Hit and Run

Chapter Sixteen

They waited down the street, in cars, watching the house for a few minutes, getting the measure of the place. Unremarkable; it looked like any of the other large semi detached houses. They were built of the brick so common in the city, with sloping grey slate roofs and bay windows. Each property had a garage at the end of a short driveway. Most of the gardens were neat. The one at the house had been concreted over – ultimate low maintenance, and a low brick wall replaced the iron railings or hedging of the other houses. But still there was nothing to betray its nature. Not until the door opened and a man walked briskly away, crossing the street diagonally and distancing himself from the place. Not exactly furtive but certainly fast.

‘Let’s go,’ said Janine.

They followed Shap, but were careful to leave enough of a gap so that whoever answered the door wouldn’t realise they were all together.

Shap pressed the buzzer for the intercom at the side of the front door.

‘Yes?’ A woman’s voice answered.

‘I’ve got an appointment,’ Shap answered, ‘it’s Mickey.’

The buzzer blared and Shap pushed the door open. Janine and Richard moved forward quickly, following him in. Behind them a clutch of junior officers, briefed to make sure no one left the building.

The blonde woman in the hall tried to bolt, darting for the stairs, but Richard caught her arm. ‘There’s nowhere to go,’ he told her. ‘Let’s just sit down and have a talk.’

While others searched the place, Janine and Richard went into a downstairs room which obviously served as a waiting area. The room was overheated and stuffy. It smelt of cigarette smoke, industrial strength perfume and gloss paint from the central heating radiator. A disconcerted client was escorted out to talk to Shap in the kitchen.

Janine introduced herself and Richard and they showed the woman their police ID cards.

‘Can I have your name?’ Richard asked her.

She hesitated a moment then seemed to resign herself to the situation. ‘Marta Potocki.’ Her English was heavily accented. She wore a flimsy blouse, a lacy black bra visible beneath it, a tight red mini-skirt. She was barefoot, hands and toe nails painted fire-engine red.

‘Are you Polish?’ Janine asked.

She nodded.

‘Marta, did you know Rosa Milicz?’

The woman closed her eyes for a moment, she swallowed and gave a jerky nod. ‘And you know Rosa has been killed?’ Janine said gently.

Marta nodded, biting her cheeks and compressing her lips.

‘I’m sorry’ Janine told her. She waited a moment. ‘We’re investigating her murder. Do you know anything about Rosa’s death?’

Marta shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Did Rosa live here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Please can you show us her room.’

They followed Marta up the stairs and into a small, sparsely furnished room at the back. There were two small twin beds, shabby curtains, a white particleboard wardrobe and a mock beech vanity unit with a mottled mirror. Janine realised the girls slept here but would entertain clients in one of the other larger and presumably more comfortably furnished bedrooms.

Nothing to suggest that the murder had happened here, no blood splashes or missing carpets. But Rosa had been strangled – she might have been killed in one place, leaving little evidence behind, then moved somewhere else for the messy mutilation. They would have this place examined anyway.

There were few personal possessions: make-up and hair dressing items on the unit, an old magazine, a tatty pocket dictionary.

‘How long had Rosa lived here?’

‘About six months,’ Marta rubbed at her upper arms.

‘And was she working here?’

‘In the beginning. Then just the dancing.’

Janine looked round the room again, imagined the girl dividing her time between the Topcat Club and this place. No life of glamour. She moved to look out of the window. It overlooked the flat roof of an extension at the back and an unkempt patch of garden, a row of houses beyond.

‘When did you last see Rosa?’ Richard asked.

‘Monday. She went out about four.’

‘Where?’

‘She said she was going to work.’

‘She never showed up.’

Janine picked up the dictionary.

‘She thought maybe one day, to teach,’ Marta said, then bit her lip.

‘We’d like to talk to everyone who works here – down in the front room,’ Janine said.

