Behind Closed Doors (12 page)

I had thirty minutes to kill. I detoured through Paddington and parked on Chase Street right outside the office. It felt good to do these things sometimes, even if you had to work Sundays to do them.

Connie's was doing roaring business. Connie himself was behind the counter the same as every other day. He gave me a yell that said he was more than pleased to see his planet-size debt staying close. I guess he thought I'd just walk in one day and pay it off.

The day was brightening by the hour. The sounds of spring echoed along the street. I sat at the bar and ordered brunch. A salad-and-bacon baguette and a coffee. Then paid homage to the perfection of the moment by handing over cash. The surprise on Connie's face made it all worthwhile. He rewarded me with a radiant smile that he interrupted only to hold my twenty up to the light. Connie brought my sandwich personally and set it down like he was Egon Ronay. Ronay would have wanted the tab paid before I ate, though.

‘Why you go to work today, Eddie?' he said. ‘Such a beautiful day.'

‘Same as you,' I said. ‘Money.'

He let out a laugh that would have tripped the Frogeye's alarm if it had had one.

‘My work is my love,' he agreed. ‘What else I'm going to do Sunday morning? Stay home, fight the wife?'

‘Don't kid me, Connie. You're crazy about your wife.'

He tried to throw it back but as always the noisier Connie got the less I believed him. Connie's wife was a Latina with looks that had grown men howling at the moon.

I chewed my baguette and sipped coffee. Wonderful, as always. The half-hour killed I drove down into Holland Park and found an empty space opposite the apartment. I parked and wound the window down.

The street had come to life in the sun. Cars, bicycles, couples walking to bistros, oldies taking miniature dogs to the park. Five minutes after I arrived there was movement at No. 93. An old guy came out of the front door and walked away up the street. I assumed he was one of the lower-floor residents. I watched him disappear towards the main road. After that nothing happened for an hour. I was beginning to worry that the arrangement had flopped. But you learn patience in this game. I'd been on stakeouts in worse places and for far longer. I listened to a tape and tapped the beat on the metal of the door.

It got past two and the old guy rolled back. Disappeared inside and the door was closed again. I watched pricey cars glide past. Couples returning from lunch. I checked my watch. The hand had crawled past two thirty. Then a red Porsche Boxster backed into a spot five cars behind me and a woman got out. I watched her in my rear-view as she walked up the street. When she got to No. 93 she climbed the steps and pressed the top bell. By the time she pressed it a second time I was on the steps beside her.

She sensed me coming and turned to stand aside but I stopped in front of her.

‘Sammy?' I asked.

The woman's eyes focused on me, trying to recall from where she knew me. She was in her late twenties, slim and lithe with astonishing green eyes and gold-blonde gossamer hair. Tina Brown's friend from her voicemail.

I told Sammy my name and apologised for my sudden appearance.

‘I'm here about Tina,' I said. ‘Do you mind if we talk?'

The introduction didn't clarify much. She backed away, puzzled.

‘Are you a friend of Julie's?' This was Julie, Tina Brown's sister, the other person who'd left voicemail messages on Tina's phone.

‘In a business sense,' I extemporised, ‘related to Tina.'

‘I don't understand.' She'd continued backing away until the railing was pressing into her backside. ‘Julie didn't mention you. She just told me she was worried about Tina.' She looked nervously up the street. ‘Is something wrong?'

Three hours ago Sammy had received a call from Tina's sister saying she was concerned about her. It seemed she hadn't been able to contact Tina in a week and was looking for someone nearby to check her out. The convenient “someone” was Tina's friend Sammy. Whether Tina's sister had actually been trying to get in touch, bar the single message we'd picked up on the voicemail, I didn't know. The call Sammy had received was from Lucy May – receptionist, secretary, accountant and impersonator.

Sammy's call-back number on Tina Brown's voicemail had been an unlisted pay-as-you-go. Difficult to trace. One way to chase down a PAYG caller is to get them to come to you. Hence the bogus call. Playing on the concern I'd heard in Sammy's messages.

‘I'm sorry to surprise you this way,' I said. I held out an Eagle Eye card. ‘I believe Tina's sister explained her concerns. We've been asked to take a look, make sure that Tina is okay.'

Sammy stared at the card.

‘Julie didn't mention a detective agency,' she said.

Neither did Lucy May. That was so we didn't scare Sammy off.

‘We're trying to find out where Tina is,' I said.

‘Is something wrong?' Sammy asked again.

I nodded. ‘According to her sister there is. Tina has disappeared, dropped completely out of sight. Nothing like this has happened before.' Which was what I hoped Sammy had also been thinking. We needed to get on the same side. Sammy nodded back, not sure she wanted to be on anyone's side, but she couldn't deny her concern.

‘Yeah, I am a little worried,' she admitted. ‘I've been trying to get hold of Tina all week.'

