Strangers (31 page)

‘Nah. Can’t be that.’ McCracken shook his head. ‘I mean look at Constable
Clayburn here.
She’s
a strong woman … and they gave her a job.’

‘Yeah, but I think Constable Clayburn probably knows when to keep her opinions to herself.’ Carlotta again locked gazes with Lucy through the mirror. ‘That’s not me, and never has been. Back in the day, Lucy, when I was anyone’s, I had a right temper. I’d say things I didn’t mean … about cutting fellas up if they pissed me off. About fucking ’em and murdering ’em because they were no longer any use to me … just like they do with us. About cutting their dicks and balls off and decorating my hallway with them.’

Lucy tried not to react. This was still the part no one outside the taskforce knew anything about; the severing of the victims’ genitals.

‘This what Jill the Ripper’s doing, Constable Clayburn?’ McCracken asked with fascination. ‘I can tell by the look on your mush that we’re getting close. Imagine that, eh? Collecting John Thomases. Bit naughty, or what? That’ll be the bit you withhold from the public, yeah? So you can suss out all the fruit-loops who troop into your nick every day with delusions of grandeur? Well, don’t worry … you don’t have to confirm or deny. We’re only making an educated guess based on unwise things the babe may have said in the past. And we won’t say anything either way. We don’t want to hinder your investigation. In fact, this is what tonight’s ride-along is all about, Constable Clayburn. Believe it or not, we want to help you … by dismissing certain suspects from your enquiries. Again, I don’t expect you to take my word for that. So …’ He nodded at Shallicker. ‘Would you do the honours, Mick?’

Shallicker reached into his jacket and handed over a wad of colour photographs. McCracken flipped through them before selecting one.

‘Check this out, Constable Clayburn.’ He showed it to Lucy; it depicted himself in evening dress, complete with tuxedo and bowtie, and Carlotta in another glamorous evening-gown, her tresses done up Madame Pompadour style, as they stood one to either side of a short, stocky but handsome man with a rich brown beard and shoulder-length hair. Above them hung the glittering canopy of a tall, theatrical building.

‘Now,’ McCracken said, ‘what’s that place?’

‘
The Opera House
,’ Lucy answered. ‘Quay Street.’

‘That’s right. And who’s that, do you think, between me and the babe?’

‘Alfie Boe.’

‘Correct again. Another cracking Lancashire lad. Now, you are aware that Alfie did a one-off charity concert for the RAF at
The Opera House
a few weeks back?’

‘I think I heard about that,’ Lucy said, already suspecting where this was leading.

‘Guess what night it was?’

‘I’m sure you’re about to tell me.’

‘October 6
^th
ring a bell?’

‘Yes,’ Lucy said.

‘Go on,’ McCracken urged her. ‘Don’t keep us in suspense.’

‘That was the night Ronnie Ford was murdered.’

‘That’s right.’ McCracken laughed. ‘That was the night Jill the Ripper sliced up that Warrington lad. And fucking shit, there’s Carlotta with me and Alfie Boe at
The Opera House
on the same evening. He didn’t know who we were, of course … but it was a charity do, and everyone was chucking into the pot for the honour of a pic. Anyway, the point is … it couldn’t have been Carlotta, could it? You see that show ran from half-seven until just after ten, but we all had to get there for six for the photo-call. You can check those times if you want, but I’m sure there’s no need. When did your man die again?’

‘Between seven and nine.’

McCracken smiled. ‘How cool is photographic evidence?’ He pushed the photo into her hand. ‘Especially when it’s yours to keep. Now, what else have we got down here? Oh, how about this?’

He flashed several more glossies. Variously, they depicted McCracken and Carlotta on loungers alongside a swimming pool, posing during dinner on a balcony overlooking a magnificent seascape, at the far horizon of which the sun melted in a crimson haze, and then standing at the prow of a yacht as it progressed across rippling blue waves towards a soaring, boulder-strewn shoreline.

‘That’s Santorini,’ McCracken said. ‘Fab place. You ever been?’

‘No,’ Lucy said.

‘That’s me and Carlotta again … having lunch in the hotel restaurant. Look at that view. That’s us on the volcano trip. That’s us by the pool. Amazing place … you ought to visit. If you want to check the bookings, we went there last September. You know where I’m going with this, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Graham Cummins.’

