Black Daffodil (Trevor Joseph Detective series) (9 page)

‘When you were asking him inane questions when I wanted to get to the estate agent’s – yes.’

‘You didn’t notice?’

‘I’m not in the mood for guessing games.’

‘You didn’t take a good look at the guy who stared at us when he tried to push past by the swimming pool?’

Trevor thought for a moment. ‘He was overweight …’

‘Not so overweight that he didn’t galvanise himself and dress in record time so he could follow us to the door and watch us climb into our car.’ Peter slipped his hand into the pocket of his bathrobe and brought out his mobile phone. He flicked it to camera, then photographs, called one up and showed it to Trevor. ‘Lloyd Jones.’

‘You recognised him?’

‘How could I? I’d never seen him before the club and now this recording. But he was watching us and he looked shifty …’

‘Shifty isn’t evidence,’ Trevor reminded him. ‘That gym isn’t far from the penthouse. Perhaps it’s the best around.’

‘Could be all he wants to do is build muscle and tone up,’ Peter agreed. ‘Living with a boy with the looks of Damian Darrow wouldn’t be easy for the likes of Lloyd Jones when it comes to reeling in girls. But for all that there’s something about him that’s ringing my alarm bells.’

‘We haven’t much time before we’re due at the casino. Do you want to watch the interview?’ Trevor didn’t wait for Peter to reply. He pressed play.

‘Did you see either Jake Phillips or Alec Hodges take any illegal substances at the party, Mr Jones?’

‘No.’
Lloyd’s hands shook as he answered.

‘Did you see Alec Hodges lying on the floor of the corridor?’

‘Yes’

‘Did you check him?’

‘I saw that he was breathing. I thought he was drunk.’

‘You’ve seen Alec Hodges drunk before?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Often?’

‘No more often than the rest of us.’

‘Where were you when Jake Phillips was thrown from that window?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You can’t recall?’

‘I don’t know when he went out of the window.’

‘He’s been coached,’ Peter commented.

‘Who told you what had happened to Jake?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know every much do you, Mr Jones?’

‘It was a party. I was busy.’

‘Doing what?’

‘I was with a girl.’

‘Her name?’

‘She didn’t tell me.’

‘You didn’t ask?’

‘No.’

‘How long were you with her?’

‘An hour or so.’

And you didn’t ask her name?’

‘It was a party.’

‘Who invited her?’

‘She was one of Damian’s girls … friends.’

‘“Damian’s girls”.’ Peter repeated. ‘It’s easy to see who’s top dog in that penthouse.’

‘All four living in Damian Darrow’s penthouse were heavily subsidised by Damian.’ Trevor sipped his beer.

‘Lloyd Jones seems more nervous than the interview warrants.’

‘He could be the nervous type.’

‘More likely simply lying.’ Peter took the remote from Trevor and pressed play.

The solicitor – the same woman who had sat with Damian briefly conferred with Lloyd before shaking her head.

‘Supplied by the Darrows?’ Peter asked Trevor.

‘I’ll check with Dan.’

‘Were you aware that some people were taking banned substances at the party?’

‘I saw people taking pills and smoking spliffs on the balcony. But they were all doing it out of Damian’s sight …’

‘I do
so
love a good fairytale, ‘Peter mocked.

‘I didn’t take any and I didn’t force anything on anybody. I’ve given a blood and urine test … I didn’t want any of this to happen.. Not to Jake and not to Alec … I hate drugs … so did Jake … we warned Alec but he always wanted to
experiment. Said it broadened the mind and Jake and I were small-minded petty jumped-up working-class arseholes…’
Lloyd’s shoulders began to shake. His sagging, bulbous, nondescript features crumpled and he sobbed uncontrollably.

‘End of interview with Mr Lloyd Jones. We are awaiting the results of blood and urine tests for drugs and alcohol …’

‘“I didn’t take any and I didn’t force anything on anybody?” Strange choice of words when you consider what happened.’ Peter dumped his empty beer bottles in the bin next to the sink.

Trevor ejected the disk. ‘That gives us something to think about.’

‘Want me to lock this in my safe?’ Peter returned the disk to the box as Trevor closed down the machine.

‘We’ll post it through the estate agent’s letter box on the way to the parlour.’ Trevor turned as the door handle moved. Quicker than Peter, he unlocked the door and opened it. A startled maid looked from him to Peter, and turned crimson.

‘I brought clean towels, Mr Brown.’ She thrust them at him and ran.

Peter burst out laughing. ‘Look at us.’

They were both wearing hotel bathrobes.

