No Questions Asked (8 page)

‘Oh … kay. I think I follow that’.

‘What I’m saying Adrian, is that they think they’re more grown up than they are. I don’t envy you in your task mate and I don’t think there’s a rulebook for how to approach it’.

The Paradise club was down a Stockport side street just off the main shopping area to the east of the A6. It was one of those places that had been built like a Tardis. There was a narrow entrance door behind a tiny porch the walls of which were covered in a kind of cheap looking see though black material that was probably meant to look sophisticated. Two bouncers stood outside and once they’d looked Adrian and Joe up and down something about their appearance must’ve made them believe they were alright and so they grunted and waved them in.

‘That’s a shame’ said Joe, quietly. ‘I was hoping to flash my warrant card straight away’.

‘There’ll be time, mate’ said Adrian. ‘Don’t you worry’    

Once inside the larger than anticipated room they were greeted by two hostesses in the shortest red skirts Joe had ever seen and their look was finished off with a silver bikini top and light silver slip-on heels. And they all had really long hair. Joe had noticed that straight away even before the sight of all the scantily clad legs had tempted his heterosexual reactions.

There were lounge chairs arranged around low round tables all along the four square walls. The bar was at the far end and of course the middle was taken up by a dance floor where there must’ve been a dozen or so topless girls dancing to some indeterminable music with a heavy bass beat that was pumping through the speakers like the sound of gun fire.  They were barefoot and only had on a pair of very skimpy knickers. Both Adrian and Joe noticed that the girls who were dancing on the laps of some of the customers weren’t touching them with their hands and the customers weren’t touching the girls at all. That was the rule in places like this. The clients knew that if he wanted to take things further with a particular girl then he had to make a private arrangement with her. It was too dark to see the faces of any of the clientele at least not properly. There could be men in there who either Adrian or Joe knew but it wouldn’t matter. They couldn’t be identified without switching all the lights on and that’s not what they were there for.  

‘Alright there gentlemen’ said the hostess in an indeterminable British accent. ‘We’ve got the native black or white English girls and we’ve also got Chinese plus some of our girls are from Poland, Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia. So if English isn’t your first language then I’m sure we can sort something out. All the dancers have a number on a bracelet round their wrist as you can see so just let us know who you’d like to come and pay you some of the attention that I know you deserve and we’ll sort it’.

‘We’re police officers’ said Joe who held up his warrant card followed by Adrian.

‘Oh it’s all within the law what we do here, officers, I mean I’m only here because I’m putting myself through Salford University where I’m studying to be a nurse and most of the girls here are doing it for the same sort of reason because few of us come from wealthy backgrounds and if we do then we’re here because our parents have disowned us for some reason and that’s normally to do with their problem and not ours and … I’m going on a bit, aren’t I? I’ll get the manager’.

The hostess led them down the side of the bar to a door which led onto a narrow staircase. Joe went up first followed by Adrian and at the top they turned to the left and went into a small office. The floor was almost shaking from the music below and sitting behind the very grand looking out of place desk was a guy of about thirty with a completely shaved head but stubble growth on his face and chin. He was in a light blue suit with an open necked white shirt.

‘I’d just like to say gentlemen that we run a very legitimate establishment here’ he said. ‘Any funny business and they’re out the door before you can say 999’.

Joe noted the heavy Liverpool accent. ‘And you are?’

‘Brett Collins’ he answered. He stood up and shook their hands. ‘I’m the manager here’.

Christ, thought Adrian. Talk about stereotypes. The guy looked just like the sort of lowlife who’d be running a lap dancing club. He’d probably done time as well and no doubt he thought he’d landed on his feet finding a job like this. He was the small fish in a big pond but if he was the manager then who owned this sordid den of iniquity?

‘I expect you’re here to talk to me about our Lucy?’

‘Our Lucy?’ Joe questioned.

‘The girls here are treated like family, detectives’ said Brett with a seriousness that made both Joe and Adrian smile although Brett didn’t notice. ‘It’s terrible what happened to poor little Bradley. My heart goes out to her it really does. We sent her a bunch of flowers and a card, you know. Nobody should have to go through that, especially not a girl like Lucy’.

‘How do you mean?’ asked Adrian. ‘A girl like Lucy?’

‘Look, Lucy isn’t the best at what we do here’ said Brett. ‘In fact compared to some of the other girls she wasn’t up to much at all. She wasn’t the best at putting herself forward if you see what I mean? She didn’t do herself any favours. Some of the girls get way more in tips than she does’.

‘And do all of them get asked for extra more private services?’ Adrian asked.

‘As a club we don’t get involved with any of that, detective’.

‘Oh come on’ said Adrian who didn’t believe a word of it. ‘Are you really expecting us to believe that you don’t cream off some of the extra cash the girls might make?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m expecting you to believe because it’s true’.

‘Tell us why we should believe you?’ said Joe.

‘Because I’m a man of my word, detective’ said Brett looking straight into Joe’s eyes with way more steel than his earlier casualness. ‘And I take great exception to the truth of my word being challenged’.

‘Well a swift trawl through your books will sort that out one way or another’ said Joe who hadn’t warmed to this Brett character at all. Did he really expect them to believe all the shit that was coming out of his mouth? He’d rather believe a politician when they’re making some kind of commitment. ‘I assume you’ll make your books available to us without us having to raise a warrant? I’m sure that if what you say is true there’ll be no cause for concern especially as you’re a man of your word’.

‘That will be no problem at all’ said Brett, flatly.

‘Why have you kept Lucy Thompson on if she wasn’t so good?’ asked Adrian.

‘Lucy has this way of making you feel sorry for her. She gets to you. I didn’t have the heart to get rid of her and she did bring in some punters’.

‘But I wouldn’t have thought that a place like this would’ve been able to afford or even be willing to carry someone who isn’t pulling their weight?’

