The Torment of Others (23 page)

Mackenzie grunted something and looked away, tracing lines in a scatter of spilled sugar on the tabletop. ‘And what do you do, Carl?’ Kevin asked.

Mackenzie’s mouth twitched as if he wasn’t sure what was expected of him. ‘Nothing much,’ he said.

Kevin pushed the photograph of Jackie towards them. ‘Either of you know Jackie Mayall?’ Before they could answer, the door opened and Dee Smart walked in. She looked around and, seeing Kevin, crossed straight to the table and stood glaring down at him. The lads all seemed to brighten at the sight of her. ‘This is Dee. This is Kevin,’ Jason recited like a child who’s proud of recently acquired social skills.

‘I know Kevin,’ Dee said sourly, fixing him with a hard stare. ‘I thought you said you lot cared about us? That we weren’t just throwaways?’ Her voice was loud enough to attract attention from the surrounding tables.

Kevin flushed an ugly red, his freckles seeming to darken. ‘You’re not,’ he said quietly.

‘So how come there’s another one of us lying in the morgue? And how come you’ve got nothing better to do than harass an innocent kid? Why don’t you get off your arse and find out who’s killing my mates?’ Dee turned on her heel and teetered off to the counter.

Jason gave a pained smile while Carl tittered. ‘I don’t think Dee likes you, Kevin,’ Tyrone jeered.

Kevin looked around at the hostile stares pointed in his direction. ‘I don’t think she’s the only one, Tyrone.’ He stood up wearily, knowing there was nothing more to be gained in the café while Dee was in this mood.

It was impossible to miss the police presence in Temple Fields that morning. Tony saw several officers he recognized as he walked through the streets and lanes.

The fog was slowly dissipating, leaving the odd swirling pocket that seemed to swallow people whole as they walked into it. It was hard not to feel the weather was responding to the atmosphere of foreboding in the city’s dark heart.

Tony stopped outside his destination. The window was brightly lit, its contents mostly innocuous; sex, it implied, was always and only fun. He pushed open the door and walked in. He’d been in sex shops before, but not for a while. What surprised him was how matter-of-fact it all seemed. Upbeat techno music played in the background. There was nothing hidden or coy about the items on display; everything was laid out for the customers to choose from. The implied message was that whatever consenting adults wanted to do in private was fine and dandy.

He wandered round, taking it all in. There were things here whose purpose he could only guess at, which he found slightly disturbing, given his area of expertise. Tony stopped by a section of shelves dedicated to bondage restraints. Chains, cuffs, gags, nipple clamps and various arcane objects clustered together like varieties of baked beans in a supermarket. Tony picked up a set of leather ankle restraints that looked similar to those they’d found on Jackie. He looked at the price and raised his eyebrows. ‘Whatever you are, you’re not cheap. Power has its price and you’re willing to pay.’ He spoke softly, but not so softly that it didn’t catch the attention of the man behind the counter. He emerged from his station and walked over to Tony.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked.

Tony looked up, seeing a tall, lean figure wearing a leather waistcoat over tanned and tattooed skin. The salesman had a line of twinkling diamond studs down the ridge of each ear. ‘Sell a lot of these, do you?’ he said.

‘More than you might think. People like to spice up their love lives.’ The look he gave Tony seemed to suggest he could well imagine his love life needed spicing up.

Tony fondled the cuffs absentmindedly. ‘Maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong. What sort of people buy them?’

‘All sorts.’ The assistant looked wary.

Tony tried for the harmless look. ‘My interest is purely professional. I’m a clinical psychologist,’ he said apologetically.

The assistant rolled his eyes as if he’d heard it all before. ‘Like I said, all sorts. You get your obvious S&M types, all piercings and black leather, but you get your suburban housewives too.’

‘Sex. The great melting pot. Thanks. I’ll take these.’ He handed over the ankle cuffs and added a pair of metal handcuffs. ‘All in the interests of research.’ He headed towards the till, glancing back at the assistant, who was eyeing him as if he wasn’t fit to be out on his own. It wasn’t the first time Tony had caught such a look directed at himself. He didn’t find it insulting; rather, he was impressed by their perspicacity.
Passing for human
, he thought.
Except I don’t always succeed
.

He emerged a few minutes later, wondering idly if he could claim the cost back as a legitimate expense from Bradfield Police. On balance, he thought he’d prefer not to try. Carol might understand why he needed them, but he suspected some clerk in accounts would take a dimmer view. Especially once they found out, as they surely would, where Carol was living now.

He headed back towards his car. As he rounded a corner, he spotted DS Jan Shields talking to a woman in the skimpy uniform of a prostitute. The woman’s body language said this wasn’t a conversation she relished. Seeing him approach, Jan cut the interview short and watched the woman hurry away. As he grew closer, Jan pointed to his bag. ‘Who’s the lucky lady, then?’

Tony looked bemused. He looked down at the bag and saw the logo of the sex shop plastered along the side. He shrugged. ‘Head games. I need to understand the killer’s rules. It sometimes helps to play with the same toys.’

‘You think this is a game? Women are being slaughtered like stuck pigs and you think it’s a game?’ Her tone was amused rather than outraged.

‘He does. You have to remember that some people take their games very seriously. Life and death stuff, like Bill Shankly said.’

Jan nodded, getting it. ‘And your job is to beat him at his own game?’

Tony considered her words. ‘No. It’s my job to figure out the rules. You’re the ones who get to play out the endgame. How’s it going?’

