Episode 28 - Mata Hari

Monday cont.

Sheila, who had found the assignment distasteful and disliked Cleo’s authority, thought the questioning was over when she left the brothel with Cleo. The villa was open for business, but it was early afternoon, and the half dozen prostitutes who had not left for other haunts had already been assembled in the plush reception area for what looked like a meeting when Cleo and her reluctant escort had arrived.

Cleo was disappointed that nothing she did not already know emerged in the Susie Sweet case. The hookers who had stayed seemed to have recovered from the shock. They assured Cleo that they were not going on any more outings with clients, even as far as the chip-shop. Cleo wondered if Ivy had awarded or even received extra ‘fees’ for allowing the girls to go out with clients. If so, she had let them play with fire. The loss of her best ‘girl’ (judging by the appearance of the others) had been a lesson to her, but she had not done her own private trading within the shelter of her establishment either, and that had cost her her life.

***

The ‘girls, whowere anything but girlish, told Cleo that Jake had drummed it into them that they were taking risks if they went out with clients in future and would be fired if they ignored his warning. One death might be called a warning; when it became two, it was a threat. The fact that Ivy’s murderer had been caught was not really relevant. The murderer of the girl calling herself Susie Sweet had not yet been found.

***

Cleo and the policewoman had only just rounded the corner and were walking towards the town centre when one of the ‘girls’ caught up with them.

“Can I walk with you?” she asked.

“Sure,” said Cleo.

Sheila looked askance.

“There’s no trade at this time of day, so it’s a good opportunity to do some shopping,” the woman said to justify leaving the security of the brothel. She was about 30 years old and looked  rather ordinary.

“What’s your name?” said Sheila.

“Maria,” said the hooker, “but my trade name is Mata Hari.”

“Wow,” said Cleo. “I’ll bet you have the men curious!”

Sheila disapproved of Cleo’s friendliness with the woman.

“I dress to match my name,” said Maria “I wear saris and Indian type make-up. Some men have more fun unwinding my saris than anything else.“

“Bizarre!” said Sheila.

“For a man it’s quite a contrast to the little woman at home, I’m sure,” said Cleo.

“That’s the whole point, Miss Hartley. We take the brunt of the criticism, but in fact we help to conserve rotten marriages a lot of the time, and possibly help to prevent violence.”

“You don’t sound much like a prostitute,” said Sheila.

“What does a prostitute sound like, Constable?”

“Sorry. That was a silly comment.”

“No, it wasn’t. Quite a few of us – like me – have university degrees and could not find a job to match our qualifications. Prostitution is the oldest trade of all and it is fairly lucrative compared with being a shop assistant or a cleaner or even a policewoman.”

Sheile was aghast. So this person was a university graduate. Shame on her.

“So what do you want to tell us, Maria?” said Cleo, hoping the woman had not changed her mind about talking.

“It’s like this, Miss Hartley…”

“Call me Cleo. It makes talking easier when people know that I’m on their side - unless they’ve committed a crime, of course.”

“I certainly haven’t done that!” said Maria. “Nothing of the kind, I assure you.”

“OK. Spit it out, as my colleague at home would say.”

“Ivy took me into her confidence. She felt she could trust me.”

“And could she?” asked Sheila officiously. She was having trouble with a conversation she was unable to steer.

“Of course, and if she were alive now, I would not be telling you this.”

“Which is?”

“That Jake is Ivy’s son.”

“Wow!”

“He was reared by his father, who was a client of Ivy’s, and the man’s wife, who did not know that he was the father. Jake was what you’d call a work-related accident.”

“Ghastly,” said Sheila.

Maria turned to the constable.

“Aren’t there any in your job, Constable? I would have thought there were plenty of attractive, high-earning police officers to get your teeth into,” said Maria. “Plenty of low paid workers have got themselves pregnant by affluent lovers so that they could reap the benefits.”

“We aren’t all like that, Miss,” said Sheila.

“Really?” said Maria, looking at Sheila critically. “So why do you die your hair red? Policewomen don’t usually bother, but women wanting to be attractive do.”

Sheila looked daggers at Maria.

“Did Jake ever find out about his mother?” Cleo asked.

“No. The baby was smuggled out of the brothel and things were arranged so that it looked as if the woman who reared him had also borne him.”

“That is quite a story, Maria,” said Cleo.

“It’s illegal,” said Sheila.

“But it explains why Ivy wanted Jake to take over the business,” said Maria.

“I thought he’d applied for a job,” said Cleo.

“He did. Everything he has told you is correct.”

“And will he ever know the truth about his origins, Miss?” said Sheila.