‘Well like I said, detective, she does bring in some punters and we all genuinely like her’ said Brett.

The more Adrian listened to what Brett had to say about Lucy Thompson the more he believed they were being sold something. Something here just didn’t add up. Lap dancing clubs weren’t known for their compassionate employment policies. If a girl didn’t deliver the goods she was out and off the Christmas card list for good. So what was it about Lucy that made them keep her? What did she bring to the party that allowed her to keep hold of her job?

‘You must have many girls here who are struggling single Mums like Lucy was?’ Adrian questioned. ‘Don’t you?’

‘Yeah we do’ Brett confirmed. ‘But we also have a lot of girls who use the place to earn money to put themselves through university. They’re not from the kind of cozy middle class backgrounds that allow them to take a gap year. If they want to get somewhere they’ve got to work twice as hard as those from higher up the social scale. All these years of Labour in this area and they still haven’t sorted that one out. In fact, Labour politicians, especially Labour women politicians, look down on these girls for making ends meet the way they do. But I say that if Labour had done what they were supposed to have done in all the years they’ve been in power round here those girls I’m talking about wouldn’t be working in this club’.

Joe couldn’t help but see his point on that one. He wondered himself why so many areas in the northwest that were considered to be traditional Labour heartlands remained as deprived as they were thirty, forty, even fifty years ago. No wonder some of the people in those places were turning to other parties and questioning where their loyalty to the Labour party for decades had actually got them. It had got their daughters into places like this and all the middle class Labour women politicians who wouldn’t know a real working class struggle from a number 17 bus would shut places like this down if they could.   

‘Well the social commentary is interesting, Brett, but we’re in the middle of a murder investigation’ said Adrian.

‘Well what I’m trying to say, detectives, is that Lucy is an unremarkable employee who didn’t have any kind of dodgy connections as far as I could see’ said Brett. ‘She was always on time and she gets on really well with all the other girls’.

‘Who owns this place, Brett?’ asked Joe.

‘It’s owned by a company called Northwest Holdings’ said Brett. ‘But I’m sure you knew that’.

‘Yes’ said Adrian. ‘Just like we know that Northwest Holdings is a front for the activities of Bernie Connelly so I suggest you start talking about what really goes on here and why Lucy Thompson was kept on. You can tell us here or down at the station, Brett. It’s up to you’.  

‘Yes’ said Joe. ‘So it’s make your mind up time’.

Terry Latham had grown up knowing that nobody understood him. It didn’t come as much of a surprise considering he’d never really understood himself for any of the years when he’d been able to think about such things. His mother had been the only one to ever stand by him and now she’d gone he was alone. He’d always known what he was doing was wrong. But he’d also known that he hadn’t been able to stop himself. That’s why he’d ended up on the sex offenders list. And that’s why he’d come to the attention of Bernie Connelly.

Bernie was driven down to the garage on the Gorton estate that he used for such purposes. If you didn’t know it was there you’d drive straight past it without a clue. It was at the end of a side alley that led from the main street to the backs of some council houses and a piece of grass-covered land that stretched for the ten meters or so down to the brook. On the other side of the brook was an industrial estate. And here, in the garage with all the windows and doors closed tightly shut and only the minimum number of lights on, nobody would be able to hear the screams of those who were taken there by Bernie and his henchmen.

Several others did the dirty work of apprehending those who were going to be questioned and Bernie came in when everything was already set up. In a small sectioned-off room that used to serve as an office, Brett Collins was lying on the floor with his feet shackled together at his ankles, his hands bound at his wrists behind him and with the same kind of tape used to cover his mouth. He watched Bernie walk in and looked up anxiously, following his movements with his terrified eyes. This wasn’t going to end well.

The first kick he took was in the small of his back and the second was quick to follow in the same place. Then someone else kicked him in the stomach, then the chest and then kept on repeatedly kicking him in the face. His body jerked with the pain unleashed by each blow and the horror of what was happening to him had taken over all of his senses. He was whimpering underneath the tape that was over his mouth.  

‘Now Brett’ said Bernie. ‘I don’t want to subject you to such behaviour as this. It’s not how I like to treat my employees. But I’m afraid you’ve been talking to the wrong people and I just can’t let that go’. He pulled the tape from Brett’s mouth.

‘I swear to you Bernie … ‘Brett stammered. It was hard to speak with half his teeth broken and the pain going through his body like a strike of lightning. ‘I never … I never told them anything’.

‘Yes’ said Bernie. ‘Well we’ll see about that, sunshine. By the time the boys here have finished with you death might come as a blessed relief’.

Bernie gave the nod and his men started to kick Brett again over and over. He cried out with every blow and there was blood everywhere.  Even when there was a momentary pause Brett’s body shook and his mouth gave out further intense whimpering.

‘What did you tell the police, Brett? Just tell me and this will all be over’.

Brett pleaded with Bernie to believe him when he said he hadn’t told the police anything but Bernie wasn’t convinced.

‘Carry on, boys’ he said. ‘We’ll get it out of him eventually’.

As he walked away to the sound of Brett begging him to make them stop he went down the small corridor to where they’d set Terry Latham up. Brett’s screams were loud and powerful and added to the terror on Latham’s face. He was strapped down to a chair. The restraints were at his feet, his knees, his wrists and his elbows. There was another restraint that forced his back over the top of the chair and was fixed to his elbow restraints. It was tight. He couldn’t move his head except from side to side slightly. The top of the chair was digging into the back of his neck. He was also finding it hard to swallow.

‘Been out for a drink lately, Terry?’ asked Bernie as he opened a bottle of vodka.

‘I haven’t touched a drink or a child in five years, Bernie’ said Terry who was shaking. ‘On my mother’s life I swear to you that’s true’.