Sunday September 7
It was getting cold in the car, so Bill had driven home as
soon as thez allowed traffic to cross the Dee again single file, past the odd
sheep or two that had ecaped recapture. He had intended to return alone to look
for yet more of the recalcitrant creatures, but in the end he went to bed and
counted the sheep there instead. He was secretly relieved that his mercy
mission was over.
At breakfast nexr morning, Lucy amused everyone with a
riotous account of Daddy chasing the sheep on the bridge. Bill said the truck
driver was not sure that they had rounded up all of them because they kept
moving as he counted them.
***
Cleo rang Constable Brass, since he might know where to find
his superior on a Sunday morning. Brass was not very helpful.
“You can forget that, Miss Hartley. I’ve no idea where he
is. He often goes out on his motorbike. I think he hobnobs with bikers at Oulton
Park, but I couldn’t swear to it. I’ll call you back if I can locate him. I’m
going to the station. I don’t usually work on Sundays, but I make an exception
if there’s been a murder. ”
“Thanks anyway.”
To everyone waiting for news Cleo repeated what Brass had
said, adding “What’s Oulton Park?”
“It’s a picturesque car racing track. I think bikers hang
out there every Sunday to exchange tips and tricks,” said Bill, yawning widely.
“Sheep-chasing is exhausting. I think I’ll go back to bed.”
“Chasing killers is tiring, too,” said Gary. “I don’t
suppose you know that Welsh Sergeant, do you?”
“Loo-el-yn,” called Dorothy, relying on her English
phonetics.
“Isn’t he the cop who fancies himself an ace shot,
Victoria?” said Bill.
“He’s the one who won all the prizes at the local summer
fair last year. He only admitted being a policeman after he’d won them,” said
Victoria.
“Do you happen to know where he came here from, Victoria?”
Cleo asked.
“Some other seaside town. Ramsgate, I think,” said Victoria.
“After he won the prizes he was interviewed for local radio and said he was
looking for the ideal beach. I thought how stupid that was. That’s probably why
I remember.”
}}}
Cleo remembered that one of the hooker murders on Gary’s
list had been in Ramsgate. They would have to check on where else Llewellyn had
lived. If his string of jobs was parallel with the towns where a hooker had
been killed, it was suspicious. It would be interesting to know if he had been involved
in investigating any of those cases. If his method was anything like the one he
was employing now, that was enough of a reason to look into what Sergeant Llewellyn
did in his spare time. What if he had committed murders in order to solve them?
Dorothy did not think that was probable. “That fat sergeant
is far too lazy to get up to anything as strenuous as strangling someone,” she said.
“Unless they’ve been bashed on the head first,” said Cleo.
“I’m sure the Sweet girl was throttled first,” said Dorothy.
“How would you know that?”
“Common sense, Gary. If she was bashed on the head first and
appeared dead, there would be no need to throttle her.”
“That makes sense, but there must be a loophole somewhere.
There’s always a loophole,” said Gary.
“At the risk of repeating myself, I think we should be looking
for two murderers, each one of them thinking he had done the girl in,” said
Dorothy.
Dorothy was extremely enthusiastic about her theory and proceeded
to explain.
“The first person throttled her and left. The second found
her and bashed her over the head because she was moaning and he thought she
would tell on him for throttling her, which he hadn’t.”
“Don’t mention murder in front of Lucy,” whispered Victoria,
as Lucy came into the kitchen dressed for another outing to the swimming baths.
“What’s the secret, Mummy?” she said..
“No secret, Lucy. They were imagining things.”
“Like Cleo and the green elves?”
They all looked at Cleo for an explanation.
“Just a bedtime story,” said Cleo.
“You must tell me that story,” said Gary.
Rising to the bait and shocking Dorothy she said “I will,
Gary, though I’m not sure it would send you to sleep.”
Dorothy frowned. Lucy announced that she was going to the swimming
pool with some of her classmates.
“Not today, Lucy. There’s killer running free round here.”
“Is that the secret?” said Lucy. “He won’t get near us,
Mummy. We’re going in a crowd.”
“Well, make sure you stay together,” said Victoria.
Lucy promised they would.
***
“Should we drive to the police station, Cleo?” Gary wanted
to know.
“Wouldn’t you prefer to walk? We could go past the beachhuts.”
“You’re right. We
need some fresh air,” said Gary.
“I hope you get on well with Brass,” said Cleo. “He’s
probably our only hope of inside information.”
***
A few minutes later Cleo and Gary set off for the town centre
at a brisk pace. Dorothy had decided to stay at home, though she was curious
about Gary’s reaction to the police setup and how he and Cleo got on when no
one else was around.
***
Gary hooked his arm through Cleo’s. Out of sight of Vera’s
home, they stopped to embrace. To their surprise, they were both tearful.
“It’s the wind,” said Gary.
“Blowing us together, you mean,” said Cleo.
“Let’s run away, ”
“I can’t do that right now.”
“I’m glad you came to me last night,” said Gary.
“I could not very well wait for you to come to me, Gary. Not
with Lucy sleeping a yard above me. Would you have come?”