‘I understand that you and she are close,' I said. Information squeezed from my undisclosed source, namely Tina's voicemail.

‘Yes,' Sammy said, ‘we're good friends. I'm not quite sure what's happening with her. She's just seems to have dropped out of sight. Hasn't returned a single call all week.'

Rule One triumphant! If there had been half a chance that Holland Park and Rebecca Townsend were unrelated, that chance had just evaporated like spit on a stovetop, unless I was imagining the spooky similarity between Sammy's words and those of Sadie Bannister when she first ambushed me at my office.

‘They didn't give me your full name, Sammy.'

‘Samantha Vincent,' Sammy said. ‘Are you saying that something's happened to Tina?'

‘We're concerned,' I said. ‘Nothing more than that. But we do need to locate her. Maybe you can help.'

‘In what way?'

‘We need to know about Tina's lifestyle,' I said. ‘The one she's reluctant for her sister to know. I assume you can help us.'

Sammy shook her head. ‘I can't pass Tina's private affairs on to her sister, Mr Flynn.'

‘Eddie,' I said. ‘We don't need to be formal, Sammy. But if Tina is in trouble it may be more important to help her than to keep her secrets. Her sister's priority is to make sure she's safe. Anything you know might help us.'

‘I'm just not sure what Tina would want me to tell you.'

Sammy was still in denial, still wanting Tina's disappearance to be routine. She may even have been right but Tina Brown was connected to Rebecca's disappearance for certain, which meant that I needed everything Sammy had about her.

‘Let me buy you a coffee,' I offered.

I had a hunch about Tina and I needed Sammy Vincent to confirm it.

Sammy looked up at the house, giving Tina a last chance to show her face. I didn't look up. I knew Tina wasn't there. Sammy finally reached the same conclusion.

‘Let's have the coffee,' she said. ‘Perhaps you can explain what's going on, Mr Flynn.'

‘My name's Eddie,' I repeated. ‘And I think I can put you in the picture.'

I figured at least one of those statements was true.

We walked up to a Coffee Republic on the main road. The front seats were busy with people being seen. We found a couple of loungers in the back away from prying ears, and ordered lattes.

‘I guess this is a sensitive question,' I said when the coffees came. ‘But are you and Tina in the same line of business?'

When I looked up from dunking my biscotto Sammy was staring at me.

‘I'm not here to intrude,' I said, ‘but my information is that escorting is Tina's main occupation.'

Sammy's hesitation had already confirmed my guess. Beautiful girl, single lifestyle, expensive tastes, no sign of regular payslips, no sign of regular relationship, given to trysts at high-class hotels. The description could have fitted a millionaire's mistress but Slater wasn't in that league. The explanation that worked was that Tina made her money as a top-of-the-line escort, servicing serious wealth, which would account for Slater quite nicely.

My hunch that Sammy was also in the business occurred when I saw the Boxster and the same stratospheric looks, the haughtiness that only years-long reinforcement of beauty-as-divine-provider brings. The Boxster didn't come from working at Boots. Call me male chauvinist. Sure I am. It's a tool of the trade.

‘I think you'd better tell me exactly who you are,' Sammy said. ‘And why you're prying into Tina's life.'

‘It's like it says on the card, Sammy. I'm a private investigator. I'm looking into Tina's disappearance. She's been missing for a week now. And I'm wondering if her line of work is a factor.'

Sammy's mouth opened at the same time as her head shook to deny the possibility. In her line of business I guess there's a tendency to hang on to denial.

‘Tina may have become involved with someone she can't handle,' I suggested. ‘I don't need to tell you how critical time might be if that's the case. I need to know about her recent activities. Look for a pointer as to where she may have gone.'

Sammy hadn't touched her coffee. I saw her turning things over, figuring out whether there was any option but to trust me. Seeing that there wasn't.

‘I've been leaving messages all week,' she admitted finally. ‘On her home and mobile.'

‘She has a mobile?'

‘It's her main number.'

‘How long since she's answered any calls?'

‘A week,' she said. ‘Just like you say.'

‘How often do you usually talk to her?'

‘Most days. We're close. We'd arranged a night on the town last weekend but when I didn't hear from her I assumed a job had come up, a weekend client.'

‘Could she be spending the whole week with a client?'

She shook her head. ‘She would have let me know,' she said. ‘We keep each other informed if we're going out of town. Security.'

‘How does she contact her clients?' I asked. ‘Is it through an agency? Blueglades?'

Sammy shook her head. ‘Most of her fees are paid by card. Blueglades is her card merchant name. Tina works for herself. Places ads and takes her own bookings. Most of the time she works off repeat custom.'

‘When she takes bookings does anyone else know?'

‘No,' Sammy said, ‘but she takes precautions. Limits herself to a few top hotels for first-time clients. Locations where she knows she's safe and where the clients are reputable.'

