Roxanne, p.11
Roxanne, page 11
Serena said, ‘I’m not staking her out. But she has opened up to me a couple of times. About her mother and the situation with the dementia. And she told me her father left home when she was young. Mother brought her up on her own. That’s why I stayed around tonight, but she was pretty focused when she came back with Priti, wasn’t she?’
Yes, thought Waters, even more sharply focused than usual. Compensating.
He nodded and said, ‘I’ve a feeling we’ll hit the ground running in the morning. Did anyone else notice what you noticed this afternoon?’
She thought before she answered – ‘Not sure. Maybe Denise. She doesn’t miss much.’
He said, ‘All we can do is keep an eye open. I’m not going to mention it to anyone else.’
She understood and drew a finger and thumb across her pursed lips. In the time he had known her, men had come and gone, just a few, but none had got close to the real Serena, even though Mike Dunn had tried hard; Waters was as certain of that as he could be. She was, in the words of her previous sergeant, a bit of a handful, but funny, and loyal to a fault. When she dressed up instead of down, she could transform herself into something quite eye-catching, too. Yet she was going home tonight to her two-bedroomed flat, and a cat called Maurice. Waters knew the story of her betrayal by a senior officer. He wondered whether she had understood the real reason why she was concerned about the apparently lonely life of DCI Cara Freeman.
And so his thoughts were tending that way before he stood in his own tiny flat not far from the riverside and thought that it didn’t feel like a home any more. It had, once. Janie had stayed here often, sometimes for two or three nights at a time, but when she went – he could admit it now – there had been a feeling of relief at getting the place back to himself, at being able to close the door and shut out the rest of the world. Now, after a night at Miriam’s, this felt more like student accommodation – too small, too cheap, too temporary.
But simply moving in with her – if she agreed, and he could not be sure of such a thing – would only create further problems. He would be living in her house and have no place to call his own. In one sense that wouldn’t matter because he’d then have money in the bank to put down if he needed somewhere, but that wasn’t the issue, was it? The issue was that he wanted to live with Miriam in their place.
That’s complicated enough at the best of times. When one of the parties is blind, the difficulties multiply. Miriam was fearless but she bruised like anyone else. He had seen them, the bruises, on her slender legs after they had rearranged her house to accommodate the music lessons he had suggested, and he’d felt ashamed. He told her and she laughed and fussed over him as if he was the injured party, but setting up in a new home was surely the stuff of nightmares. Could he ask her to do such a thing, for him?
He closed down the line of thought because it was by now a too familiar one, and there was no simple answer, except to wait for Miriam to suggest one. Usually he would cook something simple and healthy but tonight he was late, thanks to the other women in his life, so he took a ready-meal out of the freezer compartment. Chicken Balti and saffron rice. He studied the instructions and examined the product through a little plastic window. At least the rice looked genuine. Cooking time from frozen, eight minutes.
Another issue with this place was the lack of an office – the ‘office’ was his little dining table with his laptop on it. Working at home was something he often did, unofficially. If a case is interesting, you don’t leave it locked up in your desk in the office – if it’s interesting, it’s in your head, wherever you go. He liked to be ahead of the game, not in search of praise, not to impress, but because there was something satisfying in watching others, including people he respected, arriving somewhere only to find that Waters had already been and gone. Through school and university, he had made something of a point of not being competitive, but when it came to his work as a detective, he could acknowledge that he might be, sometimes.
The microwave was humming, reconstituting the scents of exotic spices all the way from the far east. The far east of Birmingham – Yardley, maybe, or Edge Hill. EU protected name status, which probably doesn’t mean much anymore… Balti, means made in a bucket… He enjoyed allowing his mind to wander but his fingers were busy at the keyboard already. And there it is – one good thing about this place is the lightning-fast fibre. UK Rehab. Search. Ketamine.
Chapter Twelve
The Friday morning was likely to be an eventful one, and Waters was back in the car park at a quarter to eight. Freeman’s Mazda was already in place, and he wondered whether if he checked the exhaust it would already have cooled down. Best not though – having a detective constable on your team keeping tabs on the DCI was bad enough. Halfway to the door, he saw John Murray pull in and so he waited until they could walk to the office together. Waters asked him how he saw this going, and he didn’t need to explain what “this” was; Murray said, ‘Can’t see her waiting until Monday. She’ll press go this morning.’
Detective Inspector Greene was already in – another sign this would not be a typical day because he lived further away than anyone else on the team apart from Maya. He was never late, but he wasn’t often here before eight. He waved the two of them over and said, ‘She has a nine o’clock with Detective Chief Superintendent Allen. Briefing will be after that.’
This left almost an hour to go. When Waters asked if there was anything specific to be done in the meantime, Greene said, ‘Get everyone to clear their desks of whatever they were doing yesterday. Tidily – not just autosaved files and papers stuffed into drawers.’
The meeting with Allen was a short one, even by Freeman’s standards, and she began the briefing at ten minutes past the hour. Waters had spent the drive in planning what he might do in the circumstances if he were the senior investigating officer; what would be the most effective order of actions with the number of detectives available this morning? He listened to what Freeman had to say, and mentally ticked off what he had got right.
