A Narrow Trajectory Page 13

  And talking her way out of trouble.

  And the obvious way to do that, Hillary told herself calmly, was to appeal to the madam whiplash’s own sense of self-survival. Because she surely had one – anyone who had managed to survive the kind of life that this woman had, must have.

  ‘We’re looking into some old missing person cases,’ she carried on smoothly.

  According to Jimmy, Dale Medcalfe had already put out to the word to all his minions that the coppers were nosing about and that they were to keep quiet about anything and everything. And reminding her opponent of that fact would also remind her that her boss wouldn’t be happy if she drew attention to herself by attacking a copper.

  She saw something – a flicker of disappointment perhaps – flit briefly across and behind the black, flat-eyed stare and sensed, rather than saw, the girl give some sort of inner shrug.

  And Hillary felt her accelerated heart rate calm a little.

  ‘Oh?’

  The Asian girl, parodying boredom, tossed her head and turned towards a liquor cabinet, walking on four-inch high black heels to the drinks tray, and it was only then that Hillary felt able to take a brief look around her and suss out her surroundings. Her eyes went first to the only other egress from the room – a large sash window that looked out over the street below. It, not surprisingly, had a pair of long red velvet curtains framing it. There was a large four-poster bed in one side of the room – complete with manacles attached at all four bedposts. The quilt – surprise, surprise – was made of red silk.

  ‘Drink? The brandy’s good.’ Sasha Yoo waved a crystal decanter at her teasingly.

  Hillary smiled, wondering if the sash windows opened, or had been painted shut. Just in case. ‘No, thank you. I understand you used to room with a girl called Lydia Allen?’

  ‘Never heard of her,’ Sasha said, so quickly that her first word almost overlapped Hillary’s last.

  ‘Strange. You and she worked for the same boss.’

  ‘I’m self-employed.’ Again, the response was lightning fast. Sasha poured a large measure of what did indeed look like a very good quality brandy into a bulbous glass and took a sip. She sighed elaborately in pleasure, then began to prowl the room restlessly, watching Hillary with an amused smile that did nothing to reduce Hillary’s blood pressure. As she walked, she reminded Hillary of one of those big cats you sometimes saw at the zoo – a natural-born predator. She practically wafted and oozed decadence.

  And suddenly, Hillary got it.

  This whole set-up must be aimed at high-end patrons, with a really sick, sexual deviancy. Men with money would pay highly to live out a fantasy like this. The old-fashioned brothel, set in a period house, in a smart Oxford suburb. And knowing that there were all those normal plebs out there, going about their dreary, day to day lives with no idea what went on behind these walls. What a kick that must give them. And the over-the-top interior design, right down to the fake gas lamps that she’d noticed in the hall and on the landing, all added to the show, feeding the fantasy.

  And then of course there were the girls – top quality, professional, and specialist, like Sasha. No doubt, in other rooms, Medcalfe had installed girls who’d take the whippings and beatings rather than give them out. Along with other girls who liked to dress up as nurses, or strict school ma’ams, and who knows what else.

  It was the sort of house where anything went, and people could forget themselves and go over the top. It was the sort of house where a girl could get killed.

  ‘Lydia’s mother seems to remember you well,’ Hillary said, watching Sasha closely, and she gave a mental nod. No doubt the brandy was the real deal – VSOP, aged, and pricey. The gentlemen who called on Sasha would expect nothing but the best. No doubt it was all included in the bill. As were the cigars Hillary could see, spilling out of an antique humidor set on a glossy mahogany side table.

  ‘Don’t know the lady.’ Sasha yawned extravagantly. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have to finish getting ready. I’m going to a fancy dress party,’ she mocked, indicating her apparel with a sly hand. ‘You don’t think I dress like this all the time, do you?’

  Hillary sighed. She was in no mood to play the straight man to Sasha’s comedienne.

  ‘When was the last time you saw Lydia Allen?’ she asked, careful to keep her voice neutral and flat.

  ‘Never saw her.’

