Hard Girls (3 page)

And after all, she was the one that had chosen to be a brass, he hadn’t forced her, he had just provided her with the opportunity to spread her charms. Like all his girls,
she
had come to him, and he had provided her with a nice flat to work out of. He saw himself as quite a generous employer, as someone who helped his girls out.

He had been doing this for years without any kind of aggravation. Now he had a dead one, a very dead one, and he was not fucking impressed about it either.

He had nothing on his conscience, as he would tell himself over and over again. But the sight of her lying there dead, mutilated and naked would stay with him until the day he died. She had been done over good and proper; whoever had done it had really gone to town. Satisfied he had obliterated any kind of evidence that could incriminate him, he left hurriedly. She had been a nice girl and all, and the shame was overwhelming him even as he determined to save his own arse.

Terri was left alone, waiting nervously for the police, the horror of her situation finally taking hold. Seeing her friend’s body, the blood everywhere, and the look of sheer terror on her face, it finally sank in that someone had actually murdered her. Someone had deliberately taken her young life.

Terri suddenly realised that it could quite easily have been her lying there. The men they dealt with all came through the adverts in the local paper, and at the end of the day, it wasn’t as if they had ever known anything important about their clients. The men who frequented their establishment lied about their real names, as they themselves did. They had sex with them, were intimate with them, and yet she and Danni knew literally nothing about them. Some of them arranged their dates by text. Until now, the danger had never crossed her mind.

It was over five hours since she had found the body of her friend, and it didn’t occur to her that for the police to fi remember thatc b fnd the culprit she should have been telling them the truth. Instead, she was still practising her story as they knocked on the front door.

‘Are you all right, Pat? You’re awfully quiet tonight.’

Patrick shrugged. ‘Just tired, Kate, that’s all.’ He was watching her as she cooked for them both. She was a good cook, and he enjoyed her food. But tonight he was seeing her as if for the first time. She was still a looker as far as he was concerned, she was the only woman who had ever managed to keep his interest. She had aged, of course, but he never really noticed it, she was still his Kate. Now though, as she chopped vegetables and sautéed the veal, he marvelled at how much he loved her. The fear of losing her had made him aware of just how much he cared about her. He was still trying to get his head round Peter Bates’s phone call. Still trying to work out what had happened.

Kate smiled at him, her eyes taking in everything around her. She saw more in a quick glance than most people did in a lifetime. She was one of the only women he had ever met who was happy to be quiet. He loved that she didn’t feel the urge to fill up every silence with inane prattle. Pat opened a bottle of red wine and poured them both a glass. As Kate sipped hers, she winked at him mischievously and he felt the tug of her once more. He knew that she accepted him for what he was, as he had accepted her for what she was. Chalk and cheese, really; she was straighter than a weightlifter’s grandmother and he was as bent as the proverbial corkscrew. Yet somehow it worked for them.

As they ate their evening meal, Patrick marvelled at how well they got along together. Even after all these years, she still had the knack of keeping him interested in her. Not that he hadn’t been drawn to the occasional bit of strange but, as his old mum used to say, what you don’t know can’t hurt you. And so far, she had been proved right. His earlier thoughts of going on the hunt were at once obsolete. He had to keep Kate close now, couldn’t give her any reason to doubt him. He was terrified that she would suss him out.

Old Peter Bates’s call had rattled him and, though he hadn’t known the full story, he’d only owned the property, he knew it was only a matter of time before Kate demanded that he explain himself. Be sure your sins will find you out. Well, his would anyway. But he couldn’t tell her, he didn’t know how to. She would find out soon enough. She was a shrewdie. Pat felt as if he had the Sword of Damocles hanging over his head. Once again, he knew something that she didn’t, only this time, he feared that when she realised that, it would take more than a bunch of flowers to calm her down; in actual fact, the deeds to a diamond mine would be disregarded. She would be what was commonly known as pissed off, and that was putting it nicely.