“I probably would have come to collect you if you hadn’t
beaten me to it, but the hearthrug was a better idea than a kiddies’ bunk bed,
so we’d have come back downstairs anyway.”
“Where will you sleep tonight, Gary?”
“It can’t be your bed so I’ll have to find a hotel.”
“The problem is that I’m here with Dorothy.”
“Of course. Now we know how we feel, it’s not quite so hard
to wait a day or two,” Gary said sadly. Cleo could not resist pulling him closs
to her and assuring him that she wanted him more than ever and he should kick
the sadness and start looking into a bright future.
“You knock me over when you hold me like that,” said Gary.
“I could say the same,” said Cleo.
“Don’t let go.”
“We have a job to od, Sweetheart.”
***
They arrived at the row of beachhuts and after a very short
look at them, Gary’s only comment was “Ghastly!”
Ten minutes later they arrived at the little police station.
***
“Constable Brass, this is D. I. Gary Hurley,” said Cleo by
way of an introduction.
“Chief Inspector, actually,” corrected Gary, who was anxious
to make a powerful impression on this white-faced cop who looked as if he could
not catch a mouse, let alone a killer.
“Sorry, Gary. Did I demote you?” said Cleo.
“Not for long,” he replied Brass looked at them and knew
they we lovers.
“How do you do, Sir,” he said. “Will you come this way?”
Gary took Cleo’s hand and they exchanged amused glances. Brass was behaving
like a butler.
Brass led Gary and Cleo into Sergeant Llewellyn’s office,
which he called the holy of holies.
“The computer’s on, Sir, if you’d like to take a look at the
Sweet case so far.”
“Thank you, Brass. Where’s the sergeant?”
“Off today, Sir.”
“Wasn’t he supposed to be here until the murder is solved?”
“He’s off every weekend, Sir.”
“And you are left holding the baby, I suppose,” said Gary.
“Well, sort of. There’s isn’t anyone else.”
“You aren’t much of a deterrent, are you?” said Gary. “I
mean, you can’t deal all on your own with complaints and crimes that happen
here on a Sunday. It’s a golden opportunity for criminals who know that.”
“I know Sir, but because honest people know we are
understaffed, we don’t get many emergencies and I can often even stay at home
and take calls from there.”
“I’m not sure if that is reassuring, Brass,” said Gary,
wondering if Brass was always as poker-faced as he was now.
“Murder’s the exception, Sir.”
“But apparently not this one,” said Cleo. “Not to
Llewellyn.”
“I can’t answer for his sense of responsibility,” said Brass
and it was quite clear that he did think the sergeant had any.
“Do you get a lot of corpses, Brass?”
“More than enough, Sir, what with fairground incidents,
illegal car-racing, gangs of louts picking fights and people drowning.”
“But you are obliuged to hold the fort every weekend, aren’t
you, Brass?” said Gary.
“I don’t make the
work schedule,” said the constable, who was now on the defensive. “We don’t
have many crimes at the weekend. The locals are mostly harmless, and the
holidaymakers are too busy going and coming, you see. Midweek is the best time
for crime here.”
“I'm not sure that is a comfort, Brass. There’s been one
murder we know about during the week. It has not been solved, so Sergeant
Llewellyn can’t just go off and amuse himself.”
Cleo thought Gary was being unnecessarily sharp with the
poor guy.
“You have a hard time with the sergeant, don’t you?” she
said in a sympathetic voice. “You even drive him around, don’t you?”
“You do what?” Gary interrupted, noticing the softness in
Cleo’s voice. “Is there no patrol car team?” he said, with similar softnes.
“No, Sir. Only me. They come from Headquarters if we have a big
problem. But I o have a squad car.”
“Miss Piece told me that your sergeant uses the squad car like
a cab, Brass.”
“He doesn’t like using his motor-bike to come to work,”
Brass explained.
“It hardly seems worth keeping this station open, does it?”
said Gary.
“There’s been talk of closing down, but Taffy has
connections, so we’ve escaped so far.”
“Who’s Taffy?”
“That’s the sergeant Sir. His friends call him Taffy.”
“Tell me a bit about those connections of his, Brass.”
“I don’t know much.”
“Tell me what you do know.”
“I have my suspicions and very little to support them, Sir.”
Brass felt awkward. It isn’t usual to split on your boss and
Brass needed his job.
“You can’t get the sack for helping to solve a case, Brass,”
said Gary, who seemed to know what was going on in Brass’s mind. “A sergeant
can’t fire a constable, either.”
“But he can make mischief, Sir.”
“Has he done that before?”
“Not for me Sir, but my predecessors all left within weeks
and it was because they had contradicted him. I’m careful not to get in his
way.”
***
Cleo thought there must be some kind of cover-up going on
and Brass could have been sworn to secrecy. What if one of those town council
guys was in trouble and Llewellyn knew it? Llewellyn had presumably cultivated
his connections intentionally. Sergeants do not normally mix with local dignitaries,
but Llewellyn had probably acquired access to secret data about people in
public life. Was that fat guy blackmailing someone?