‘That’s right,’ McCracken chuckled again; it was fast becoming his phrase of choice. ‘He was killed over in Southport, wasn’t he, on September 17
^th
? Smack in the middle of our trip to Santorini. Which kind of means Carlotta couldn’t have done that one either.’ He pushed these other photographs into Lucy’s grasp. ‘And if that’s not enough, try using the old noggin. Seriously, Constable
Clayburn … why would I be lying if my favourite lady of the night was doing this nasty thing? Why would I cover for her? I want you to catch Jill the Ripper. I’m sure you’ve been hearing this disgustingly materialistic phrase till you want to puke, but she’s
really, really bad for business
. Oh …’ He glanced from the window. ‘Looks like we’re home.’

Lucy looked around too. She hadn’t noticed, but they’d entered Cuthbertson Court, and in fact were pulling up at the foot of her drive, alongside her Ducati.

McCracken sat back. ‘Now … wasn’t that a useful exercise?’

‘Can I get out?’ Lucy asked.

‘Course you can. Mick …?’

Shallicker opened the door and clambered out, standing back to make room. Before Lucy could climb out after him, Carlotta turned and put a hand on her arm.

‘You got off lightly, babe,’ the blonde said, this time only half smiling. ‘Think about that.’

‘Well
you
haven’t got off at all,’ Lucy replied. ‘You want to know why, Lotta? Because you keep some very poor company, and one of these days that’s going to bite you right in your shapely rear-end.’

Carlotta’s smile faded completely but she said nothing else.

Lucy levered herself out and stood on the pavement, watching as the Bentley swung quietly away. She was out of her depth in so many ways on this case. But the whole thing overall had deflated her. It was true what she’d said about Carlotta not having got away with anything – but in reality that was because she hadn’t done anything.

Quite patently, Carlotta was not Jill the Ripper.

Chapter 24

‘So let me get this straight,’ Priya Nehwal said, studying the photographs with disbelief. ‘Frank McCracken turned up at your house and offered you a ride in his Bentley?’

Lucy knuckled at her brow, but the ache behind it didn’t ease. DI Slater’s office, which was poky at the best of times, seemed even smaller and stuffier with the three of them crammed inside it. On top of that, she felt scummy and tired, and was still wearing the paint-caked stakeout clothes that she’d been stuck in yesterday, having had nothing else to change into.

‘PC Clayburn, I asked you a question,’ Nehwal said.

‘Yes, ma’am … that’s about the strength of it.’

‘And you went?’

‘Well …’ Lucy smiled to herself, ‘yeah.’

Slater looked stunned. ‘He didn’t coerce you in any way?’

‘He didn’t need to,’ Lucy said. ‘I volunteered. He’d obviously recognised me at SugaBabes, so I thought I’d salvage anything from the job I could before we called a halt to it.’

‘So he didn’t actually put a hand on you?’

‘Not as such.’

‘What about that big lunatic he always has in tow?’ Nehwal asked.

‘Mick Shallicker,’ Slater said.

‘Shallicker, yeah,’ Lucy grunted. ‘He didn’t touch me either. I won’t say he didn’t put the wind up me though.’

‘That’s what he’s there for,’ Slater commented.

‘So they took you for a ride and told you they know everything?’ Nehwal still sounded as if she didn’t totally believe it.

‘Not quite everything, ma’am,’ Lucy replied.

Even now she was holding certain things back. She’d studiously avoided mentioning her mother’s role in the affair. Previously, that had looked like it would be impossible but McCracken’s intervention had changed everything. She could now claim the surveillance at the club had been compromised simply because the gangster had personally revealed to her that he knew about it. There was no need to add anything else. In one way it was a get-out-of-jail card, but it was still discomforting. Not only did she feel guilty about betraying her gaffers, but the truth still might leak out at some point in the future.

‘I didn’t confirm that Carlotta was our chief suspect,’ Lucy said. ‘McCracken’s only guessing that she is.’

Nehwal still looked unimpressed. ‘I just don’t see how he got from sussing an undercover cop in the McIvars’ brothel to assuming that his girlfriend is a murder suspect. For all McCracken knew, you could have been there working Vice.’

Lucy shrugged offhandedly. Even in Nehwal’s fearsome presence, it was difficult not to show how stressed and irritable she felt. She’d barely slept the previous night, of course – which didn’t help, and hadn’t even been able to wash properly as there was no hot water in the bungalow.

