Chapter 1
They were supposed to be the best of us. The great and the good of British business: politicians, financiers, oligarchs and the odd lord. Men. Three hundred and fifty of them gathered in a five-star West End hotel to raise money for worthy causes. For those whose lives had been devastated by the virus.
For people like me, thought Sadie Nicholls as she surveyed the room.
‘Over here, darlin’ . . .’
She looked across and saw a middle-aged man in a tuxedo snapping his fingers at her. He was paunchy with a sweep of yellow-blond hair sitting above flushed pink cheeks. His face was deadpan serious, but the schoolboy sniggering from the rest of the table told her what to expect. She walked over, forcing a professional smile.
‘Can we have some more champagne? We’re running a little dry – the Krug Grande Cuvée?’ He leant in confidentially, whispered, ‘It’s the fizzy stuff in the dark green bottles . . .’
Sadie maintained her smile.
‘I know which one it is, thank you.’
Her soft Geordie vowels made the words sound unintentionally prim. The man pulled an expression of exaggerated concern, held up a hand in mock apology. His friends sniggered.
‘Why aye love – I’m sure you do,’ he said, and they sniggered some more.
Sadie turned and braced herself, felt the palm of his hand connect firmly with her left buttock just a second before she heard the roar of the table’s laughter. In any other situation, she was fairly sure she’d have taken his head off, but she’d been warned. When she accepted the job she’d been told what kind of evening to expect.
The Knights Association dinner was in its twenty-seventh year and held something of a reputation for its regular attendees. There was a reason the only women there were hostesses, why they were all wearing low-cut tops and short, tight dresses. She’d felt humiliated before the first guests had even arrived. But the money was good, and beggars couldn’t be choosers.
The brief was simple: keep the clientele happy and fetch drinks when required. On stage, entertainers had come and gone, though it was hard to tell if anyone was even listening to them. Champagne, whisky and vodka were all on tap and it hadn’t taken long for inhibitions to drop. It began with some hand-holding as she’d taken the first orders. From there it didn’t take long before, emboldened, they began pulling some of the hostesses into their laps. About an hour in, an elderly man directly asked her whether she was a prostitute. He’d said it so sympathetically too, like a kindly uncle talking to a favoured niece.
Now as she crossed the room to fetch the champagne from one of the ice buckets at the back, Sadie felt dizzy and nauseous. She just needed to try and keep her cool, get through this and pick up the money at the end of the night. Composing herself, she thought of her three-year-old son, Liam, fighting the urge to whip out her phone and look at his picture for support. The only reason she hadn’t smashed a champagne flute across the head of the man who’d just assaulted her was because of her boy.
She took a deep breath, picked up a bottle of Krug and placed it on a silver tray. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the hyenas at the table watching her closely, anticipating her return. She took her time and glanced at some of the other hostesses, each engaged in their own private battles. A girl, surely not even out of her teens, struggling to keep the distress off her face on one side of the room, a woman in her thirties handling it like a pro on the other side. Sadie checked her watch and felt her heart sink – they weren’t even halfway through this yet.
‘Come on, sweetheart – there’s workin’ men getting thirsty over here.’
The twat with the blond hair laid on the cod Geordie accent again. She looked back over at her table of tormentors and produced another shit-eating smile. For Liam, she thought. For Liam.
It took another forty minutes before she reached the end of her tether. A man she vaguely recognised – a politician perhaps, from way back – slipped his hand up her dress without missing a beat of the conversation he was holding. He didn’t even look at her. When she’d discreetly tried to remove it, he’d squeezed harder, holding it there and not letting her move. She’d stood frozen to the spot, unsure how to handle the situation until he’d finally released his grip. Not once did he make eye contact with her.
‘Fuck this for a game of soldiers, Luce,’ she said, kicking off her heels and rummaging in her bag for her trainers. She was now in one of the hotel’s smaller conference rooms that’d been converted into a makeshift dressing room. ‘I’m sorry I got you into this,’ she said, as she fought to free the tongue from one of her battered orange sneakers.
Lucy Ahmed, like Sadie, was in her mid-twenties. They were old friends, and it’d been Sadie who’d helped get her the job. They’d worked together once at a small coffee shop near Borough. Then the virus came and the cafe had closed its doors. They’d stayed in touch though, and Sadie had been glad to push some work her way.
‘Just stick it out for another hour. They haven’t even had the auction yet,’ said Lucy.