She shook her head. ‘Slowly. Truth is, we need a lucky break. Someone has to have seen something. It’s just a question of finding them before he does.’

Tony looked at her with surprise. It was an insight he hadn’t expected. ‘I think you’re right,’ he said slowly. ‘I think he’s ready for more.’

Oscar’s, Paula thought, was one of those bars that had never been anything other than a dump. She could read the signs. Even on the day it had opened after its last makeover, it still would have looked exactly what it was–a cut-price version of anything approximating style. Everything reeked of cheapness. The lightbulbs were too low a wattage, but it was still possible to see where poorly applied varnish streaked the pine in a vain attempt to make it look like expensive hardwood. The signboards scattered round the walls screamed special offers on beer, shots and happy-hour doubles.

Paula looked around for her target. Her canvass of the streets had turned up a single nugget so far. One of the girls who worked in a sauna on the fringes of Temple Fields had told her that Jackie Mayall sometimes turned double tricks with a young hooker who worked under the street name of Honey. This time of day, you’ll likely catch her in Oscar’s. You can’t miss her. She’ll be the one in the red rubber dress with the Bacardi Breezer,’ the girl had said, looking apprehensively over her shoulder to make sure nobody overheard her passing information to a copper.

It was a description that fitted perfectly the kid sitting at the corner table, swigging her drink straight from the bottle. Her dark hair was streaked with magenta; a shade one of Paula’s friends had once characterized as ‘prostitute purple’ when her home dye job had gone wrong. Paula’s heart contracted at Honey’s obvious youth. She didn’t look old enough to be served legally with what she was drinking, that was for sure. Paula went up to the bar where half a dozen early lunchtime drinkers nursed their pints morosely. She bought a mineral water and another Bacardi Breezer and walked across to the table. She placed the drinks on the table and sat down. Honey’s look of surprise shifted to one of hostile suspicion. ‘Cop,’ she said derisively.

‘Cop with a drink for you,’ Paula said.

‘You think I’m that fucking cheap?’ Honey sneered.

Paula sighed. ‘I didn’t come here to pick a fight, Honey. I came here because one of your friends is dead.’

Honey gave her a look of pure hatred. ‘You lot don’t give a fuck about us. We’re just shit on legs to you. Jackie wouldn’t be dead if you useless fuckers did what you’re paid for and protected us like you protect the nice people in their nice houses.’

‘That’s what we’re trying to do. But it’s not easy when all we get is silence and lies. I’m not after you, Honey. I’m trying to protect you and your colleagues. That’s why I need your help.’

Honey snorted. ‘Colleagues? Fuck, that’s a new word for whores.’

Paula leaned forward, her face passionate, her eyes boring into Honey’s. ‘Can’t have it both ways, Honey. Can’t slag us off for dissing you then slag us off some more when we try to show a bit of respect. I don’t think you’re shit on legs, actually. I save that for the scumbags who use you and abuse you. And I don’t think you deserve what you mostly get. The bastard who killed Jackie? I want to put him away for the rest of his natural life. So talk to me.’

Paula’s intensity struck something inside Honey. She looked away and muttered, ‘What do you want to know, copper?’

The name’s Paula. When did you start working with Jackie?’

‘Who said I did?’ It was the last defiance. Paula could see her heart wasn’t in it.

‘It’s not exactly a state secret.’

Honey picked at the label on her drink. ‘When I first went on the streets, about six months ago. She sort of took me under her wing, know what I mean? Like, I knew nothing. I just put myself out there, I was easy meat. And she kept me away from the bad shit.’

‘So you hung out together on the street? What about after hours, Honey? Did she take care of you then too?’

‘What are you getting at? She wasn’t a fucking lezzie.’

Paula shook her head. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

Honey eyed her up. ‘And neither am I.’

‘I couldn’t care less,’ Paula sighed. ‘Did Jackie help you get yourself sorted out?’

Honey wrapped her arms round her narrow frame, hugging herself. ‘She got me a bedsit in the same house as her. She was like a big sister, that’s all. We used to have a laugh, you know?’

‘And when you worked together? How did that go?’

Honey gave her a sideways look, as if calculating how much she could hold back. ‘You remind me of her, you know?’

As a diversionary tactic, it worked. Startled, Paula nearly knocked her drink over. ‘What? I look like her?’

‘A bit. But it’s more–I don’t know, it’s like you listen, don’t just treat me like a fucking kid.’

Paula wasn’t quite sure if Honey was being truthful, but if she were, it might prove useful in getting the young hooker to open up. ‘So tell me about working together.’

Honey pulled her packet of cigarettes towards her and lit up. ‘Now and again, like, if some punter wanted to pay for a threesome, we’d take him to the hotel. You know–the Woolpack, where she…died.’

Paula tried to hide the excitement she felt at finally getting somewhere. ‘Were any of them regulars?’

Honey grinned. It stripped her of her streetwise cynicism and made her look like the teenager she must once have been before the streets put years on her. ‘Some of them came back for more, yeah. We were fucking excellent, you know?’

‘Any rough stuff?’

‘You can’t avoid it,’ said Honey, her face clouding over. ‘Goes with the territory.’

‘Anyone in particular?’

Honey shrugged. ‘Jackie wouldn’t have them back if they’d cut up rough.’

‘We think the man who killed Jackie had been with her before.’

‘You reckon that narrows it down?’ Honey snorted. ‘She was good, you know. The men who went with her, they often came back for more.’

‘And one of them might have killed her. We need to try to identify them. See if any of them have a record of violence against women. Will you come back to the station and look at some photographs for me?’