Body Line

by the boat, and gave her a nudging look. Right. Better get it over at the start. ‘Before we start, would you just have a look at this photo and tell me if it’s David, so we know we’re talking about the same person?’

Cat took it, looked, and her face screwed up as if a gnat had flown up her nose, though she remained dry thanks to the chemicals in her blood. But she started moaning, ‘David. Oh David. David. Oh God. Oh David,’ and it looked as though it would be a while before she was finished with the mantra. Slider settled in to wait it out, and quelled Connolly’s impatient movement with a look. You didn’t get to see the badger unless you were prepared to put in the time outside the hole.

TWO

Witless for the Prosecution

Cat Aude met David Rogers at Jiffies Club in Notting Hill.

‘You go there often?’ asked Connolly.

‘I work there.’

‘You’re a stripper?’

Cat was offended. ‘I’m a dancer. It’s a different thing altogether.’

‘A pole dancer?’

‘I suppose you think that’s easy. Well, it’s not. You have to be ballet-trained to do it properly. Anyway, I’m a featured artist, I’ll have you know. I have my own spot, and my own music and everything.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Connolly humbly.

Slider gave her a tiny nod of approval. This early on it was right to placate the girl. But he knew and Connolly knew – and presumably Cat Aude knew, featured dancer or not – that Jiffies was an expensive strip club where well-to-do men could go and look at titties without spoiling their reputation either for respectability or cool. There was a dress code (for the customers), the drinks were wildly expensive, and women were not allowed in free. It was all very reassuring. But it was the knockers they went for, not the ballet.

‘I’m Ceecee St Clair,’ the stripper went on. ‘That’s my professional name. I do two sets twice a week. It’s not my main job. I work for a publisher days, but you can’t afford rent in London on what they pay you, so I do Jiffies extra. The pay’s all right and you get nice tips as well. I could do more than two nights if I wanted but I don’t want to overexpose myself.’ Connolly managed to suppress a snort at that point. ‘I’m going to be an actress, you see,’ Ceecee St Clair concluded. ‘That’s why I use a professional name, to save my real name for acting. I’m going to be a serious actress, stage first and then go into movies when I’ve learnt my craft. You see, all my life I’ve dreamed —’

Slider didn’t want to get lost in the byways of the Judy Garland Story, and interrupted gently. ‘So how did you meet David Rogers?’

She didn’t seem to mind being redirected. ‘It was a couple of months ago. Between my sets I’m supposed to put on a nice dress and go out and talk to any customers who’re on their own. Put them at ease, sort of. Make sure they buy drinks. There’s no funny business,’ she added sharply, ‘so don’t you think it. The management are very strict about that.’

‘Of course,’ said Slider graciously, as though the thought had never crossed his mind.

‘Well, I’d seen David in there a few times,’ she went on, mollified. ‘He brought other men in – clients of his, I suppose. Lots of blokes did that. Usually it was foreigners they brought – Arabs and Chinese mostly. Entertaining them to get their business – drinks, nice meal, and a visit to a club. Anyway, this night, David came in alone. He was at a table on his own and he sort of caught my eye and nodded to me so I went over. He bought a bottle of champagne straight off – nothing mean about him – and we sat chatting, and I thought he was really nice, charming, you know, and well spoken. And lovely manners. When I had to go he stood up when I left the table. I mean, you can’t buy manners like that. And he was a fantastic listener.’

He’d need to be, Slider thought, but he didn’t say it.

‘I always wanted to go out with a doctor,’ Cat concluded.

‘He told you he was a doctor?’ Janey Mackers, Connolly thought, could this bloke be any more obvious?

‘First thing,’ she said proudly. ‘Said he was a doctor, but not NHS. Private medicine, that’s what he said. A consultant.’

‘What in?’ Slider asked.

‘Excuse me?’

‘What branch of medicine was he a consultant in?’

‘I told you,’ she said. ‘Private medicine.’ Slider let it go. ‘So when I had to go back for my second set he asked if I would join him for supper when I got off, and it went on from there. He took me to another club for supper – like I said, nice manners, he knew I wouldn’t want to eat where I worked. And everything was the best – champagne, whatever I wanted off the menu, tipped the doorman, taxis everywhere. And it was cash for everything. I like that in a man – no fiddling about with credit cards. Always paid in cash, David.’ A moist sigh.

‘And after the supper?’ Connolly prompted.

‘We went back to his place. Beautiful house – I could see he must be rolling in it. Full of lovely antiques and stuff. Nice clothes, all designer labels. The next day he said he’d like to see me again and I said yes.’

‘Was he married?’ Connolly asked.

‘Excuse me! What do you take me for? Of course he wasn’t married.’

‘He told you that, did he?’

Cat fixed her with a flat stare. ‘There’s no woman’s stuff in that house – not in the bedroom or the bathroom. There was no woman living there, I could see that right away.’

Fair point, Slider thought. She had more intelligence than he had credited her with. ‘We need to know, you see,’ he said to take the sting out of it, ‘who his next of kin was. Did he mention any relatives?’

‘We didn’t talk about that sort of thing. Well, to be honest, we didn’t do that much talking.’

‘So you’ve been seeing him for a couple of months?’ Connolly picked up after a beat.

‘Yes,’ she said; but then some impulse of honesty made her add, ‘Well, twice a week. On my Jiffies nights. He comes in for my last set and we go out for a meal and then back to his place.’ She seemed to think this sounded inadequate, and added defiantly, ‘But we were going to see more of each other. We were going to go away for a weekend to really get to know each other – that’s what he said – only we hadn’t fixed on the date yet.’ Her face crumpled. ‘Now I suppose it’ll never happen.’

You suppose? Connolly thought. Unless you’re into necrophilia . . .

‘Did he tell you anything about his work?’ Slider asked, to distract her.

‘Not really. I wasn’t that interested, tell you the truth. Doctor stuff gives me the creeps.’

‘Then why did you always want to go out with a doctor?’ Connolly couldn’t help asking.

‘Because they’re professionals, not just blokes with a job. And they have scads of money. He was really generous – bought me lovely presents. Always had something for me when we met – chocolates, smellies, lovely undies. He bought me this watch.’ She extended her arm. ‘I never take it off. Those are real diamonds. And he paid cash for it, too. That’s how well off he was.’

‘It’s grand,’ Connolly said, with a ring of authenticity in her voice. It was a nice watch.

‘But it wasn’t just the money. Professionals know important people. I thought he’d be able to introduce me to them, help my career.’

‘And did he?’

‘Well, not yet,’ she said impatiently. ‘I hadn’t been going out with him that long. But he was going to. He said he thought I’d make a brilliant actress. Said he knew loads of high-up people – professionally, I mean. He was going to help me get an agent. And he was going to take me to this big promotional party thing, at this hospital, so I could meet the right people and be seen. Oh, yeah, wait – I remember now! He said he worked at this hospital in Stansted. That’s where this party was going to be. With all celebrities and that.’

‘Stansted?’ Slider queried. ‘Did he say the name of the hospital?’

‘I can’t remember. I don’t think so.’