13

Banham sat down again and Alison clicked the tape back on. Finn’s eyes darted nervously from one to the other.

“You were popular in the nick,” Alison said, dropping the visiting records in front of him.

His Adam’s apple moved up and down as if he was trying to digest his fear. “What d’ya mean?”

“You had more visitors than you told us.” She paused to rack up his discomfort level. “Either you’ve got a bad memory, or you have something to hide.”

“I’ve never said nothing wrong.”

“You withheld evidence,” Banham said. “That’s not just wrong. It’s an offence.”

Finn leaned across the table. “You’ve got the wrong man.” He flung his hands in the air. “Lock me up, then. I ain’t got no fucking life now, anyway.” His voice grew deeper and more menacing. “You’d better. Coos if you don’t, I will commit murder. I’ll top the fucker who killed my Theresa.”

“That’s enough.” Banham spoke loudly and firmly.

Finn subsided into his chair, still glowering. Alison gave him a few seconds to calm himself. “I didn’t have you down as a friend of Ken Stone,” she said conversationally.

“You’re right. I ain’t.”

“He visited you regularly in the Scrubs,” she pointed out.

Finn didn’t answer.

She leaned in toward him. “Well, he did. Didn’t he?”

Finn’s eyes flicked away. He still said nothing.

“Answer the sergeant, Finn.”

Finn looked nervous now. “Yeah. Yeah, he did,” he said quickly.

“What for? Hardly a social visit if he isn’t a friend. Why did he come?” Alison probed.

“That’s my business.” Finn scratched his forearm.

“Not any more,” Banham told him.

Finn shrugged.

“Was it because he wanted to get those videos back?” Alison asked.

“Yeah, that was it.”

“And you wouldn’t tell him where they were, so he kept coming back.”

“You’ve got it.”

“Is that what Olivia Stone wanted too? She visited you more than a few times.”

“That’s right, yeah.”

“And the other girls?”

Finn sat up. “No.” He looked Alison in the eye. “Theresa came because she’s my girl.”

“And Susan?”

“We were mates.”

“You don’t blackmail your mates for a hundred thousand pounds,” Banham said.

Finn hesitated. “I wasn’t asking for money from her.”

“You were,” Alison said. “Indirectly.”

“Where are the videos now?” Banham asked.

Silence.

Banham spoke a little louder. “Where are the videos now, Finn?”

“Under the sink.” Finn dropped his voice.

“At your mother’s?”

“At Theresa’s.”

Banham looked at Alison.

“Long story,” Finn said.

“We have plenty of time,” Banham said. “Tell us.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Finn closed his eyes. “Nothing matters any more.”

Banham’s tone softened. “Tell us,” he repeated.

Finn seemed to have shrunk. It was several moments before he spoke, and when he did, he sounded defeated. “We wanted to start our lives again. We were gonna to buy two of those beach huts in Canvey Island. One for us and Berny and one for the mums.”

“Who’s idea was that? Theresa’s?” Alison wasn’t sure why she was asking.

“Mine. Am I going back to prison?”

“Depends,” Banham said. “If Katie Faye and Olivia Stone press charges you will. If you murdered those three women you definitely will. That’s what interests me. I don’t give a stuff about the blackmail.”

Finn shook his head. “You’re wasting your time. I’d never kill anybody.”

“Well, somebody did, and it’s my job to find out who. Could Katie and Olivia have known the blackmail was Theresa’s idea?”

“I don’t know. I don’t see how, unless she told them.”

“Think very hard,” Alison said. “Olivia and Katie. Who was Candy floss and who was Strawberry?” Something told her this was important.

Finn became flustered. “I don’t remember. Really I don’t.”

Ten minutes later Alison was outside the station, organising uniformed officers and a detective to go to Theresa’s flat to look for the videos. As the officers set off, Judy Gardener and Kim Davis pulled up in their car. Judy wound the window down. “We’ve been asked to come in again,” Judy told Alison. “Do you know what it’s all about?”

“We need to know about the costumes Kim bought when they auctioned the club property,” Alison replied. “If you’d mentioned it before, you’d have saved us a lot of trouble.”

