It hadn’t been quite that easy – by three in the morning there had still been no sign of the lawyer, and until the preliminary hearing scheduled for noon there didn’t seem much chance of any of them getting released. It didn’t matter much, since they were in a long row of adjacent cells, and the girls – however frightened they really were – took things in good part, calling out to each other, whistling to keep their spirits up, even briefly having a sing-along, until the duty sergeant came along and told them to pipe down. After which they curled up on their respective bunks and settled in for the night.
Which made Katya’s release so noticeable, since alone among the seven of them she got called, by the same duty sergeant, and brought out from the cell. ‘You’re free to go,’ the officer said grumpily, giving her back the small handbag she’d been made to hand over when they’d booked her and the other girls.
‘What about my friends?’
‘What about them?’
‘Aren’t they getting out too?’
The duty sergeant shook his head. ‘Not as far as I know. What’s the problem – do you want to go back to your cell?’
It would have been better if she had, Katya reflected, as she opened the front door to her home. Her housemates were still asleep and she crept in quietly. It wasn’t that much later – or earlier depending on your time frame – than her usual return home after the club’s closing.
She was worried about being the only one released. It must have been Halliday’s doing, she decided. Hadn’t he told her he would look after her? But she wished he hadn’t done it this way. The other girls were bound to wonder what set her apart. They were loyal to her, but only up to a point. She did her best to look after them, and she could protect them from the drunks or abusers or the ones who didn’t want to pay. But there was no disguising the nature of the operation upstairs in Slim’s, and any girl who thought her duties stopped at serving drinks didn’t last long – which meant an ignominious return to Dagestan, since none of them had papers that would enable them to find a proper job.
Katya knew this, since she had come to the UK originally by the same route and found herself in the same position. Back in Dagestan the offer had seemed irresistible: Come and be a hostess in a deluxe club in glamorous Manchester. Earn five times the wage you are earning now. Meet interesting powerful people and live a life of Western luxury.
She knew the come-on lines by heart now, since she used them herself when she was sent home to recruit new girls. Occasionally when she was interviewing a girl who seemed particularly sweet and likeable, she tried to hint that perhaps the job wouldn’t be quite what it seemed; that maybe the girl should have a long think about what was on offer before accepting. But Dagestan was dire; no one under the age of thirty could see their future in a positive light, and the girls she saw didn’t want to know that the West was not the land of milk and honey; that men could be just as exploitative in Manchester as in Makhachkala; that the money on offer would go mainly to pay the rent charged for their squalid shared rooms, or in ‘fees’ for nebulous services to the owner of Slim’s.
Now she hesitated for a moment in the hall, wondering if she should have a cup of tea, then decided to go upstairs. Normally she would head straight to bed, but she felt grimy after her time in the cells, and went and ran a bath, closing the bathroom door so as not to wake the other girls in the house. She was pleasantly surprised to see that Michele, the French girl who always had a bath late at night, had for once cleaned the bath after using it.
Katya lay and soaked for a while, wondering if by now the other girls had been let out. She hoped so, as otherwise she knew they would be wondering why Katya had been released. And if word got round it would be certain to be picked up by Émile – he was cat-like, that man, always lurking nearby, avid for gossip. And Émile would never keep news like that to himself, which meant he would tell… Katya shuddered, and quickly got out of the bath.
She managed to fall asleep, half waking when the other residents of the little house got up and went to work, then falling asleep again. When she finally rose it was just past noon.
Downstairs the kitchen was in its usual post-breakfast disarray – used cereal bowls and half-drunk mugs of tea and coffee. She opened the back door to air the place and started tidying up – her housemates were younger than Katya, and, just as at work, she looked after them. Maybe someday she’d have her own children to look after, but in the meantime she did not mind looking after girls younger and less worldly than herself. Michele in particular seemed in need of sisterly advice, especially when she expressed interest in ditching her boring secretarial job and coming to work at Slim’s, something Katya had so far managed to steer her away from.
She had just finished with the leftover dishes when she heard the postman push the mail through the letter box slot. No point rushing to see it; bills and more bills would be lying on the mat. But a minute later she thought she heard a tap at the front door, so this time she left the kitchen and went out into the hall. She opened the front door, but there was nobody there – she must have imagined the noise. Then she bent down and picked up the post, examining it as she walked back to the kitchen. There was one envelope for her, which she was opening when she came into the kitchen again, not paying much attention. It took a moment to notice the man now sitting at the kitchen table, and she jumped when she saw him.
‘You startled me,’ she said, feeling flustered at first, then fearful as she realised who it was.
‘Did I now?’ said Lester Jackson mildly. ‘Maybe you were expecting the police instead of me.’
‘Why would I be expecting them?’ Katya managed to say.
Jackson shrugged. ‘There has to be someone in the force you’re friends with. Seeing as you were the first one sprung last night. Why don’t you sit down and tell me who your friend is?’
He gestured at the chair next to him, and Katya stiffened. ‘I would, Mr Jackson, but I have to go out now…’
Jackson was smiling as he shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Sit down, Katya,’ and there was something so steely in his voice that reluctantly she did.
‘Now,’ Jackson continued, his voice mild again. ‘Was it DCI Lansley or DCI Robertson? Or is it your friend from Special Branch – maybe Detective Halliday?’
When the French girl Michele came back from work later that day she was surprised to find the front door of the house unlocked. She went in and called out for Katya, who was usually at home at this time, getting dressed for work at the club. Michele didn’t care what Katya said; Slim’s sounded fun, and a thousand times more exciting than her own job, typing the correspondence of a fat and unsuccessful property developer. She was going to tackle Katya again about it; Michele knew she was attractive enough to work at Slim’s – it was only the older woman who was standing in her way.
‘Katya,’ she called out, but there was no reply. Funny that, thought Michele, as she walked towards the kitchen at the back of the house. She couldn’t remember the last time Katya wasn’t at home when she came back from work.
And sure enough, Katya was at home – and in the kitchen too. It was when Michele found her that the screaming started.
Chapter 26
Dinner alone. God knows, Martin was used to it, but it seemed strange to have seen Liz only so briefly in Paris, considering how close they had become. He knew that she found it awkward to be working so closely with him, and particularly to be the cause of delaying what she knew Martin had been working for years to achieve, the trial and conviction of Antoine Milraud. He saw that she had been relieved to go straight back to London the other evening after seeing Milraud, and though he understood the reason why, it made him sad.