‘Did she like the work?’
‘Screwing drunks and foul-smelling men with hygiene issues for money? What do you think?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘A lot of the women are spaced out on heroin or whatever, but she wasn’t.’
‘So why?’
‘She said she needed the money. I never asked why. It’s always best to maintain a distant relationship with the women I employ.’
‘Over the two years, any unusual behaviour on her part?’
‘At first, she was agreeable, but with time she became irritable, sometimes irrational. The reason she left eventually.’
‘We need to know the details.’
‘One of her clients, a particularly unpleasant character, I think he was Polish, or maybe Hungarian. I never asked, never cared, as long as his money was good.’
‘And?’
‘He wanted Charlie, although I had seen her earlier on and she was in a strange mood. I knew this man was a bit kinky. He liked a bit of violence, nothing serious, just a bit of slapping.’
‘You allow that?’ Sara asked.
‘That’s between the client and the woman.’
‘Charlie went with this man?’
‘She was always ready for another man. Most of the women spend their money on hard drugs, but not Charlie. She saved all her money, and after two years she must have had plenty. I pay well, and the men give generous tips.’
‘What happened to the client?’
‘From what I can gather, he starts getting a bit violent, and then Charlie snaps. She becomes aggressive, beating the man with whatever she can find. She had a small mirror in her handbag; she breaks the glass and comes at him with the sharp fragments. The man dashes out of the room stark naked. Charlie is in hot pursuit, screaming at him. It took three of us to calm her down.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘We cleaned up the man and then gave him one of the other women for free. He was not that badly hurt, although he could have been.’
‘Charlie?’
‘I gave her one hour to pack her belongings and leave.’
‘What can you tell us about her after that?’
‘Nothing. I never saw her again, and that’s the honest truth.’
***
‘Next time, I’ll take the train,’ Keith said on his return to the police station in London. It was apparent to Sara that he had not been home for a shower first.
She felt that she should tell him to go home first and clean himself up, but she desisted. He was a grown man, old enough to be her father, and she had grown uncommonly fond of him: almost like a warm blanket or a child’s favourite toy.
Sure, his appearance could be disarming, and his humour was questionable, acerbic at times, but within that shell of a man she recognised a decent and honest person; a person aiming to make a difference. She had little time for the lazy and inept, and with Keith Greenstreet, she recognised a kindred soul.
Life had taken its toll on him, and he looked older in the office that day than any other in the past.
‘Apart from a six- to nine-month period, we have accounted for Charlotte Hamilton’s movements,’ Sara said.
‘It’s not over,’ Keith said. ‘This woman is lethal.’
‘And we’ve no idea where she is.’
‘And we never will. Her movements are unpredictable, and every time she moves, she changes her identity. She could be one block from here, and we would never know. We could even walk past her in the street.’
‘Your thoughts, Keith. Where to from here?’
‘Keep looking.’
‘It’s not much of a strategy,’ Sara admitted.
‘I agree, but what else is there. We know of all known addresses that she has used. We are aware of her ability to conceal herself and her willingness to sell herself without guilt, and then we have a woman who is intellectually bright.’
‘Brighter than us, and no longer on medication.’
‘That’s a fair assumption,’ Keith said.
‘She’s going to kill again,’ Sara said. ‘And soon.’
Chapter 11
Liam Fogarty could not believe his luck. Not only had he been rewarded with a promotion at work, but here he was with a beautiful woman.
He knew that with a bulbous forehead and a receding chin that he hid with a goatee beard he was not the most attractive of men. He realised that it was the reason he had never been successful with women. In his early teens, there had been the occasional female, equally as drunk as he had been, and each had seen beauty in the other. The inevitable result: a casual attempt at lovemaking in the back of a car, or more likely lying on the cold grass in the local park, had been the limit of his sexual experience.
It had been two years since his last woman, discounting the one he paid for every month or so.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked the woman who was obviously interested in him, judging by the way she looked at him and the suggestive moves she was making.
‘Looking for you.’ The woman realised it was a stupid line, but then the man looked silly to her. She had not known that he was smarter than he looked, smart enough to have obtained a degree in Economics, but then that was not why she needed him.
The woman looked at the man. She was not excited at what she saw, although he looked pliable and fit for purpose.
‘Do you want to dance?’ Liam asked. He was well plastered, on his fifth pint, and his mates were egging him on. He was in need of a visit to the Gents, but that would have to wait. He knew his mates would have been over in an instant to grab the woman. He took another drink, Dutch courage to him. Sober, he
