well-stacked girl with long black hair called Dolores.”
Big Maggie was recovering.
“That’s easy,” she said. “Tell you same as I told yon fat pig who thinks he’s Eddie Murphy. Saw and heard nowt last Thursday except you buggers scaring off the trade and there’s no one called Dolores works the Avenue or anywhere else local, so far as I know.”
So Jennison had put in the effort.
Novello frowned.
“Nowt gets nowt,” she said. “Think harder. But make something up and you’ll be cancelling your summer holidays.”
“Not going anywhere I want to be anyway,” said Big Maggie indifferently.
“Jane?”
The younger woman stammered, “There’s a car sometimes…”
“Doing what?”
“Going up to Moscow House, I’ve seen it.”
“Last Thursday?”
“Mebbe. Can’t be sure of the days.”
“What kind of car?”
“Don’t know the make. One of them estates. Blue, I think.”
Sounded like Maciver’s Laguna. Hardly mattered that sometimes he’d come round to what after all was partly his own house, did it?
She frowned in thought, and Crazy Jane must have felt threatened by the expression for she suddenly added, “But there were a car on Thursday. A white one. Came slowly by a couple of times. Looking for business, I thought, but there were a woman in the passenger seat already.”
“One of the girls, you mean?”
“Might have been,” she said. “But I didn’t recognize her. Black hair, though, I think she had black hair.”
“And the man?”
“No. Too far off. Never look at their faces more than I can help anyway.”
Novello gave her another smile. This time she smiled back. As she talked, the non-nervous eye had relaxed into steadiness, restoring her half-crazed look. Dark glasses might help, thought Novello. But presumably her clients weren’t paying much attention to her face either.
She said, “Thanks, Jane. You can bugger off now.”
The thin girl hurried away.
Big Maggie said, “Hey, what about me?”
“You? I’ve had nothing from you, have I? Come on, you’re the one shouts her mouth off about prozzies’ rights. You must know this Dolores. Maybe one of the girls has changed her name to try a new line.”
“I’ve told you, I know nowt about her. Could have been fetched in from one of the big agencies mebbe. Or could be she’s an amateur, pocket money and kicks. Surprising how many of them there is. Ever thought of trying it yourself, luv?”
“I get my kicks banging up lowlife. Talking of which, fancy a trip down the station? Bit busy there just now, probably won’t get you processed till tomorrow.”
When dealing with prozzies, always make your threats short-term. Court next month means nowt to most of ’em. They live day to day. Losing tonight’s earnings and pissing off their pimps, that’s what bothers them.
The Gospel according to St Andrew.
Big Maggie got the message. She said, “I did see someone Thursday night.”
“Who?”
“A woman. She walked past me down the Avenue.”
“A working girl?”
“Definitely not. Didn’t know her and if I thought she were trying to muscle in, I’d have had a word.”
“Like with me, you mean?” said Novello. “So you saw a pedestrian. Big deal.”
“I saw her twice. Once she went past me heading that way, ten minutes or so later she came back.”
“Pedestrian walking her dog.”
“Didn’t have no fucking dog!”
“So make me interested in her, lady, or we’re taking a trip.”
“She were heading down to Moscow House where that guy topped himself.”
“You saw her turn up the drive, did you?”
A hesitation while she contemplated a lie.
“No. It were misty, remember. Anyway, no reason for me to pay her any heed, was there, not till she came back.”
“And why then?”
“Same person passes you twice in short order, you wonder if they’re looking for trade, don’t you?”
“A woman?”
The prostitute shrugged.
“You get all sorts, luv. You ever try it, you’ll be surprised.”
“Describe her.”
If the woman had started talking about big tits and long black hair, Novello would have discounted everything she said as a blatant attempt to get off the hook, but her reply carried conviction.
“Tall, thin, moved like a dancer. Classy gear. Lovely sheepskin jacket with fur round the collar and cuffs.”
“Hair?”
“Couldn’t see it. She had a silk square wrapped round. Looked expensive too.”
“Age?”
The woman shrugged.
“Would have needed to see her with her kit off to tell that, luv. No teenie, but could have been owt from twenty-five to forty-five. You got the bones and the money, you don’t need to let it show. I reckon she had both. And that’s it. Can’t tell you owt else. Can I go now?”
Novello said, “What did she sound like?”
“Eh?”
“Come on, Maggie. You thought she might be after trade. You’d speak to her, give her an opening in case she was nervous.”
“You sure you’ve never been on the game, luv?” said the woman. “I did speak. Asked her if she’d got a light. She said, ‘Sorry, I don’t smoke,’ and walked on.”
“So what did she sound like?”
“How do you mean?”
“Yorkshire? Posh? Husky? Nervous? Drunk? Everybody sounds like something.”
“Not Yorkshire, that’s for sure. Not posh either. Not nervous, Certainly not drunk.”
“Not posh?” said Novello, seizing on the significant negative. “If not, what?”
“I mean she didn’t have one of them fancy accents like the Royal Family, that gang. She sounded, I don’t know, sort of American, I suppose.”
She looked slightly surprised at her own conclusion.
Novello got a name and address out of her, assured her if either turned out to be false she’d come looking with dogs, and sent her on her way.
Was this good news? Bad news? Was it any kind of news at all?
Only way to find out was to offer it to old Broken Face and see if she could detect a glimmer of appreciation somewhere deep down in those Cracks of Doom.
Jake Gallipot was doing well. Or at least, looking up at his office building from the outside, you got the impression he must be doing well, but from Wield’s recollection of the man, he’d always known the value of