  ‘I’m told she preferred students. Did you and she go to any particular college in search of marks?’

  ‘Never been interested in academia.’

  ‘Did she have any regular John that she was afraid of? Someone who strayed into your preferred territory perhaps?’

  Sasha Yoo’s eyes flashed. ‘Don’t mistake me for some simpering little victim, Mrs Policeman Plod. I dish it out. I don’t take it.’

  There was real venom in the voice now, and the long, red-painted nails holding the brandy schooner suddenly tightened. And for a second, Hillary seriously and unashamedly contemplated making a run for it to the door.

  With every moment that passed, it was becoming more and more clear to her that this woman was seriously disturbed. It was no act – these teasing, taunting, mood swings. It probably hadn’t been for some time. Just when had the lines become blurred for her? When had she stopped being a woman playing a role, and genuinely toppled over into madness? One thing was for certain – having the services of a genuinely volatile madam whiplash must play really well for the more radical end of Medcalfe’s clientele.

  She supposed that, in one way, this could only play to Dale Medcalfe’s advantage. She could well understand why his clients with the most severe wish for domination and subjugation would flock to someone as damaged and dangerous as Sasha – a woman who genuinely hated the world, and probably men in particular.

  But that could be a dangerous game. If she ever lost control, a John could end up seriously hurt – or even dead. They’d surely have to keep a close eye on her… .

  And then Hillary could have kicked herself for being so slow. All along she’d sensed something artificial about the way Sasha Yoo was reacting to her presence. And now, suddenly, she understood why. The room was wired for sound and vision. Somewhere, one of Dale’s minions would be watching and listening to everything that went on. Ostensibly to make sure that Sasha didn’t cross the line with her Johns. But who knows? Perhaps they regularly videotaped what went on in this building. The potential for blackmail had to be almost boundless.

  So that meant that Sasha was playing to the unseen audience, as much as to her. Which was all she needed to know.

  ‘What do you know about any of the other missing girls, Sasha?’ Hillary asked.

  ‘Don’t know any missing girls.’

  ‘Amanda Smallwood?’ she tossed out the name of one of Jimmy’s cases. ‘A mother of two small children. They miss her and want her back.’

  ‘Oh, boo hoo.’

  ‘Jasmine Sudbury?’

  ‘Sounds like the name of a chocolate bar.’

  ‘Rebecca Tyde-Harris?’

  Sasha yawned again, but not before Hillary had seen the tell-tale tightening of her shoulder blades. Now that, Hillary thought with a brief flare of elation, had been a palpable hit.

  ‘You’re boring me, Mrs Policeman Plod. Why don’t you go away now?’ She gave Hillary a dismissive flick of her red-painted nails and walked casually to the window and looked out. The way she did it, so openly, told Hillary that the glass had been specially treated so that no one outside could see in.

  ‘Tell me about Dale Medcalfe,’ Hillary said then, just for the hell of it. Because now, she was sure, she was in no immediate danger. Sasha wouldn’t dare attack Hillary with her minders looking on. In fact, she must be too busy showing her boss’s watcher what a good girl she was being by towing the company line, to care much about Hillary at all.

  ‘Don’t know no Mr Medcalfe,’ Sasha replied airily and tossed off the last of the brandy before sauntering back to the liquor cabinet to pour another.<
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  Hillary wondered how many she could drink before she even started to feel fuzzy-minded. She guessed it would be quite a few.

  Hillary, like most people, didn’t like being frightened. It made her angry, and made her feel ashamed. And right now, she wanted some pay back for the nasty time she’d just been through. Which was very human of her, but which could also, in this case, prove to be very useful. Because now she needed to see just how dangerously unstable Sasha Yoo was. Since it might just prove to be useful to them somewhere down the line.

  So she smiled gently. ‘You like watching men writhe and squirm, don’t you, Sasha?’

  The tall young woman froze for an instant, then casually lifted her glass and took a sip.

