Fisher had recently left the country.

T
he indicators on Martin’s Audi flashed. He yawned. ‘I am cream-crackered. You want a lift home? We don’t need to be back in until five.’

She looked back at the care home. The team had arrived half an hour before, including a couple of officers from the Child Protection Unit. After briefing them on everything relevant, Iona and Martin had headed for the exit.

‘And even then,’ Martin added, ‘there won’t be much to type up – not with this lot now on it. You’ll have it done in no time.’

Comments like that: even though he said them with a smile, she still couldn’t make out if they indicated arrogance on his part. ‘Suppose not.’

As they pulled out of the car park, Martin spoke again, face averted as he checked for oncoming traffic. ‘Can I drop you off, then?’

Her mind fast-forwarded. Jo would have stayed over at her boyfriend’s. Alice usually headed to her fiancé’s place in Rochdale at the weekend. The house would be empty. She saw Martin’s car pulling to a stop outside. Would he expect to come in for a coffee? She remembered the way he’d looked at her across their desks. Has he planned to be asked in for a coffee? ‘Er, my car’s at Orion House. I’ll need it to get in later.’

‘I could swing by and collect you. You’re West Didsbury, aren’t you?’

How did he know that? She didn’t remember mentioning it. ‘Yes.’

‘Which road?’

‘Fog Lane.’

‘Well, I’m only East Didsbury. Going back to Ashton now will cost us a good hour, there and back.’

She sensed a set-up and hesitated. He’d already turned right. That was away from the M60 ring road that led them back to Ashton. ‘OK, yeah.’

‘Cool.’

They drove for a while in silence. The city was now stirring – dog-walkers or joggers the main signs of life.

‘Club Soda,’ she announced. ‘Does that sound right to you?’

Martin shrugged. ‘Sounds a bit cheesy, somehow. What’s that old Wham! Song? The summer one – Club Tropicana, isn’t it? Fun and sunshine for everyone?’

Iona smiled. ‘And the drinks are free.’

‘Maybe that’s what makes the name seem cheesy to me.’

‘No, you’re right. Soda’s an odd word, too, don’t you reckon? American. They call fizzy drinks soda. Lemonade, Coke. What we call pop.’

‘Doctor Pepper,’ Martin drawled. ‘Rank, that stuff is.’

‘Strikes me as a bit young and girly. Club Soda: sparkling bubbles, froth, good times. Could be some sort of escort place.’ She lifted her phone and went to the web browser. ‘Club Soda, here you go. A type of fizzy water made by Canada Dry.’ She scanned the entries further down. ‘Bloody hell, it’s the name of a nightclub.’ She clicked on the site. Images of the club’s interior glistened with reflected gold. ‘Gross.’ She turned the screen to Martin who took a quick glance.

He grimaced. ‘More bling than Saddam Hussein’s bathrooms. What does it say?’

Iona read out the text. ‘Club Soda. An exclusive club for those with discerning tastes. Chartres Street, Beirut, Lebanon.’

‘Lebanon? It’s in Lebanon? Jesus, Iona. That girl blew up on the border of Lebanon, didn’t she?’

Iona was nodding, a tingle racing up and down her arms.

‘This has dodgy stamped all over it. What else does it say?’

She had already started working her way through the other sections. ‘Membership costs on request. Isn’t that polite-speak for saying, if you’re bothered about prices, this isn’t the right place for you?’ She looked up and felt her lower abdomen tighten. They were on Fog Lane. Her house was just ahead. ‘I’d better ring this in, in case they don’t follow up on it straight away.’

‘Definitely. Which number are you?’

‘Fifty-four – it’s a bit further along.’ Her call was picked up by Stuart. She barely had time to relay the information to him before Martin slowed to a stop.

‘What did he say?’

‘Was taking it straight to an indexer.’

‘Good. Well, here you go. Door to door.’

‘Thanks.’ The silence suddenly engulfed her. He seemed to be sitting there with an air of expectation. She stuffed the phone into her handbag then scrabbled to undo her seat belt. There was a click and the strap across his chest suddenly went slack. She’d hit the wrong button. Oh, no, that looks like I was – ‘Wrong one. Shit. Sorry.’

The clip edged its way across his thigh then caught in the folds of material at his crotch. She threw her own seat belt off and grabbed at her door handle. ‘Thanks, then. Shall we say four o’clock?’

‘Four o’clock it is.’ He was reinserting the clip, smiling as he did so. ‘Sweet dreams.’

It sounded inappropriate, saying it to a colleague. ‘See you later.’

She shut the door and scuttled up the front path, knowing her face had turned bright red. Nightmare! Total nightmare. And I swore. Oh God, I never swear. I was like a flustered schoolgirl and he just sat there, cool as anything. I made a total fool out of myself. Oh God. Oh God. She heard his car pulling away but couldn’t bear to turn round.

The alarm gave its robotic protest as the front door opened. It sounded like something off a game show. Neee. Neee. Iona just failed. Neee. Neee.

‘You can shut it,’ she murmured, keying in the code to cut it dead. Silence. Emptiness. The chill of a house with no one in. The moment when his seat belt lost its tension was trying to nudge its way back into her mind. Would he have thought … A car revved outside and she hurried into the front room to peer through the net curtains on to the street. What if it was him coming back? What if he climbed out and knocked on the door? Would I let him in? I’d have to. But it was only a red saloon accelerating away. She glimpsed the rim of a baseball cap on the driver’s head. Martin wouldn’t have thought I deliberately undid his seat belt, would he? But scrabbling around and swearing; that was even more obvious. And he was smiling. Smiling!

There was a note on the kitchen table from Jo, a junior architect who worked for a big outfit in town.

Hi Iona, not seen much of you lately! Any chance you can leave a tenner? We stocked up on essentials the other day, receipt’s in the jar. See you soon, doll. Me and you are way overdue a good catch-up over a cold bottle of SB. Love you. XXXXX

Iona slid a ten-pound note from her purse, trying to work out the last time she’d had more than a quick cup of tea or slice of toast from the house supplies. It seemed like weeks.

Her bedroom felt cold as she kicked off her shoes. Flicking the fan heater on, she stood before it and let warm air wash across her feet. Once some feeling had returned, she drew the curtains and climbed into bed. Almost eight thirty. Seven and a half hours before he’s back to pick me up. She set her mobile’s alarm for half-three then lay down.

Club Soda. Was there a chance the place was involved? A tacky-looking club thousands of miles away? Jim’s last call popped into her head. Christ, he’ll be expecting me to have rung back by now. Khaldoon’s sister. Awake by now? If not, they must have sedated her. Will Nirpal talk soon? Assuming he’s anything to do with it. And I’m not sure he …