‘I can only assume, ma’am, that as soon as he sensed I was a cop, he asked around at the club and Delilah – she’s the girl I worked with – revealed that I’d shown some degree of interest in Carlotta. It may also be, if he felt there was a threat to him, that he had his boys sweep the neighbourhood surrounding his house and they detected the observation point.’

‘They’re nothing if not efficient,’ Slater said.

‘Which is more than can be said for our surveillance team,’ Nehwal retorted.

‘Come on, ma’am.’ Now Slater himself looked peeved. ‘These guys live in a permanent state of paranoia. They plan a blag, and if there’re more cars than usual parked outside the local nick on the day in question they’ll cancel it.’

‘Either way, it means the Didsbury obbo’s gone west,’ Nehwal said, ‘as well as the obbo at SugaBabes.’

‘No point in it now, anyway,’ Slater replied. ‘I mean, whether this lass Carlotta’s guilty or not, she’ll go to ground like a frightened rabbit.’

‘She didn’t seem
that
frightened,’ Lucy remarked.

Nehwal waved the photographs. ‘And this is the proof McCracken offered of her innocence?’

Lucy nodded. ‘I haven’t had much chance to assess it, ma’am, but I suspect the dates will check out.’

‘Could these pics have been mocked up?’ Nehwal wondered.

‘Anything’s possible these days,’ Slater said. ‘But why go to that trouble? We can check bookings with the theatre, the hotel, the airline, the holiday company. Knowing McCracken, it’ll all be watertight.’

‘So … where does that leave us, apart from Nowhereville?’ Nehwal switched her attention back to Lucy. ‘Especially
you
, PC Clayburn. You can’t go back to SugaBabes and you can’t go back on the streets. I doubt it’s safe for any of the girls to go back on the streets now.’

Lucy had to concur. ‘I’m not sure how much McCracken’s firm will have guessed about the Intel Unit, ma’am … but they’ll almost certainly assume there are others out there like me.’

‘Especially if this kid, Tammy, tells them, eh?’

‘All Tammy can tell them, assuming they ask her, is that she first met me at the lorry park. She doesn’t know any more than that.’

‘Where’s Tammy now?’ Slater asked.

‘In hiding, I hope.’

‘You tipped her off?’ By her tone, Nehwal disapproved.

‘Of course I tipped her off.’ Lucy struggled to keep the heat out of her voice. ‘Ma’am, I
had
to. I mean we could put her into protection, but what could she give us in return? And how long could we keep her for? I mean, this is the Crew, who’ve supposedly got longer memories than the Foreign Legion …’ She left the point hanging.

There was a brief silence as the three of them pondered the impasse.

‘Well … thanks for your input, PC Clayburn.’ Nehwal stood up.

She flipped through the photos again, at some length, before laying them on Slater’s desk.

And that’s it?
Lucy thought.
That’s all the reward I get … before you bin me back to Division?
But of course she bit her tongue. She had no right to imagine she occupied the moral high ground here. She was deceiving her own bosses; not being straight with the people who were supposed to be on her side. Plus it was her own wretched mother who’d blown the gaff.

But it still seemed unfair – that it should end like this. Not that Lucy didn’t have one or two items left in her armoury.

‘Ma’am, there’s something else,’ she said. ‘Something we could look into.’

Nehwal, who’d been about to leave, glanced back.

‘Its unofficial title is the SugaBabes Taxi Service.’

Nehwal gazed blankly at Slater, then back at Lucy. ‘Sorry, what’re you talking about?’

‘The normal form when punters turn up at SugaBabes
is they have a drink and then they pair off with a girl or two, and eventually head upstairs. They settle their “bar-bill”, as they call it, before they go home. But one or two of them every night, they just sit at the bar and, half an hour later, this no-mark middle-manager called Marissa calls their names out. “Taxi’s here!” … and off they toddle. Only it’s not a real taxi. I looked through a gap in the back wall once, and it’s something like a limo.’

Nehwal shrugged. ‘Makes sense. A comfy ride home. They pay enough to be there.’

‘No, ma’am. They’re given a blindfold to wear before they get into it. On top of that, Tammy warned me about this thing beforehand … not in any detail, but she said it was a more-than-touchy subject. Sounds like it’s bad news even to ask questions about it.’

‘A blindfold?’ Nehwal queried.

‘Yeah. But it’s worn voluntarily. It’s like they’re being taken somewhere they want to go, but part of the deal is they’re not supposed to know how to get there.’

‘And what do
you
think it is?’ Slater asked Lucy.