Working Girls (26 page)

The room was a clash of pine and primary colours. An un-finished game of Cluedo was still spread out on the table. A Mickey Mouse bookmark peeped from the pages of
Wuthering Heights.
It
was more of a family room, she thought, then realised how inapt the description was. Gary was shacked up across town. Louella was dead.

“Why don’t you sit down? I’m sure I’ll be able to find things.” Bev busied herself while Louise sat slumped, staring into space. The woman was falling apart.
“While we’re waiting, I’m going to put a call through to my boss. Just to let him know what’s going on.”

It was possible she hadn’t heard; she certainly gave no indication. Bev stood just outside the door, half an eye trained on Louise. The woman noticed nothing – not even Bev’s
return.

“That’s fine. He’ll be along shortly.” He was still at the scene, but it was only ten minutes in a car.

“I want to see her.” Louise shot up and was making for the hall. “I want to go to her. Now.”

Bev laid a hand on her arm, spoke softly. “It’s not possible. Not yet.”

Louise stiffened, jerked away. Bev read the signs, braced herself. The woman was on a knife-edge, panic rising, her glance darting about in a frantic search for escape routes, a bolt-hole. Hands
clenched into hard, tight fists, she struck out at the nearest target. If the blow had been more than glancing, it could have dislocated Bev’s jaw, but she dived to one side and grabbed the
woman’s wrists. The tears in Bev’s eyes were not for her own pain, but they acted as a catalyst. Louise covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Bev laid her arm around the
woman’s shoulder and steered her back to her chair. She pulled up a seat for herself and just stayed close. Words weren’t going to help at this stage. Questions – a mountain of
questions – would come soon enough.

25

“Did you not think it odd when Louella didn’t turn up?” There was no hostility in Byford’s voice.

Bev saw Gary Kent struggling to keep it out of his. “No. I told you. I got a call.”

It was well past one in the morning. They were in the governor’s office back at Highgate and she was sitting in at Byford’s request. The interview wasn’t going on tape and
there’d been no caution. They were the only concessions Byford was making to Gary’s position as a police officer.

“Yes.” Byford consulted his notes. “You said she rang around four to tell you she was spending the night at a friend’s.”

Kent nodded, barely able to speak even though the bizarre session was at his own request. He’d insisted on getting the questions out of the way. Bev saw his point. He was sharp enough to
realise he’d be under suspicion. He wanted any doubts and rumours cleared up fast, so the inquiry didn’t lose pace. They all did. But it didn’t make the ordeal any easier.

He could also, though Bev didn’t want to believe it, be lying through his teeth.

“Was that normal?” Byford persisted. “Did Louella often stay out?”

She saw Gary’s fists clench; she’d winced too at the implication. He took a deep breath.

“She’s fifteen-years-old. It’s what teenagers do. She revises with her friends, watches videos, has sleepovers.”

Had, thought Bev. The reality hadn’t sunk in even though he’d identified the body. According to Byford, Gary had said nothing, just nodded once, then turned on his heel. His motor
had been collected ready for forensics, and his alibi was being checked.

Eliminating him as a suspect – assuming they would – was a priority. They’d all seen TV interviews with grieving relatives who’d turned out guilty as sin. He was hiding
it, but Bev reckoned Gary was going through hell.

“Did you check?” Byford was showing no emotion either but she couldn’t believe it wasn’t there. Kent was a CID officer with seventeen years in the service. Whichever way
this scene panned out, it was personal. And painful. For all three.

“We’ve been through all this.” Gary ran a hand over his face. Bev reckoned he’d aged ten years in an hour. His redhead’s pale, freckled complexion now resembled
mottled parchment. A comb and a shave might have gone some way to restoring his normally groomed appearance, but somehow she doubted it.

“Let’s go through it again,” Byford said.

Gary sighed. “She’s stayed with this girl – Becky, Rebecca Adams – a few times.” There was a pause. “Especially since Louise and I…”

Byford helped out. “Split up?”

“Stopped living together. Look, our marriage has nothing to do with this.”

Byford shrugged.

“It hasn’t,” Gary insisted. “Neither of us has ever stopped loving Lou. She always knew we were both there for her.”

Bev looked down at her hands. No one spoke for a while.

“Anyway.” Byford broke the silence. “It now emerges that Rebecca knew nothing of this arrangement.”