There were just three of them, dressed similarly in sheer tops and short skirts. The youngest looking, who gave her name as Zofia, had a pair of pink, fluffy mules on her feet, the sort of thing Eleanor would wear. Petra wore shoddy gold sandals. Shap stood by the door, Richard near the window while Janine took one of the red velvet chairs that the girls were also sitting on. Janine established that they were all Polish and had no official papers. She explained why the police were there and that they would be asking them some initial questions about Rosa. After that they would be taking them to the police station where they would be interviewed by immigration authorities.

The girls were quiet and morose.

‘Has there been any trouble? Anyone bothering Rosa? Perhaps someone with a score to settle?’

Marta shook her head. None of the others moved.

‘Do you know this man?’ She held up a photograph of Lee Stone. She saw recognition in their expressions.

‘He brought us here. He drives the van,’ Marta told her.

‘From Poland?’

‘No, here. In UK.’

‘For Mr Sulikov?’ The name provoked a ripple of reaction. Zofia shifted her position, crossing her arms and legs. Petra flashed Marta a warning look. Marta didn’t say anything.

‘Konrad Sulikov?’

No one answered. They sat unmoving except for Petra who was swinging one foot to and fro, the sandal dangling and slapping against her sole.

‘Marta?’ Janine said.

Marta gave a reluctant, almost imperceptible dip of the head.

There was a noise outside and Richard drew back the corner of the net curtains. ‘Transport’s here,’ he said. ‘And scene of crime are on their way.’

Marta frowned and looked at Janine.

‘We’re still trying to establish where Rosa was killed,’ Janine explained.

‘But she went out. She never came back here.’

‘We have to make sure. Marta, did Rosa have a boyfriend?’

‘Only Mr Harper.’

Harper! Janine felt a rush of shock.

‘What?’ Richard exclaimed.

‘Harper?’ Janine said, struggling to absorb it. ‘Rosa and Harper?’

‘Yeah,’ Marta looked a little disconcerted at their reactions. ‘He takes care of this place.’

‘Harper!’ Janine looked at Richard, shaking her head with incredulity, her skin tingling. ‘I bloody knew there was something. I knew it.’

Once the minibus had left to take the girls to the police station, Janine, Richard and Shap clustered in the hallway.

‘He’s not just being economical with the truth – his story’s got more holes than a string vest,’ Janine said. ‘He was sleeping with her for God’s sake. He knew she was living at the brothel, he’s running the place. The woman’s dead and he doesn’t say a word.’

‘The pair of them kept it bloody quiet,’ said Shap. ‘No one at the club knew.’

‘You sure about that? Not just keeping their mouths shut?’ Janine asked.

‘Andrea rang in,’ Richard pointed out. ‘If she’d known Harper was seeing Rosa, I think she would have told us.’

‘She didn’t tell us about this place, not till she absolutely had to.’ She took in the striped wallpaper, the cheap nylon carpet, the tasselled shade on the ceiling lamp.

‘Not the same though,’ said Shap. ‘She knew this place was off the books, maybe even knew that Harper was running it. But if Andrea had known Harper was going with Rosa and then seen him deny it when she’d been killed, she would have shopped him.’

Janine thought he was right. ‘OK, so Rosa and Harper kept their affair under wraps at the club but, more to the point, why did he keep quiet about his relationship with Rosa when he spoke to us?’

‘’Cos she was illegal and he was up to his neck in it, managing the brothel, sex slaves near enough,’ Shap pointed out.

Richard raised an eyebrow.

‘They were hardly at liberty,’ Janine agreed.

‘Or he kept quiet because he killed her,’ Richard said simply.

Shap looked from one to another, the question plain on his face.

‘I don’t know,’ Janine answered. ‘That’s for us to find out, isn’t it? No harm in giving him the impression we favour him for it. He’s been mucking us about for long enough. Let’s shake him up.’

Richard looked at her with interest.

‘We’ll arrest him for her murder. That should loosen his tongue. And while we’re about it, you,’ she said to Shap, ‘can have another of your little chats with Andrea.’