“I’m sorry,” Judy said. “We didn’t think it was relevant. They were for Kim’s dance school. There were no red g-strings in the skips.”

“You still should have told us before.”

Judy parked the car and Alison escorted them back into the station and took Kim to an interview room. Judy tried to follow.

“No, just Kim,” Alison told her.

“I’ve promised her I’ll stay close to her. I’ll wait outside.”

Alison didn’t try to hide her impatience. Judy knew the procedure. “She’ll be safe with us,” she said curtly. “Wait in the canteen, please.”

“I’m Kim’s surveillance officer,” Judy protested. “My brief is not to let her out of my sight.”

Alison called Isabelle to take her to the canteen. Judy looked furious but stopped arguing. As she walked down the corridor, Alison noticed how tall and broad she was.

Crowther was with Kim in the interview room.

“How are you feeling?” Alison asked.

“OK.” Kim’s tone implied the opposite.

“We are putting twenty-four hour surveillance on you and Judy too, for added protection, as from this evening. We’re going to keep you safe.”

Kim pulled her face into a tight smile. “Thank you.”

“This way we’ll all sleep easier in our beds.”

Kim managed a nod, but was clearly uncomfortable.

“Kim, why didn’t you tell us you bought some costumes from the club?”

Kim stared wide-eyed at Alison. “I didn’t think it mattered. Ken Stone bought some skips too, and he hasn’t even got a dance school. Have you talked to him about it?”

“Oh, we will,” Alison assured her.

“There were no g-strings in the skips,” Kim said firmly.

“You’re absolutely sure?”

Kim’s cheeks reddened. “Of course.”

“Did any of the costumes have names or initials on them?”

“No, but we didn’t use our real names.”

Crowther had been taking notes. He looked up. “What was yours?”

“Dusty Springfield.”

“I think my mum was a fan of hers,” Crowther said. The soul of tact as usual, Alison thought.

“She was a gay icon,” Kim told him. “Ahmed Abdullah gave me that name. He hated me because I’m gay.” She looked away. “And the feeling was mutual.”

Alison couldn’t let go of the S connection. All the girls shared that initial in some way, except Candyfloss. And Theresa, of course; her nickname was Trixie or Cherry.

Unless Cherry was actually Sherry?

She decided to have one more go. “What was Katie Faye’s stage name?” she asked.

“I can’t be sure. I was on drugs for so long. Heroin takes your memory. Strawberry, I think.”

“So Olivia was Candyfloss?”

“I’m sorry, I really don’t remember.”

Alison glanced at Crowther. “Fair enough,” he said flatly.

“What did you write on your g-strings? Do you remember that? Was it Dusty, or just the initials?”

“DS – I think, but...”

“All right, it was a long time ago. Can you remember what colour ink?”

“Olivia was the only one with a biro, I do remember that. She always had one on her. We all used it. It was just an ordinary blue biro.”

“We’ll pick up your car at the garage on the way, and you can drive,” Banham said.

“You want me to use my car again? In the Stones’ road?” Alison looked at the end of her tether.

“If you want to claim the repair on expenses, I have to justify it,” Banham said. “The super wants photos.”

“But it’ll get more scratches. And what if the sump gets damaged again?”

“Then we’ll get it mended again. We’ll get photos of the road, and bring Ken Stone back for questioning. By the time he gets hold of his solicitor to spring him, forensics may have turned something up.” He ignored Alison’s pained expression. “I’m going to enjoy bringing him in again. He’ll know what police harassment is when I’ve finished with him.”

“If we could persuade his son to make a statement, we could get him locked up,” Alison said. “And save my car in the bargain.”

“Better still if we could get his wife to lodge a complaint about domestic violence.”

“I don’t trust any of those women,” Alison declared. “What do you make of Judy and Kim not telling us they bought costumes from the club auction?”

“Maybe they were concerned about putting Gardener’s job on the line,” Banham suggested. “Ken Stone didn’t mention he went to the auction either – or that he visited Finn in the nick.”

“You think he did it, don’t you?”