‘Fuck the auction,’ said Sadie, unclipping her hairpiece and stuffing it in her bag. She ran her hand through her natural brown bob, glad to feel it free again. ‘I don’t care how good the money is – it’s not worth it. If I stay here any longer I’m going to hurt someone. I don’t want to end up on the front pages for smashing some MP’s teeth in.’
‘I know what you mean – I can’t say I’m enjoying it either. I just think if you go, you’ll regret it tomorrow.’
Sadie was slipping her jacket on now.
‘I’ve got to be able to look myself in the mirror. No – fuck that – I’ve got to be able to look my boy in the eye.’
‘He’s three years old, he doesn’t know.’
‘It matters to me, Luce. I don’t know how you’re putting up with it, to be honest.’
Lucy shrugged.
‘Because I need the cash. Apparently some of the others – they really are working girls. This is a regular gig for them. Half these guys have already got rooms booked.’
‘You’re not thinking of—’
‘No – of course not. I’m just saying – the men in there . . . it’s what they were expecting.’
Sadie shook her head.
‘Well, not from me.’ She zipped up her jacket and walked to the door. ‘You take care of yourself. Don’t let those fuckers take any more liberties with you. I hope their wives all cut their balls off . . .’ She stood at the door to the corridor; when she opened it they could hear the hubbub echoing down from the main hall. ‘Men! Can’t live with them . . .’ She pretended to think about it for a second. ‘Nope – still can’t live with them.’
Lucy grinned.
‘Text me when you get in – let me know you got home safe.’
Sadie nodded and, with a wave, headed out.
She hurried along, eyes fixed on the carpet, keen to slip away without being noticed.
‘Sadie, wait . . .’
The voice was rich and moneyed and as she turned, she knew exactly who it belonged to. The man at the end of the corridor was in his mid-forties. Tall with perfectly groomed brown hair, he was immaculate in his tuxedo, wearing a burgundy-coloured bow tie and cummerbund combination. Another peacock in a whole flock of them, she thought.
‘Where are you going?’ he said, a look of concern on his face.
‘Where do you think I’m going? Home.’
He looked chastened.
‘I’m sorry – I’ve been looking out for you all night. But I’m with the rest of the trustees – I’ve got to keep them happy, you know?’
‘Well, that’s very nice for you. I hope you enjoyed your lobster risotto too . . .’
‘Don’t be like that. I told you what kind of night it was going to be.’
‘You didn’t say anything about getting sexually assaulted.’ She pointed down towards the banqueting hall. ‘There’s about five men in there I could have nicked right now.’
He moved in close.
‘I’m sorry. I’m your friend – you know that. I thought you could use the money. Please stay.’
She faltered, unsure for a moment.
‘Why? Got a room booked, have you?’
He looked pained and took her wrist.
‘That’s a bit unnecessary, isn’t it?’
‘Get your hands off me – I’ve had enough men pawing at me tonight.’
He didn’t release his grip but moved in even closer instead.
‘It’s me – I’d never hurt you.’
‘Get off!’
She grabbed his hand, dug in her nails and he broke his hold, flinching in pain.
‘What the fuck, Sadie?’
She turned and left, her patience exhausted.
It was on the train home it all caught up with her. She could smell someone eating a Big Mac a few seats behind, and her stomach cramped with hunger. The last thing she’d eaten was a Pot Noodle at around four o’clock. She’d been sorely tempted to buy herself something at Charing Cross, but couldn’t justify the expense. Particularly now she’d probably blown her night’s fee. Lucy’s warning that tomorrow she might regret leaving was already out of date. She looked out of the window and saw her own pensive reflection staring back. Snapshots of the evening began coming back to her.
‘Why aye love.’
Patronising bastard. She shuddered as she remembered the hand on her inner thigh. The calm, precise tones of the man it belonged to, as he carried on talking. You just knew he’d done it before – and probably worse. She sighed. It was times like this Sadie just about wished she still had a boyfriend. Someone to hold her when she came through the front door. Someone to get angry on her behalf. She felt her eyes sting, couldn’t prevent the tears from coming a little. She was desperate for a cigarette but only had two left and wanted to make the packet last. Instead, she pulled out her phone, saw the wallpaper picture of Liam – that wide, toothy grin, the curly brown locks – and couldn’t help feeling like she’d failed him.