***
“I can’t talk about it,” said Brass. “It would cost me my job
here. Taffy would see to that.”
“Don’t worry about your job, Brass. You can work for me if
you are prepared to move to Middlethumpton.”
“Could I? There are a lot of bad people round here. I’d like
to get my kids away from them.”
“What about your wife, Brass?”
“Dead, Sir. Cancer.”
“Sorry.”
“So am I, Sir.”
Cleo was a bit mad at Gary. He was brutally direct and often
trampled on people’s feelings, though admittedly he had now changed his tone of
voice. He had probably made a friend for life in Brass by offering him a job
away from Sergeant Llewellyn.
“I’ll get you promoted to Sergeant and you can do training
courses to get detective status later. Is it a deal?”
“When do I start, Sir?”
“Let’s clear up this business first, shall we. I’m relying
on you, Brass.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“By the end of the year, if not before then, this branch
will be a monument to your sergeant and you will have a future in
Middlethumpton, Brass.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
***
“So now let’s get down to work. Where is the corpse?”
Cleo was impressed by Gary’s gesture. She signalled her
approval with a blown kiss only he could see.
“At the hospital up the road, Sir. In the pathology lab. The
pathologist gets a fee when he works for us.”
“Then he must be pleased when he has a corpse to work on.”
***
Cleo thought that was a really macabre comment and hoped
that Gary had got over the shock involving Sybil. Sybil had been a reformed
hooker who had gone back on the streets and led a double life. Taking up with
her had been a bad mistake. It was one of Gary’s desperate attempts to find a partner who wasn’t Cleo
Hartley. A single woman devoted to her child would be ideal. Cleo knew that he
wanted her more than anything and had been trying to live with her ambivalence.
Sybil was a relationship on the rebound andGary had assured Cleo that he did
not have sex with her. Since the previous night Cleo also knew for sure that
she wanted Gary more than anything, but she could not leave Robert as long as
the risk of losing PeggySue was haunting her. Robert ws her legal father and
might keep the child from her out of sheer spite.
***
“Any report from pathology yet, Brass?” Gary asked.
“Just cause of death. The woman…” Brass started to read from
the laptop monitor.
Gary interrupted him.
“Her real name is Susan Smart, Brass, and she went missing
from a private school 4 years ago. She was 20 years old when she died.”
Brass was astonished that Gary knew so much, but he did not
ask how.
“Well, this person received a blow on the back of her head,
but she had been half-strangled first.”
“Five other prostitutes were murdered in similar situations.
Did you know that?”
“No Sir. The sergeant said that Miss Sweet had committed
suicide.”
“But you don’t believe that, do you?”
“Of course not, Sir. How could she have inflicted either of those
injuries on herself?”
“I agree, Brass. So why is he insisting it was suicide?”
“I don’t know, Sir, but he told me I’d be in hot water if I
challenged his judgement.”
“Did he now? I’m really looking forward to meeting him,”
said Gary, “but we need more information about him first, and stop calling me
Sir!”
“Yes, Sir errrr Mr Hurley.”
“Gary. We don’t stand on ceremony in Middlethumpton.”
Brass looked astonished. Sergeant Loo was always riding
around on his seniority.
“Do you want to tell me anything else, Brass?”
“Yes, Gary. For the record, my name is Bradley, first name Fred,
but everyone calls me Brass. You can call me Fred if you prefer.”
The constable then repeated what he had told Cleo the
previous afternoon.
“If you saw Sergeant Taffy at the brothel, you must have
been there yourself, Brass.”
“I was.”
“Would you like to explain?”
“It was a Saturday evening and I got a mysterious phone call.”
“Did you find out who made it?”
“No.”
“But someone knew that you were working late.”
“I suppose they did. I had reports to write.”
“Are you sure you have no idea who made that call?”
Cleo her breath. Gary did not miss a trick, she decided,
even if he sometimes had unconventional ways of conducting questionings.
“Anonymous. No name or number, but it was a woman’s voice.”
“Do you remember exactly what the voice said, Brass?”
“It said I should get to King Street fast because there was
somebody there who might incite violence.”
“King Street referring to a brothel, I assume. So you went
to investigate.”
“I didn’t get that far. I was still outside when the sergeant
came along and went in.”
“I hope he didn’t see you, Brass.”
“I made sure he didn’t. I hid behind a wall.”
“But you were in uniform. That would make you conspicuous.”
“No, I was in mufti. I’d changed out of uniform and was
about to go home when the phone rang.”
“Then you couldn’t have done anything official even if there
had been violence.”
“I had my badge with me, Gary.”
“Were you armed?” Cleo asked.
“No, Miss Hartley, of course not. Anyway, the sergeant has
the key to the firearms cupboard.”
“So you could not defend yourself if there was an emergency,” said Cleo.
“They don’t go in for regular shoot-outs round here, Cleo.
This is Wales, Land of Song,” Gary commented.
“There was one once,” said Brass. “Gangsters in a get-away
car shooting at other gangsters. It was quite exciting, onlookers said, but we
didn’t find out about it till after it was all over.”
