Hard Girls (30 page)

Kate nodded. ‘Go for it, girl. After all, at the moment, we have fuck all to go on.’

‘Do you think Ie appreciatedc to keepy should go back through medical records et cetera. I mean, I think we should look at any angle, no matter how off the wall.’

‘I think that sounds feasible. Maybe they were treated by the same doctor, who the fuck knows?’

Chapter Seventeen

Once again, they had hit a dead end. They had interviewed everyone and followed every lead. No one had seen anything, no one knew anything. But the houses down at Rossiter Crescent were high end, they all had quite large driveways and the houses were not easily seen from the road. Peter Bates and Jennifer James were both being as helpful as possible, but it was obvious that they didn’t know anything important. All they knew were names and dates and they had furnished the police with them quite happily.

Annie agreed with Kate that, if these murders were random, then whoever he was had the luck of the fucking Irish on his side because no one seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary.

Kate sighed heavily and rubbed her tired eyes. She looked a mess but she couldn’t concentrate on anything. All she thought about were the dead girls.

If Patrick encroached on her thoughts, she pushed him away. Pat was an added problem she couldn’t deal with just yet. She knew she still
loved
him, but she didn’t
like
him very much right now and that was the issue.

She pushed him from her mind and concentrated once more on the pictures of poor Valerie Kent, or Candy Cane depending on how you knew her. The girl’s face with the plastic bag over her head was horrifying. The bag had stuck to her skin and you could see the girl’s perfect features, her high cheekbones. Valerie had been a beauty all right. That was why she would have been working the high end, of course. The real beauties were always marked out for the big money.

But judging by the girl’s reading material she was also a brain-box. A lethal combination for a girl in her business. Kate had found books by everyone from Flaubert to Ibsen. She also liked the old classics, such as Aesop’s Fables and Alexandre Dumas. It was odd to think of her doing what she did, with all those thoughts going around in her head. She could have really made something of herself, why the easy option? But people were odd, Kate knew that better than anybody.

And if she was on a night off, how did the man get inside the house? There was no sign of forced entry, no sign of a struggle. He had to be someone she trusted.

They had already sounded out Peter Bates, Jennifer James, and Danny Foster, along with all the other men who worked in the business. They each had airtight alibis, if not for all the murders, then at least for most of them. And this wasn’t the work of a killing duo, a team kill, it had the hallmarks of a single man. A clever, calculating lone male who was sitting somewhere, right this minute, thinking about his next victim. If only she could read minds, how much easier her job would be.

Kate’s mobile rang and Patrick’s name flashed up. She cut the call, but she was secretly pleased that he was still trying to contact her. She wondered what had happened with Eve, she hoped the girl had sacked him. That would not do much for his gigantic fucking ego. It would do him the world of good, in fact. He had far too high an opinion of himself. He always had done. The thought satisfied her for a few moments and then she went back to the proverbial drawin their nearest and dearestasft for far too long. belg board and concentrated on the girls’ faces, hoping against hope that something, anything, would start to make sense to her.

Peter Bates was not happy and he was as usual being very vocal about it.

‘So he’s actually going to end up with more than me, is that it?’

Patrick nodded, his smile still fixed in place. ‘It’s what the O’Learys want and, unfortunately for you, it’s also what I want.’

Peter was shaking his head in despair. ‘This is fucking outrageous, Patrick. A little fucking scummer like him having precedence over
me
? That’s unheard of.’

Patrick was getting annoyed now, and Peter should have taken heed of that fact. ‘Oh stop it, you fucking drama queen. If you weren’t so enamoured of the fucking horses you might not be in this position. No one trusts you any more, Peter, you should have guessed that much by now. The flats and houses have been put under a difficult spotlight, and those poor girls should have been looked after. You knew CCTV was the best option but you vetoed it, and now we are all under the fucking microscope, because of you. So just swallow and keep a low profile for a while. Danny is a good kid, and you get on with him well enough. Well enough to work with him anyway, though at this moment I can’t imagine you spending Christmas together, but who cares? As long as you can sustain a working relationship, I can’t see the problem.’

Peter Bates was disgusted at the turn of events and unwisely he let his ire show. ‘I think you’ve tucked me up, Patrick. I think you and the O’Learys have rowed me out. I might have a flutter, but so do a lot of people . . .’

Patrick laughed, a loud, irritated laugh, then he bellowed, ‘A
flutter,
a fucking
flutter
? You owe more money than Northern Rock, Peter. I’m trying to do you a favour here. I am trying to keep you on an even keel. You’ve got creditors coming out of your arse. You are up the proverbial creek, and I am trying to hand you a paddle. You’re finished. Your reputation has been sunk lower than the
Mary Rose
for a long time. People keep you around because I still vouch for you. But listen to me, and listen good. When I start getting phone calls about your debts, there’s a problem, Peter. Even you must understand that much. You’re up to your fucking neck in it. I can’t do any more than this. I am offering you a positive earn here. I want shot, and you and Danny need a good wage. You for the obvious reasons, and Danny because he is getting to that age. He needs to spread his wings a bit, and I trust him, which is more than I can say about you. If you throw this back in my boat I will disown you, and the next call I get saying you owe money, I’ll give them the green light to personally sort it out with you. Once and for all.’

Peter slumped down in his chair. He could see that Patrick was only trying to help, but the humiliation was too much.

‘I like the buzz, Pat, I like the fact that the horses might bring me untold rewards.’

