Chapter 10
Muswell Hill, five miles north of the centre of London, had recently been voted one of the five most desirable places to live in London. It was clear that the judging committee had not seen the address where Sara and Sean pulled up in Sean’s car, a blue Ford Fiesta.
It was Charlotte Hamilton’s first known address in London and not a welcoming sight. The terrace house looked to be run-down, which was incongruous given that every other house in the street was neat and tidy with fresh paint.
Sara got out of the car and knocked on the front door of the terrace house. ‘What do you want?’ called out a deep-voiced woman, her speech interspersed by coughing.
‘Detective Inspector Sara Stanforth and Detective Constable O’Riordan. We have a few questions.’
‘Very well.’
The woman, still coughing, opened the door, the security chain in place. ‘We can talk here,’ she said.
‘Inside would be better,’ Sara said.
‘I don’t like strangers.’
‘We’re here on official business. It is either in your house or down at the police station.’ Sara knew what was behind the door. Sean, still naïve in many ways, did not.
‘I’ll get my coat.’
The door closed again. Two minutes later it reopened and the woman came out, a cigarette hanging from her mouth. ‘I need to be back within the hour.’
‘I can’t promise you that,’ Sara said.
‘What’s inside the house?’ Sean whispered to Sara.
‘This is where Charlotte Hamilton came to after leaving Newcastle. Somewhere she could earn some easy money; a place that paid in cash and did not ask too many questions.’
Sean understood.
Sara phoned a fellow police officer at the nearest police station. He agreed to them using an office there.
‘Your name?’ Sara asked in the quietness of the room, although it would have been better described as a broom cupboard, having just enough space for a table and chairs. All three had taken a coffee from the machine outside; the drink tasted of cardboard, the same as the cup. Sara and Sean took theirs black; the woman added milk and sugar.
‘I run a clean house,’ the woman said. Sara judged her to be in her fifties. Her face was blotchy from too little sun, not hard to achieve given the weather of the last few months, but this woman appeared to have had no sun for several years.
Sara went through the formalities before asking her name again.
‘Mavis Williams.’
‘Your age?’
‘Fifty-eight. What’s this all about?’ The woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat, gasping for breath. Even on the trip in the back of Sean’s car she had been desperate to light up, and now in the confines of the small office she was desperate to put another cigarette in her mouth. She fiddled with the packet, took out a cigarette, put it to her lips, returned it to the packet.
‘We are looking for someone,’ Sara said.
‘Not one of my girls. They’re all legal.’
‘That is not our concern. If you’re running a brothel, that is for the local police. We are from Homicide.’
‘No one’s been killed in my house.’
‘Five years ago, a woman used your address. We believe she maintained that address for a further two years.’
‘So?’
‘We know her as Charlotte Hamilton. Does the name mean anything to you?’
‘Most of my girls use fictitious names.’
‘This woman was blonde. She would have been nineteen when she first used your address.’
‘I don’t employ anyone under twenty-one. Saves hassles with the police.’
‘And your neighbours?’
‘What do I care about them.’
‘The woman, as I said, was blonde,’ Sara continued. ‘She was average height, slim and attractive. She would have spoken with a northern accent, from Newcastle.’
‘Oh, her.’
‘What do you remember about this woman?’
‘She called herself Charlie. Unusual name, but not the silliest that I’ve heard. I’ve had my fair share of Blossom, Cherry, Honey, even had one who wanted to be called Buxom.’
‘Miss Williams,’ Sean said, ‘what can you tell us about Charlie?’
‘She was beautiful, I’ll grant you that. She looked virginal the first day I saw her.’
‘Was she?’
‘How the hell would I know, although I charged extra on account of her supposed virginity. Men, they’re all the same. Want to be the first, even in a whorehouse. At least thirty men took her virginity.’
‘Did she have any inhibitions when she entered your place?’ Sara asked.
‘None that I could see. She took to it like a fish to water.’
‘Do you know where she is now?’
‘No idea, and I don’t want to know.’ Mavis Williams fidgeted again. ‘I need a cigarette.’
‘Not in here,’ Sean replied.
‘I’m gasping.’
‘We still have further questions.’
‘Not until I’ve had a cigarette.’
It was evident to Sara that the woman had information that could be vital. She had to give in to the woman’s demand. Sean and Sara took the opportunity to have another cup of cardboard coffee.
Returning to the interview room, Mavis Williams exhaled the remains of her cigarette smoke over the two police officers. Sean stood up and moved to the window. He opened it to let out the offensive smell.
‘Can’t give them up,’ she said. ‘They’ll kill me, I know that. Anyway, we’ve all got to die eventually.’
Sara had to agree with the ‘eventually’ but not due to inhaling nicotine. Bob Marshall had appreciated the occasional cigarette; she had soon put a stop to that luxury.
‘How long did Charlie stay with you?’ Sara asked. She had shown a picture to Mavis Williams to confirm that Charlotte Hamilton and Charlie were one and the same; they were.
‘Two years, on and off.’
‘On and off?’ Sean asked.
‘Mainly on. She rented a room from me in the back of the house. If she wasn’t servicing the men at the front