  ‘That’s what they pay me for,’ she admitted casually. ‘Nothing illegal in that, Mrs Policeman Plod. We’re all consenting adults here. You want me to give you a stroke or two with my favourite riding crop? On the house?’ she purred.

  Hillary smiled. ‘Maybe later,’ she said, pleased to see that her flat-voiced response momentarily surprised and non-plussed the other woman. ‘I suppose they all have a safe word, though, don’t they?’ she carried on, making her voice sound thoughtful and just a shade regretful. ‘When they want you to stop?’

  Sasha went very still.

  ‘That must be very disappointing for you. Because of course, you do have to stop. Don’t you, Sasha? That must be so frustrating for you.’

  ‘It’s time you went now,’ Sasha said, walking to the door and opening it.

  And Hillary silently agreed with her. It was time she went. Besides, she’d learned all that she needed to know. And she knew when it was time to stop pushing her luck. And from the look of bitter and ravaging rage that she could see on the Asian girl’s face, now was definitely the time to stop pushing.

  ‘Thank you for your co-operation, Miss Yoo,’ she said sweetly, as she swept past.

  Once outside, she walked back to the car on legs that felt decidedly spongy, and wasn’t surprised to discover that she was shivering violently. It took her a moment or two to unlock the car door and after she’d done so, she all but fell into the driver’s seat.

  For a moment, she simply sat and breathed. She felt sicker than ever. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to get out her mobile and call Steven, just to hear his voice. Just to be reassured that all was still well.

  But the moment passed. It had been a long time, after all, since she’d needed her hand holding. That wry realization steadied her somewhat, and slowly, the sick feeling receded. She leaned forward and turned on the engine, hoping for once that the heating system would work quickly.

  And as her toes started to defrost, she forced herself to review the last half an hour or so.

  What, exactly, had she just learned from all that?

  That Medcalfe was running a high-end knocking shop was no real surprise. But Sasha Yoo’s borderline crazy personality was. The madam whiplash was obviously a big earner for Medcalfe, but for how much longer could he keep on running her before she did something really crazy? Or was it possible that he didn’t even know about her? Oh, he must have some idea that she was cracked, but perhaps he hadn’t realized just how badly. It was not as if he’d have reason to talk to her face to face much, as Hillary just had. Indeed, he might not even have talked to her at all since setting up the place. He’d have lower-ranking members of his organization to see to the day-to-day running of the place, and the collection of money. And how likely was it that any of them would be mental health experts?

  Thoughtfully, she put the car into first gear and drove carefully through the dark streets back towards HQ. She wasn’t quite sure, yet, where all this might be leading, but she had a feeling that they might just have had their first big breakthrough.

  ‘And how do you think this will help us?’ It was actually Rollo Sale who asked the pertinent question, some twenty minutes later. She, Steven and her new boss were sitting in his office and Hillary had just given them a complete run-down of her findings so far. Needless to say, it was her last interview that had gained their attention the most.

  ‘I’m not sure, sir,’ Hillary responded honestly. She was now back to her old self, and was showing no signs of having been shaken, although she noticed Steven was watching her closely, as if sensing her mood. It both worried and thrilled her how well he seemed to know her. ‘But at the very least, I think she’s a weak link in Medcalfe’s armour. None of his immediate gang will ever grass on him because they know the consequences if they do. And all his girls are junkies and too fragile to be of much use to us, but a genuinely crazy person… . Well, they can be unpredictable.’

  ‘She’s hardly likely to give him up without some serious persuasion, though, is she?’ Rollo said. ‘And it’s not as if we have anything on her.’

  ‘I’m not saying that we have, sir,’ Hillary said patiently. ‘I just think that it might be a good idea to bear her in mind. If something does break later on, as a result, say, of Steven’s future work in trying to crack Medcalfe’s organization. She might just be a useful wedge in helping to make the break even wider. And she genuinely hates men, and the life she’s leading, of that I’m certain. If she gets the chance to stick the knife into Dale… well, I wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t just crazy enough to do it. After all, Dale relies on fear and intimidation to keep people in line. But …’

  ‘But someone insane might not fear very much,’ Steven finished the sentence for her.