Annie Carr was shocked by what she saw in front of her. That the girl had been murdered was evident, but it was the fact that she had clearly been brutally raped beforehand that was the real shocker. She had literally been ripped to pieces inside and the remains of what looked like a chair leg had been discovered by the girl’s body. Whoever he was, he had acted with a tremendous rage. The poor girl must have died in agony.

The flat was nice, Annie had noticed that as soon as she entered it, all white walls and leather sofas. It was obviously a Tom’s workplace, but that was neither here nor there at the moment. That just meant they would have to cast their net wider, after all Toms were called remember thatc b f Toms because they slept with every Tom, Dick and Harry. Annie hoped they had some forensics to fall back on. What really pissed her off was that the girl was so young. She had died a horrific death, all for the lure of a few quid. It was such a pointless way to die, such an abrupt end for a young woman who should have had her whole life ahead of her. Annie hated that she had to tell someone that their child had been so violently slaughtered.

She could see that the girl had been tortured, she had burns all over her and what smelled like caustic soda had been poured down her throat, so this wasn’t a random killing, a sexual deal that had gone wrong. This was a deliberate act of violence against a young woman who, it seemed, had not put up any kind of fight whatsoever. That in itself was a mystery, there were no signs of a struggle; her nails were still perfectly manicured, a deep-red, they didn’t have a chip or a mark of any kind. Her face was contorted in agony, but that could have been the caustic soda, she had to have felt that coming, but there were no signs of her having been tied up. So the burns had to have been inflicted when she was unconscious, no one could have endured that much pain without fighting against it. She had them on her breasts, her genitals and her buttocks. And then her murderer had left her with her legs wide open, and with the object they had used to rape her by her side.

It was all wrong, none of it made any sense. Annie felt the jingle of alarm bells in her head. This was not the usual. In fact, it was so staged it seemed almost as if the person responsible wanted whoever found Danielle to be shocked over and over again. Shocked first by the dead body, then by the burning of the throat, the burns to the breasts and genitalia and finally the cuts that were deep and gaping. There was blood everywhere. She had been left to bleed out all over the floor. The sheer amount of blood told Annie she must have been alive when she had been cut. She had pumped out her life’s blood as she died in agony.

Annie knelt by the body once more and looked at the cuts closely. They were deep, they were open. She was stunned by the sheer brutality of the crime, someone had enjoyed themselves, had really put a lot of effort into this poor girl’s death. The person responsible had known he would not be interrupted. Annie knew in her heart that this was not going to be a one-off, wasn’t a random killing. This was planned and precise and, whoever he was, he was going to do this again. It was a textbook murder, in many respects.

Annie knew that she was out of her depth because this was the first time she had ever been confronted by something so heinous. She hoped it would be the last.

Annie stood up. ‘Look, Terri, you being on the game is of no interest to us, we just want to know who killed Danielle, and we can only find that out if you tell us how you worked together. I swear I have no interest in your working life, I just want to find out who killed Danielle. So please will you stop pretending the pair of you lived the high life in a really posh block of flats, yet apparently neither of you have any kind of legal employment? Let’s cut the crap and get to the fucking real-life bit, eh? Only I am getting the arse now, I’ve had enough of your bullshit.’

Terri knew that she should tell this woman the truth, but she was frightened. Peter Bates had warned her to keep stumm, and she knew he meant it. But Danielle had been murdered, and Terri knew she had to tell at least a bit about their daily lives.

‘We would have the flat at different times. We didn’t really have a system, we worked on bookings. We advertised in the local paper, men rang us up, and we . . . you know, we would entertain them. We always gave remember thatc b f each other plenty of space. She had regulars like me, but we also had a lot of passing trade, you know. Men working in the area who might want a bit of company, men from nearby towns who look in the local papers for a bit of excitement. You know, as well as I do, that in our game you never know who’s going to turn up, and as long as they have the money they are guaranteed a warm welcome. I mean, we ain’t cheap, it’s a onner a time, straight sex, no kissing and oral sex is extra. We ain’t bloody stupid, we earned. But I can’t think of anyone who would do that. Most of them are the usual fucking idiots who have to pay for a nice-looking girl. Let’s face it, if they were on the ball, they wouldn’t have to pay for it, would they?’ She started to cry again and Annie instinctively put out her arms and, holding the girl gently, she let her cry.

