The Mak Collection (139 page)

Mak nodded, her mind stumbling to try to grasp the actual activities that would take place in a session. What did people come here for that required medical knowledge?

‘Your friend Mistress Scarlet was a good worker. It was a blow for me when she left,’ Mistress Serenity continued. ‘I liked her and that’s why I agreed to talk with you.’

Mistress Scarlet was not so much a friend of Mak’s as an unofficial client, but fine—anything to help her get closer to good information for her client, whatever or whoever the source.

‘We aren’t like other places you might have heard of. We don’t thrive on getting new girls every week like the brothels down the street. We have experienced women with special talents and I need to hang onto them when I find them. Our clients come here for reliable service, not fluffy bar girls with big tits.’

Mak suspected that she was being sold a line, but she didn’t know why. Was this a rationalisation about Mistress Serenity’s business? And she wasn’t so sure she totally believed Mistress Serenity’s vows of allegiance to Brenda/Mistress Scarlet even after she jumped ship. This was clearly a sharp, shrewd woman. It could be that there was something else in it for her, apart from a code of friendship among whip-wielding mistresses.

‘Most of our clients are very loyal.’

Mak took that on board, wondering when the Mistress would get to the point, and exactly why she had been called here.

‘But the client of ours that you are interested in…I can tell you that he is not what we like here.’

Mak’s ears perked up.
Client?

‘Simon Aston tried to poach a couple of my girls outside of the house. He wanted them to entertain his friends.’

Ah, Simon Aston.

‘How did you find out?’

And how the hell did you find out I am interested in Simon?
Loulou had looser lips than Mak thought—not that she’d done the wrong thing
in getting Mak to this odd meeting. She would have to have a word to her, though…

‘I know everything that happens in my house.’ Mistress Serenity said the words forcefully, and Mak sat back in her chair, getting a taste of her dominating skills. ‘Simon is not a true fetishist. Not even close,’ she said with disdain. ‘He’s a thrill-seeker, nothing more. He could not handle any of the real work we do here.’

‘Do you get a lot of clients like that—thrill-seekers?’ Mak asked.

‘Yes and no. We don’t discourage those who are curious, but nor do we cater to every drunk sailor who comes in off the street looking for a freak show. Thrill-seekers like Simon come and go quickly, and we avoid them. We are discreet. It’s word of mouth that brings people here, not advertising. We have a good, loyal clientele and we cater to their needs. That’s why we are appointment only. Some of our services need days of preparation.’

Days of preparation?
Mak’s mind wandered off into possible scenarios.

‘Simon Aston is what I call try-sexual. We see his type from time to time, but they never last long. His needs were purely superficial. After a couple of sessions when he more or less perved on my girls without getting down to any serious activities, he began trying to poach my girls to perform for him at his parties for nothing. He wanted to show off to his friends.’

Mak nodded.
Try-sexual.
She knew a few people like that.

‘He took particular interest in my youngest girl—she was nineteen, you understand. That’s not so unusual. But after he poached her for parties and discarded her, the word is he got hooked up with Lee Lin Tan, who runs a Surry Hills brothel with illegal sex workers. Sex slaves, basically, though some would argue they are just immigrant sex workers. They get paid squat, their conditions are shocking and they don’t get to lay down their own rules of contact. It seems Simon and his buddies got what they wanted: a new thrill—underage girls who don’t complain.’

Mak felt her stomach turn.

‘I see,’ Mak said, and wrote down Lee’s name. Someone trying to poach her girls would put Mistress Serenity’s nose seriously out of joint, but this was something worse. Getting the word out anonymously through Mak might mean the police would hear, which was perhaps why she was interested in the fact that Mak’s boyfriend was a cop. Mak’s guess is she would want the illegal business stopped—she wouldn’t want that kind of competition. ‘What happened to the girl he poached?’

‘I don’t know—I wouldn’t have her back. It’s a matter of loyalty.’

Mak nodded. ‘I don’t suppose there is any way I could contact her and have a word with her?’

The Mistress shook her head. End of story. She wasn’t about to give out the name of a previous employee. Mak had suspected as much.

Shame.

‘What do you know about Simon Aston?’

