“Jesus Christ!”
“It happens, Alan. What can I say? Girls disappear from the big cities, they turn up in these places. Sometimes they are used for snuff films. You know what they are?”
“I know. Why wasn’t he arrested?”
“Sometimes it is better to leave the little fish. Also, Harkness was an important man and, how shall I say, perhaps pressure could be brought to bear. He could have been useful.”
Banks sighed. He knew the scenario. Get something on a man like Harkness and you’ve got him in your pocket: the police version of blackmail.
“Alan, in Amsterdam, just as, I suspect, in your London, you can get anything you want if you have the money to pay for it. Anything. If we can find these places and find evidence, we close them down and arrest
the people responsible. But these men are very clever. And sometimes policemen can be bought, protection can be paid. Or blackmailed. We all have skeletons in our closets. Alan? Are you still there?”
“Yes. Yes, Piet, I know. I was thinking. Listen, I’d like you to do me a big favour. I assume places like this are still in existence?”
“There is one place now we are suspicious of. On the surface, it seems like an ordinary brothel, but rumour has it that young girls can be had there, for a price. Our undercover men are watching, but we have no proof yet.”
“I’d like you to find out if there are any new girls.” He gave Piet Gemma’s description, praying he was wrong. At least it meant she might still be alive, if Harkness kept his connections in Amsterdam. He still couldn’t work out the whys and the wherefores, how everything linked up, but he knew it would not have been so difficult for Harkness or someone else to smuggle Gemma out of the country, even during the search. The ferry from Immingham, for example, was always crowded; it would be easy enough to slip in among the other families with a sleeping child on the overnight journey, when everyone was tired. “I don’t care whether you get enough proof to lock them up or not. Rumours will do fine for me. Use your contacts, informers. Maybe even your friend Wim might be able to help?”
“Yes,” said Piet slowly. “I understand. I’ll try. What more can I say?”
“And Piet.”
“Yes?”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot. You did a great job.” Then Banks slammed down the receiver and rushed to find Gristhorpe.
Ill
It was about time the place had a good cleaning, Brenda
thought, wielding the Hoover like a lawnmower. She
knew she wasn’t good at housekeeping, but now she had
so much time on her hands and nothing but bad thoughts
and terrifying dreams, she had to do something or she
would fall apart. The groundin dirt and the food stains
wouldn’t come out, of course, they would need shampooing,
but the dust would. At least it was a start.
The vacuum was so noisy that she didn’t hear the bell. It was only the steady thumping on her door that broke through. She turned off the machine and listened again. Another knock. For a moment she just stood there, worried it might be Les. She wasn’t frightened of him—she knew he was a coward at heart—but she didn’t feel like another public row and she was damned if she was going to let him in. On the other hand, it might be the police with news of Gemma. She glanced out of the window but couldn’t see a police car. That didn’t matter, she realized. The plain-clothes men drove ordinary cars.
She sighed and stood the Hoover in the corner. Well, if it was Les, she’d just have to tell him to stay away and call the police if he insisted on pestering her. The blurred figure through the frosted glass wasn’t Les, that was for certain, but she couldn’t tell who it was until she opened the door and saw Lenora Carlyle standing there with her long black hair and penetrating eyes. She didn’t want to let Lenora in. Somehow, she thought, that entire episode had been a weakness, a mistake. She had been grasping at straws. And look what she was left with: nothing but a video of herself, which was already beginning to feel like an embarrassment. But she stood aside politely. Lenora hung up her coat and followed her into the front room.
“Tea?” said Brenda, feeling like a cup herself.
“Yes, please, dear, if it’s no trouble.” Lenora sat on the sofa and brushed down her skirt. “Been cleaning, I see.”
“Yes.” Brenda shrugged and went to make the tea. When it was ready, she brought it in on a tray and poured, then lit a cigarette.
“I sense there’s been some great change,” Lenora said, frowning with concentration. “Some sort of upheaval.”
“If you mean I chucked Les out, I suppose you’re right.”
Lenora looked disappointed at such a prosaic explanation. “Any news?”
Brenda shook her head.
“Well, that’s why I’m here, really. You remember what I said before?”
“That Gemma’s still alive?”
“That’s right.” Her eyes glittered. “More than ever I’m convinced of it, Brenda.”
“I don’t think so.” Brenda shook her head. “Not after all this time.”
“But you must have faith. She’s frightened and weak. But she’s alive, Brenda.”
“Don’t.”
