Scarred for Life (21 page)

Archie didn’t seem to notice. The only sound in the interview room was the tapping of his foot on the floor as he curled his top lip aggressively.

‘I suppose you think you’re clever, don’t you,’ he said, glaring at Hamish.

That hint of a Scottish accent again. ‘Not really.’

‘Two young girls – what was it, you couldn’t get a shag so you took it out on them?’

The solicitor tutted but didn’t say anything. Jessica knew he was going to cut in when they’d made big enough idiots of themselves. She was going to at least let Archie show her what he had.

‘I’ll bet you were well chuffed after the first girl, weren’t you,’ Archie added, laying the accent on thick. ‘You thought you had it all worked out – go cruising close to the closed bus stop for any girls unfortunate enough to be looking for a lift home. But it all went to cock, didn’t it?’

No reply.

‘No offence, mate, but you’ve even got the name for it, haven’t you? I mean, if I was called “Hamish”, I’d be out there trying to cop off with anything that moved. I’ve only heard of one Hamish in my life and he was a right paedo, he—’

Another tut from the solicitor. This was going badly.

‘All right,’ Jessica cut in. ‘How about we go back to last Thursday night. We know you weren’t on shift at the taxi place, so what were you doing?’

‘No comment.’

Oh, for God’s sake. He was one of
those.

‘You do know that if you don’t talk to us, then it can go against you?’

Hamish’s solicitor cut in. ‘My client isn’t saying he won’t
ever
answer your questions, simply that it’s difficult to answer that exact one.’

It seemed to be the week for Jessica not quite grasping what was going on. At a loss, she nudged Archie with her knee.

He began tapping his foot again. ‘Hmm, Hamish, Hamish, Hamish . . . I think you
do
remember what you were up to last Thursday. I’m guessing you knocked off work at around five or six. Went home, had a couple of crispy pancakes, watched a few cartoons on television, perhaps even got excited by that one who presents the news.’ He turned to Jessica. ‘What’s her name?’ Without waiting for a reply, he continued. ‘Never mind. Anyway, after that, you spent a while looking at questionable material on the Internet. I know, I’ve been there myself after a long day. The difference is that I don’t currently have officers poring through my search history. What do you think they’re going to find on there? Horse sex?’

Hamish peeped sideways at his solicitor and motioned him to stand.

‘Whoa there, big fella,’ Archie said, not moving.

‘I went out on Thursday night,’ Hamish said, sitting again.

‘Well, hal-le-lu-jah – he speaks,’ Archie added mockingly.

‘I left my cab at home and I walked to this place a few streets over from mine.’

‘What place?’ Archie asked.

A hint of a smile slid across the cabbie’s features. ‘It’s called Sandra’s.’

Jessica and Archie exchanged a look and mouthed the same word simultaneously. ‘Shite.’

24

Jessica stood outside the unassuming doorway in the gap between street lights and turned to Archie. ‘Ever been here before?’

‘No!’

‘I won’t hold it against you if you have.’

‘Sod off – I don’t have to pay for it.’

‘Some men like the seedy nature of paying for sex . . . apparently.’

‘How do you know, is your boyfriend a fan?’

Jessica saw Archie’s simmering grin and let it go. ‘I went on some vice course a couple of years ago. A lot of it was about people smuggling but then it took us a day or so just to figure out what the laws are. Half of what I thought was illegal is perfectly fine. It’s a bloody minefield.’

‘All that to get a quick shag off a prostitute.’

Archie motioned to step towards the doorway but Jessica pulled him to one side, deeper into the shadows. ‘We need a quick word first.’

‘What?’

‘About the interview room – what were you doing?’

In the gloom, she could just about make out his shrug. ‘I dunno, trying to get a reaction. I thought that if I acted like a knob head, then you could jump in and be the sensible one.’

‘Bloody hell, I’ve never been called that before.’

‘Is there a problem?’

Jessica started to reply and then stopped herself. He reminded her far too much of what she was like when she was younger – stupid, brash, gobby, trying to get under people’s skins. Sometimes she still felt like that now, but here he was, a decade younger than her, figuring it all out for himself. She could hardly give him a hard time when she had done far worse things than he was likely to.

‘No, just . . . try to think a little more before you speak. You’re going to get yourself into trouble.’

‘Aye, fair enough. Now can we go scare the shite out of a few punters?’

‘Lead the way.’