  Hillary shot him a swift, appreciative look. ‘Exactly. And let’s not forget, she’s a loose cannon in other ways, too. One of these days I can see her really overstepping the line with some punter or other, and really doing him some damage. And then Medcalfe either has to get rid of her or Sasha herself might do a runner before he gets the chance. Either way, it could be the catalyst we need. And if we can persuade her it’s in her best interests to come running to us… Who knows?’

  Hillary was a realist. It was possible Steven could spend years in his new job before making any real dent in the problem. Which meant you had to think long-term.

  ‘I’m just saying, once you’ve got your unit up and running properly, sir,’ she said to him now, ‘keep her in mind. I think, somehow, somewhere along the line, she might be a potential gold mine for you.’

  Steven nodded. ‘Thanks for the tip. But for now, you’re to stay away from her,’ he ordered crisply.

  Hillary smiled. ‘No argument here, sir,’ she said, with some feeling. Normally she wouldn’t have liked the idea that he was being protective of her. It implied that he didn’t think she could do her job. But right now, she was glad that someone cared if she kept her skin intact or not.

  ‘It’s no wonder Diana Thompson didn’t like her,’ Hillary mused. ‘All those years ago, before her daughter went missing, she met Sasha and sensed something off about her, even back then.’

  Rollo shifted slightly on his chair. The speculation about Sasha Yoo was interesting, but as far as he was concerned, it was very much a back-issue. It was time they got on to more important things.

  ‘About young Jake’s meeting with Darren Chivnor tomorrow,’ he began firmly, and Hillary straightened and listened attentively, as between them, her two bosses filled her in on the arrangements in place for their rendezvous at the library.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  That night, Steven Crayle returned to his own house. It was late, and he hadn’t wanted to disturb Hillary on the boat. Besides, both of them were keyed up about the meeting tomorrow and sleep was going to be hard to come by, even without the challenges of them both cramming into Hillary’s narrow bed on the The Mollern.

  As he showered tiredly, he found himself pondering the years that might lie ahead. At the moment he was working flat out making sure that the transfer to the new job and the new set-up in St Aldates went smoothly. And it was a dead cert that he was going to be working hard for many more months to come as he struggled to get the new unit up and running.

/>   Hillary had been instrumental in helping him pick out potential new members for what he hoped was going to be a proficient and tight-knit team. Although a lot of officers had expressed an interest in working for the new initiative, very few would in fact make the grade. Having Hillary’s experienced eye, not to mention access to her wide-ranging network of contacts when it came to helping sift the wheat from the chaff, was proving invaluable.

  No doubt about it, to have her as a life partner was a massive bonus for any ambitious man. Just take the case in point. Only a month ago, Commander Donleavy had made it clear that Steven’s job was to clean out the sewers – and taking down the big players would certainly do that. And here he was, not even fully in the saddle yet, and already, thanks to Hillary’s efforts, he might already have a halfway decent shot of taking down Medcalfe. Of course, Jake Barnes’s unexpected input had started the ball rolling, but he was relying on Hillary to help him use the situation to at least give him a starting point in his coming war with the criminal kingpin.

  There was more to life than work, though, and as he slipped into his cold and empty bed, he lay for a moment staring at the ceiling.

  Hillary had been happy when she’d told him that she had managed to rent a year’s mooring rights on the canal just a hundred yards or so from where he now lay. Indeed, from the back bedroom of the house, they’d be able to see The Mollern once the narrowboat was in situ. And as she’d said, it would be an absolute doddle for her to move home. There’d be no need to hire a van and hardly any extra costs would be involved. She’d simply moor up practically at the bottom of his garden, and move, bit by bit, over a week or so.

  And then he wouldn’t be lying in this large bed all alone and she’d have the chance to get used to the luxury of all the space his large and comfortable home provided for them. And as much as he loved spending weekends on the boat with her, and the odd overnight stay, there was no getting away from the fact that the narrowboat could feel a bit confining.