She’d walked up Duke Street and noticed several To Let signs outside some of the terraced properties leading into Manchester Square.
Maybe one would be empty.
Easy to gain access to?
She’d tried five doors before finally discovering one which was unlocked.
Shanine didn’t care who was to blame for this security fault. All she knew was she had somewhere to sleep. A roof over her head for at least one night.
She’d lain down on the dusty floor and fallen asleep almost immediately. There had been dust sheets in the room, half-empty paint pots. She had no idea when the decorators would return, but that hadn’t mattered. She’d pulled one of the grubby dust sheets over herself and slept.
If there had been nightmares, then she could no longer remember them as she sat motionless, gazing at the warming rays of the sun.
She glanced at her watch.
10.06 a.m.
Her stomach rumbled protestingly. A sound she was becoming used to.
She had to get something to eat. Something substantial.
Shanine crawled across to the holdall and pulled out a clean T-shirt. Balling up the one she removed, she used it to wipe her face and arms before stuffing
it into the bag. As she was donning her fresh T-shirt, she looked down at her thin body. The slight smell of body odour she knew would get worse. But, at the moment, food was her most pressing concern.
The sunlight glinted on the blade of the kitchen knife.
She had to get some food or some money. Both, preferably.
Shanine touched the cold steel.
She must eat. No matter what.
Shanine ran a hand through her hair and, hauling the holdall over her shoulder, got to her feet.
Twenty-three
The doorman of the Grosvenor House Hotel nodded almost imperceptibly at Talbot as the DI walked in, not even glancing at the uniformed attendant.
His eyes, and his mind, were elsewhere. He passed through into reception. One of the receptionists glanced across at him briefly, then returned her attention to the computer before her. Talbot could hear the printer chattering away as he passed.
A couple was checking in, the woman leaning against the counter looking around. Talbot noticed that she slipped her right foot in and out of her shoe as she waited.
Two men in their early fifties walked past him, heading for the lifts, both of them speaking in hushed, almost reverential tones, as if they were reluctant to disturb the stillness of the lobby.
Cigarette smoke accosted him as he entered the Gallery Bar. Although there were only half a dozen people in there, the stale air made it seem as if each of them was already half-way through their second packet of the night. The smoke seemed to refuse to disperse, gathering instead like some invisible cloud which enveloped him as he entered.
Christ, he wanted a cigarette!
A couple of heads turned as he walked in, slowing his pace, gazing around.
Searching.
He saw her sitting at the bar, just a glass for company.
As Talbot approached her, he noticed that she was fumbling in her leather clutch bag for something. He ran appraising eyes over her.
The long blonde hair, brushed gently over the shoulders of her charcoal grey jacket, which was fastened by two gold buttons. Beneath it she was wearing a white blouse and, as she crossed her legs, the black skirt she wore slid up an inch or two to reveal her shapely thighs. She looked down and brushed a piece of fluff from one of her black suede high heels.
Talbot sat on the stool beside her, aware that she still hadn’t seen him.
The barman, on the other hand, had and he ambled towards the policeman.
‘I’ll have a Jameson’s please,’ said the DI. He looked at her. ‘And whatever the lady’s having.’
Gina Bishop looked first at Talbot then pushed her glass towards the barman who moved off to refill it.
‘Talbot,’ she said, managing a small smile. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Looking for you,’ he told her.
She pulled a packet of Silk Cut from her handbag. He watched as she lit up, the flame of the lighter reflecting in her large brown eyes.
‘You still trying to give up?’ she said, pushing the packet towards him.
He nodded, reaching for a handful of peanuts from a bowl on the bar.
The barman returned and set down the drinks.
‘That’s a nice outfit,’ Talbot told her, allowing his gaze to travel up and down her shapely form.
‘It’s Louis Feraud,’ she told him, smugly.
‘A present?’
‘I bought it myself. From Harrods.’ She took a sip of her drink.
‘You must have had a good week last week.’
‘Every week’s a good week.’
He smiled and took a swig of whiskey, feeling it burn its way to his stomach.
‘How did you know I’d be here?’ she wanted to know.
‘I’ve already tried the Dorchester and the Hilton. This was the only one left.’
‘You’re not a detective for nothing, are you?’ she said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
‘I knew it had to be one of the three. You’ve been working this same beat since you were twenty. That’s when I first arrested you, remember?’
‘How could I forget?’ She sucked on her cigarette, then blew the smoke in the policeman’s direction. ‘Look, I’ve changed a lot in five years.’
‘Yeah, you’re more expensive now.’
‘But I’m worth it.’
‘Then how come business is slow tonight?’
‘I was going to ask you the same thing. What’s wrong, no one else to arrest?’
Talbot sat back on the bar stool, drink in hand, and looked at her.
‘What are you looking at?’ she demanded.
‘I bet that outfit cost more than I earned last month,’ he commented finally.
‘Probably,’ she said, amused. ‘We’re both the same, Talbot. We both get fucked, it’s just that I get paid more.’
He ran a finger over the sleeve of her jacket.
‘Louis who?’ he said, looking at the material.
‘Feraud,’ she said, indignantly. ‘I didn’t expect you to have heard of him.’
He nodded.
‘And whose designs were you wearing the first time I picked you up? Dorothy fucking Perkins, wasn’t it? You’ve come a long way, Gina.’
‘Look, Talbot, did you come in here to reminisce or is there a reason for all this?’
‘What do you think?’
She nodded, finishing her drink.
‘My place?’ she asked.
‘It’s closer, isn’t it?’ Talbot said, downing what was left in his glass. He left a five-pound note on the bar top, waited for his change and pocketed it.
‘Aren’t you going to leave him a tip?’ Gina said, picking up her bag. She pushed the portable phone inside.
‘For bringing two drinks?’ he said, incredulously.