She lived in a small, rented ground-floor flat in Lewisham. It was far from perfect, but the scuffed wooden front door felt welcoming as she slipped her key into the lock. She’d surrendered on the walk back from the station and stubbed out the remains of the cigarette she’d been smoking into a chunky glass ashtray by the entrance. The thought of that one last fag left in the packet depressed her.
‘Hiya . . .’ she called, stepping through into a compact but well-maintained living room. An acned sixteen-year-old girl was sitting on the sofa, watching TV with a cup of tea in her lap. Chloe was her babysitter and a godsend. She didn’t really do it for the money – she was well aware Sadie couldn’t afford to pay her much. She was there because she enjoyed the work, and it gave her a welcome night off from her parents into the bargain.
‘How’s he been?’
‘A little bugger if you must know – spent most of the night using your kitchen table as a climbing frame.’
Sadie smiled.
‘Nothing new there, then.’
Chloe glowered at the baby monitor; there was a slight rustling and they both waited for more, but nothing came.
‘I think he’s down.’
Sadie opened her purse and pulled out a note. Chloe shook her head.
‘Pay me next time.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
The girl got up, put on her coat.
‘It’s fine – honestly. I’ve eaten you out of biscuits tonight, so I reckon we’re quits.’
‘Thanks, love. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’
She meant it too. Chloe said her goodnights and left. Sadie went over to the small kitchen area and began scouring the cupboards for something to eat. She was sorely tempted by a slice of toast but wanted to make the loaf last for the week. There were more Pot Noodles, but tonight’s snack was also tomorrow’s lunch. She sighed, went over to the sink instead and poured out a large glass of water. She downed half of it in one go, felt it fill her belly, then crossed over to the sofa and collapsed into it. As she kicked back, a thought occurred to her. She grabbed her phone and tapped out a text.
Home safe. Hope ur okay x
She waited for a moment but there was no reply from Lucy. She could only imagine what was going on in that hotel right now. Sod the money – leaving had been the right decision.
‘Muuummmy!’
The voice came from the baby monitor and she sighed.
‘Oh pet, don’t do this to me.’
With a sigh, she dragged herself to her feet and was about to head into the small double bedroom she shared with her son when the doorbell rang. Her immediate assumption was that Chloe must have forgotten something. She went over to open it and was thrown when she saw who was standing there. What did he want at this time? She greeted him but he didn’t reply. Instead, he stepped forwards into her flat. She felt her heart sinking – all she wanted to do now was settle Liam down and try and get some sleep of her own.
‘What can I—’ she said. She didn’t have time to finish the sentence. Almost casually he picked up the ashtray by the door and swung it round. The full weight of the glass crashed into the side of her head, shattering her skull instantly. The second blow caved in her forehead, while the third destroyed what was left of her face. She fell to the ground, blood, bone and brain matter spilling out around her. The figure watched her hand twitch briefly as if reaching for something, before finally going limp.
The intruder stood still, breathing heavily.
‘Mummy?’ said a voice.
A small boy was studying him uncertainly from the other side of the room. The man stared down at the ashtray, saw the blood dripping off it, and looked back at the boy.
Chapter 10
Monday March 14, 15.13
From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Hey gorgeous – thanks for your email. Sorry it’s taken me so long to reply, but guess what? I’ve been working!!! Don’t get too excited, it’s just a little bit of waitressing at a local cafe. Only one day a week right now and some cover work, but it’s better than a kick in the teeth. My friend Chloe looks after Liam while I’m there so he’s happy because she lets him run riot! He misses you and sends his love btw J
The good thing is it’s distracted me from worrying about everything else. To be honest Lil, I don’t know how long I can carry on living here. I reckon I can only afford to stay here for another couple of months and then I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t want to have to come home – there just isn’t the space for all of us. I’m taking things day by day right now because you never know what’s going to happen, do you? Investigating a couple of leads on potential work . . . I’ll let you know how it goes.
So cafe job + Universal Credit is getting me by right now but it’s hard. Two thirds of what I earn goes on rent – after that, I’ve just got seventeen quid a day left over. Seventeen fucking quid! Don’t tell Mum, but I’ve been going to a food bank to get by. Been a few times now – it’s keeping us fed, and that’s what matters.