“I could tell him,” said Maria, “but it won’t be official. There was no legal adoption as far as I know.”

“Have you looked?” asked Cleo.

“I made sure I sorted out her personal things and I found a journal kept at the time Jake was born. I have it here,” she said, patting a large handbag. “I think you should read it.”

“Have you read it?” said Cleo.

“I think I should confiscate that journal,” said Sheila, lurching forward to grab the book, but Cleo was faster.

“I think not,” she said. “You might hand it on to someone in the town, and that could be the last time it saw daylight. Don’t you know about the sleaze in this place?”

Cleo was sorry Sheila was witnessing the scene. This really was a job for a private sleuth and if the young constable was going to be a nuisance she would have to find a way of getting rid of her.

Sheila bit her lip.

“Jake’s brother – yes, his father had had another child with a different woman – is about 10 years older than Jake.”

“Wow! Jake’s father certainly got around,” said Cleo.

“That brother is now a big number on the town council, Constable,” said Maria. “The longer the affair is kept secret, the more scandalous will it become – at least in the public eye. It isn’t the done thing to have a younger brother who manages a brothel.“

“That makes sense,” said Cleo. “Did you hear that, Sheila? If this journal gets into the wrong hands it could make trouble for someone.”

“If they are all guilty of corruption, I can’t see that it would matter,” said Sheila.

“No?” said Cleo. “If one of the guilty is warned, the others will have time to cover their tracks. That’s how crime works, Constable.”

Sheila had not come to terms with a private sleuth being more forceful and deisive han she thought herself to be.

“OK, Cleo,” she snapped, “ take the journal, but on your head be it if you don’t hand it in soon.”

“Is that threat, Sheila?” said Cleo. “We can refer the case to Mr Hurley, if you like, Sheila. Mr Hurley and I live together. I doubt whether he would take kindly to a junior policewoman issuing threats to me.”

“But you can’t ignore corruption,” said Sheila.

“Who said it’s being ignored, except by certain elements in the police force here? Mr Hurley knows how to handle evidence, but we need to know what else Ivy wrote in that journal all those years ago.”

Sheila scowled. She was being made a fool of by some cheap private snoop.

Cleo held her capacious handbag open for Maria to drop the journal into it.

“We can talk about the contents by phone,” said Maria. “I go jogging early and take my phone with me.”

“Here’s my business card, Maria. Phone me any time or for any reason.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Maria. I’ll examine the text today and if you ring me in the morning I can probably tell you if there’s anything relevant in the journal and also if we need it as evidence for other reasons. You mayalso think of something else I should know.”

***

Sheila had been standing around and did not like it at all.

“How old is Jake,” she asked, trying to take part in what was going on.

“Late twenties,” said Maria.

“So the journal is out of date,” said Sheila haughtily. At last she had found something to complain about.

“Nothing is out of date, Constable,” said Cleo. “It may shed light on other activities, but the main thing is that Jake does not know the contents of this journal and it will be a question of when to tell him on the basis of sound evidence gained from Ivy’s own words. There may even be a second child involved. Then Jake would have to share his inheritance. We need to know all that.”

Maria looked consternated.

Cleo looked closely at her.

“Am I right it thinking that there is a second child, Maria?” she said.” A girl, maybe. Someone who worked for Ivy?”

“She didn’t know, Cleo.”

Sheila thought they were talking in riddles.

“Tell me more, Maria.”

“There are parallels to Jake’s story, except that my adoption was legal and I had to go through the usual channels to find out who my birth mother was.”

“Do I assume that you and the person who calls himself Jake are half-siblings?” said Sheila, who was staggered at what she was hearing.

This morning Sheila had been relieved not to be scheduled for another winter patrolling motorways on her bike, and now she was getting involved in a mystery she could have done without. Tracking dog licence offenders and shop lifters would have done her nicely.

“Half? No, whole,” said Maria.

“How do you know all this about yourself, Maria,” Cleo asked.

“My adoptive parents dropped few hints and eventually told me I was adopted, but they had no information about where I came from,” Maria explained. “So when I turned 18 I went to the adoption agency and started asking questions. I was a student in those days, so did not receive the disapproving looks some people bestow on me now,” said Maria, looking pointedly at Sheila. “I discovered that Ivy had been having an affair for years with the man who was both Jake’s and my father.”

“How careless of her,” said Sheila.

“I did not ask you for your opinion, Constable,” said Maria. “I persevered with questioning at the adoption agency, Cleo, made friends with one of the clerks, and eventually got them to open their files.”

“You had a legal right to that information, Maria,” said Cleo.

“Having legal rights and getting them are two different things, I discovered.”

