‘Nothing that interests me. Did you hear what I said before?’
‘Something about the police.’
‘That’s correct. Sergeant Wendy Gladstone. I need you out of this flat.’
‘What for? I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Apart from selling yourself and jamming needles in your arm, you’ve probably not. Besides, I’m not here about you.’
‘Then what do you want?’
‘Your flatmate, Daisy. She’s dead in the other room.’
‘Oh.’
‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’
‘What do you want me to say? She was going to OD sometime. The same as me, I suppose.’
‘She did not OD, she was murdered,’ Wendy said.
‘Who’d do that?’
Unable to do anything more with the woman, Wendy grabbed a coat from the back of the woman’s door, took her by one arm, and moved her out of the flat, avoiding the traffic areas as much as possible. A uniform was coming up the stairs. ‘I’ll take it from here,’ he said.
Downstairs, Wendy put the woman in her car and turned on the heater. ‘Stay here, I’ll be back.’
‘Don’t worry about me. I’ve still got some sleeping to do.’
Isaac and Larry had arrived. Wendy went over to where they were parked. ‘Was she shot?’ Isaac asked.
‘Not this time. There’s a cord around her neck.’
‘The flatmate?’
‘She’s in my car. A herd of elephants could have gone through the flat. She wouldn’t have heard anything.’
‘We’ll need to interview her.’
‘Here or at Challis Street?’
‘Challis Street. She can’t go back into the flat, and there’s nowhere else.’
‘There’s another woman in the flat opposite. We’ll need to talk to her.’
‘We’ll deal with it,’ Larry said. ‘Find out what you can from the flatmate.’
Gordon Windsor arrived. ‘Have you been in?’ he said.
‘Wendy found the body,’ Isaac said.
‘Have you touched anything?’ Windsor said to Wendy.
‘No more than was necessary. The flatmate’s in my car.’
‘I’ll send someone to take her prints. We’ve got yours on file.’
‘There’s a woman in the flat opposite that we need to question,’ Isaac said.
‘Go ahead, but wear foot protectors, gloves outside of the woman’s flat. There may be some evidence on the landing. Professional, was it?’ Windsor said as he kitted up, preparing to enter the building.
‘There’s been no violence, no sign of the place being disrupted, although that’s not so easy to tell.’
‘The woman?’
‘A prostitute. We interviewed her at Challis Street the other day.’
‘Not another of your murder enquiries where the bodies keep piling up, is it? You may as well let me know so I can arrange extra personnel.’
‘There’ll be more,’ Isaac said. ‘Larry, kit up. We need to talk to the neighbour.’
Wendy left the men and walked back to her car. The flatmate was fast asleep in the back seat. Wendy opened the door, and the woman woke up with a start. ‘This man needs to take your fingerprints. We need to eliminate you from the crime.’
‘What crime?’
‘Your flatmate, Daisy.’
‘What about her?’
‘She’s dead. I told you before. Someone’s killed her.’
‘It wasn’t me.’
‘We know that, but the crime scene examiners need to eliminate your prints when they’re checking the flat.’
‘What about me?’
‘We’ll go to the police station. We’ll have a chat, and then I’ll see that you have accommodation. I’ll also make sure you get some food.’
‘It’s not food I want.’
‘That I can’t supply. If it becomes an issue, we’ll bring in a doctor.’
***
Isaac and Larry climbed the stairs to the neighbour’s flat. Her door was open on their arrival, a police constable barring the woman from leaving. ‘He won’t let me out,’ she said.
‘A few questions and then we’ll make sure you can leave.’
‘I’ve got to work.’
‘What do you do?’
‘Not what they were up to. I’ve got a job. A place that makes meat pies.’
‘Any good?’ Larry said.
‘I’ll eat them, doubt if they’ll serve them up in a fancy restaurant.’
‘Can we come in?’ Isaac said.
‘What about my job?’
‘Can you phone, tell them you’ll be in late?’
‘I’ve no credit on my phone, and the phone in here doesn’t work.’
‘You can use my phone,’ Isaac said.
‘Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. You better come in.’
The two men entered the flat. It was tidy, even if the paint was peeling, but there was a distinct smell of sewage emanating from the bathroom.
‘I do my best,’ the woman said, ‘but the landlord, he doesn’t care.’
‘You’ve got a lease and a number for a plumber. Phone him up.’
‘The landlord, he’ll make an excuse, have me out of here in a minute.’
‘Using a property without the owner’s permission for the purpose of prostitution invalidates the lease. That’s the reason you don’t phone him up.’
‘I don’t like to advertise what I do. That’s why I use the meat pie story.’
‘Your name?’ Isaac said.
‘Hailey Ashmore.’
Isaac studied the woman. She certainly looked better than Daisy had that day in Challis Street, and there were no signs of drug use. Her manner, apart from at the door, was calm.
‘Busy, are you?’ Larry said.
‘I do what’s necessary. Life’s not always fair.’
‘We’re here to investigate the death of Elizabeth Wetherington, also known as Daisy.’
‘She was always going to come to a sticky end.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s out at all hours, and then she has the occasional man over. I can hear them going at it from here.’
‘No doubt they can hear you.’
‘Not me. My clients, they’re special.’
Isaac knew they were not.