Freeman began with, ‘DCS Allen has agreed that the evidence from yesterday’s tox screen is persuasive enough for us to view the death of Roxanne Prescott as suspicious. We are now proceeding on that basis. DI Greene will contact the pathologist this morning and invite him to bump the post mortem but obviously he will not use that expression. I have every confidence that we won’t now be waiting until Wednesday.’
No one was immune from the pressure, of course, not even her trusted lieutenant, though Greene showed no surprise as he wrote down his first note of the day. The thought had occurred to Waters that now Priti Hussain had joined them, Greene might abandon his pencil and pad, but not so, apparently. Priti herself was scribbling furiously and a little apprehensively.
‘As soon as we’re done here, I will call Mr and Mrs Prescott. I’ll indicate there have been developments but not go into the detail. Then, if they’re up to it, I want Denise and Serena over there today. Denise, you’re already a familiar face to them, so my absence shouldn’t pose any problems. If they ask, tell them I’m here setting up the investigation into their daughter’s death. You have two objectives, as far as I’m concerned. First, we need to drill down into what they know about Roxanne’s drug use. Father said she’d been clean for two years but what was she into before that? How much do they know? How often did they actually see her in recent times? If they ask whether we’re asking because we know something, I’m leaving that up to your judgement, Denise. If you think it will develop better info, tell them.
‘Second, and you’ll need to tread carefully if you’re speaking to the pair of them at the same time, what do they know about her work? Remember, we don’t know that anything we’ve been told or speculated about so far is the truth – don’t put your foot in that particular pile of whatever… She might have been sharing the house with a couple of girls who are ‘escorts’ and be working in a library. I don’t believe that for a minute – I’m just saying tread more than carefully. Dad knows something about this, and he’ll give it up if he understands we need to know. He said to me that Roxanne had a plan. What did he mean? Serena – you’ll be the fresh pair of eyes. Make the most of it, as we only get to be that one time.’
Freeman paused, giving the note-makers an opportunity to catch up. She looked at them all in turn and Waters could detect no trace of whatever had disturbed her the previous afternoon. He thought about DI Reeve, and how, if she had been giving this briefing, the approach would have been different. Less forceful, more collaborative – there would have been discussion by now – and perhaps less intimidating. But there wasn’t a right way, he already knew that. Leadership is a highly individual skill, depending on one’s own personality traits. Look at Smith, who was different again to the two women he was considering.
Freeman leaned across to Priti and asked how it was going. Priti showed her and the DCI said, ‘Excellent. Just what we need. Stop me if I’m going too fast.’ And then she was away again.
‘Clive, before you ask, I’ve put in a request to access the kiosk for the mobile phone. This is a formal process, and I’ve had to fill in a two-page document. I did ask whether the Home Secretary would be free to look at it today but I didn’t get an answer. When we get the OK, I want you to handle it. DI Terek has experience of the process and I’ll speak to him and tell him you’ll be getting in touch. If there’s a problem, let me know.
‘Chris and John. Last known movements and contacts. The station log had better have a phone number for the girls who reported Roxanne missing. Ring it and fix up an interview for some time today. I’m assuming they’ll be free during the day but probably busy on a Friday night.’
Serena found this amusing, the thought of Waters interviewing a couple of escorts, and she raised eyebrows in his direction. Denise Sterling decided to join in, and he went along with it, shrugging as if to say all in a day’s work. But he caught after that, the strangest expression on Maya Kumar’s face, glaring first in Serena’s direction and then at him, as if she was furious. It was momentary, a fraction of a second, and then she was deliberately and fixedly looking away from him.
Freeman said, ‘That leaves three of us here. Maya, assist Tom with setting up the desk. We’ll be organising for the car to be brought in this morning – it’s going into the police garage at Goldthorpe. At some point, the satnav data will be useful. As it was found in a bit of an odd spot, we’re going to take up Mr Walmsley’s offer of speaking to some of his staff to see if any of them saw anything pertinent between Saturday and yesterday. When we get that staff list, Tom will run it through the database, just routine.’
That seemed to be all, and then, ‘Oh, and I almost forgot. It’s actually Lord Walmsley, in case anyone happens to be speaking to him. Guess who told me that.’
Serena said, ‘Was it Detective Chief Superintendent Allen, ma’am?’
‘Yes it was! How clever of you!’
The praise was intentionally ironic, as was the recipient’s smug look around at the rest of the class. Freeman added, ‘It’s some sort of hereditary title that he doesn’t use. The superintendent knows him. He’s the patron of a golf club, or something. Anyway, this briefing is over. You all know the drill. Everything reaches the desk on the day, nothing is held back.’
‘OK, John. What do you know about escorts?’
Murray was having a little trouble making the passenger’s seat belt reach around his chest far enough – he was the only person ever to need it pulled out that far. As it finally clicked into place, he said, ‘Not much. My dad had one, though.’
Waters said, ‘Really? And your mum was all right with that?’