“So you did not go into the brothel that evening, did you?”
“No. I did not want the sergeant to think I was a client, if
he saw me.”
“But you had decded that he was one, Brass,” said Cleo.
“I would never mention it,” said Brass.
“I presume that the
phone call was a false alarm,” said Gary.
“I don’t know. I did not hear about any trouble.”
“You are not trained as a detective, are you?”
“No Miss. I always wanted to, but my wife was against it.”
“We’ll get you there Brass,” said Gary.”I’m truly sorry
about your wife, but she’s not here to stop you now, is she?”
“She was afraid for me, Gary.”
“Patrol cops live more dangerously, Brass.”
“I wish you’d been around to tell her that, Gary.”
“Did you ever ask the
sergeant about the brothel, Brass?” Celo asked.
“I would not have dared, but I think he was a regular there.
In fact, I know he was because I made a few inquiries.”
“Good. Tell us about them,” said Gary.
“Well, there’s a fish and chip shop nearby and the brothel reception
often orders take-aways or delivers suppers for clients who want to stay
longer.”
“How is that relevant?”
“Taffy always ordered a double portion of chips, Gary.”
“And it was the same Taffy, was it?”
“Taffy Double L to be exact. Double L is for Llewellyn,
Gary. It’s a nuisance having to pronounce that name all the time.”
“I’ll go with that, “ said Gary.
“I know it was him because I went in a couple of days later
and asked about a motor-bike that was parked outside the shop. It was Taffy Double
L’s.”
“You mentioned a motor-bike earlier, didn’t you?” said Gary.
“I’m surprised such a fat man could sit on such a small
saddle,” said Cleo.
“He has an extra wide one. He’s a keen biker, Miss Hartley. He
goes around seaside resorts and venues meeting other bikers.”
***
Cleo decided that it was a plausible explanation of the
sergeant’s weekend activities. It did not make him a killer, but she wondered
if a motor-bike had been seen at the locations of other hooker killings if he
was so attached to it. Gary was wondering the same thing. They exchanged
meaningful glances.
***
“Is there more ot the story, Brass?”
“A bit more, Gary. Ivy, that’s the brothel manageress I talked
to on a pretext, said Taffy Double L always left his bike at the chip shop and came
on foot.”
“She must have been trying to make herself interesting,”
said Cleo. “Brothel mothers don’t usually talk about their cloents.”
“Does Ivy own the brothel, Brass?” Gary asked.
“A Mr Frobisher bought the place and turned it from a
respectable town villa into a den of iniquity. Then he died and his wife Ivy carried
on, Gary. She has the gift of the gab and is extremely vulgar,” said Brass.
“But she likes to be friends with the local police, I assume,”
said Cleo.
“We make better friends than enemies,” sad Brass.
“I’d like to hear more about Ivy some time,” said Gary. “For
now we need to find out if the sergeant was a client of Susie Sweet.”
“I can’t find out, Sir. If Sergeant Loo discovers that I’ve
been spying on him, he’ll make trouble for me.”
“You can’t find out about him, but I can. The sergeant might
have gone out with Susie the evening she was killed. Someone must have gone
with her to the beachhuts. I can’t believe a prostitute would go there unless
she was with or due to meet a client there.
“That makes sense,” said Brass, “Except that Ivy used a
couple of those beachhuts herself after dark.
“You mean, she solicited, don’t you , Brass?” said Cleo.
“She said she needed time out, Miss Hartley.”
“Who told you that?”
“I think the whole town knows that she offered her services
there when the beachhut wardens had gone home,” said Brass.
“There were remains of fish and chips in the hut where Sweet
was killed. Supposing the sergeant told Susie Sweet he was hungry and invited
her to go with him to get some food from the chip shop and then suggested they
go to a beachhut to eat it,” said Cleo.
“That would explain how she got there, but how did she get
in?” said Gary.
“If the sergeant had
made a plan, he could have obtained a key from Ivy in advance,” said Brass. “
Ivy rented some of those beachhut on a yearly basis. I wonder if she gave the
sergeant a key and told him to go there with one of her girls.”
“That sound feasible,” said Gary.
“Do you think he was
planning to kill the girl?” Brass asked.
“We can’t rule that out. If she was blackmailing him about
his visits to the brothel he might have decided to put an end to the problem
that way,” said Gary.
“She might only have mentioned blackmail at the beachhut, of
course, so the killing could have been on the spur of the moment,” said Cleo.
“That’s always hard to prove,” said Gary.
“It’s all horrible,” said Brass.
“We’ll have to search the sergeant’s house. Where does he
live?”
“He lodges.”
“No wife to go home to?”
“No.”
“Somehow that does not surprise me,” said Gary.
“Thanks for offering to support me,” said Brass, “but I’ll have enough problems without
answering for a house search.”
“So who is his landlord, Brass?”
“Someone who likes interfering, judging from the way the
sergeant curses her.”
"She might be a useful source of information,” said
Cleo.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Brass.
***
Gary wondered if the constable had given any serious thought
to the odd activities of his superior.