Banham turned the car into the garage forecourt and stopped the engine. He rubbed his mouth and looked at Alison. “I don’t know for sure, but I’d feel a lot happier if he was locked up.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“You think it’s one of the women? You don’t trust Katie Faye or Olivia Stone, do you?”

He’d noticed, then. “No further than I could throw them.”

“I’m surprised at you.” Banham sounded like a teacher talking to a pupil. “You’re normally more astute than that. They are both very vulnerable.”

“Oh please!”

“Alison, neither of them had families, and they had to learn to survive. They were young and naïve, and they made mistakes. And now they’re paying a big price.”

“You should get out more,” Alison snapped back. “You’re the naïve one. Olivia married Stone for his money, and I’ll bet Katie Faye wasn’t too particular who she used to get where she is today.”

Banham shook his head. “You’re wrong. She’s a victim in all this.”

“You fancy her, and your judgement is clouded!” She knew she was overstepping the mark but she couldn’t stop herself. Banham stared at her open-mouthed. She opened the door to get out of the car. “And you haven’t even noticed that Olivia’s tits aren’t real.”

She slammed the door so hard the noise reverberated in his ear.

God, that woman had a temper.

Kenneth Stone was in his study when the doorbell sounded. He was indulging in his favourite pastime – playing with himself. Normally he liked to watch a pornographic film to aid his wrist action, but now that the police had taken his collection away, he was reduced to studying the curves of a nude model in the men’s magazine he had read a couple of days ago during a particularly tedious discussion in the House.

It was hard work, but he needed the release. He hadn’t had sex with Olivia since this business began, and he knew that if he didn’t relieve his pent-up sexual feelings his cruel streak would come out again. He hated upsetting his children, and he didn’t mean to hurt Olivia either, but the way she looked at him sometimes was enough to drive a saint to violence. Who did she think she was? He’d dragged her out of the gutter and this was how she repaid him.

She’d refused to wear the French maid’s outfit he had bought her, with black stockings and no knickers. She said it made her look like a slag, and couldn’t understand that that was the point – that it turned him on like crazy. His erection withered as he remembered the look of disdain on her face.

He needed sex. His collection of pornographic films were his life-saver. If he couldn’t spill out those feelings, he had no control at all over his temper.

The doorbell rang again, and his erection wilted completely. Whoever it was could go to hell. He needed this; Katie Faye was staying with them and he didn’t want her to witness him hitting Olivia again. He started to work his wrist, slowly and evenly.

The doorbell rang for a third time.

“Someone’s definitely in, guv,” Alison said. “There are lights on, and four cars in the driveway.”

A moment later Kevin opened the door. Alison stepped in the hallway without waiting to be invited. “We need another word with your mother and father.”

“How are you?” Banham asked Kevin, keeping his voice down.

“I’m all right, but Mum’s not. Dad’s back, and she’s in a real state.”

“Where is he?”

“I’ll get him.” Kevin ushered them into the living room. Olivia was sitting on the pale leather sofa and Katie was cross-legged on a rug on the floor, hair newly washed and hanging damp around her shoulders. She turned her wide-set blue eyes on Banham, and Alison tried to ignore the jealousy that stirred in the pit of her stomach.

“Is anything wrong?” Katie asked.

“We need to ask Mr Stone a couple more questions,” Banham told her.

Olivia stood up. “Can I get you something? A drink?”

Banham shook his head. “You didn’t mention that you visited Brian Finn in prison,” he said.

Katie still had those eyes fixed on Banham.

“It was only a couple of times,” Olivia said. “It didn’t seem relevant.”

“Actually that’s not true,” Alison said crisply. “We’ve got the visiting records. You visited him quite regularly. Why?”

Olivia shrugged. “I thought if I befriended him he might give me those embarrassing videos back.”

Raised voices came from upstairs. Banham looked up at the ceiling, than back at Olivia. Her cheek was still bruised. “What really happened to your face?” he asked her.

“I told you. I walked into a door.” She looked at Katie, but the other woman turned her head away.

The lounge door opened and Kenneth walked in, his shirt hanging out of his trousers. Kevin followed him.

