as going into a shop and buying a new pair of shoes. The thing is, Rachel, we don’t have the same handle on it as we used to simply because there are less of them working down here now. Between mobile phones and websites, sex isn’t bought the way it was before. More and more of it is taking place indoors after a quick finger shuffle through the internet.’
‘That’s a good thing though, surely?’ Narey asked. ‘If the girls aren’t on the streets.’
Joanne’s mouth became very small as she lowered her head and shook it.
‘Nope. I can see why you’d think so but no. When they all worked the old red-light district down here then we knew where they were and they knew where we were. Now they are all over the shop and we might only see a handful of girls in a night. These women are vulnerable. We want them out of sex work altogether, not just off the street.
‘The ones who are still working round here are usually the ones who don’t have whatever it takes to organize themselves with a phone or a bloody website. The addicts. Their lives are in complete disarray and arming themselves with a sim card or hitching up their skirts to Google is beyond them.’
‘That what Melanie was then? An addict?’ Narey asked the question, already sure of the answer.
Joanne gave a brisk nod.
‘From what I’m told, yes. Big time. I’d have been sure of it anyway but the few girls that knew her said she had a very heavy crack habit. It’s par for the course, whatever any woman’s reason for getting into prostitution – whether it’s to feed a habit or feed their child – drug use spirals once they are involved. That’s simply a fact.’
Narey looked towards Corrieri, encouraging her to get involved in the conversation. Willing as ever, Corrieri nervously took up the invitation.
‘Yes,’ she butted in. ‘I read a survey saying that there were a thousand women on the game in Glasgow and that 950 of them were drug users.’
Corrieri immediately saw Joanne’s eyebrows shoot up and a look of disapproval cross her face.
‘But,’ Corrieri continued hastily, ‘even if they are on the game, they are still women. We must remember that.’
‘Jeezus Christ, where do you get them, Rachel? Listen, young lady,’ she shouted at Corrieri. ‘That is a phrase that’s always got on my tits. The Game. It’s not a fucking game. Tiddlywinks is a game, croquet is a game, hide- and-seek is a game. These women face violent attacks, rapes and robberies at the hands of punters every day of their working lives. That’s why our efforts are all put into getting them the fuck out of this “game”.’
Julia turned a despairing glance towards Narey who gave her a supportive look to suggest that it was okay and that she would sort it.
‘We know that they face these dangers, Joanne. That’s why we’re here. The women that knew Melanie, can you give me their names?’ she asked.
‘What? Sorry, no. You know how it is, Rachel. They talk to me in confidence and they’re not going to keep doing that if I run off to the cops with whatever they tell me.’
The anger was clear in Samuels’s voice, years of hard work taking their toll on her good humour.
‘All I know is that the women who knew her were in here in tears,’ she continued testily. ‘From what I could make out they weren’t particularly friendly with Melanie but when there’s an attack then it scares the shit out of the lot of them. All I can tell you is that they say she was a proper looker before the crack got to her and that she had a room in a flat in Maryhill, although my guess is she is the kind who would be moving around on a regular basis. Oh, and there was talk of a heavy-handed boyfriend. That’s it.’
‘Joanne, I’m not trying to lay a guilt trip on you here but one girl has already been murdered and this guy could strike again. Surely that makes a difference. Let me talk to them?’
The woman massaged her temples in an attempt to keep her temper under control and emerged with a forced smile.
‘No guilt trip, really? My responsibility is to all the women working out there and I can’t put my relationship with them at risk over one incident. Their safety is everything to everyone that works in here so don’t lay emotional blackmail on me. They are in danger every bloody minute they spend on the street. I will speak to them and if they want to talk then I will get back to you. Best I can do.’
Narey nodded thoughtfully.
‘Okay, fair enough. I appreciate it, Joanne. It’s in all our interests that the bastard that did this is caught as soon as possible.’
Samuels smiled again, her natural demeanour returning.
‘I know. They are all dirty jobs and we all have to do them. As soon as I hear anything, I’ll call you.’
Moments later, Narey and Corrieri were back on the streets, shivering as the cold hit them after the warmth of the drop-in centre. The DC looked apologetically at the senior officer.
‘Sergeant, I’m sorry for messing up in there. Getting her back up like that.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Narey reassured her. ‘Joanne likes to let off a bit of steam sometimes. It’s good for her.’
Corrieri smiled but still seemed doubtful.
‘But if she wasn’t annoyed then she might have given you the name of the girls that knew Melanie.’
‘No,’ replied Narey. ‘She was never going to do that. But I thought if she was pissed off enough then she might not notice that her talking to the girls for me was the best that I was hoping for in the first place.’
Corrieri looked thoughtful.
‘So it wasn’t entirely a bad thing that I blundered in by mentioning “the game” the way that you mentioned it to me earlier.’
Narey smiled quietly.
‘Not entirely, Julia, no. Let’s go get some lunch.’
CHAPTER 6
Tuesday 13 September
Winter parked his car in the Cambridge Street car park and made his way along Renfrew Street past the back of the Savoy Centre, dodging rain showers and dangerous lunchtime umbrellas. The earlier throb from the beers that he’d shared with Addison the night before had gone and he still had a few hours before his shift started and he’d have the pleasure of finishing off filing Rory McCabe. He was heading for the shops on Buchanan Street, intending to get a birthday present for his young cousin Chloe.
He’d just crossed West Nile and was a hundred yards from the Royal Concert Hall steps at the end of Sauchiehall Street when he was assaulted by a long-haired smiley face doing a half-arsed tap-dance routine.
‘Hi there. How are you today? Got a minute, just a minute? I don’t want any money.’ No, of course you don’t, you lying git, thought Winter. Walking down Buchanan Street was a lot harder than it used to be. Apart from a couple of streets cutting across it, it was pedestrianized all the way from the Donald Dewar statue at the top of the hill down to St Enochs, which should make it a dawdle of a stroll but instead you have to fight every inch of the way past crowds, kids, chuggers and street entertainers.
The chuggers hunted in packs under Dewar’s short-sighted gaze and also down on the flat where the top-end designer shops were. If you could dodge past one then sure enough there would be more of them asking for a minute of your time and your bank account details.
The eejit in front of Winter was still smiling away, moving his weight relentlessly from foot to foot.
‘Sorry, I don’t have time,’ Winter said as patiently as he could muster.
‘Ah go on, it will only take a minute. You know you want to.’
‘I said I didn’t have time.’
‘Ah but you didn’t really mean it,’grinned the chugger.
‘Look, just fuck off.’
‘Hey, no need for that. It’s for charity!’
Suddenly Mr Charity began muttering swear words under his breath. Winter allowed himself a grimace of satisfaction, his work was done and another prat had been converted to his miserable version of Glagow.
He kicked on down Buchanan Street, the smirry rain slowly eating into his clothes. Winter was annoyed at