Brass thought things over for a moment.
”How should I approach the sergeant then, Gary?"
“Just act normal,” advised Gary. “On no account must he be
aware that he is being investigated. You don’t know a thing, Brass.”
***
Gary proposed paying the brothel a visit that afternoon.
Cleo would go along as a witness, and Brass would not go at all. Gary would
reveal his identity and ask when Susie Sweet had last been seen. He would
explain how they knew who she was and where she had come from. They could
perhaps find out more about the girl’s clients. Focussing on Llewellyn as the
only possible suspect was not a good idea. There may have been others with a
reason to kill Miss Sweet, or even no reason at all except their own trumped up
idea of who deserves to go on living. Gary was sure that it was now common
knowledge that Susie had been murdered.
***
“But I’ll have to book in at a hotel first,” said Gary.
“Try the Bella Vista on the sea-front, Gary. They do a
decent breakfast and change the bedding for every guest.”
Gary looked horrified.
“Don’t the other hotels change the bedding for every guest?”
he said.
“Not all of them,” said Brass.
“We’ll go to Vera’s first,” said Cleo. “They’ll have lunch
on the table by now and will be expecting us. And you can sleep on the sofa
again tonight, Gary.”
As she said that, Cleo wondered if Brass had been
speculating about her relationship with Gary.
“There’s always the Grand Hotel,” said Brass. “It’s
expensive, but it’s one of a chain and they are very strict about how the place
is run. I could phone there and tell them you are coming.”
“Why not, Brass. That’s a good idea.”
“I’ll let you know how I get on.”
***
There was no time to stop for a hug
on the way back to Vera’s when battling
against a strong wind. They were grateful for the warm welcome Vera gave them
and delighted her and Dorothy with an account of their experience with Brass.
“Poor man. He sounds plagued with that sergeant,” said Dorothy.
“He is. I’m going to get him out of this nest if it’s the
last thing I do,” said Gary.
“I hope it won’t be, Gary, and you can sleep on the sofa again
if you are staying over,” said Dorothy with so much heavy emphasis in her voice
that Cleo knew that her visit to Gary and their love-making had not gone
unnoticed. Dorothy even winked at her and Cleo found herself winking back.
***
Later, in the car driving to the brothel, Cleo remarked that
Dorothy had guessed.
“We didn’t make any noise,” said Gary.
“Dorothy can hear a pin drop at fifty meters,” said Cleo.
“She has selective hearing.”
“At least she didn’t come in.”
“Fortunately not. She might have been shocked to find two
naked people making love on the hearth rug. We could clinch our new deal tonight,
if you can face the sofa, Gary.”
“I didn’t see much of the sofa.”
***
Gary parked on the main road round the corner from the brothel.
“Are you quite sure you want me with you, Gary?”
“Sure I’m sure. Two heads are better than one.”
“You could have asked Dorothy.”
“She’s two young for this sort of thing.”
“Young?”
“Not really used to the sordid side of life.”
“Don’t you believe it!”
“Let’s put it this way: You don’t take your mother on
dubious missions.”
“You would if it was Gloria.”
“I’d send her on her own.”
“I do believe you would,” said Cleo.
***
They left the car out of sight of the brothel, walked round
two corners, and climbed the steps to the door of the red brick building. It
looked just like the other large, rather grand houses in the street. Gary
wondered what the neighbours thought about having a brothel next door.
The décor inside was suitably gaudy. The walls were papered with a gold
brocade pattern; erotic prints hung from golden chains in elaborate golden
frames on the walls; the upholstery was red velvet; cut glass wine goblets
stood on glass-topped coffee tables; the tables had gold-painted legs standing
on lion-claw carvings. Venus de Milo and David statuettes stood on plinths,
more for their erotic charm than than artistic magnificance.
Ivy emerged from a back room dressed like a fortune teller with
a flourish of red-clawed hands and a waft of musky perfume to greet the
visitors, or rather, to appraise Gary. She was less taken by Cleo.
According to a large poster stuck on the wall behind the
reception desk, Mrs Ivy Frobisher did hand-reading and other esoteric
fortune-telling tricks by appointment (or failing that, as a favour). She thought
Gary would make a lucrative client. In her experience, clients often went
esoteric first. They would accept the offer of having their future divined.
After that it was plain sailing, since Mrs Frobisher invariably planted the
idea of sex by the hour as a solution to any problems they might have or, as a
last ditch approach, get should they not obey the call of their libido, as she
put it.
“Want to see into the future, Sir?” she asked. “Or would you
prefer something for the present,” she added, grasping Gary’s arm with a claw.
Cleo concluded that the woman was in truth a bird of prey. The pointed artificial
finger-nails were a give-away. The rest of the costume with its neckline
swoping almost to the waist to expose breasts that had seen better days did not
suggest that Mrs Frobisher confined her duties to witchcraft or managerial functions.
Cleo had the urge to drag Gary away.
“I don’t want either,” replied Gary removing Ivy’s
possessive hand from his arm. Ivy receded hastily to behind her reception
counter to think over her approach. After a few minutes she looked at Gary
venomously.