Peter draped his arm around Trevor’s shoulders. ‘Well, sweetheart. I guess word will get out. Not only are we a couple of tough drug dealers, but gay tough drug dealers. I like it. It gives me an excuse to sit back and do nothing when we visit the parlour.’

‘Gays don’t visit parlours.’ Trevor shrugged off Peter’s hand.

‘Latent gays do. This adds a whole new dimension to my character.’

Trevor narrowed his eyes in exasperation. ‘Make believe, Peter. Make believe.’

Chapter Nine

Trevor slipped his card key in the top pocket of his suit and checked the name of the parlour Dan had given him before folding the paper and pushing it into the hidden space in his wallet. He opened the safe, took out seven hundred pounds and the American Express credit card before punching in the code he’d chosen – Lyn’s birthday – and locking it.

Peter walked through the door that connected the two suites, dressed in a dark green casual suit.

‘What
are
you wearing?’ Trevor asked.

Peter looked down. ‘I’m not sure about the colour either. The shirt’s nice though, linen …’

Trevor sniffed. ‘I’m talking cologne, not clothes.’

‘I don’t know what it’s called. The bottle was in my suitcase.’

‘Stick to the complimentary stuff in your bathroom,’ Trevor advised. ‘You smell like a Turkish brothel.’

‘And what would you know about a Turkish brothel?’

‘Not much,’ Trevor admitted.

‘Ever been to Turkey?’

‘Istanbul, twice.’

‘Ah-hah! Caught you out.’

‘Ah-hah nothing.’ Trevor was irritated by the knowing grin on Peter’s face. ‘I went there years ago with Mags.’ Trevor fell silent. It had been years ago. And he couldn’t recall the last time he had thought of, or spoken about, his previous and only live-in girlfriend before Lyn.

‘Mags – there’s a blast from the past.’

‘A cool one. You know something,’ Trevor was genuinely surprised. ‘I can’t remember what she looked like.’

‘Since the divorce I’ve managed to blot out every memory I had of my wife, which is just as well. There weren’t any pleasant ones – not after we married. Do you want to take the car or a taxi?’

Trevor hesitated and replayed the conversation they’d just exchanged in his mind. It had been personal. They had to be more careful. Had either of them said anything Trevor Brown or Peter Ashton wouldn’t? They were both supposed to be divorced so Peter’s reference to his ex-wife was fine. Mags? There were Turkish stamps in Brown’s passport and Brown could have had a dozen girls in his past called Mags …

‘We’ll walk. I’ve checked the street map. It’s not far.’ He looked Peter in the eye and Peter gave a slight nod to show he understood. Believing themselves safe in the bathroom they had let their guard down when they’d been watching the DVD – and afterwards – had the maid been listening at the door?

She’d tried the door handle, which had alerted them. That suggested she hadn’t been. But probability wasn’t good enough undercover. They had to be more careful. An instant, that’s all it took to lose a cover – a case – and in an extreme cases a life.

‘The girls who come highly recommended are Kelly, Lucy, Ally and Cynara. I’ve been told on good authority they cater for our tastes.’

‘Cynara? Dowson’s poem Cynara?’

‘She’s a redhead.’ Trevor crossed to the bar and checked there was beer in the fridge for later. ‘You read poetry now?’

‘You’re not the only man in the world who possesses a poetry book. Good name for a working girl, Cynara. Says it in one. “For I have loved thee Cynara in my fashion”. You playing tonight?’

‘Roulette,’ Trevor said decisively.

‘The mug’s game.’

‘Only for losers. I feel Lady Luck blowing my way.’

‘Bet you a grand, my winnings will be up on yours this time next week whatever game you opt for,’ Peter dared recklessly.

‘We start even.’

‘I’m not carrying my loss forward?’

‘I was hoping.’

‘No chance. Bet on or off.’

Trevor held out his hand. ‘On.’

Peter shook Trevor’s hand. ‘Now I have to think of something I can do with that grand to rub your nose in it.’

The massage parlour Dan had ordered them to visit was, like Eric Darrow’s casino, sumptuous, up-market and had the stamp of the same Hollywood-inspired interior designer. Whichever dummy company was ostensibly running it, Darrow’s influence was evident. Thick cream carpets, antique green and gold washed walls, reception area furnished with French Empire desk and cream leather armchairs, soft piped music and erotic, artist-signed prints on the walls.

A middle-aged woman, dressed in a business suit, was sitting behind the desk filing her nails when Trevor and Peter walked in. She set the file aside and gave them a professional smile.