“What do you want this time?” Kenneth demanded. “This is beginning to look like police harassment.”

“We need a word, in private,” Banham said coldly.

Ken looked at Olivia. She didn’t move. “Take them to your study,” she said.

“I can’t. There are confidential papers out. You’d better come through to the kitchen,” he said irritably.

“He’s got Big and Bouncy open on the desk,” Kevin told them as they left the lounge.

Olivia followed them.

“I hope you’ve got a good reason for bothering me like this,” Kenneth said, shifting his eyes from Alison to Banham as he ushered them in the kitchen.

Olivia perched on the stool by the door. “I presume I’m allowed in,” she said.

Banham nodded acquiescence. “Why didn’t you tell me you visited Brian Finn in prison?” he asked Kenneth.

“I didn’t.” Kenneth narrowed his eyes angrily at his wife.

Banham folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wall. Alison stood by the table.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Olivia said. “They’ve got the records – times, dates, everything. It says clearly Mr K Stone and Mrs O Stone. I’ve seen them. You might as well admit it.”

“I didn’t visit him,” Ken said again.

“Do you want to get arrested for obstructing a murder enquiry?” Olivia said through gritted teeth. “Tell them, or they’ll arrest you again.”

“All right.” Ken threw his arms in the air. “I visited Brian Finn regularly in prison. Satisfied?”

“So why deny it?” asked Alison quietly.

“Oh, for Chrissake!” He slapped his forehead. “I’ve had a very long day and you’re trying my patience.”

“Three women have been murdered,” Banham said, battening down the urge to shout. “It’s my job to find out who did it, before he does it again. I don’t have time for patience.”

Ken’s gaze settled on Olivia’s cleavage. “I visited him because my wife is a whore, and had embarrassed me by making pornographic videos. I need to get them back. If they get into the public domain, my career is down the tube.” He glared at Banham. “Anything else?”

“Yes, as it happens. Why did you buy two skips of costumes at the Scarlet Pussy Club auction?”

Olivia’s head shot up. “I didn’t know that.” She looked at Banham. “I definitely didn’t know that.”

“What auction?” Kenneth said wearily.

Alison sighed. “Mr Stone, we have the receipts.”

“Then arrest me.”

“Ken, for goodness sake, just tell them.” Olivia’s voice sounded taut and stretched.

He took a step towards her. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“What happened to your wife’s face, Mr Stone?” Alison said.

Colour flooded Kenneth’s face. “Are you trying to set me up?” he snarled. “I’m telling you once and for all, I didn’t kill those women.” He flew at Alison, grabbing her arm and dragging her towards the door. “Fuck off out of my house.”

Banham grabbed the shirttail, which was hanging out of his trousers and twisted him round. He grabbed his wrists and pulled them firmly behind his back as Alison pulled out handcuffs. She clicked them around Stone’s wrists as Banham recited the caution: “Kenneth Stone, I am arresting you for attempting to assault a police officer, and for withholding information that is vital in a murder investigation...”

Olivia started crying, and Katie and Kevin ran in to comfort her. While Alison marched Ken to the unmarked police car at the bottom of the drive, Banham stayed with the women. “He did that to your face,” he said to Olivia.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“I have told you. I walked into a door.”

Kevin and Katie Faye exchanged glances. Kevin said, “Mum, tell him what happened.”

Olivia shook her head.

“You tell him, Auntie Katie.”

Katie looked nervously at Banham, then lowered her gaze.

Banham pulled his wallet from his pocket and handed Olivia a card. “If you change your mind and want to press charges, just give me a call.”

“Will you let him go?” she asked anxiously.

“We’ll keep him overnight, at least.”

“Mum feels nervous when Dad’s not here,” Kevin said. “I have no idea why.”

“No need,” Banham assured them. “There are officers keeping guard twenty-four hours a day. If you go out, they’ll be right with you. And you can call me any time, night or day.”

The women see med to relax a little. Time to leave, Banham thought. But something held him back. “Can I have a private word with you?” he asked, with a quick glance at Kevin.

“It’s all right, don’t mind him,” Olivia said. “What is it?”