Gary nodded, worrying a piece of loose skin at the side of his thumb.

“How did Louella sound?” Byford asked. “On the phone?”

“Bit rushed. Said she was in a hurry.”

“Could there have been someone with her?”

He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. The line was breaking up. I’m always on at her to make sure the battery’s charged. You know what kids are.”

Bev made a note. Far as she knew, they hadn’t found a mobile.

“Did you ring your wife? To confirm the story?” Byford asked.

Gary stared at Byford for a few seconds. His voice was calm at first. “I tried ringing Louise. She was in court. I was going to leave a message at the house but the answerphone
wasn’t on.”

Bev closed her eyes. The woman would blame herself; was already. Guilt and grief had been etched on her face. It was yet another image Bev would want to forget.

“As for checking Lou’s story…” Gary paused, beginning to lose it. “It wasn’t a story. Lou doesn’t make up stories. She’s never lied to us.
She’s young for her age, never been in any trouble. She’s a good girl, an A star pupil. We never let her out on her own. We always know where she is, who she’s with, what time
she’ll be back. She’s not some little slag on a street corner.”

“Like Michelle Lucas?” They were Bev’s first words and could have been chipped from ice.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He rushed to apologise but Bev’s face said it wasn’t enough.

“I really didn’t.” There was a catch in his voice. “Lou’s never harmed anyone in her life. She didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“No one deserves to die like that, Gary.”

“’Course not. It goes without saying.”

Not necessarily, thought Bev. Shell and Vicki might not have the benefits of a private education and professional parents, but they were as good as anyone.

“Honest, Bev,” he said. “I hear what you’re saying. What do you think I’ve been doing the last few days? I want the bastard behind bars as much as you
do.”

She leaned forward. “What have you been doing? The last few days? Who’ve you spoken to? Where’ve you been?”

Gary shook his head, turned his mouth. “It’s been routine, mostly. Chasing up interviews, alibi checks, you know the sort of stuff.”

“What about the Beemer?” Bev asked. “You and Daz have been on that, haven’t you?”

“Yeah. That as well. Cruising round. Asking questions.”

“Any trouble?”

“Bit of verbal. Can’t think of anything out of the ordinary.”

Byford slipped his pen into a pocket, pushed back the chair. “We’ll look at it again in the morning. Right now you’re too knackered to think straight about anything. Get home.
You need sleep.” He glanced at Bev. “We all do.”

Sleep would be a long time coming, she knew that. “D’you want a lift, Gary?” It was a rapprochement of sorts, though she hadn’t forgotten his remarks.

He shook his head. “I’ll walk. I need the air.” He reached the door, looked back. “I’m telling the truth, boss. I’ve killed no one. But when we catch the
bastard, make sure I’m not around.”

“You can’t stay on the case, Gary,” Byford said. “Not now. You know that.”

Gary opened his mouth. Bev thought he was about to argue, but he left without another word. She’d caught the look in his eye; silence didn’t necessarily mean acceptance.

26

“This is not acceptable, Victoria.”

She was cradling the left side of her face, unsure whether the wetness between her fingers was blood or tears. She was definitely crying. It hurt. A lot. He’d snatched the phone from her
hand, whacked her twice. She was so scared she could hardly breathe. Charlie was white-faced, furious.

“Who were you speaking to?”

“No one. Honest.” She lifted a hand to fend another blow. The phone smashed across her knuckles.

“You!” He hurled the mobile at Dan. “Outside.”

She peeped through her lashes, didn’t want to meet the contempt in Dan’s eyes. The poor sod had fallen fuck, line and sinker and now they were both in it. Up to the neck.

Dan had come to her bed, as she knew he would. There’d been a bit of word play, bit of foreplay then a serious shag or three. What bloke didn’t turn over and crash out? She’d
watched the rise and fall of his chest, waited for deep-sleep breathing, then rifled his pockets. She’d eased herself off the bed, crept to the furthest corner, prayed to any passing god to
give her a break. She already had a plan. She reckoned it would be one call at the most. And Bev Morriss was her best bet. According to Sleeping Beauty’s fake Rollie it was ten to two in the
morning; bit early for an alarm call, but tough tits. Except it wasn’t. ’Cause the old bag hadn’t picked up; the naffin’ answer phone was on.