Never mind all that – you don’t want to hear me moaning, you want the goss, don’t you? Sorry to disappoint but there’s nothing to report. After Harry I’m off men – unless they’re filthy rich and hung like beasts J J J That fella I told you about before – that’s dead as a doornail. If I could take Liam with me, I’d go be a nun I swear! (how much do nuns get paid, anyway? J )
Give us a call when you’ve got time – I’ve attached some recent pictures of Liam being a little monkey. He gets cuter every day. Honestly without him . . .
Anyways – love ya
S xxx
Finn re-read the email a second time. Lily was Sadie’s sister – he knew that from his phone conversation with her mother earlier. The message was the most interesting thing he’d found since he’d started rooting through her hard drive. Paulsen hadn’t mentioned any kind of income in her bank details – so had this cafe paid her in cash? And could she have met her killer there? It easily might have been someone random she’d only crossed paths with briefly. Perhaps most important was that small hint of a recent romance. Whatever it was, it had clearly been brief and doomed. But anyone who’d been part of Sadie Nicholls’ world was of interest.
He did feel like he was getting to know her better now. This was someone just about holding the threads of her life together. And yet she’d walked out on a job only twenty-four hours earlier that would have brought in some much-needed funds. It was now clear how important every penny had been to her. She’d left the hotel on a point of principle and that was interesting. She hadn’t been too proud to use a food bank but drew the line at whatever had gone on at the charity gala. It felt important to him, a clue to her character and her decision-making processes. But before he could develop the thought, he was interrupted by Jackie Ojo.
‘Guv – Sadie’s family are at the front desk. They’re asking for you . . .’
Paulsen had left the pub following Alan Baxter’s revelation and walked straight up to number thirty-nine and rang the bell. She wasn’t taking Baxter’s word for anything, but the simplest way to find something out was, as ever, to go and ask some questions of her own. When she saw the colour of Lynda Clarke’s skin, her scepticism about Baxter’s motivations felt justified.
A few minutes later, she felt like she’d started a very slow-moving train that couldn’t be stopped. Lynda was in the kitchen making them both a pot of tea that Paulsen hadn’t asked for. Not just any pot of tea either – leaves were being chosen while the best china was laid out alongside an assortment of home-made cakes and slices. Paulsen had initially waited in the living room, but aware she didn’t have time for this, she’d now joined Lynda in the kitchen. The old woman was standing impatiently by her kettle, and Paulsen avoided the obvious gag about a watched pot.
‘I just want to say how very sad I am about what happened to that young woman. I used to see her around with her little boy. She seemed such a pleasant young thing,’ said Lynda.
The kettle finally finished boiling and Paulsen watched with mounting concern as the old lady lifted it with shaky hands and filled a teapot to the brim. She popped a lid on it and pointed sternly at an ornate wall clock.
‘Brewing time is four minutes exactly,’ she said. ‘Now, how can I help you? As I told one of your colleagues earlier, I was in bed and out for the count by nine o’clock last night. You could have had a marching band parade down the street and I wouldn’t have heard a thing.’
She produced a wide, unexpected smile.
‘It’s actually your son I wanted to ask about,’ said Paulsen.
‘Then talk to him for yourself. He’s out working right now but he’ll be back later this afternoon.’ Lynda’s eyes were suddenly bright and wary, the earlier friendly warmth dissipating. ‘You should know first that there are people on this street who have an agenda against my boy. What he did is a matter of record. You can find out about it easily enough, I’m sure. But he’s served his time and that should be the end of it.’
‘I’d prefer to hear it from you? Get the truth of things . . .’ Paulsen smiled reassuringly, but it cut no ice.
‘And I’d prefer not to talk about it. It’s in the past and that’s where it should stay,’ said Lynda, crossing her arms. Paulsen nodded but there was simply no time to dance around anything.
‘I have to ask you – for the record . . . where was Patrick last night?’
‘Out.’
‘Out where?’
‘I don’t know.’
There was a sharpness to the tone now, a firmness in her expression too. The tea leaves hadn’t steeped for the full four minutes yet, but Paulsen was already pretty certain she’d outstayed her welcome.
It was interesting how much a face told you, thought Finn. Jill Nicholls hadn’t been crying for her daughter on the journey down from Newcastle. But as he knew only too well himself, sometimes the tears don’t actually come until much later. A lightly built woman in her late fifties with dark greying hair, she showed no emotion at all as he introduced himself. He briefly remembered the call he’d received telling him of Karin’s death, his own polite thanks to the doctor on the end of the phone for informing him. He could still hear the unnatural calm of his own voice, understood exactly the nature of the dignified façade this woman was projecting.