“Your stripper names? Have you remembered who was who?”

Olivia answered quickly. “Honestly, we can’t. I think I was Candyfloss and Katie was Honeysuckle.”

“Honeysuckle?” That was a new one on Banham.

“Wasn’t it the other way round?” Katie said.

“What about Strawberry? One of you was Strawberry, isn’t that right?” Banham said.

“I don’t remember,” Katie said. Olivia shook her head. “Why does it matter?”

“I’m trying to piece things together. If you do remember, you will call me?” He handed another card to Katie. “Any time. Night or day.”

He turned to find Alison standing in the doorway. Her arms were folded across her chest, and the black flecks in her eyes shining.

“Are you OK?” Banham asked as they walked down the gravel driveway.

“I’m fine. Stone reeks of alcohol.”

“We’ll leave him in a cell to sober up. Interview him later, even in the morning.”

“Good. That gives us time to visit Lottie. Shall I call her and say we’ll pop by?”

“No point; she’ll be on the phone. We’ll just turn up.”

It was seven-twenty by the time Alison had negotiated the rush hour traffic. The low hanging branches in Cherry Tree Walk had again caught the paintwork on the roof of her car, and after they parked in Lottie’s street she examined it for damage.

There was an excited squeal as seven-year-old Madeleine spotted her Uncle Paul, and clattered down the street to greet him in her mother’s high-heeled shoes. She carried a doll under one arm and a burger in the other hand; between those and the oversized shoes, Alison was afraid she might fall over.

Banham obviously thought the same. He ran to meet her and scooped her into his arms. From one pocket he pulled a handkerchief, which he used to wipe the lipstick covering her mouth. From the other he took a packet of chocolate raisins, and offered them to her. Madeleine struggled out of his arms and sat on the edge of the pavement, discarding the burger and emptying the sweets all over her lap.

“It’s too cold to sit out here,” Banham said, throwing Alison an anxious look. “Let’s go indoors.”

“Mummy says we’re to eat our tea out here, then play out until bedtime,” the little girl told him.

“Where’s Bobby?” Alison asked.

“Round the corner, playing football,” Madeleine answered through a mouthful of chocolate.

“Who with?”

“Shane and Leyton, I think.”

“Come on.” Banham held out a hand. “Let’s go and find him.”

The look on his face told Alison it was all he could do not to explode.

She waited till they had turned the corner, then walked up the path. The front door was on the latch.

“Lottie?” She put her head round the lounge door just as Lottie replaced the phone on its cradle. “Hi. The front door was open, so I came in out of the cold.”

“Is Paul with you?” Lottie sounded wary.

“He’s playing football with the children.”

Lottie looked sheepish. “Do you want some tea? Or something stronger?”

“Tea’s fine. I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?”

The small, compact kitchen was decorated with children’s drawings in brightly coloured crayon. On the fridge door was one of a green pin man marked Uncle Paul, and beside that a pink pin woman, holding a telephone. That one was labeled Mummy.

“You have observant children,” Alison said casually.

“I’ve got a telephone job at the moment,” Lottie said, reaching for the teapot. “I need a job I can do at home.”

Alison looked Lottie directly in the eye. “Tell me to mind my own business if you want, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“I need a job I can do at home,” Lottie insisted. “Derek owes me back maintenance. I need to earn some money.”

“I understand,” Alison said, covering Lottie’s hand with her own. “But – telephone sex?”

“It’s well paid.”

“And dangerous. Who know what it might lead to?”

“What do you know about it?”

“Lottie, we’re detectives. We see things. And Paul cares so much for you. He worries terribly, you know, about you and the kids.”

Lottie banged the milk jug on the worktop. “It’s none of his business.”

“Perhaps not. It’s even less mine, but I’m still concerned about you. Thanks, but I don’t take milk.”

“You’re too thin. You shouldn’t diet.”

“I’m not dieting. I’m allergic to milk. Look, Lottie, can I talk to you, in confidence?”

Lottie looked at her and her face softened. “Sure.”