‘Simon,’ the Mistress said, pretending to spit, ‘is the worst breed there is—a leech. He uses his association with his rich friends to get what he wants. Especially his friendship with Damien Cavanagh. He managed to poach my girl that way, luring her with false promises. Word is that now he and his rich mate break in the new girls when they come from Asia.’

‘How young are we talking, do you know?’

‘Sixteen years old. Perhaps fourteen.’

Mak shook her head, feeling ill at the thought.

‘I was also wondering if you know anything about a girl named Meaghan Wallace.’

‘Meaghan?’ Mistress Serenity squinted, looking off. ‘I don’t think so. The name doesn’t ring a bell with me. She work in bondage?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ But anything is possible. ‘Um, this Lee Lin Tan, do you know where he keeps his brothel? Do you have an address?’

‘No. But everyone knows it. I think if you ask your cop friend he should be able to tell you.’

Right.
‘And you know his girls are here illegally?’

‘Yes. That’s what I said, isn’t it?’

Clearly Mistress Serenity did not like being questioned. But if the police knew about an
illegal brothel like that, wouldn’t it just be shut down? Particularly if some of the girls were underage? Weren’t there serious repercussions for that type of crime?

‘Okay. Thanks so much for your time. I appreciate you telling me all of this. I understand you must be very busy.’

‘Yes, I am a busy woman. I have clients to attend to,’ Mistress Serenity said coolly and stood. She made for the door in a whirl of latex and fishnets and led Mak out.

‘I really do appreciate your time. Thank you,’ Mak said to her back as they reached the top of the staircase. ‘I have just one last question, if it’s not too much trouble.’

Mistress Serenity turned, one hand on the banister. Her features were stern. She was back into her role-playing, and she’d clearly had quite enough of Twenty Questions.

‘Why did you choose the name “Mistress Serenity”?’ Mak asked.

The Mistress brightened a touch. ‘It is my special word,’ she replied calmly. ‘My clients use it when they can’t take the pain any more. They say “serenity”, and I stop.’

Mistress Serenity disappeared down the staircase, leaving Mak dazzled. Electra then led her out.

Serenity
, Mak thought.
If only that special word worked for real life.

On Tuesday, Makedde slept in late. Between Thunderball strip club and The Tower, she’d had a lot of strange, late nights recently and she had sleep to catch up on. When she woke and poured herself some cereal, the house was strange without Andy. It wasn’t that she was unfamiliar with his frequent absences, but it felt different knowing that he would not be home soon.

Three months.

Mak spent the remainder of her morning researching Damien Cavanagh and his family on her laptop; there was a wealth of information about them on the internet. Simon Aston’s name came up a few times as well, though much less frequently, and always in relation to Damien. The good-looking Simon was only ever pictured near Damien, in the background, never sharing the limelight.

At midday she deemed the hour late enough for Loulou to be awake.

‘Sweetie, how are you!’

‘I’m good. How are you?’ Mak asked. ‘How are things with Drayson?’

‘Oh, he is such a doll! A doll! When are you coming back to visit?’

‘Not for a while, Loulou. I have this investigation to finish first, and I doubt I can justify another trip to Melbourne.’
Unless I hear back from Amy.
Amy had not called her again, and Mak had no verification that the video had been sent by her, although in her guts she knew. ‘Loulou, I have to ask you something serious.’

Loulou paused. ‘Okay, sweetie. Anything.’

‘Who have you told about my case? Did you tell someone that I am looking into Simon Aston?’ Mak asked gently.

‘Oh, sweetie! I’m sorry. I just thought…you know, I thought Brenda might know about him, and she did. I was only trying to help. I hope you’re not mad at me!’

It was hard to be mad at Loulou especially when the result had been a fruitful, albeit bizarre, meeting with Mistress Serenity. Still…

‘Loulou, I just need confidentiality. That is a big part of investigation work. I could have got in a lot of trouble.’

‘Oh, darling!’

Mak rolled her eyes. ‘I know you meant well, and it was helpful to speak to Mistress Serenity, but I just need you to ask next time, okay? I need you to ask me first if it is okay to tell anyone.’