Sammy was confusing rich with reputable but I didn't correct her. And you don't have to be rich to stay at the Grosvenor. If you're lashing out fifteen hundred for the girl then an extra five for the room won't break the bank. The only difference with the rich guy is that he can do it all the time. Meeting at high-tariff hotels took out ninety percent of Tina's risk, but like disease and rats, crime breeds in the forgotten ten percent.

‘Does Tina visit clients away from hotels?'

‘Yes. Like I said, most of her work is repeat. She's more flexible about location for people she knows.'

‘Does she have many regulars?'

Sammy shrugged. ‘Probably the same as me. Eight or ten. Guys we see once or twice a month. But we make sure we know them well before we take trips. Some clients you see fifty times and you still want a safe location. Something about them. You don't want to get closer.'

‘Judgement,' I said.

‘Yes. We develop good judgement.'

We.
Sammy and Tina exchanging notes – thinking they know each other's work, thinking that makes them safe. But working alone in that profession leaves a girl exposed no matter how good her judgement. I did the sums. Twenty escorts a month at a thousand pounds plus per night and no middle man. The earning potential for top lookers like Tina and Sammy was awesome. The risk probably seemed worth it.

‘How long have you known Tina?'

‘Six years. We worked for the same agency once.'

‘And how long has Tina been in the business?'

Sammy laughed. A touch of bitterness. ‘The same as all of us,' she said. ‘Since we were kids. Since we first got preferential treatment at home or in the street. I had a twenty-eight-year-old boyfriend and a five carat diamond ring on my finger when I was fourteen. Got picked up from school in a Porsche. You tell me when it starts. I only know when it ends. I'm retiring at thirty, going to see the world. Tina too.'

Maybe.

Shaughnessy and I had found nothing that looked like a client list in Tina's apartment. My guess was that she kept all her client details on her phone. I asked Sammy if she knew anything about the men Tina saw.

‘Just two or three we've shared,' she said. ‘None in the past couple of years.'

‘You must talk about clients sometimes,' I said.

‘A few first names. Nothing else.'

‘Any recent names stick out? Anyone she was uneasy with?'

Sammy gave me a look of disdain. The same one she'd used as a fourteen-year-old. Some things never change. Her coffee had gone cold. Another fiver down the drain.

‘You think that's what we gossip about?' she said.

I shook my head. ‘What you gossip about is of no interest to me, Sammy,' I said. ‘But I need any names Tina may have mentioned. Any places. Any clients who stand out.'

‘Are you looking for dirt, Mr Flynn?' she asked. ‘Are you sure you're not working for one of the papers?'

I shook my head again. ‘I'm working to find out what's happening to Tina. On the off chance we can get her back safe.'

The melodrama had its effect. Sammy switched back to the business in hand. She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds.

‘You know something you're not telling me,' she said.

‘I've told you everything I can,' I said. ‘Including the possibility that Tina may be in danger. More than that I don't know.'

‘Why hasn't her sister called the police?'

‘Without evidence that someone has harmed Tina there's nothing for the police to act on,' I said. ‘By the time that evidence comes up it might be too late. I want to find Tina while she's still okay.'

Sammy blinked.

‘If anything's happened to Tina…' she said.

I came back to the subject.

‘Which clients of Tina's you do know?'

She closed her eyes again briefly.

‘There's a couple, plus a few first names. Not much. One of Tina's used to be David Lancaster.'

‘The MP?' I raised my eyebrows.

‘Yeah. The one screaming last year for the Home Secretary to resign when it came out about him hiding a gay affair. Tina told me he used to like it up against the car window with the world passing outside.'

‘Is she still seeing him?'

‘She hasn't mentioned him in a while. So probably not. Another one is Sir Alec somebody, ex-chairman of the CBI, big donor to the Conservative party. He likes her to spend weekends with him – they travel around Europe. He taught her to ski.'

I knew which Sir Alec she meant. It wasn't going to be hard to memorise this list.

‘The others are just names, a couple of details. There's a Middle Eastern guy she's been seeing. Amir. She visits him at the Grosvenor when he's in London. He takes the penthouse and pays her twenty thousand for the weekend.' She smiled sweetly at me. ‘He likes to hurt her. Nothing that leaves evidence, but she's always down for a couple of days afterwards. Tina talks about giving him the boot but she still goes back.' She looked at me. ‘They say money isn't everything but in our line of work the first thing we ditch is deceit. There's another client, the opposite type. A nice guy she's been seeing for a couple of years up in Buckinghamshire. Divorced. Very rich but no inclination to get attached. I hear other names from time to time but they don't mean anything to me.'

‘You ever hear of a guy called Slater?' I said.

She looked blank.

‘Did Tina mention a guy who lives up in Hampstead? Behind the golf course. Married. Runs a stockbrokers.'

