Birdman

'She left her stuff here, didn't you wonder?'

'Why would I? When she moved in here it was with just her make-up, ghetto blaster, a few syringes, y'know, the usual.'

'Did you wonder if something had gone wrong?'

'No.' He shook his head. 'No. We were near our end anyway. It weren't no big surprise to me when she never come back that night…' His voice trailed off. He looked from Essex to Caffery and back again. 'Hey,' he said, suddenly nervous. 'What're you getting at here?' When neither replied something dawned in Harrison's eyes. He hurriedly lit the cigarette, inhaling deeply. 'I'm not going to want to hear this, am I? Come on. You better say it quick. What is she? Dead or something?'

'Yes.'

'Yes, what?'

'Dead.'

'God.' The blood drained from his face. He dropped onto the sofa. 'I should have guessed. I should've guessed the moment I saw you. A fucking overdose.'

'Probably not an overdose. Probably looking at an unlawful killing.'

Harrison stared at Caffery without blinking. Then, as if he could protect himself from the words, his hands went up to his ears. Pale pink needle tracks were visible on the white forearms.

'Jesus,' he forced out. 'Jesus, I can't—' He sucked hard on the Silk Cut, his eyes watering. 'Wait there,' he said suddenly, leapt up and disappeared into the corridor.

Caffery and Essex looked at each other for a moment. They could hear him shuffling round in the bedroom, drawers being opened. Essex spoke first.

'Didn't know. Did he?'

'No.'

They were silent for a moment. Someone below had woken and was firing up the stereo. Trance, the sort of thing Caffery had heard a thousand times interviewing around clubs when he was in CID. He shifted in his seat. 'What the hell's he doing in there?'

'I don't know…' Essex trailed off. 'Jesus, you don't think—'

'Shit.' Caffery jumped up and in the hallway slammed the flat of his hand against the bedroom door. 'Don't fucking shoot up on me, Barry,' he shouted. 'Can you hear me? Don't fucking do it. I'll have you for it.'

The door opened and Harrison's face appeared, immobile. 'You can't do me for jellies. They're prescription. Before the ban.' Holding the inside of his left elbow he pushed past them into the living room. Caffery followed, swearing softly.

'We need to speak to you. We can't do it if you're ripped to the tits.'

'I'm more use to you on it than off. I'll be clearer.'

'Clearer,' Essex muttered and shook his head.

Harrison dropped himself onto the sofa and pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around his calves in a strangely girl-like way. 'Spent most of my time with Shellene stoned.' He tilted his head back. For a moment Caffery thought he was going to cry. Instead he tightened his mouth and said, 'OK. Tell me. Where was she?'

'South-east.'

'Greenwich?'

Caffery looked up. 'Yeah. How d'you know?'

Harrison dropped his arms and shook his head. 'She was always hanging around there. Most of her work was down there. And when? When did it happen?'

'We found her yesterday morning.'

'Yeah but, you know—' He coughed. 'When did she—'

'About the time you last saw her.'

'Shit.' Harrison sighed. He lit another cigarette and pulled on it, dropping his head back, exhaling smoke towards the ceiling. 'Go on then, let's get it over with. What d'you want to know?'

Caffery sat on the sofa arm and fished his notepad out of his jacket. 'This is a statement, all right, so tell me now if you're too off your face to do it.' When Harrison didn't reply, Caffery nodded. 'OK, I'm taking that as a go-ahead. DS Essex here is our family liaison officer, he'll be the one you contact whenever you deal with us. He's going to stay with you after I've gone, go through the statement with you, ask you to help us contact Shellene's family. We want details till they're coming out of our ears: what she was wearing, what make-up she used, what underwear she had on, did she prefer EastEnders or the Street.' He stopped. 'And I suppose it's a waste of time him getting you in to see a CDT counsellor? Stop you turning your veins into pebbles?'

Harrison put his hand to his head. 'Jesus.'

'Thought so.' He sighed. 'Now, do you know where Shellene was going that night?'

'One of her pubs. She had a gig.'

'Name?'

'Dunno. Ask her agent.'

'Who is?'

'Who is Little Darlings.'

'Little Darlings?'

'Not well named, trust me on that. It's Earl's Court way.'

'OK. And any other names? Anyone she hung out with?'

'Yeah.' Harrison stuck the Silk Cut between his teeth. 'There was Julie Darling, agent.' He counted the names off on his fingers. 'And the girls — Pussy, funny how there's always a Pussy, isn't it? And Pinky and Tracy or Lacey or some shite, Petra and Betty and that—' He slammed his hands down on his knees, suddenly angry. 'That makes six, and that is the sum total of what I knew about Shellene's life, and you tell me that you're surprised I never reported her missing, like I knew or something, you bunch of fucking wankers—'

'OK, OK. Take it easy.'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah.' He was exasperated. 'I'm taking it easy. Fucking easy.' He turned and stared out of the window. No-one spoke for a moment. Harrison gazed out at the roofs of the Mile End Road, the greenish domes of Spiegelhalter's emporium high in the blue. A pigeon landed on the balcony and Harrison shucked his shoulders, sighed and turned to Caffery.

'OK.'

'What?'

'You better tell me now.'

'Tell you what?'

'You know. Did the cunt rape her?'

* * *

The sun had put Caffery into a better mood by the time he got to Mackelson Mews, Earl's Court. He found the agency easily: LITTLE DARLINGS on the door in peeling gold stick-on letters.

Julie Darling was a small woman in her mid-forties, shiny dyed-black hair cut in a neat page, her nose improbably tiny on the taut face. She was dressed in a strawberry-pink velour jogging suit and matching high-heeled mule slippers and she held her head up and back as if balancing an invisible glass as she led Caffery through the cork-tiled hallway. A white Persian cat, disturbed by Jack's presence, scampered ahead of them into an open doorway. Caffery heard a man's voice speaking to it in the depth of the room.

'My husband,' Julie said expressionlessly. 'I got him in Japan twenty years ago.' She closed the door. Caffery had a brief glimpse of a huge man in a vest, seated on the edge of a bed, scratching his stomach with the lugubriousness of a walrus. The room was lit dimly by the sun coming through a crack in the curtains. 'American air force,' she whispered, as if that explained why he wouldn't be joining them.

Caffery followed her into the office: a low-ceilinged room, brilliant sunlight coming through two small leaded windows. A bee buzzed in the window boxes, and beyond them a red E-type basked in the sun. Somewhere in the mews someone was practising arpeggios on a piano.

'Well.' Julie sat at her desk, crossed her legs and regarded him thoughtfully. 'Caffery. Now there's a name. Are you Irish?'

He smiled. 'Probably, generations back. County Tyrone via Liverpool.'

'Dark hair, dark blue eyes. Typical Irish. My mother always warned me off the Irish boys. ''If they're not stupid they're dangerous, Julie.'''

'I hope you listened, Miss, uh, Darling.'

'It's my real name.'

'Yes.' He put his hands in his pockets and looked up at the low ceiling. It was covered in glossy publicity photographs, countless faces staring down at him. 'I'd like to hear what you can tell me about—' He stopped.

Under a smiling blond face the name was printed. Shellene Craw.

So that's what you looked like.