Dead of Winter

Chapter 26

Carmichael slipped Sonny’s key into the main door of the old apartment block on Shaftesbury Avenue. It was four in the morning and Soho was quiet. It was nearing kicking-out time for clubs like Cain’s.

Keeping his head down he walked up the stone stairwell. The echo of a homeward-bound drunk filtered up the stairs. Somewhere on the upper floors a cat meowed to be allowed inside one of the other flats. Carmichael walked to the end of the first landing. He unclipped his hunting knife from its sheath on the inside of his calf and concealed it in his left hand as he slipped the key into the lock and turned it. Silently he opened the door a few inches and listened. There was just the hum of a fridge, the dripping of a tap. He felt to his left on the wall: no alarm box. He opened the door wider and slipped inside. The flat was in darkness; just the orange glow of a streetlamp filtered in through a gap in the curtains. The door clicked shut behind him. It was then he heard a voice.

‘Where have you been? I’ve been waiting ages. I’m in here. .’

Carmichael walked along the corridor and nudged the bedroom door with his foot. A woman was in bed. She froze when she saw Carmichael standing in the doorway. Carmichael looked around the room.

‘You alone?’

She nodded.

‘Get dressed.’

Carmichael went to check in the other rooms. When he got back into the bedroom she was fastening her bra.

‘You expecting anyone besides Sonny?’

She shook her head. ‘Is that his name?’ She glanced up from pulling down her T-shirt. ‘Is he coming back?’

‘No.’

She stared at Carmichael for a few seconds, not sure whether she was relieved or whether she’d found herself a worse problem.

‘How do you know Sonny?’

‘I don’t really. I came here last night. He went out and left me to wait for him.’ She was pulling on her jeans and turned to Carmichael as she searched for her shoes. ‘I fell asleep.’

He looked around the bedroom. It was a man’s décor: black, red and grey. ‘You a prostitute?’

‘Escort,’ she snapped back as she searched around for her bag. ‘Haven’t been doing it long. My ex-husband fucked off and left me with debts. My first client robbed me and now this one has run off.’ As she talked she kept one eye on Carmichael and one on her escape route.

‘Time for a change of career, maybe?’

She picked up her bag. ‘Yeah, seems a good plan.’

‘You been here to this flat before?’ She shook her head. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and Carmichael could see her face for the first time.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Pamela.’

‘Real name?’

She smiled. ‘Linda.’

‘How did you find Sonny?’

‘I’m registered with an escort website. He got in touch through that.’ She was looking towards the door. ‘Look. . I have to be getting home; the cat will need feeding. . you know how it is?’ She looked up to see him staring at her.

‘You don’t look like an escort.’

‘Thanks.’ She smiled. ‘Girl-next-door kind of thing. He specifically asked me to turn up in jeans and a T-shirt. Shit, I should have made him pay me before he left.’

Carmichael reached inside his coat pocket and took out a card and three hundred pounds.

‘Hope that helps. If you remember anything else or anyone gets in touch about Sonny, let me know.’

‘Thanks, I will.’ She stopped in the doorway, looked back and smiled.

Outside, she pulled up her hood against the cold and hailed a taxi at the end of the road. She sat in the back and pulled out the black and gold business card Carmichael had given her.

Michael Hart.

His mobile number and nothing else.

She took out her phone and made a call.

‘It’s Nikki de Lange. Sonny’s dead. We have trouble on our hands and his name is Hart. Meet me in five hours, usual place.’