“It must have been quite a shock to know what kind of a person your mother was,” said Sheila.

“I liked her, but did not want her to know who I was. I had already applied for the job of relief housekeeper at her establishment because I was short of cash during my medcial studies.”

“Does that mean you are a medical doctor?” Sheila asked.

“Yes.”

“But you ended up in prostitution, ” said Sheila, fascinated by the story despite herself.

“Men saw me and asked for me. I was only going to work through the summer months, but my money problem kept me coming back to sell my body, and when I was qualifiedvas a doctor I tried to leave, but something kept me here.”

“It‘s a tragic story, Maria,” said Cleo. “Mrs Frobisher died without knowing you were her daughter.”

“It is tragic and I’m sorry, but she did give me away, after all.”

“She probably had no choice,” said Cleo, . “ and you can’t change the past.”

“But proof of my adoption could change my future. I did qualify as a doctor, Cleo. I could claw my way back into that profession by doing specialist training.”

“That’s a good idea. You must get a lawyer to fight your inheritance case,” said Cleo.

“I’ll call you about the journal tomorrow, Cleo. Thanks for listening and helping.”

“That’s no trouble at all, Maria.”

The three women went their separate ways. Cleo hoped Sheila would have the sense to keep quiet about Maria, but she was far from sure.

***

On reaching the police station with Jake, Gary had sent Cleo a short text to tell her he would keep Jake there for at least an hour. Cleo replied that she was on the way to the shops without Sheila, who had behaved atrociously. Gary knew that Cleo took her time shopping. She would not bump into Jake.

Cleo’s shopping took all afternoon. After talking with Maria and realizing what a little snob Sheila was, she had been glad when the policewoman decided her round of duty was over and went home.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” said Gary, when Cleo finally got back to the police station.

“There was no danger, Gary, except possibly from that nasty little escort I had. I could have well done without her, The hardest part of the whole escapade was coping with her rude remarks.”

“She seemed harmless enough,” said Gary.

“She’s ambitious and a malicious little snob. Not really fit to deal with people who don’t quite fit in with her idea of respectability.”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“It could be, if she decides to make life difficult by repeating what she heard.”

***

From behind his computer Brass declared that he had always disliked Sheila. She couldn’t hold a candle to Joan, and she would use any means of furthering her career, including that red hair and the daring frocks she wore when she was off-duty. Brass thought that some prostitutes were a darn sight more respectable than Constable Sheila.

“And she’ll have me to contend with this time, Brass,” said Gary.

“That’s just as well!”

Gary turned to Cleo. Whatever story there was to be told, he wanted to hear it right away. He asked Cleo if she had learnt anything new.

“Sure, but nothing relevant to Susie Sweet’s murder. I learnt after the meeting that Jake is Ivy’s son. A prostitute ran after us to tell me that and eventually said she was also Ivy’s daughter and a trained medical doctor. She gave me this to read. I think it concerns Jake rather than the hooker.”

Cleo handed Gary the journal.

“That should make some scintillating bedtime reading,” said Gary.

“You bet. And it will be even more interesting to read about the role one of the high sheriffs at the Town Hall must have played.”

“Meaning what?”

The man in question was one of Ivy’s regulars and  is the father of her 2 kids, one of which he reared as an adoptive son and the other of which he knew nothing about. But he also had one son from a previous affair who is now in a high position in the town. Publicizing the true parenthood of Ivy’s bastards will not help the respectable son’s career.”

“Since accidents are one of the hazards of the profession, Ivy was not very cautious, was she?”

“She may have wanted children, then found out she could not keep them and run a brothel at the same time.”

“Maybe she had hoped to marry the lover, but he wouldn’t divorce his wife,” said Gary.

“So she carried on with him for years and even let his wife bring up her son,” said Cleo. “As an older hooker, Ivy plied her trade in a beachhut with older men who were ostensibly taking their dogs for walks. I suppose being in that trade gets to be a habit.”

“By then she was past the child-bearing age, Cleo, and I expect her clients invested their pensions in sex adventures. Who knows, she might still have been hoping one of them would marry her.”

“It’s all pretty seedy,” said Brass, who had been listening in silently.

“At least one thing is now clear,” said Gary. “Brass and I have seen the report on the dog that mauled Mrs Grant. DNA samples taken at the time Grant was convicted of murdering Ivy also included some from the dog that had sniffed at Ivy’s corpse and licked her hand.”

“Grant’s dog. So where is it now?” said Cleo.

“Joan said the dog was back in its compound and being fed by the only neighbour who had a key,” said Gary

“Do you agree that the dog could have acted out of vengeance? Is that possible?” said Cleo.