‘Yes. It was a Mark 3, four-door saloon. One of the first front-wheel drive cars in the UK. We used to go to Yarmouth in it every weekend in the school holidays.’
The satnav offered a choice of three routes, and Waters selected the most direct rather than the most scenic or the most environmentally friendly. Police Constable Nineham, by now somewhat alarmed that the routine report he had taken some days ago had turned into a monster that might haunt him for the rest of his police career, had provided the mobile phone number left by Melanie Haines, but it had gone unanswered for almost two hours. Speculation in the office had become rife as a variety of suggestions were offered as to what the owner might be doing instead of answering; Waters glanced in Maya’s direction more than once, still perturbed by her earlier behaviour, but she now seemed deaf to what was being said. They had the address, of course, but Greene was adamant that two male officers should not turn up unannounced at that residence – he wanted the call made from Central, he wanted the time and date on it, and the name of the person who had been spoken to when the visit was arranged. These precautions, whilst undoubtedly sensible, had raised the tension one feels before conducting any interview in what might be a murder investigation.
As they made their way out of the town centre, Murray said, ‘I spoke to Maggie about it, though. You know she had a spell in vice before she joined DC. I said to her, it’s just the same old game, isn’t it?’
Maggie had been a key member of Smith’s team when Waters joined it. He had no doubt that if she and John hadn’t accidentally produced the now-adored William David Murray, Maggie would still be at Lake Central and very likely a part of Freeman’s squad. He asked what Mrs Murray’s view of the matter was.
‘She says it is and it isn’t. Selling sex isn’t illegal in this country which means prostitution isn’t, but over time the law has managed to make everything around it illegal. So you can’t advertise. You can’t solicit in a public place. You can’t set up premises because brothels are illegal, and if there’s more than one of you in the business, it’s a brothel. Maggie reckons that’s cost lives because it forces the girls to work alone. But the thing is, it’s legal to advertise your services as an escort because that doesn’t necessarily mean you intend to have sex with someone who’s hired you. You might just be accompanying them to a business function.’
With Murray, one learned eventually that the less expression he put into what he was saying, the more significant the meaning behind it. The final sentence had been delivered with a remarkable lack of expression. After a pause, Murray went on, ‘The law never got to grips with it and then, sometime in the nineties according to Maggie, the world changed and escorting became legit. It has its own trade organisation to represent its members. They have conferences. I suppose they provide their escorts to each other for when those take place.’
A peculiarly droll thought from Murray. Waters said, ‘I wonder what the typical customer’s like.’
‘Client.’
It appeared that Murray knew a little more about the escorting business than he’d let on.
Waters tried again.
‘I wonder what the typical client is like.’
‘I said something similar to Maggie. You won’t guess her answer.’
They travelled another two hundred yards before Waters broke under the strain.
‘What was her answer, John?’
‘Men.’
This seemed just a little harsh under the circumstances. Waters glanced across at his passenger, who said, ‘She’s not sleeping very well. I think it’s worry about William starting kindergarten.’
The four of them stood in the smart-looking kitchen, equally spaced apart as if they were about to begin a square-dance, the two men facing the two young women. Melanie Haines, the taller and more blonde of the pair, looked back at Waters with a puzzled expression, and then she said, ‘I want to say, are you sure, even though I know it’s stupid. You don’t make mistakes about things like that, do you?’
He said, ‘No. I’m afraid not. She has been identified by her family. There’s no mistake.’
The other girl, Trudi Mercer, was shorter and darker, and, thought Waters, about to cry. Melanie touched her arm before she said to him, ‘How? What happened? Where was she?’
Control of disclosure is one of the most powerful weapons in the armoury of the police service. They use it when dealing with witnesses as well as with suspects, though, obviously, for different reasons. It is not restricted to the criminal investigation department – the uniformed officer who asks you to move along in your local high street is almost certain not to give you much of an explanation if you ask them why.
Waters replied, ‘We haven’t established the cause of her death. As to what happened, we’re sure you can tell us something that will help us to find out.’
The Mercer girl spoke for the first time. She said in a shaken voice, ‘She just went out as normal…’ and Melanie Haines touched her again and said, ‘It’s all right, Tru. We’ll tell them whatever they need to know.’
The house was comfortably and not cheaply furnished, but they were renting it, and the furniture and décor didn’t quite fit with the young women who were living there. Melanie led them into the lounge and they took seats on sofas that seemed a little too low for the occasion. Waters began with the obvious question – when did they last have any contact with Roxanne?
The blonde girl was plainly the more confident and composed of the two. She said it was as Trudi had told them; Roxanne had a date on Saturday night. She’d left around seven o’clock that evening.
Murray had taken out his notebook. He said, ‘And that was in her car. In her Mini?’
‘Yes.’
Murray, said, ‘And she was alone?’
The girl tried a smile and said, ‘It’s just the three of us living here.’ When the big man in front of her didn’t react at all, when he just sat there with the pencil poised over the pad, she added, ‘Yes. She was alone when she left here.’
Murray made a note, and then said, ‘You said this was at what time?’
