Igor fixed him with a piercing gaze that lasted longer than was comfortable. Bliss followed suit. It was like staring at the weathered, implacable face of an ancient gravestone. Finally, the doorman grunted something unintelligible and made his way back inside, leaving the front door wide open.
‘What was that?’ Ashton asked.
‘One FBU,’ Bliss replied, stepping up into the passage.
‘A what?’
‘Fucking Big Unit.’
‘Believe me, you don’t want to know,’ Chandler said, following Bliss inside. ‘Be sure to get out of his way if you see him charging towards you.’
‘Was leaving the door open his way of inviting us in?’
‘Yes. That’s Igor being polite. That grunt you heard is him at his most gregarious.’
Bliss remembered the layout. A galley kitchen stood to the right, opposite a lounge in which the girls often relaxed, watching TV or chatting in between clients. At the far end of the hall there was a toilet and shower room, and to its left the office. He entered without knocking, his colleagues close behind.
A mature, inoffensive-looking woman by the name of Nicola Parkinson regarded them from behind an ostentatious solid oak desk. It was squat and sturdy, like a pit bull, and she looked almost lost behind it. With her short copper hair seeming to bracket her round cheekbones, Bliss was always struck by how cherubic she looked.
As usual, the spell broke the moment the woman opened her mouth.
‘You cheese-rimmed bellends go around in threes these days, eh? I hope for her sake that you two strapping men team up on DS Chandler every chance you get. I’m betting she doesn’t get her oats any other way.’
‘Now now, you old trollop,’ Bliss said, casually propping himself up against the wall to his right. ‘That’s no way to speak about one of Peterborough’s fairest maidens. I told you last time what I’d do to you if you kept up those levels of abuse.’
Parkinson tossed him a look of disdain. ‘Wash my mouth out with soap and water. Yeah, I remember. I dared you to go through with it, and you backed off. Like all you tossers do in the end. All mouth and no action.’
‘You’re showing your claws early today, Nicola,’ Chandler said, no inflection in her voice. ‘What’s up? Menopause? I hear women your age suffer badly when that hits. Or do you have unexpected staffing problems? You one down today, are you?’
‘What’s it to you?’ Parkinson shot back without taking her eyes off Bliss. ‘Go and put the kettle on, there’s a love. Let me and the boys have a natter.’
Chandler remained where she was. Bliss eased himself away from the wall. The changeable weather conditions were playing havoc with his chronic illness. The Ménière’s disease affected his balance, and rapid fluctuations in the barometric pressure made his stability less predictable. The high squeal of tinnitus raged inside his head, its acuteness often a trigger warning of an impending vertigo attack. He wasn’t about to show this woman any sign of weakness, though. Not if he could help it.
‘Is that it, Nicola?’ he asked. ‘You got it all off your ample chest? If there are more insults you want to hurl, we can wait you out. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not. My visits here always seem to coincide with me feeling the need to scrub myself raw under a scalding hot shower.’
‘I could help you with that if you like,’ Parkinson said, with a wide grin that only accentuated his earlier impression of a cherub. ‘Unless DS Chandler objects. I wouldn’t want to trample all over her territory.’
‘Even my worst enemy wouldn’t wish that on me. So how about we cut out the crap and get down to business?’
She heaved a long sigh and eased herself back into the chair. ‘If we must. But if you’re here to ask me any questions about our perfectly legit business, I’m going to need to call our solicitors first.’
‘I think we can avoid that,’ Bliss said. ‘We’re not here about your little knocking shop.’
‘Massage parlour.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do say so. And so will our brief if I have to make that call, Inspector.’
Bliss decided not to correct her; they’d already wasted enough time. ‘Let’s move on. There’s no need for your brief.’
‘Fair enough. All the same…’ She picked her mobile up off the desk and tapped the screen. A few moments later, a young man entered the room. He was of no more than average stature, yet the room seemed a lot more crowded with a fifth person in it. ‘You remember my lad, Troy? He’ll be sitting in to witness what is and isn’t said.’
Troy Parkinson said nothing. He moved to stand at the back of the room, eyes narrowed but taking everything in. Bliss gave him a courtesy nod, then turned back to the woman behind the desk.
‘We’re here about a young girl you might know, Nicola. Goes by the name of Honey.’
Parkinson gave a long, exaggerated shrug. ‘Doesn’t ring a bell.’
‘Don’t play stupid games, you stroppy cow!’ Ashton snapped. His voice was loud and bounced off the walls. He took a step closer to the desk, looming over it. ‘She’s one of your girls. She’s on your fucking website. You know who she is, so stop dicking us around.’
Parkinson’s gaze was icy as she shuddered theatrically. ‘Ooh, scary. I can see why you need that third wheel, Inspector Bliss.’
Ashton’s face became a picture of twisted rage. He turned to Bliss, whose features told their own story. ‘That was useful, Glen. Thanks a million. But if you could go back to being mute, as we discussed, I’d treat it as a personal favour.’
‘What? So you’re happy being fucked about like this? By someone like her?’
Bliss glanced at Parkinson Junior to make sure he wasn’t looking to get involved. He reeled in his temper before returning his gaze