‘Okay,’ came Loulou’s voice, sounding uncharacteristically serious. ‘I promise.’

‘Good.’

‘So you’re not mad at me?’

‘No. Just don’t do it again.’

When the phone rang at two, Mak expected it to be Sergent Hunt calling about the video. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since she’d sent Karen to him with it. Why the delay?

But it wasn’t Hunt.

‘Look, something’s happened. Can you meet me at the office right away?’

The blood drained from Mak’s face at the tone of Marian Wendell’s voice. Her employer was not the type to sound concerned—she was always so cool about everything, so knowing.

‘What’s happened?’

Her reply did nothing to ease Mak’s alarm. ‘We shouldn’t discuss it over the phone. Can you get here fast?’

Mak could.

She suited up and rode over to Marian’s office as fast as she safely could, parked her black bike right outside and ran in without even stopping to take her helmet off. She found Marian standing outside her office doorway looking somewhat less composed than usual. Her hair had not been blow-dried into submission, and her usually confident demeanour had a touch of uncertainty about it.

Marian was not alone, either.

‘Oh, hi, Pete,’ Mak said, surprised to find Pete Don in Marian’s office.

Mak had first become aware of Pete’s work when he had been a guest lecturer at her Certificate III course on investigation, and Marian had mentioned him once or twice in the year Mak had been working for her, but he seemed out of context in this office. As a fellow investigator with his own outfit, he was, after all, one of Marian’s competitors.

What’s going on? What’s he doing here?

Pete was a man in his forties with meaty arms like a gorilla and jet-black hair that he wore in a ponytail. He was a man of good humour with a disarming smile, but his physical attributes would certainly lend him a threatening appearance in other circumstances. As legend went, he was once one of the best undercover Drug Squad officers the New South Wales Police had. He even had bikie tattoos—more visible than Bogey’s—dreadlocks and both the voice and look of a hard smoker and drinker. A smart and brave man, Pete Don had infiltrated all levels of the biggest organised criminal group in the state, helping the authorities collect evidence that eventually brought down a lot of the major players in the drug ring.

But after years of successful undercover work, his career came unstuck—and he nearly lost his life—when a routine covert driving exercise with other Drug Squad officers at a local racetrack was seen by an outsider. As the officers
practised high-speed pursuits and spinouts on the track, a man asked one of the staff who the drivers were. His response? ‘Ah, that’s the undercover Drug Squad.’ The man then took long-lens photographs of the undercover cops and circulated them amongst his gang friends. The stupidity of that staff member resulted in the men being confronted and searched for wires when they returned to their jobs. Two of them were beaten to death when discovered, and despite being attacked with a crowbar, Pete somehow escaped with his life. But his cover was blown and he could never return to his work. He was forced to choose between paper-pushing, or a new career under a new name. He chose to go into the private sector.

One obvious remnant of his altercation with the mob was the fact that he no longer had any cartilage whatsoever in his nose. He was not vain enough to have it reconstructed and, in fact, he seemed to like making a spectacle of it—in certain company, at least. He’d made Mak touch it on the second day of his class. ‘There, have a feel,’ he’d insisted. ‘Take a good look, have a feel and then it won’t distract you.’ It had felt like a blob of putty on the end of his face.

Pete was wandering through the waiting room, brandishing what Mak recognised as a common hand-held debugging device. It was switched on, and a sequence of small red lights flashed up and down the face of it as it scanned
the room for frequencies transmitted by any bugging devices.

‘Is it clear?’ Marian asked.

Pete nodded.

‘Someone has been through the office,’ Marian told Mak solemnly.

Mak wasn’t sure exactly what she meant. ‘What do you mean, “been through”? Was there a burglary?’

‘Someone’s ransacked it.’

The office didn’t look ransacked to Mak. ‘What’s missing? Do you know?’

‘I am not sure yet—I’m still taking inventory. This was well organised. They went through the filing cabinets. That’s the reason I called you in—your file on Robert Groobelaar’s assignment is missing. You didn’t take it home for any reason, did you?’

Mak’s blood ran cold. ‘No.’ Thankfully her laptop held copies of the work she had compiled so far, but having the information in that file stolen could potentially threaten the confidentiality of the client.