“We’re on a very nasty murder case. The killer has tracked down a group of women who worked together nineteen years ago, in a strip club. They were just students at the time, and they needed money. But the job didn’t stop at stripping. The girls got involved in pornographic videos, and now it’s led to blackmail. It was all nearly twenty years ago, but three of the women have been murdered, and the other three are living in fear. That all started because they all needed a job that earned them quick and easy money. They all thought the sex trade would provide it.”

“What’s the motive? Paul always says there has to be a motive,” Lottie said. “Find that, and it will lead you to the killer. Don’t they reckon that in two out every three cases the victim knows the killer?” She passed Alison her mug of black tea.

They were going off the subject. But Lottie was right. “You’ve got it,” she said. “We’re stuck on motive. Maybe that’s the key.”

She shook her head as Lottie offered her a tin of rich tea biscuits.

“What about the other three women?” Lottie suggested.

Alison laughed. “You should be my twin, not Paul’s. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Must be a woman’s mind. We’re devious.”

“And you’re changing the subject. We were talking about you. Listen, I think I might have a solution for you.”

“I won’t take money from Paul!”

“No, of course not. But surely you’ll accept a loan.”

“How can I pay him back if I give up the job?”

“That’s easy. Derek owes you big time – and that’s something Paul can take care off. He’ll enjoy going to see him, and he’ll make sure he pays up. Then you can pay Paul back.”

Lottie looked dubious.

“Think of the children, Lottie.”

For a moment Alison thought she had won, then Lottie shook her head.

“OK. If you won’t take a loan from Paul, how about from me?”

“You?”

“Yeah.” Alison winked. “Then I get to have a go at Derek. Am I allowed to punch his lights out?”

Lottie smiled. “OK, you win.” She laughed. “It’s a crap job anyway. Though I was getting good at it, especially with the older men.”

“So if I need help getting someone to fancy me, I can come to you?”

“You certainly can. I’ve learned all the tricks of the trade.”

“You didn’t talk to anyone with a fetish for red g-strings by any chance?”

“No. There was someone with a thing for older strippers, though.”

Alison’s antennae were suddenly on alert. “You haven’t got that on tape, have you?”

“Of course. I have to tape everything. I get paid per call. But I’d die if Paul heard me.”

“He won’t. You have my word. I’ll listen to it myself, and if it’s no use, I’ll return it. Or destroy it.”

“Return it, please,” Lottie said with a grin. “I haven’t been paid for it yet. Are you two staying for supper?”

“That would be nice – but we’ll have a takeaway, and my treat. You and I can fetch it while Paul puts Bobby and Madeleine to bed.”

Lottie went to get her coat. Alison went in search of Banham, who was playing football with the children.

“Sorted,” she told him. “I’m lending her the money. Better for her pride. You get the job of sorting Derek out. If you think you might hit him, maybe better let me.”

“He deserves a smack.”

“Yes, I know. I want to do it.”

“Uncle Paul, it’s your kick off,” Madeleine shouted from across the street. She had joined in the football wearing her mother’s shoes.

Banham walked over and picked her up. “It’s bedtime. I’m going to tell you your favourite story – Cinderella and her Fairy Godmother.”

Alison couldn’t help noticing Madeleine looked just like him.

“I wish Mummy had a fairy godmother,” Alison heard the little girl say to her plastic doll.

“She has,” Banham answered, with a glance over his shoulder at Alison.

Madeleine’s little eyes lit up. “Will she make Mummy’s dreams come true?”

“Yes.”

“And will we have lots of money, and be able to buy school shoes for Bobby, and nappies for Molly-Dolly?”

“Oh, yes,” Banham assured her, taking the shoes from her and tucking her feet under his jumper as he carried her up the path.

“And do fairy godmothers only grant wishes to people who are good?”

“That’s right.”

Bobby slouched up, his football under his arm, scowling to make sure they all knew he was too old for that silly stuff.

“No wonder we haven’t got any money,” Madeleine said. “Mummy is always saying bad words.”

Lottie was standing on the doorstep. Alison lowered her gaze as Banham locked eyes with his sister.

Then Lottie said, “Mummy isn’t going to say bad words ever again.”