Lily Nicholls was a whole different story. Unlike her mother, she’d clearly done nothing but cry for the entire journey down. She couldn’t have been much younger than Sadie, perhaps in her early twenties. She had long, bleached blonde hair, but the same slightly feline quality around her eyes that he recognised from Sadie’s pictures. There was a softer quality about her too. Sadie had been older and was a mother, fighting every day to keep her head above water. Life hadn’t done anything to Lily yet, at least not until this morning.
Finn led them through to Cedar House’s specialist victim interview suite. As its name suggested, it was a softer, quieter space than one of the building’s standard interview rooms.
‘Just be honest with us – how likely is it that Liam is still alive?’ said Lily before they’d even sat down.
‘We’re very much working on the premise that he is,’ said Finn genuinely. His answer didn’t bring her any comfort and he knew why. Both the options confronting them were grim – if Liam was still alive, then you didn’t want to think too hard about what was happening to him right now.
‘Do you have anything – anything at all?’ said Jill bluntly. Finn met the question head-on.
‘No. That’s why it’s good that you’re here. I’ve got a lot of questions about Sadie, if that’s okay? The more you can tell me, the more it will help us.’
Jill nodded briskly. She filled him in on the basics – Sadie had wanted to be a dancer originally. A passion from childhood that she’d hoped to make a career out of. For a time, while she’d worked at a coffee shop in Borough, she’d been genuinely happy. There were just enough introductions and auditions happening to keep the dream alive, until Harry came along, followed by Liam and the virus. The three nails in the coffin lid of her ambitions. Finn wondered how long it had actually been since Sadie last danced. A while, he guessed.
‘Do you know if she’d been seeing anyone?’ he asked.
Jill instinctively looked at Lily, who shrugged helplessly.
‘There was somebody recently. But she told me nothing about him – not even a name. It didn’t last very long. I’m not sure they even . . .’
‘Did she tell you what he did? Where he lived? Any detail at all?’ said Finn.
Lily shook her head.
‘I’m sorry. She was very cagey about it.’
‘Did she have any enemies you were aware of?’
‘No,’ said Lily. ‘She never really fell out with people.’
Harry Boxall’s words came back to Finn. ‘She was just sunshine.’
‘Can you think of anything out of the ordinary or unusual she mentioned recently? Someone bothering her, perhaps, or maybe hanging around outside?’
Lily looked like she was carrying the weight of the world, while Jill simply shook her head.
‘No, her world was pretty small – it was just Liam. It was always just Liam,’ said Lily.
And that’s when Jill Nicholls finally lost control. She let out a small cry and put her hand to her mouth. As Finn struggled to find the words, Lily leant across and held her mother in a silent embrace. The detective glanced at his watch. It was now almost 4.30 p.m.
‘There’s something else I need to ask you both . . .’ he said.
Paulsen was walking back to her car when she saw Abigail and Tom Daws walking up the street with Ronnie Fordyce. Even the trio’s silhouette made her catch her breath. It was too close to home; the subtle concerned body language two of them were showing for the third.
‘I’m sorry about Al earlier,’ said Ronnie as they approached. ‘He’s a bit of a dinosaur. He means well but some of his views are a bit . . .’
He seemed to be struggling to find the right adjective and Paulsen was in no mood to help him. Watching white people defend racism wasn’t one of her favourite pastimes. Abi seemed to read her expression.
‘Ron . . . you’re very welcome to stay for a brew if you fancy one,’ she said. He didn’t seem to catch on.
‘She wants to chat to the policewoman alone, you daft twat,’ said Tom. Understanding spread across Fordyce’s face.
‘Sure, of course. Come on then, Tommy Boy – let’s get back and put the kettle on, mate.’ Abi waited as the two men ambled up the street together.
‘Sometimes I wonder which one of them has actually got the illness,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind me mentioning it – but Ronnie told me about your dad earlier. I’m so sorry. How far advanced is it?’
Paulsen frowned instinctively.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Abi immediately. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’
Paulsen checked herself. For all her natural defensiveness, there was something undeniably reassuring about meeting someone in the same predicament.
‘It’s okay,’ she said brusquely. ‘About the same stage as your dad, I’d say. It’s tiring, isn’t it? The worry . . .’
‘Yeah. I don’t have any kids, but I guess this is what it must be like. I can’t take my eyes off him.’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Paulsen, slowly nodding.. . .
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