“Then you are in the wrong house,” she said sharply. Her
instinct was telling her that Gary was a copper.
“My name is Chief Inspector Hurley and I’m inquiring about one
of your girls,” said Gary.
“Oh,” the woman said. “I thought at first…”
“I know what you thought
at first, Mrs….”
“Call me Ivy.”
“Well, Ivy,” said Gary, smirking. “I’m not here for thrills.
I just want to ask you a few questions.”
“We do a good line in customer satisfaction,” Ivy announced,
persevering with what she thought was a bout of reticence on the part of this
copper. In her experience it took coppers longer to warm to the paid sex
experience, but once hooked, there was no stopping them. She had forgotten that
Gary had not come alone.
“I expect you do, but that is not why we are here,” said
Gary.
“And the dark lady behind you,” said Ivy, now reluctantly
transferring her attention to Cleo. “ Personal security, or are you Looking for
a job? We could use someone exotic if she is not part of your entourage, Mr
Hurley?”
“No, I’m a partner,” said Cleo, knowing that coloured people
were deemed racier than whites.
“Oh,” said Mrs Frobisher, looking at them from one to the
other. “I wouldn’t have thought…”
“You would ‘t have thought we were a pair, Mrs Frobisher?”
said Cleo. “Think again!”
“Just think about what I’m going to ask you,” said Gary,irritated
by Cleo’s confession. He felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of this brothel woman.
He had the feeling that despite Cleo’s confession, Ivy was trying to decide
which of the girls would be the most suitable for him. He decided to get his
questioning over as fast as possible. Cleo decided to step in and hurry things
along.
“I’m Cleo Hartley of the Hartley Detective Agency,” she
said. “We’re inquiring about a person calling herself Susie Sweet and I sleep with
the inspector, as I expect you realized.”
“That’s a pity,” said Ivy Frobisher. “I think we could do
more for him, Dearie. He’s not getting enough.”
“I beg to differ, Ivy,” said Gary, revenging himself for
Cleo’s unnecessary forthrightness. “Miss Hartley has an unforgettable body.”
“Sorry, I’m sure,” the woman said. “That’s often why men
come here.”
“Not this one, Ivy, sp don’t be sorry,” Gary said. “My wife
is as hot as hell, but this is not about us. I want to talk about Susie Sweet.”
***
“What about Susie?” Mrs Frobisher retorted ebulliently.
“When did you last see her?” Gary asked.
“She had last Thursday off so it must have been Wednesday.
Yes, last Wednesday. She went out with a client. I didn’t see her come back,
either, now I come to think of it. But that’s not unusual. Clients pay in
advance, you see, and if one of the girls decides to waste her night on her
last client of the day it’s her business. She gets paid for two hours, however
long she makes the session. But of course, I don’t know if she gets money from
the client for extra services.”
“That’s rather a precarious system, isn’t it?” said Cleo.
“It works. Susie will make up for lost hours when she comes back,” said Ivy.
“Comes back from where, Ivy,” said Gary.
Ivy shrugged her shoulders.
“Who was the client, Ivy?” Cleo asked.
“I don’t remember.”
“Your system doesn’t sound very business-like,” said Gary.
“Oh, it is, I assure you,” said Ivy. “Most men only stay for
less than an hour, but they all pay for two because that’s the standard rate.
When a client leaves, it’s the next one’s turn. That way, the second hour is
usually profit because the girls are talented, if you know what I mean. We
don’t attract anyone who can’t pay the charges. Being higher grade keeps the
vagrants away, you see.”
***
You got the impression that Mrs Frobisher was running a charity
except for the dig about vagrants. She was extremely anxious to make Gary a
confidante. Gary hoped she would be just as forthcoming about what he was about
to request. He also knew that he would not get anywhere by shouting at Ivy.
***
“Tell me who the client was, Ivy,” he said persuasively.”I
need to know that.”
Cleo was sure that Ivy knew more than she was letting on.
The intimate way in which Gary spoke to her affected Ivy so
much that she came round her counter and, mistaking his strategy, rubbed up
against Gary, who recoiled, much to Ivy’s surprise. Men didn’t usually recoil
even if her attentions cost an arm and a leg. It was generally a sign of
approval when Ivy rubbed up against a client.
“Not now, Ivy,” Gary said, moving away a little but
continuing his persuasive strategy.
Cleo hoped the woman did not interpret that as a promise of
future delights.
“I can’t tell you that, Mr Hurley,” Ivy said.
Gary straightened up, the coaxing over.
“You might have to, Ivy,” he said in his normal voice.
***
Deciding the Gary was getting to rough with Ivy, Cleo
stepped in.
“Haven’t you missed Susie, Ivy? After all, she’s been gone 4
days.”
“None of her regular clients has been her and asked for her
and I had enough staff to satisfy the others,” replied Ivy.
The lascivious look on her face confirmed that Ivy still worked
in the horizontal profession. Her intimate gesture to Gary had told him that she
had selected him for such an event. What Gary did not know was that Ivy liked
to try out all her new clients. Cleo commented later that she had the
impression he was at an audition for the part of Romeo. His reticence had spurred
Ivy on.