“Anything’s possible. You remember what Sherlock Holmes said.”

“Are you a fan too, Brass?” said Cleo.

Brass nodded. He could not be prevented from referring to the passage dear to Cleo’s heart.

“Holmes said that if you’ve ruled out all the obvious solutions, you have to consider the others, or words to that effect.”

“Right in one,” said Gary.

“So that neighbour is a possible suspect, isn’t he?” said Cleo.

“She. The woman who lives in the house is well over 70, but she has a nephew who takes the Grant dog for walks and either used the neighbour’s key or he had made a copy for reasons best known to himself,” said Gary, who had Joan to thank for that information.

“Which could mean that he was out with the dog that day,” said Brass.

“That could be harmless, however,” said Cleo.

“We need to know where the dog-walker was last Friday,” said Gary. “He’s a suspect until we discount him.”

“I can find out, Gary,” said Brass.

“He’ll need a watertight alibi.”

“Leave it to me,” said Brass, glad to do something other than give advice to local residents who could have gone to a citizen’s advice bureau if there had been one in the town.

“Pull him in, Brass, if necessary for breaking and entering,” said Gary. “That will leave you a free hand to find out what the guy did on that fatal Friday.”

“We don’t know for sure what Mrs Grant was doing on the beach,” said Brass.

“That’s true, Brass. We need to find out more about her activities as a whole.”

“But not today,” said Cleo. “We need to eat and I should read Ivy’s journal before Maria rings in the morning.”

“Maria? A hooker named Maria?” Gary looked horrified.

“She goes by the name of Mata Hari.”

“That’s more like it.”

“We’ll be here by 10 tomorrow morning, Brass. We’ll need to drive to Headquarters to question Llewellyn and that nephew, assuming he’s been detained by then.”

“I’m getting a relief copper at six. I’ll find out this evening where the nephew went after he visited his aunt. I’ll take a colleague along and detain the man.”

“That’s a good idea, Brass. Good luck!”

***

“ O’Reilly has actually found an assistant for Brass,” said Gary, when he and Cleo reached Gary’s car. “My car can stay here,” he said, retrieving his baggage.

“Sure,” said Cleo. “I’ll leave my car at the hotel in the morning and we can walk here before driving to Headquarters.”

“I didn’t know you were so much energy in the morning, Cleo.”

“Admittedly I’m more energetic at other times,” retorted Cleo. “I expect you’ve noticed.”

“I have.”

***

Dinner was reluctantly taken in the hotel restaurant, where senior citizens had again congregated and given the place a homely feeling, full of the clatter of cutlery and animated chatter. There were few alternatives in town to eating at the hotel. Holiday visitors were mainly back in their digs for the evening meal or ate fast food standing up somewhere. More affluent locals got into their cars and drove out of town to smart gourmet restaurants well away from the madding crowd.

Back in their hotel room, the lovers took a shower and forgot all about the work they meant to do,  concentrating on themselves for a couple of hours before reluctantly opening Geary’s laptop and Ivy’s journal.

“I’m not sure I can concentrate if you only have that kimono wrapped round you,” said Gary.

“Would you prefer me to wear a hat and scarf?”

“I’d prefer you to wear nothing at all, my love, but that would hardly aid my concentration. I had time to look at the Ivy’s journal while I was waiting for you. She wrote the password below the touchpad. Very obliging of her though Brass said he could usually crack passwords. I expect you’ll have the same reaction as I did.”

***

“It’s Dr Smith!” Cleo exclaimed. “They are all photos of Dr Smith!”

“Weird, isn’t it? That guy does not seem to have a clean slate. We’ll have to pull him in again.”

“But what’s his photo doing on Ivy’s alaptop?”

“We’ll have to ask him. It maybe just connected with that hostess agency.”

“What if he really is the serial killer?” Cleo said. “Where is he now?”

“In Harrogate, I hope. There’s a medical conference starting there today. I’m sure he’ll have shown up there if only to prove that‘s the reason he travels around.”

“I thought he was bound for Glasgow,” said Cleo.

“Maybe he spotted that he was being trailed by Brass and bought a ticket to Glasgow to fool him.”

“So how do you know that he went to Harrogate?”

“Because that’s the only medical conference being held right now at a seaside resort.”

“Wow! Why always the seaside, Gary?”

“The delegates mix business with pleasure.”

“Or business with murder,” said Cleo.

“Some murderers kill for fun. He may be one of them,” said Gary.

“Can we sort it out in the morning, Gary? I’m really tired now.”

“Too tired?”

“Just tired of crooks and mysteries.”

“I’ll go with that.”