The only markings on the dark door were the number thirty-one and a buzzer. Archie pushed it open and headed up the stairs with Jessica behind. He led the way through a second door at the top into a small waiting room. On one side was a counter like the reception desk in any office, except that the woman behind it had approximately forty per cent more cleavage on show. Directly across from the door was a flatscreen television fixed to the wall displaying a porn star mid-act, while underneath two men sat, staring at the floor and definitely not at each other. A scattering of pornographic magazines was on the coffee table in front of them.

When Jessica entered, the two men looked up in unison, eyebrows arched in mutual confusion about why the fully dressed woman in a suit was there. The receptionist knew instantly.

‘Are you Sandra?’ Jessica asked.

The woman was somewhere in her early forties but had definitely kept her looks – and chest. She nodded. ‘Feck off, will ya – all my accounts are in order; the girls are all healthy, all tested, all English, all willingly here. There’s no trafficked European girls here. Oh, and before you ask, I’m not a madam and I’m not running a brothel either. I’m an employee the same as anyone else. You can ask any of the girls.’

One of the men got slowly to his feet, desperately rearranging the crotch area of his trousers. ‘Is, er, everything, er, okay?’

Jessica slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and took out her identification, showing it to both men and then Sandra. Before she could turn back, both men had dashed for the exit, stumbling their way down the stairs and slamming the door at the bottom.

‘Feck’s sake, there was no need for that,’ Sandra said.

‘Aren’t you chilly?’ Jessica asked.

‘Ha ha, aren’t you the funny one.’ She nodded at Archie. ‘And you can stop looking at my tits too.’

‘Where else am I supposed to look?’ he shot back. ‘They take up half the room.’

Jessica put her ID away. ‘Look, we’ll leave quietly – we just need you to tell us something.’ She reached into her pocket and pulled out the printout, folding it flat on the counter until Hamish Pendlebury’s features were clear. ‘Do you know who this is?’

Sandra picked up the sheet and glanced at it, before returning it to the desk, pursing her lips, and rearranging her cleavage. ‘Everyone has confidentiality when they come in here.’

‘You’re not a sodding doctor’s surgery.’

‘Too bloody right we’re not. For one thing, we don’t have a three-month waiting list; for another, our clients always leave satisfied.’

‘If you don’t tell us, then we’ll have people coming here all day every day – hanging around, asking questions. Interviewing all the girls individually, going through your accounts with a fine-tooth comb.’

‘Knowing you bastards, you probably would as well.’ She winked at Archie. ‘Don’t think we don’t have your off-duty lot popping in for a quick in and out anyway. You’re all dirty bastards, you’ve gotta be to hang around with paedos and weirdos all day long.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jessica replied. ‘And that’s just the superintendent and his mates. Anyway – do you know this guy or not? Believe me, whatever confidentiality you think you’re offering, he’d be grateful for an alibi.’

A grin spread across Sandra’s face as she picked up the sheet again. Somewhere in a back room a woman’s moaning reached what was either a genuine peak, or she was nailed on for some sort of acting award. Sandra nodded at Archie again. ‘That’s Holly – she’d like you.’

‘Do. You. Know. Him?’ Jessica snapped.

‘Fine! He’s one of our regulars. He’s in here at least once a week – you can’t forget that hair. I think he lives nearby.’

‘What days did you work last week?’

Another heave of the bra: ‘Christ, you’re not enforcing working time directive, are you?’

‘Do you ever answer a question?’

‘All right, bloody hell . . . I did daytimes Monday and Tuesday, then evenings Thursday to Saturday.’

‘What about this week?’

‘I’ve been on lates all week.’

Jessica pointed at the picture. ‘What days was he in?’

Sandra demonstrated an impressive set of lungs as she exhaled thoughtfully. ‘He always comes in to see Arianna – so that’s Wednesday and Friday last week and Monday this week.’

‘Is there any proof – a credit-card transaction, a cheque . . .’

‘What do you think we’re running here? We’re not bloody Asda.’

‘So it’s cash only?’

‘Obviously.’

‘But you’re absolutely, one hundred per cent positive he was here on those three evenings.’

Sandra folded up the photograph and handed it back. ‘Darling, when someone with a beard like that starts wanting to do the types of thing he does with Arianna, believe me, us girls talk about it.’