‘Good evening, sirs. And how may I help you?’

Trevor gritted his teeth. That phrase again! ‘A friend recommended this as a good place to relax.’

‘A friend, sir?’ Her smile hardened.

‘A Mr Smith?’

The woman’s smile broadened. ‘We offer discretion above all else.’ She handed each of them a cream leather folder. Our catalogues, photographs of our masseurs, and price lists. We accept all major credit cards.’ She showed them into a small ante-room, furnished in the same style as the reception area. ‘Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Wine?’

‘We’re fine, thank you,’ Trevor sat down.

She closed the door. They flicked through the lists of girls.

Peter hit a photograph with his forefinger. ‘I’ll take Kelly for a massage.’

Trevor nodded. From her photograph Kelly looked young and vulnerable. Despite his hard-boiled exterior, Peter had a track record of extracting information from the bullied, put-upon waifs and strays that formed an inevitable part of the criminal fraternity. ‘I’ll go for Lucy.’

‘More your type,’ Peter teased. ‘Older, harder, brassier … more silicone …’

Trevor picked up the phone. ‘Two straight massages, Lucy and Kelly.’

‘Straight massages, sir?’ she repeated in surprise. ‘Lucy is a very talented girl who usually works out of our executive suites. And Kelly has regulars who like her number three. I recommend her …’

Trevor glanced down the menu. ‘We really do want number ones, just a massage,’ he reiterated.

‘Number ones it is, sir.’ The tone suggested their custom wasn’t worth bothering with.

Deciding they may need more time to talk to the girls Trevor added, ‘It’s possible we may change our minds. In which case we’ll make a financial adjustment.’

‘A straight massage will be seventy pounds each for thirty minutes. You may leave your credit cards at the desk and pick them up when you have finished.’

‘It says fifty.’

‘There is a minimum charge of seventy pounds at peak times, irrespective of menu. The girls will be topless.’

‘And, if we don’t want them topless?’ Trevor didn’t know why he was arguing. It wasn’t as though it was his money that he and Peter were spending. A streak of prudery born out of his close, loving relationship with Lyn?

‘The girls can leave their tops on, if you prefer, but there’ll be no reduction.’

Trevor hung up. He and Peter left the ante-room, went into reception and handed over their credit cards. Trevor opened his wallet, pulled out a twenty pound note and gave it to the receptionist. She looked at it quizzically.

‘Your tip.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ If she found the gratuity strange after Trevor’s argument over the fee she didn’t comment. She handed each of them thick, lavender-scented bath sheets. ‘I’ll show you to your rooms. The girls will be with you in a few minutes.’

Trevor removed his suit and shirt and wrapped the towel around his waist, over his boxer shorts. If he could be certain that Lucy wouldn’t be using oil, he would have left his trousers on. He stretched his muscles. His shoulders were tense, but he doubted Lucy was a trained masseur.

‘Hi, I’m Lucy. I hope you like having fun.’ Lucy, who was as well-endowed as her photograph suggested, joined him. She was wearing a pink G string, a smile and nothing else. Trevor noticed that she was as muscle-bound as a body-builder.

He sat on the couch which was twice as wide as a standard masseur’s. ‘Shoulder massage.’

‘Why don’t we go into one of the executive suites,’ she cooed. ‘They cost a little more but they have hot tubs. We’ll be more comfortable there. And, there’s one special suite that caters for …’ she licked her lips, ‘… interesting tastes.’

‘I want a shoulder massage and I have an appointment in half an hour.’

‘Can’t you phone them and delay it.’

‘There’s a twenty in it, if you stop the hard sell,’ he interrupted.

She pouted. ‘It’s your choice – and loss.’ Her tone changed and lost its warmth. ‘Lie face down and I’ll loosen you up. Coconut or olive?’

He looked at her over his shoulder.

‘Oil.’

‘Coconut. There is a shower in there?’ He eyed the inner door.

‘Of course. And for an extra tenner on the tip you’re going to give me, I’ll scrub your back. And for an extra twenty I’ll …’

Peter stripped to his shorts, covered himself with the towel and was sitting on the couch when Kelly came in wearing a thong. She was so thin below her pert, silicone-enhanced breasts he could count every rib.

He’d been prepared for someone young, but not a child who should have been in school. He looked into her eyes but her pupils weren’t dilated. He couldn’t see any obvious signs of needle marks on her arms or track lines on her back. Had she managed to stay off mainlining? So far?

‘We have an executive suite with a hot tub …’

‘Spare me the sales pitch, love. I really do just want a massage.’