She shook her head. It had been a long shot. If the two of them talked it would be the bigger fish they hung up for show. Unlikely that Slater would warrant a mention in the circle that included MPs and captains of industry. I kept fishing.

‘Did Tina mention a trip to Brighton?' I asked. ‘The Royal Trafalgar Hotel.'

Sammy's eyes opened. ‘Yes,' she said, ‘she did mention the Royal Trafalgar.'

‘Any particular reason?'

Sammy nodded. ‘She had to cancel a night out. My birthday bash. She got a late booking and had to call me to reschedule.'

‘Was there anything special about that job? Anything about her client?'

She shook her head. ‘All I know is the hotel. They took the top-floor suite with personal valet. Champagne and strawberries at breakfast. I don't know who the client was.'

‘But travelling to Brighton would mean that she already knew him?'

‘Yes,' Sammy said.

‘Did she tell you anything else about that trip?'

She shook her head. ‘The only special thing was cancelling my birthday thing. Otherwise she wouldn't have mentioned it at all.'

‘Your birthday is in March,' I said. ‘Am I right?'

It's these kind of insights that had Sherlock Holmes impressing Watson.

Sammy stayed unimpressed. ‘October,' she said. ‘That's when Tina went to the Royal Trafalgar.'

Elementary, my dear Watson. How come Holmes' hunches never bombed? I gave her surprised.

‘That's when my birthday is,' Sammy insisted. Even more elementary; you can't beat birthdays as memory joggers. I shook my head. Slater's Amex had him at the Royal Trafalgar twice in March. Sammy's date was five months earlier.

‘I'm looking at something more recent,' I said. ‘Did Tina visit the Royal Trafalgar again?'

‘I don't know. She only mentioned that one time.'

‘But she would tell you if she went away for the weekend?'

Sammy shrugged. ‘Usually. But not every time. If we're both busy we may not mention it.'

I swallowed the last of my latte.

‘I need Tina's mobile number,' I said.

She recited a number from memory. I didn't write it down because I didn't need to. I already recognised it from Slater's bill. The number confirmed the link between Slater and Tina, even if Slater's Brighton stay didn't line up with the date Sammy had Tina there.

‘Mr Flynn,' Sammy said, ‘who is this Slater?'

‘He's someone Tina may be involved with.'

‘Is she with him now?'

‘No.'

‘Might he harm her?'

‘I don't think so. But the two of them may be involved in something together. Something that's got her into trouble.'

‘What sort of trouble?'

I held up my hands. ‘Give me time, Sammy. I'm trying to find out.'

‘Sweet Jesus.' Sammy looked somewhere beyond the two of us. A place of shadows. Something happening to Tina could certainly force a rethink of this woman's lifestyle. Maybe consideration of early retirement.

‘Mr Flynn—'

‘Eddie.'

‘Eddie: when will you know something?'

‘Soon,' I promised.

‘How soon?'

‘A couple of days,' I told her. ‘We'll know what's happened to Tina by then.'

‘Two days,' Sammy said. She pulled the Eagle Eye card from her pocket and looked it over, paying more attention this time. Then she slipped the card into her purse and got up from the table.

‘Call me on Tuesday, Eddie. If I've heard nothing from you by the end of the day I'm going to the police.'

She turned and walked out. A dozen heads turned.

I sat in my comfy seat and jotted some notes. Threw in a couple of questions. The confirmation of Tina Brown's line of work had opened up a wide range of explanations as to why she was missing from her apartment. In normal circumstances, I'd put Slater's stalking her down to the action of an infatuated guy let down by his fantasy girl's elopement with another client. But stalking his playmate at the very time his stepdaughter has disappeared does not constitute normal circumstances.

I walked back to the Frogeye and called Gina Redding.

I filled her in on Slater's liaison with Tina Brown, and on the fact that we now seemed to have two missing persons. I also warned Gina that I'd poked a stick around at the Slater house. If she received calls from the family she should be ready. I warned her too that the next step might be costly and might lead only to dead ends. Gina wasn't deterred.

‘Just do what it takes, Eddie,' she told me. ‘I'll pay the bill. Just find Rebecca.'

That's my kind of client.

I told Gina I'd be in touch in a couple of days. By then we'd have the thing wrapped up. We'd better have. Two days was all we had before Sammy blew the whistle and the situation became much more complicated.

I headed back to Battersea and got busy in the kitchen. When Arabel arrived I had a leg of lamb roasting and by the time she was through teaching me some new yoga moves with her lips it was a race against time to salvage the meat before it carbonised. We ate it with sweet potatoes and sour cream, roasted vegetables. Not even a nod in the direction of healthy eating. The lamb disappeared, fat and all. Cooking unhealthy is a cheat but I find it gets results. Arabel knew exactly what I was up to but it gave her an excuse to pig out once in a while. She knew she could humour me once a month without risk of a coronary.