25

Jessica rolled over and fell onto the floor. She thought she was being nice after sneaking in late, not disturbing Adam and instead sleeping on the sofa. The result was that she’d barely slept at all, huddling under a thick blanket and twisting herself around it into such knots that she wasn’t sure what was blanket and what was clothing. Once again, she’d managed to work the entire day and most of the evening. The only thing she had done after getting home was creep up the stairs and peer through the crack that Bex left between the door and the frame to make sure that the teenager was still there. Jessica didn’t know why she felt so protective of Bex, but there was something there, something . . . motherly. No, not that. Sisterly? She couldn’t explain it because she’d never had those instincts before. Her younger self would have nicked Bex for the thieving and then spent the rest of the day congratulating herself for being so clever. Now . . . she didn’t know.

Jessica clawed her way onto the sofa again and started trying to straighten the blanket when the door creaked open. She spun to see the painfully thin outline of Bex standing in a vest top and pair of shorts. Her legs looked like a frog’s, thin with bandy knees, while her arms were wrapped around her midriff as they so often were. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I borrowed your stuff. Adam said—’

‘It’s fine, you can wear what you want. I don’t use half of it anyway. We’ll go through my wardrobe if you like.’

‘I couldn’t sleep – I was worried about you getting home. Adam said you’re always late but I was thinking about you being a police officer and . . .’

‘I didn’t want to disturb anyone, so I slept down here.’

Bex bobbed awkwardly from one foot to the other.

‘Are you cold?’ Jessica asked.

‘A bit.’

‘Hungry?’

She suppressed a smile. ‘A bit.’

Jessica picked up the blanket and draped it around Bex’s shoulders. ‘Let’s see what’s left in the kitchen.’

Bex sat shivering at the table under the blanket as Jessica began picking items out of the fridge. ‘I’m not really in the mood for a sandwich,’ she yawned, peering around the door at Bex. ‘You?’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘It’s too early to cook and the microwave’s too noisy, so we can’t really have anything warm. All the sausage rolls are in the freezer, so they’re off the menu.’

‘Honestly, don’t put yourself out.’

‘I don’t know why we have so much healthy shite in here. This is what happens when you let Adam do the shopping – it’s all bloody fruit and yoghurt. Oh sod this.’ Jessica opened the cupboard, lifted out the tins of baked beans and a packet of cream crackers, and then poked around for her secret stash of chocolate-coated chocolate chip cookies. She placed them on the table in front of Bex and then put the kettle on. ‘Nothing beats a brew and a biscuit – especially at three in the morning.’

With a tremor and a pop, the kettle finished boiling, so Jessica and Bex decamped back to the comfort of the living room, shivering under the blanket together and dunking their way through Jessica’s biscuits.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind me being here?’ Bex asked.

‘This place is too big for Adam and me.’

Bex pressed the mug to her chin, breathing in the warm fumes. ‘Does that mean . . . ?’

Jessica hated the question – it was what she always got from her mother and why she tried to avoid her phone calls. Kids: it always came down to bloody kids.

Bex must have sensed she’d asked the wrong thing. ‘Sorry . . .’

‘No, it’s . . .’ Jessica stopped, remembering – as if the name was ever out of her mind. ‘. . . I lost a baby and now they don’t think I can get pregnant again.’

‘Oh . . .’

‘We were thinking about adopting or fostering, but it’s awkward with the job . . .’

‘So you have to choose between one or the other?’

It was an honest question – a natural one – but Jessica suddenly felt that itch at the back of her throat as if tears were near. She’d tried to block out the fact that the choice was as simple as that. Izzy combined the two, as did so many others, and yet Jessica knew that wasn’t her. As with anything in her life, it was all or nothing.

You’re either living life at 100 m.p.h., or you’re not living at all.

Jessica just didn’t know which of the two camps she was in.

‘Sorry,’ Bex said.

Jessica shielded herself behind half a biscuit. ‘Don’t be.’

Bex drew her mug up in front of her face and began to speak. ‘I didn’t know my dad – never met him, never knew his name. I was brought up by my mum in Hulme. My first memory is of waking up early in the morning, a bit like this I suppose. I was maybe five or six and it was cold, so I got up to see if I could find my mum. It was only this little two-bed place and her room was next to mine but there was no one in her bed. I heard voices downstairs, so I crept down into the living room and she was there with two blokes. I thought . . . well, I didn’t know what I thought then. It’s obvious now – it all is.’