There was quite a crowd at the club when they got there; Friday afternoon and men starting the weekend off early. Groups of office workers or sales reps, be-suited but already dishevelled, their jackets discarded and ties loosened or removed. The crowd looked particularly young, early twenties Janine guessed, and half-drunk. Probably not stop boozing till Sunday night. Weekends spent smashed in an attempt to escape the stress of the working week. Could be a stag night, she thought.

Andrea was dancing, though her eyes flew to them as soon as she realised they’d come in. Harper was seated at a table, playing host to a couple of customers. He made an apology to his companions and stood up to meet Janine and Richard.

‘Not again,’ he thrust his hands in his pockets.

Janine smiled; there was no warmth in it. ‘James Harper,’ she said, ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Rosa Milicz.’ A wave of disquiet travelled round the club as people sensed the change in atmosphere. Andrea stopped dancing. ‘You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Is there anything you would like to say?’

‘You’ve got it all wrong.’ Harper was pallid with shock. Tremors worked in the muscles round his jaw line. He spread his arms out, palms up; look no tricks. ‘I don’t know anything about it.’ He turned to the tables behind him as if recruiting them to his side, ‘This is complete lunacy.’

Shap followed Andrea through to the changing room. She looked shaken. Understandable. Not a nice thought that your boss might be a murderer.

‘We’ve been to the brothel,’ he said. ‘You know much about it?’

‘Nothing,’ she said flatly.

‘They’re all illegals – girls from Poland.’

She bit at her lip, looking anxious.

Shap slid his backside onto the corner of one of the tables. ‘Andrea, you told us Rosa didn’t have a boyfriend.’

‘She didn’t.’ She looked confused. ‘Not that she told me about anyway.’

‘What if I told you Harper and Rosa had a thing going on.,

She gave a sharp laugh, humourless. ‘They didn’t.’

Shap nodded slowly. He saw the disbelief alter Andrea’s face. She blinked a couple of times, laughed again. ‘Honestly? You really think he…’

‘We don’t know yet but we have our suspicions.’

‘The bastard,’ she whispered. ‘How could he do that?’

‘Allegedly,’ Shap said. He offered her a cigarette, lit one himself.

She sighed.

‘That surprise you?’

‘I thought he was an OK bloke, you know? Fair. Turns out…’

‘… he’s just like the rest of us?’

She glared at him, her eyes fierce.

‘We’re not all the same,’ he said. He studied her for a moment, took a pull on his cigarette. ‘What about you?’ he tried to sound casual. ‘You seeing anyone?’ He smiled.

‘Only my husband,’ she retorted.

Shap’s face fell. He liked Andrea, young and pretty, with a bit of a gob on her – but husbands he could do without.

Shelley bustled into the room, peeling off a tight, white leather jacket. ‘What’s going on?’

‘They’ve arrested Jimmy.’

‘What for?’

‘Rosa.’

‘’Kin ‘ell.’ Shelley stared at Shap. ‘That right?’

He nodded.

‘God!’ she exclaimed. ‘That is really creepy. That’s horrible, that is. What about this place? What’ll happen?’

‘We haven’t charged him,’ Shap told her.

‘But you’ve taken him in,’ Andrea said.

‘Just think, could have been any of us,’ Shelley said dramatically to Andrea. ‘Working with him, day in day out. Turns my stomach. That poor girl.’

‘Don’t hang your boots up just yet,’ Shap said crossing over to the door. ‘Innocent until proven guilty.’

The looks they gave him, full on and cynical, said it all.

‘Yeah,’ Andrea folded her arms, ‘you’re just saying that in case you can’t pin it on him.’

‘You wouldn’t arrest him if you hadn’t something on him,’ Shelley added.

Shap held up a hand. ‘Happens all the time. He lied to us, we don’t like that.’

‘And he was sleeping with her,’ Andrea told Shelley.

‘He never was.’

Andrea nodded.

‘They’re always prime suspects,’ Shelley said knowingly.

‘The bastard,’ Andrea said quietly and a silence settled between them.