She’d been dithering around, wondering what the hell to do next, when any choice disappeared. Charlie had burst in and was now calling the shots. “I’ve asked nicely. Now
I’m asking again. Who were you speaking to?”

She met his glance. His colour was coming back, if anything his face was flushed. She’d never seen his hair loose before. How could anyone so scary look so good? “No one, honest,
Charlie.” He took a step closer. She hoped she’d kept the panic out of her eyes. “Me mum. I tried me mum. Just to let her know I was all right, like.”

He gave her an incredulous stare.

“Straight up, Charlie. Cross me heart and —”

He grabbed her hair, yanked her head back. “Don’t tempt me.” He kicked her legs from under her. Then he pinned her to the floor, his knees under her armpits. “Want to
know what happened to the last girl who fucked with me?”

“Went clubbin’, did you?” She didn’t care any more. There was nothing she could do, and Charlie could do anything he fucking fancied.

“In a manner of speaking, Victoria. Yes. You could say that.”

“Makes a change from cuttin’ them.”

He narrowed his eyes. There was an emotion in his voice she couldn’t identify: sorrow? pity? shame?

“You’re a stupid, stupid little slut.” He released her wrists, rose to his feet. “Get up. Put something on. I can’t stand the sight of you.”

There were red finger marks on her wrists, broken skin on her knuckles, angry bruises already coming out on her legs, God knew what her face looked like. It all hurt like shit. And she
didn’t give a toss. She felt bad about Dan though. He’d been quite nice to her really, given her an Aero and a can of Coke. God knew what he’d be getting from Charlie.

“Me and him dint do nothin’, you know.”

Charlie was miles away; lucky sod. He scowled. “You what?”

“Dan. He was just bein’ friendly, like. We were only talkin’.”

She watched in alarm as he threw his head back, then recognised the strange sound as laughter. “Oh, Victoria, that’s good. That’s very good.”

She snatched the sheet off the bed, threw it round her shoulders, glared at him. “It’s true. We were just snugglin up, keepin’ warm. Looks on me as a daughter, Dan
does.”

He was laughing so much, the tears were running down his cheeks. “He’s an old perv, then. You were shagging for Europe.”

She gulped. He stopped laughing, stared, asked the question for her. “How do I know that? How do you think I know, Victoria?”

Her gaze flicked to the condoms by the side of the bed. Charlie shook his head. “Don’t be silly. They could be anybody’s.” She watched as he made great play of peering at
the ceiling above her head, then keeping his gaze up, strolled a circuit of the room. He spun round, with a wide beam on his face. “Smile, Victoria. You’re on Candid fucking
Camera.”

She felt sick. “You sad bastard. Is that how you get your rocks off?”

He tutted softly. “Come, come Victoria. You know me better than that. Let’s just say it doesn’t come naturally for everyone. A lot of guys need a little help; visual aids,
shall we say?”

She sat on the edge of the bed, sank her head in her hands. “You been makin’ dirty vids of me and all them wankers?”

“You’re just one of the extras, Victoria. My clients are the stars. They like to see themselves in action. Most of them ask for it, of course. They want their bit on the side and are
happy to pay for a little memento. And there are those who don’t. They generally end up shelling out more. A lot more. Rates vary, of course: starting from straight sex and going, well,
there’s only one way really, isn’t there?”

“You’re sick, you are.”

“Not me, babe. But my oh my, you should hear what some of my clients want. Make your hair curl it would, Victoria.”

“And you lay it all on?”

“I provide a service, Victoria. With extras.”

“And if they ain’t buyin’ – you blackmail the buggers.” She studied his face. It was as if someone had lit a candle behind his eyes. Telling her all this was
turning him on.

“Who’s a clever girl, then?” He patted her head. “And, of course, the higher they are, Victoria, the harder they fall. Judges, teachers, doctors. The odd dishonourable
member’s a bit like hitting oil.”

She’d heard enough; too much. Charlie Hawes was a man who kept his business cards so close they were glued to his chest. If he was shooting his mouth off it meant she wouldn’t be
opening hers.

“What you gonna do with me, Charlie?”

“Well, Victoria, I had got a nice little job lined up. Round at Marlene’s –”

“Massage Marl?” Her eyes widened.

“That’s right. Dab hand, is Marlene. She runs one of my most successful establishments. She’d have been only too happy to show you the ropes.”