‘We get paid …’

‘I know how you get paid.’ He pulled his wallet out from under him, and peeled off five twenty pound notes. ‘Your tip.’

‘For a massage?’ Her eyes rounded.

‘A friend mentioned your name.’

She was instantly wary. ‘Who?’

‘Like me, he’s a friend of Jake Phillips.’

‘Jake …’ She backed towards the door, dispelling any notion he’d had that Dan had sent them on a wild goose chase.

‘The door’s closed. No one is listening,’ he said, more in an attempt to find out if anyone was, than to reassure her. He didn’t doubt that the girls would know if the rooms were bugged. ‘I’d like to know what happened to Jake last Saturday night. You were there. Weren’t you?’

Kelly turned her back on him and headed for the door. For an instant he thought she was going to run. Instead, she sank down on the floor, buried her face in her hands, and burst into tears.

‘Why you asking about the party last Saturday night? You weren’t there, were you?’ Lucy squinted suspiciously at Trevor.

‘I heard about it.’

‘Given the TV and newspaper coverage, you’d have to be blind and deaf or an idiot not to know about it.’

‘Must have been some party. Did you enjoy it?’

‘I’m a working girl. It was work.’

‘I know Alec and Jake …’

‘I don’t.’ Her retort was too quick.

‘But you
were
at the party?’

‘So were a lot of others.’

You’re a working girl who gets around.’

She eyed him cautiously. ‘You a copper?’

He turned the question back on her. ‘Do I look like a copper?’

‘Can’t tell these days.’

‘I’m self-employed.’

‘If you say so. You paid for a massage. That’s what you’re going to get. Talk is extra.’ She dribbled oil on to his back and began pounding. As he’d suspected, she didn’t have a clue about massage. He felt as though he was in a steam press.

Trevor tried another tack. ‘I asked about the party because it seemed like a good marketing idea.’

‘You in marketing?’

‘No. But I’m thinking of moving to the Bay.’

‘And setting up a parlour?’

‘Not my line of work, but it pays to entertain prospective clients.’ Trevor winced as she knuckled his back.

‘What business you in?’

‘Now who’s asking the questions?’

‘Business people on the Bay like to help each other out.’

‘You own this parlour?’

She snorted. ‘I wish.’

‘Does the owner organise parties for clients?’

‘This is a strictly on the premises parlour. And we don’t do house calls either.’ She moved from one side of the couch to the other, and pulled a curtain across to screen it from the rest of the cubicle.

Trevor had time to catch a glimpse of a small indent in the ceiling and he guessed there were hidden cameras the girls knew about and could block out. He suspected there were others they weren’t aware of. One of the biggest sources of amateur porn films was brothels.

‘I’ve finished your back. Want me to do your front? We don’t have to tell anyone. That tip you said you’ll give me …’

‘No, do my back again.’

‘You will give me twenty?’

Trevor reached for the wallet he’d tucked into the towel.

Lucy lifted her hands to her hair. A business card floated down and landed on his wallet. The name Lucy was printed above a mobile number. He looked quizzically at her. She lifted a finger to her lips. He slipped the card into his wallet.

‘Here,’ he took a twenty-pound note from his wallet, but held on to it. ‘I’ll make it forty if you’ll tell me, where I can get some of these Black Daffodils everyone is talking about?’

Her voice hardened. ‘What makes you think I know anything about Black Daffodil?’

‘Bright girl like you, working here on the Bay. You see things. Know people. Who do I see?’

She snatched the note. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.’

Instinct told him she knew something. But she clearly wasn’t prepared to talk. Was it because she was implicated in the assault on Jake? Had someone threatened her? Or bought her silence?

She didn’t seem the type that would frighten easily. He looked pointedly at his watch. ‘Ten minutes I have to be off and I’ll need five of those for a shower.’

‘Come on love,’ Peter coaxed Kelly. ‘Crying isn’t going to help Jake or you.’

Kelly swallowed her tears and wiped her nose in her hand. Peter handed her the towel, reached for his clothes and began to dress.

‘You’ve been so nice. I have to …’

‘You don’t have to do anything, love,’ Peter pulled on his trousers and zipped them up, before buttoning his shirt. ‘Sit down.’ He lifted her up on to the couch. She was so light and fragile he was afraid of crushing her.

‘No one was ever nice to me before except Jake. He was lovely, a really kind man and … and … he’s …’

‘If Jake was as kind as you say he was, he wouldn’t want you to carry on like this.’ Peter slipped his arm around Kelly’s shoulders and hugged her.