***
“Do you keep lists of the clients, Ivy?” Gary asked.
“Of course I do; for the tax office,” said Ivy. “Very
regular regulars get a discount, too.”
“So you could tell me who ‘visited’ Miss Sweet on Wednesday if
you wanted to, couldn’t you?” said Gary. “That’s if you keep a record of all
your clients, of course.”
“I’m not always sure about the names,” said Ivy, quite
obviously fibbing.
“What does the tax office say about that, Ivy?” Cleo asked.
“It’s called discretion. If an official from the tax office
is also a client – and some are – their visits here are documented anonymously
so they are not traceable.”
“This is a police matter, Ivy, but we are discreet,” said Gary.
“We don’t want to make trouble for anyone who’s innocent.”
“OK. Just let me look in my records,” said Mrs Frobisher,
opening her laptop to the appropriate database . She knew full well that her
premises could be searched and her laptop confiscated at the drop of a hat if
Sergeant Double-L was no longer in charge of the police station. She printed a
list of Susie Sweet’s clients. Gary and Cleo studied it briefly. The sergeant’s
name was on it, coded as ELEL.
“The codes are for me,” said Ivy, when Gary pointed to one.
“If there’s a problem I can always add the full name.”
Cleo though that was a good way of instigating blackmail
that functioned with a ‘you-pay-I don’t-reveal-your-name’ system.
“I don’t suppose you keep a record of when these clients
were last here, do you, Ivy?” said Cleo, guessing rightly that the woman would
be proud to have made a note each time and could now tell her that in fact ELEL
had been the last one to visit Susie Sweet thatWednesday evening and taken her out to supper.
Ivy’s instinct now told her to get rid of these snoopers.
Ivy was only interested in co-operating so that she would be left to her own
devices in future.
“ELEL often came. He’s a short, rather fat man and not very
appetizing,” said Ivy, who had decided not to claim any kind of friendship with
the sergeant. Whatever agreement she had with him would remain her secret.
“I used to wonder about Susie keeping him on her list of
clients because between you, me and the gatepost, he is a bit impotent. He’s
probably a copper.”
“Not all cops are impotent,” said Cleo, winking broadly at
Ivy.
“Do you think he’s a copper or do you know he’s a copper?”
Gary asked, wondering at Cleo’s defensive comment. Ivy had clearly enjoyed it,
judging by her wink. He had not seen Cleo’s.
“Well, I suspected it,” she said eventually, “but it’s none
of my business what the clients do for a living. They pay in advance. No fee,
no service.”
“Can the girls choose their clients?” Cleo asked.
“Not if the clients are new here and have not been vetted.”
“Who vets them?” Gary asked.
“I do, at half price. It’s not always very nice. I’m glad
I’m not in the girls’ shoes sometimes,” said Ivy. “But it keeps me in good shape,
as you can see, though business men are often quite revolting and we get lots
of them, especially from the conference centre, though there has been a problem
with a hostess agency recently.
Ivy’s boast about being in good shape was accompanied by a
few bars of belly-dance, which Gary thought was anything but nice. He wondered
what Ivy found ‘very nice’. With her sagging breasts in an XXL figure and her
grotesque make up she was not very nice herself. The men who had sex with her
must be desperate to get her approval and probably oblivious to her eagerness
to award it.
Cleo thought Ivy was absurd.
“But you let the businessmen in, didn’t you, Ivy?” said
Cleo.
“My business is about money and paid sex, not empathy, Miss
Hartley.”
“But I still wonder why Susie Sweet put up with that guy if
he’s as awful as you say,” said Cleo, provoking Ivy to contradict her previous
statement and tell her that Inspector Llewellyn had a very important job as a
Chief of Police and for that reason did not want any publicity. She paid Susie
extra to entertain him. He was that important.
Gary thought Cleo had done a brilliant job of getting Ivy to
confess to knowing the sergeant. He had obviously told lies about his status,
promoting himself to a position of power that gave him perks at the brothel and
possibly elsewhere. It did not mean that he was involved in Susie’s murder, but
that could not be ruled out. He was a con man and probably had loads of
criminal energy.
“So Mr Double-L left with Susie Sweet,” he said. “That is
what you said, isn’t it?”
“Yes. He invited her to go out for supper with him. He does
that quite often.”
***
“You do know that Susie Sweet is dead, don’t you, Ivy?” said
Cleo.
“I heard a rumour that she had been murdered, but I don’t
believe it,” said Ivy. “Why would anyone want to kill Susie? She was a nice,
decent, well brought-up girl.”
Those words coming from the manageress of a brothel were odd
by normal standards, but it was hardly likely that Ivy would judge her girls by
normal standards.
“I’m sorry if she’s dead,” continued Ivy. “She was a good
worker and attracted quite a few new clients.”
That sounded more like the comment Cleo would have expected.
Gary was now very anxious to get out of the establishment.
“Would you like to see the rooms before you go, Inspector?”