Patrick waved a hand in front of his face to shut his friend up. ‘No matter what you win, you always gamble it away. But that’s your business, do what you want. I couldn’t give a flying fuck. But the O’Learys won’t be as amenable as me, so remember that and stop fucking trying to justify your bad behaviour. It’s me you’re talking t enough.’ll because I didnlt do, I know you better than anyone.’

Peter was chastened. He was still very angry, only now he was angry at himself.

‘I can’t help it, Patrick, I love the thrill.’

Patrick sighed heavily. ‘You’re a fucking imbecile, Peter, a fucking earhole. But for all that, you’re me mate and, for that reason alone, I want to see you sort yourself out.’

Peter was broken, and Patrick knew that as well as Peter did. ‘Look, Pete, I need to get rid, and I am going to do that with you or without you. I want shot of the lot of it. I want to get my Kate back.’

Peter nodded, resigned now to his fate. ‘She’ll be back, Patrick, you and her were made for each other.’

‘That’s what I thought and all, and look where my double dealing got me. You were the first person I approached about all this, I gave you first refusal, then I made sure you had people around you who could guarantee you didn’t fuck up. I can’t do any more than that, Peter.’

Peter sighed heavily. ‘I know that, Pat. I understand more than people think.’

‘So we’re back on track?’

Peter smiled faintly, the colour gradually returning to his face. ‘’Course we are. We’re mates, aren’t we?’

Jennifer was annoyed, really fucking angry. The last thing she needed today was to have to chase up the rent from some bloody lazy little mare too idle to bother paying her dues.

As she opened the front door of the block of flats, she shook out her umbrella. It was pissing down again, and she was drenched just coming from the warmth of her car to the front steps of the flats. She stepped into the foyer, leaving her umbrella in the lead-lighted porch.

This was a lovely property, and Jennifer had toyed with the idea of moving in herself. It was quiet and very pretty around this part of Grantley. It also had a low crime rate, there were never any teenagers hanging around, and burglary was almost unheard of.

She was annoyed that Jemimah had not even bothered to answer her calls. Well, she’d have to face her now, and she was going to tell her straight that she wanted her out. She had done her a right favour and all, letting her have this place. She was a right little piss-taker. She owed too much money now, and she was not going to pay it back unless she absolutely had to. That was the trouble with debt, people balked at paying what was due, they’d rather keep the money and spend it on something else.

Jemimah had been a good little earner, and she had initially paid her rent on time and without any moaning, a definite result in their world where trying to rip people off had become second nature. Then this was the upshot. Well, Jennifer wouldn’t give her the chance to explain herself. She had given her all the chances she was going to get.

As she walked up to the first floor, Jennifer marvelled at the cleanliness and the quiet. She liked that about Cosett Court, it was built for privacy and comfort. She hammered on the front door, taking her frustration out on the ornamental knocker. When no one answered her, she called through the letterbox. She suspected Jemimah was inside, trying to avoid her. Well, she had better think again because Jennifer wasn’t going anywhere without the rent and that was a fact of life. This girl needed a lesson, and she was going to get one, even enough.’ll because I didnlt dif it meant she had to give her a well-deserved slap.

So, using the spare keys, she opened the front door and stepped into the hallway. It was clean and tidy, and she said a private prayer of thanks for that much anyway. At least the place wasn’t trashed, it wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. She called out Jemimah’s name once more. Nothing, it was as quiet as the grave.

Jennifer’s eyes were stinging and, for a few seconds, she wondered why that could be. There was an acrid smell, and it was making her cough. When she opened the bedroom door, she saw the cause of her discomfort. It was her hysterical screaming that brought the neighbours running, and the police not long after them.

‘Unlike the others she’s been dead a few days. This girl was already bloated and putrefying when she was found, that’s because of the central heating. It was on, but timed, so this young girl was heated and then cooled down. I would say it’s the same MO as the others.’

Kate nodded at the coroner and as she looked down on the destroyed face of young Jemimah Dawes, she wondered why she was not sunning herself in Spain. According to Miriam, she had already gone. According to Miriam, she had had a text message from her.

She looked around the apartment. The bags were all packed, so Jemimah was obviously going somewhere. This was Jemimah’s home. She lived here, she didn’t entertain here, there were none of the tell-tale signs. No answerphone, no laptop, no mobiles. Most of the girls had a work mobile and a private mobile and they logged on to their sites or shopped for things they hadn’t earned the money for yet. This was odd.

The place was wiped clean, but she’d expected that much. Jemimah’s body was now the second in three days, and Kate wondered if whoever was responsible had not expected her to be found so quickly.

She looked around her once more, there was nothing. Not even a cup on the draining board. It was pristine clean, and it was wrong. Jemimah had let her killer in, that much was obvious, even to the untrained eye. She had been packed and ready to go, her jacket was hanging by the front door. She was wearing street shoes, still high, but more like the kind an office worker would wear.

‘I wonder if it could be a fake cabbie. I know we’ve already looked at the cab drivers in the area, but it would make sense. He could have a police radio, intercept the calls for a certain taxi rank, then turn up before the actual cab does?’

Kate was intrigued by this girl’s death. It was the same as the others, but somehow very different.

‘Get Margaret to look through the cab companies’ computers, see if any of their drivers turned up somewhere and the fare had already been picked up.’

Annie nodded. It made sense. The girl had opened the door, as this particular door had a very expensive lock system, they knew it could not have been picked. Plus, on the inside of the door were two deadbolts. People who had that kind of security were rarely fool enough to let a stranger inside their home. Working girls were no fools, they knew the dangers of their job better than anyone.