‘Did you see or hear anything last night?’
‘Not me.’
‘On your own?’
‘Don’t ask me his name.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know it.’
‘You’re occupied for thirty minutes, and then he leaves.’
‘I give my men a good time. It’s more than a quick screw with me and out of the door. You’re a good-looking man, I could give you a special rate.’
‘We’re here to discuss Daisy. How well did you know her?’
‘Not that well. We’d talk outside on the landing, sometimes.’
‘Her flatmate?’
‘Gwendoline, she calls herself. You’d think she was a fairy with a name like that. A right tart.’
‘Why do you call her a tart? You’re here selling yourself.’
‘Daisy was bad enough, but her flatmate is worse.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I was coming back here one night with a gentleman friend, and there she was on the stairs, her skirt hitched up around her arse, a drunk going for dear life. My friend, he wanted to leave, but I made him come in, gave him a special treat.’
Isaac did not want to hear what the special treat was. ‘Last night, when you weren’t taking one of your gentlemen friends to paradise and back, did you hear anything unusual?’
‘Not me. I’ve no idea what time the two of them came home, or who they were with. That’s the honest truth.’
Both Isaac and Larry weren’t convinced they had been told the full truth, but there was no more to be gained in the flat, and the smell was becoming nauseous. ‘We’ll take you out of here if you want,’ Larry said.
‘Don’t bother. I’ve got someone coming over later.’
***
At the police station, Wendy sat with Gwendoline. A café across the road had sent over a full English breakfast, which the flatmate was devouring as if she hadn’t eaten a decent meal for a long time.
‘Gwendoline, what’s your real name?’ Wendy asked.
‘Kate Bellamy.’
‘Your age?’
‘Is this necessary?’
‘I’m afraid it is. You were in the flat when your flatmate was murdered.’
‘I didn’t kill her.’
‘We’ve discounted you for the present. What can you tell us about last night?’
‘Not a lot. It was a quiet night, just a couple of men.’
‘Barely enough to pay the rent?’
‘It’ll be better tonight, but now I’ve got to find somewhere to live.’
‘Do you have anywhere?’
‘One of the other women on the street, she’s looking for someone to share.’
‘And the flat where you are now?’
‘It was in Daisy’s name. I just paid my share. The landlord’s not going to have much success claiming the rent from her.’
‘He may ask you to pay.’
‘If he’s a nuisance, I’ll pay him off.’
‘With money?’
‘What do you think?’
Wendy had found in Daisy a vulnerable person destroyed by drugs. She wasn’t so sure of Gwendoline. The woman was a drug addict, her arms testament to the fact, but with a full stomach, she was no longer showing the signs of severe addiction.
‘Daisy was killed, which means someone must have entered your flat, walked along the hallway outside of your door, killed her, and then walked past your door again on the way out.’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘I want you to tell me the truth. I want to know if you heard anything?’
‘Sometimes Daisy has someone over. Sometimes I do. We mind each other’s business. There was a noise, about two in the morning.’
‘How do you know the time.’
‘I’m giving you the facts I can remember. Whether they’re accurate or not, I wouldn’t know.’
‘Why not?’
‘Daisy and me, we’re night owls. When it’s dark, we go out to work. I had come home early for once, but I’m going nowhere, and besides, I’m not feeling so good.’
‘Any reason?’
‘I don’t feel good a lot of times.’
‘You’ve seen a doctor?’
‘What for? He’ll only tell me what to do.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’
‘I’ve got to earn a living. I don’t have time for healthy food and exercise, and I’m not going to get off my back and find an honest job.’
‘Is it better to have a sweaty man on top of you than a regular job?’
‘The money’s better.’
‘The way you live doesn’t show it.’
‘Maybe it doesn’t, but I’ve got a problem.’
‘The same as Daisy, heroin.’
‘She was crazy for it. I’m not so bad. If someone had snuck into her room last night, she wouldn’t have known.’
‘How would they have got into the flat?’
‘How did you?’
‘The key under the mat.’
‘Sometimes we come home, can’t remember where the key is, sometimes without a handbag.’
‘Why?’
‘Some of the men, they aren’t so good. They don’t want to pay, see us as tarts, and either they hit us, or they take our handbags, phones, as well.’
‘Rough life?’
‘You get used to it. What else do you want? I saw nothing, did nothing. Daisy’s dead, she’s not the first one that’s died.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Drugs. It’ll kill me eventually.’
‘I could get treatment for you.’
‘Don’t bother. I need to get into my room, get my clothes.’
‘I’ll take you back, and then take you where you want to go.’
‘The police, they’re not like you. Some of them move us on, some of them take liberties.’
‘They’d be liable to internal discipline if they were discovered.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll not tell you who they are.’
Chapter 10
Seth Caddick sat in his office and looked out of the window. His conversation with Commissioner Davies had left him perplexed. He knew the man would not protect him, and it was up to him to secure his position. He enjoyed the rank of detective superintendent, and that everyone called him sir, except Isaac Cook, who was liable to
