Meredith Temple had provided the first solid evidence in a murder enquiry that had dragged on too long.
The depressing hotel room where Cathy Parkinson had died had been checked over by the CSI’s, the woman’s body taken to the pathologist. Isaac had seen enough corpses in his time to know there had been a struggle. The hanging in the shower seemed to serve no purpose as there were also multiple knife wounds to the body, except to add to the possibility that the killer had a perverted sense of the macabre. It was a sloppy killing, the likelihood of evidence stronger than in the murders of the other women.
Gordon Windsor offered his appraisal that death had come slowly, that the woman had not been in good health, and that she, along with many who sold themselves, was a drug addict – a syringe and tourniquet had been found in the bathroom. He also confirmed that recent sexual activity was probable. Which meant that this time the murderer had had sex with the woman before killing her, whereas with Janice Robinson he had not, assuming the killer was one and the same for both deaths.
Seminal fluid contained DNA, and it could be traced if there was a record on the database or could prove conclusive at an arrest and subsequent trial.
Wendy sat with Meredith in an open area at the university. Neither woman was saying much; Wendy because she was mulling over what had happened and how to move forward, Meredith due to her fear.
Around the two women, the students moved up and down, talking to one another, some reading, others playing with their phones, one or two asleep. They were blissfully unaware that in their midst was a woman who had seen the seedier side of life, an acquaintance of two recently murdered women, and a police officer.
‘I can’t say I knew her that well, Cathy, that is,’ Meredith said. ‘She was a terrible tart.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She seemed to enjoy it. After a time, or maybe it was always, you start to hate yourself and what you’ve become. The reason that so many become further drawn to heroin. A vicious cycle, screwing to make money to buy the drug, hating yourself, needing more drugs, screwing more, no longer caring what you do or with whom.’
‘You managed to break the cycle.’
‘Cathy was predisposed.’
‘Janice had been sexually abused in her early teens.’
‘A lot are. Cathy, when she did speak, would talk about her family; a mother she loved, a father she hated. It’s the same story as Janice’s, I suppose.’
‘Janice wasn’t too close to her mother, but she was to her brothers, especially the younger one.’
‘My parents were good people; I loved them, and nothing happened to me. My only problem was that I enjoyed men too much, especially in my teenage years.’
‘So did I,’ Wendy admitted. ‘Never drugs, only alcohol.’
‘What about me? What now? I’ve given you information, and Cathy’s dead and so is Janice. Am I to be the next?’
‘I can’t be sure. We don’t know why people have died, not yet. You saw Amanda Upton, as did Janice and Cathy. There has to be a link through the woman.’
‘Mary?’
‘Do you care?’
‘Not really. I can’t say anything against her, though. She played it straight, never cheated on the money, and we did have protection from violent men.’
‘Amanda comes into the house; she meets with her mother,’ Wendy attempting to focus on the murders, to try and make sense of the killings so far.
‘I was never introduced, and until you told me, I never knew she was Mary’s daughter. An attractive woman, elegantly dressed, nothing cheap about her.’
‘High-class escort. A rich man’s folly,’ Wendy said.
‘And she is the dead woman in Kensal Green?’
‘There seems little doubt that she is.’
‘The Asian girl?’
‘Any more you can tell us about her?’
‘She stayed a few weeks, kept to herself, did her job, and then left.’
‘After Amanda Upton had been in the house?’
‘Two, maybe three weeks after. I’m not sure of the dates, time blurs when you’re living on the edge. Do you think it’s significant?’
‘It could be. She must have spoken to you.’
‘Conversations, never about the men, but then we don’t.’
‘A whore’s code of silence?’ Wendy said.
It was the first smile that Meredith Temple had allowed herself.
‘Hardly. Cathy might sometimes, but we preferred to forget. It was neither love nor pleasurable; it was carnal, animalistic, dogs on heat. It was just disgusting.’
‘And Analyn did what you did?’
‘If she was distressed, she never showed it. Not a smile or a laugh, impassive, a china doll.’
‘A seasoned prostitute? Sold herself in the past?’
‘I wouldn’t know, but she would ask about Mary occasionally, what her history was, where she came from, family, that sort of thing.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I don’t think any of us said very much, and besides, what did we know? We didn’t know about her daughter, not really.’
‘You suspected?’
‘It was Janice. She had finished with a client, a fat and sweaty man who usually chose me, but for some reason he decided on a change.’
‘A keen judge of women?’
‘Just a man too ugly he couldn’t find one for free.’
‘Janice?’
‘She was curious. She told me that Mary and her daughter were talking at the back of the house; Mary smoking a cigarette, the other woman standing nearby.’
‘And?’
‘According to Janice, the other woman’s telling Mary about her life; not in glowing terms, either. As to how it was good money, but that some of the men were dangerous individuals, secretive men, possessive, wanting her to always be there.’
‘She wanted out?’
‘She was frightened for her
