“I don’t know where they come from, Skip, but for most of them this is the end of the line.”
He grunted.
“What exactly are we doing here, Skip?”
“We’re showing a police presence. It’s good for the troops on the ground and the front pages in the morning. And of course, we can keep our eyes open for weirdos. Not the weirdo, mind you, he’ll be long gone, but any weirdo will do.”
“They’re all weirdos. Show me someone normal around here.” “She’ll do for a start. Pull over.”
Wendy slid the car to stop beside a forty-something woman. She wore a black miniskirt, black high-heeled pointed boots, black patterned hosiery and black lipstick that, as she smiled, cut her face in half.
“’Ello Mikey, don’t ‘ave to ask what you’re doin’ daaahn ‘ere, do I? You arfta anover discount, are you?” She leant down toward his open window and rested a thin white arm on the door. Light from the sex shop behind her gathered in the fair hairs on her forearm. “Now, now, Elizabeth, don’t give me Mikey or even the micky. There’s people here who might not understand your sense of humour and go off telling others that I’m a customer.”
“Oooh, Mikey, are you insinuating that I’m a strumpet? Everyone knows that men with a todger as big as yours gets it for free.” She leant down a bit further so that her white blouse sagged and showed him her dark nipples. She looked across at the grinning PC. “’Ello, Wendy darlin’, you all right? You’re not getting sexually harassed by this man are you?”
“I’m all right, Lizzy. I can hold my own.”
“Yes, darling, I’ve heard you can. Better than most, I heard. Well, darling, even so, if he asks you to take it up the arse make sure you get a decent dinner out of it. None of this Big Mac Pizza House shit.” “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Mike Wilson tapped his nose. “You heard about the business back there?”
“Who hasn’t, darling? It’s all over the Square. All the plods knocking about is messing with the trade. We’re thinking of reporting you to the Department of Trade and Industry.”
“Didn’t see anything, hear anything?”
“Not a thing, darling. First we knew about it was the ambulance.” “What about last night?”
“That was just a one-off at the time so it didn’t cause a stir. Oneoffs is happening all the time, you know that. Disgruntled punters or pissed-off managers who think you’re holding back. But these girls are civvies. They wouldn’t know a trick from a treat.”
“Be a good girl and ask around.”
“For you Mikey, anything. If there’s so much as a whisper I’ll be in touch.”
“Appreciate it.”
She gave him an intimate little smile while her eyes brimmed with melancholy. She blinked and looked across at Wendy again. “You take good care of him, Wendy darling. He’s one in a million.” With that she stood upright and faded into a crowd that had gathered outside the sexshop window.
PC Wendy Booth slid the car back into traffic. Lizzy’s final look had opened a tap of emotion and she swallowed hard before finding her voice. “First time I’ve heard a pimp called a manager.” She threw him a sideways glance. “One in a million, eh?”
“These girls are very astute. You could learn a few things, Wendy Booth.”
“If ever I want evening classes, Skip, I’ll know where to come.” “Don’t you fancy me, then, PC Booth?”
“I do, I do, and I’m having to hold myself back from jumping all over you, but I’m great mates with your wife and I love your three kids to bits so I’ll just have to live with it.”
Sergeant Mike Wilson nodded and said, “Right. So you’re a lesbian then, are you?”
Chapter 9
Eleven years ago Donna Fitzgerald had joined the force as a seventeenyearold cadet. It had been her ambition for as long as she could remember and she had never considered an alternative career. She had passed the interviews, the physical and psychometric tests and joined the force in August, she remembered, the month that produced the worst crime figures. She was also reasonably happy to be one of the few officers at Sheerham schooled in the bedside manner; hers was the sympathetic ear for the victims of rape and domestic violence and other serious sexual assaults. She could have been part of a Sapphire Unit and might even have been a substantive DC by now but that she was still in uniform was her own choice. She had learned long ago that CID was not for her. She had, nevertheless, accepted the role of chaperon and learned the gentle touch technique.
Behind it lay the urgent requirement for information, the gentle prod, encouragement, we're all girls together and all men are bastards, and so on. You made notes afterwards, once you'd milked them and sent them off to Victim Support. It was a job and you'd heard it all before. You were a copper. The freezing process began on day one. Donna Fitzgerald was on the wind-down of her shift when the duty sergeant caught her. She was adjusting her heavy belt kit – extendable metal asp, quick-cuffs, CS spray, torch and radio – non-digital for Sheerham didn’t run to the upgraded 390Mhz and the Tetra network – and was making her slow way to the locker room when she caught sight of his scrawny features, recognized the look in his sly eyes and felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. The prospect of a DVD and a few vods after a Chinese diminished as his footsteps on the corridor floor grew louder.
“Got one that's right up your street, Donna.”
She pulled a face. “Skipper, I'm on my way home.”
He smiled gleefully, enjoying himself. “You mean you were, lass. We're stretched. Another woman has been attacked. It sounds like the same guy.”
She’d already heard. The news had been all over the radio. Twenty-four hours earlier a woman named Carol Sapolsky had been knifed in what appeared to be a seemingly random attack. The police were still looking for a motive and some return from a hastily arranged appeal for information from the public.
She brushed some creases from the leg of her uniform and noticed the front of her body armour was streaked with cigarette ash. She fiddled with her regulation clip-on tie and tried to swallow from a dry mouth.
The sergeant read her thoughts. “Get rid of all that armour and grab yourself a cup of refreshing tea which you can drink on the way. Don’t want you frightening her to death, do we? Not before you get some details. Get down to the North Mid as quickly as possible and get me something before they start. Make sure you don’t catch MRSA or something.”
Once the medical examination began the police would have to wait. In the case of assault by a stranger the trail went cold quickly. It was called the golden hour. An hour could make all the difference. Donna hitched her belt and threw him a tight-lipped look that pleased him no end. He watched her arse all the way out until a door swung shut and cut the view. lain-clothed.
The incident room was makeshift, an old changing room. All the junk had been cleared and the steel lockers were restricting the corridor outside. In their place were VDUs, telephones, desks, and portable screens covered with photographs and maps of the SOCs.
When Detective Superintendent Baxter walked in the chatter stopped. He was an overweight man in dark suit and tie. Spectacles enlarged his brown eyes.
“OK, everyone, thanks for getting here so quickly. It's appreciated.
I know it's Christmas and sixteen-hour days are not an attractive proposition, but think of the overtime. For those of you who don't know, I'm the super. My name's Tony Baxter.” He sounded fine but self-assurance and the keen attention he received from the locals, left his credentials in little doubt. He went on, “This is DI Rick Cole. He'll be SIO on this. Chas Walker is exhibits officer. Peter Wood has come from the Yard to help out. David Carter is from Tottenham. Get this sorted quickly and you can all go home. I'm transferring PC Donna Fitzgerald for the duration. She's going to be chaperon. She's got the hard bit, the victims.”
Chas Walker asked, “So where's Donna now?” He was uneasy.