Scarlet Women

An honest, upright cop. She looked at him and thought once again that he was worth ten of Lane’s sort— although scummy cops like Lane could be useful, she had to admit that. She wouldn’t have known any more than the bare bones of the case against Chris without Lane’s help, but she still despised him.

‘Where’s your friend?’ she asked, indicating the empty chair beside him on his side of the desk.

Hunter looked her straight in the eye. ‘Suspended.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, turns out he was taking bribes,’ said Hunter. ‘Passing information around in exchange for cash.’

‘Really?’ Annie kept her face expressionless with an effort.

‘Really. And we can’t have that, now can we?’

‘No way.’

‘So.’ His eyes were still fixed on her. ‘What can I do for you?’

Annie swallowed. ‘I have a friend,’ she said, ‘who has told me things. Important things. About Teresa Walker and Val Delacourt.’

He eyed her sceptically. ‘Like?’ he prompted.

‘Like where they used to hang out together. The tattoo parlour next door to the Alley Cat club. And the soup kitchen at St Aubride’s.’

‘Peter Delacourt, who owns the tattoo parlour, has gone missing,’ he said. ‘Do you know anything about that?’

‘Only what you do. I went there with Rizzo his brother, but he was long gone.’

Hunter was quiet for a moment, digesting that.

‘And what’s this about the soup kitchen?’

‘Val and Teresa used to go there on a regular basis.’

‘So?’

‘Can you check out the vicar? He ran it.’

‘The vicar?’ Hunter’s mouth dropped open. ‘So he runs a soup kitchen to try to help out these unfortunates. I’d call that a Christian act. So what?’

‘So would it hurt to do that? Check his background? He’s a creepy little guy who gets drunk and says inappropriate things to working girls and he’s got easy access to them through the soup kitchen.’

‘Well they can’t shoot you for inappropriate language.’

Annie felt anger building in her gut. ‘Look, I know you’re an upright honest citizen and you think a cleric’s got to be above suspicion, but excuse me, I have other ideas. These girls, these women, deserve the protection of the law as much as anyone else.’

He looked at her coolly. ‘They have the protection of the law, Mrs Carter. That’s the purpose of the law.’

‘Well it’s not doing a very good job of it, is it?’ demanded Annie. ‘Val and Teresa are dead. Aretha’s dead too, and poor bloody Gareth. Not a very great effort on your part so far.’

‘Can we stick to the point? The vicar. Do you have anything else on him? Anything concrete, I mean?’

‘Concrete? No. All I know is that the vicar’s a bigot who hates working girls, and maybe we should be checking him out. What do you think?’

‘Was there anything else?’

‘You haven’t found a thing to link Chris to Val and Teresa, have you?’ she guessed.

‘Same MO,’ he said.

‘He didn’t do them. I know the man. I’d trust him with any woman.’

‘Except possibly his wife?’

‘He didn’t kill Aretha. He loved Aretha.’

‘So you say.’ Hunter stood up, indicating that their interview was at an end. ‘Thank you for the information, Mrs Carter. We’ll follow it up.’

And she was dismissed, just like that. Annie went out of the station and down the steps to the Jag, feeling that she’d like to kick the crap out of something or somebody—preferably Hunter. Tony folded his paper and looked at her expectantly.

‘Where to, Boss?’ he asked.

‘The Palermo,’ said Annie.

It wasn’t the Palermo any more, not really. It was no longer the place it had been: Max’s favourite, the jewel in the Carter crown.

It was all coming together now.

Outside the club the new neon sign was up and it shouted ‘ANNIE’S’. The doors had been repainted bright pillar-box red. No trace of her hideous ‘present’ remained. Inside, they were laying the heavy-duty carpet in a non-dirt-showing shade of dark brown. Then, on down the newly painted staircase and into the club itself. She went down, looking around.

The bar refurbishments were complete. The see-through resin dance floor was installed, and there was an electrician beside it tinkering with the underfloor lighting so that it flashed green, blue, red. The strobes overhead were in darkness. The three small circular platforms for the dancers, enclosed in their gilded ‘cages’, were set up ready for the pro dancers to shake their stuff. The deep-chocolate-brown banquettes, still in their plastic coverings, were being positioned around low tables so that people could sit comfortably, chat, drink, and eat chicken and scampi in the basket.

Over the next few days the newly hired kitchen and bar staff would come in, set up the cellar and restock the freezers in readiness for opening night. The new bouncers—skilled security boys straight off the firm: good solid dependable men—would be looking around, familiarizing themselves with the layout of the place. New waiting staff and cloakroom people would be in, picking up their new uniforms, getting to grips with the job. The DJ would come and set his decks up and start checking sound levels.

And then…opening night.

She ought to have been looking forward to that, but in the midst of all this other shit she didn’t have the heart. She went up to the office and shut the door, blocking out the pungent smells of new furnishings and freshly dried paint.

She sat down behind the desk, thinking of Lane’s suspension and thinking, Damn it. She’d never get more inside info on Gareth Fuller or Aretha or Chris’s situation now. If Lane had been caught in the act, the Bill would have tightened up their systems, and that was bad news for her. Then the phone rang. She snatched it up.

‘Yeah?’

‘It’s me. Dolly.’

‘Oh. Hi, Doll. You okay?’

‘Yeah, but it seems weird, you not popping in.’

‘Can’t, Doll. Redmond would blow for sure if I did. It wouldn’t be pretty.’

‘Yeah, I know that. Maybe I’ll come over and see you then.’

‘Yeah, why not? Any time. Will you come to the opening?’

‘I’d come to the opening of a fucking envelope,’ said Dolly.

‘We’ll have some celebs in,’ said Annie.

‘Even better. Can I bring the girls?’

‘Course you can bring the girls.’

‘How’s that nutter friend of yours, then?’

‘Mira? Doing better. She’s not out of the woods yet by a long chalk, though.’

‘Listen, I’ve got to go,’ said Dolly.

‘Yeah. Catch you later.’

She put the phone down, thinking about Hunter. Would he follow up on what she’d told him? Maybe. Maybe not. She wanted to tell him about Redmond Delaney, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t bring herself to grass, no matter how much she wanted to do it. No, the pigs would have to find out about Redmond for themselves.