She wished Kate would hurry up, she needed her expertise at this point, she had never before been involved in anything like this. This kind of murder would hit the papers and the place would be crawling with reporters by the morning. This kind of crime brought a spotlight down on the police involved that made their job even harder. She needed Kate’s experience and her level-headed approach to life. She needed her to walk her through this because it was unlike anything Annie had seen before.

As Terri sobbed out her shock and her fear, Annie wondered what the coroner would find out from the girl’s body. She knew it was imperative to get the autopsy out of the way as soon as possible. The door opened and a young PC said loudly, ‘Mrs Crosby is here, ma’am.’

Annie saw that Kate was talking to the men outside. She was already taking charge, and Annie was grateful for that. It meant she had Kate’s support from the off, and she needed that more than she cared to admit.

‘Are you saying a punter murdered the girl in my property?’

Peter Bates liked Pat Kelly but sometimes he could quite happily smack him one. The fact that Pat Kelly was a foot taller and two stone heavier was the main reason he didn’t bring that wish to fruition.

‘Yes, Pat, but I wasn’t to know that was going to happen, was I? The girls have been working out of there for yonks. How could anyone predict a fucking nut-bag turning up and outing one of them? I think it’s a fucking diabolical liberty meself.’

‘Oh you do, do you? How about the fact that I thought the flats were for renting purposes only and, forgive me for being somewhat obtuse, but why ain’t I been paid the going rate for letting my drums be used as fucking brothels! Kate will have my nuts in a carrier bag for this, boy. She won’t believe I knew nothing about it . . .’

Peter Bates was short and stocky and, when the fancy took him, extremely argumentative. He was known for his quick temper, and even quicker departures. Especially when he thought he might have overstayed his welcome. He could never r-template+xml"

Chapter One

Janie Moore was tired out. She had been working for hours. She had a virus, and it had really knocked her for six. She had to keep going though. After all, once she finished, she had a few days off. She preferred it like this. She loved having a bit of time to herself, a bit of time with her kids. She liked the money, but she also liked the hours. It suited her to work all day, then she could have a couple of days off. She was new to the game and still had the wide-eyed naivety, the belief that it was only for the interim. That she would stop once she either found Mr Right, or she found another job that paid enough for her to keep her and her kids. Deep down she knew that was
never
going to happen. Some of the girls who used the flat were paying for themselves through college, or for some kind of education. They were determined to better themselves. Janie knew inside that she was never going to be like them. She was hoping for a man to take her life over, but she saw that, after this job, whoever it was would not only need to be passable in the looks department, but generous in the financial sense. Sex was not something she craved any more. In fact, it was something best left out of any marriage equation, she had had her fill of it in all its scummy, pretend glory.

But all in all, she thanked her lucky stars for the work because she had two kids under three, and the fathers had both gone on the trot early on in her pregnancies. They’d abandoned her and their offspring without a second thought. Janie had learned the hard way that money was important, and talk was bloody cheap. She’d learned that promises were something that only the rich could afford. She had been promised so much in her young life, and she had believed that the men making the promises would make good on them. Instead, she had been left with two babies, a mountain of debt and a drug problem. She’d been helped off that. She counted herself fortunate because she had not suffered physically after giving birth. She had hardly a stretch-mark on her, and she still looked good in her underwear. She knew how devastating a pregnancy could be on the body, had seen mates who had delivered a child and been left with a stomach that looked like a map of the London Underground. She had carried low and had not put on much weight. She had popped both her boys out quickly and cleanly, and she had loved them both with a passion from their first breaths. She’d nearly lost them over the drugs. She had ended up on the bash for them, to give them everything they needed. To ensure they had a better start in life than s had stepped over the unwritten line. ou bed himhe had. She was saving, building a little nest egg, she wanted to take them on holidays, wanted to see them play in the sea, thrive under a foreign sun. They would have everything, and she would do anything to make sure that was the case. She dreamed of a man, a kind man, who would love her and her boys. Who would give her security and love.