“No thank you. That won’t be necessary.”
“Well, in that case I’ll bid you good day,” Ivy said,
beckoning towards a corner of the entrance hall. Cleo and Gary were escorted to
the door by someone they had not noticed before. His job was presumably to be a
discreet keeper of the peace. Security, Ivy explained in a word.
***
Cleo wondered why the doorman had not been there to receive
them. Had Brass warned Ivy that they were coming? Was Brass’s whole story a
pack of lies? Cleo mused that all they had learnt was that Sergeant Llewellyn
was a regular client at the brothel and had invited Susie Sweet to go out for a
meal with him the day she was found dead.. It was definitely significant that he
had gone out with Susie the evening she was murdered.
***
Cleo was baffled by the setup at the brothel. Such
establishments were not normally run on such lenient lines. She suggested to
Gary that the establishment might be a cover-up for something far more
sinister.
“How sinister can you get?” said Gary. “The place was decked
out like an oriental harem and Mrs
Frobisher was dressed like a fairground effigy.”
“Money- laundering, for instance,” said Cleo.
“How would that work? The fees for services there were not
worth laundering.”
“Not brothel fees,” said Cleo. “But supposing the brothel
finances are being manipulated? Supposing guys from the town hall are
appropriating public funds and then passing them through the brothel accounts,
sharing the proceeds with Ivy?”
“That would still be small fry, Cleo.”
“Not that small, It would be worth it for Ivy to declare
more clients than she had, with suitably coded names so that the tax office
would not ask awkward questions that could result in their superiors being
identified. The amount paid in tax would be small fry compared with what Ivy
earned. I don’t suppose all the pilfered funds actually went through any books
at all. They just melted in thin air.”
“That sounds plausible, Cleo. I agree that the place is
probably protected by persons who would rather not be named, but surely there
isn’t enough money around in towns like this to make it worthwhile.”
“You’d be surprised at how much money there is around, Gary.
Building land can be sold at a high price and the deals not passed correctly through
the books, for instance. Look at some of the awful amusement places on the sea-front.
Who sold contracts to have them built there and ruin the coastline? Prospectors pay a
high price for a site that will be a gold-mine when the visitors crowd in.
Proceeds are presumably filtered illicitly through the brothel and the
perpetrators give themselves building permission.”
“How do you expose that kind of corruption?” said Gary.
“Those guys know how to cover their tracks. I spent a year assisting in the
fraud squad in London trying to catch some of the slipperiest eels in the UK.”
“A guy like that sergeant probably knows how the deals
work,” said Cleo. “It’s manna from
heaven for a blackmailer.”
“Which could make him a murder target,” said Gary. “And that
means that he has to be found fast.”
“Supposing the sergeant knows something about the proceeds
of drug-peddling, for instance, Gary. Drug-peddling is a common crime. It would
not be the first time there was a network among so-called respectable citizens.
Or what about trading in pornographic images? That’s the sort of thing some outwardly
respectable men are into. Blackmail of seemingly respectable men in high jobs
would be a money spinner.”
“A multiple choice problem, Cleo, and don’t leave the fairer
sex out of the evil doings.”
“I’m thinking right now that men who do not want their wives
to know about their brothel visits are also targets for blackmail.”
“Would that include Llewellyn? He is not married.”
“Maybe he’s gay. Some circles still don’t tolerate that,”
said Cleo. “Whatever is going on, it might indicate that Llewellyn would not
tolerate having something done to himself that he does without compunction to
others.”
“There are fiddles going on everywhere, Cleo. We can’t
investigate them all, so let’s concentrate on catching whoever murdered Susan
Smart and see where that leads us.”
“You’re right. The opulence of that brothel startled me. It
seemed incongruous in this shabby little seaside town.”
“You also seemed surprised that Ivy Frobisher was playing
the lady bountiful, Cleo. I can tell you stories of plenty of such wily
characters. The so-called entertainment business is full of them, and I am not
attracted to them. The glint in your eyes was therefore superfluous.”
“Just imagine you had succumbed, Gary. It doesn’t bear
thinking about.”
“You’d better take care of me, Cleo, to make sure I don’t
weaken,” said Gary.
“I sure will, but another idea has just occurred to me,
connected with that weird security guard,” said Cleo.
“He was rather a nasty figure, wasn’t he? It’s probably Ivy’s
way of keeping undesirables out,” said Gary.
“We should find out more about him. For instance, is he a
doorman or a paid assassin? He looks like one.”
“What do paid assassins look like?” said Gary.
“Like him, for instance.”
“To be honest, Ivy wore me out and I’ve had enough of all
that sleaze for one day. If Ivy or her strong man are involved in some way, they’ll
be getting their act together by now and be prepared for us next time we turn
up.”
“Maybe I should talk to her alone. She might open up more to
me.”
Gary paused for some time before reacting. Cleo thought he
was still thinking of Ivy’s business practices, but he wasn’t.
“I could do with some fresh air before I get back in the
car. Care to come along, Cleo?”
“Sure. That house of ill-repute had a stifling effect on
me.”
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