The Girl in the Ice

55

The past few days had passed in a haze of frustration. To have come so close, and then to have to pull back, had left the figure raging inside. Not only had DCI Foster survived, she’d come back from it stronger.

She’s been put back on the fucking case!

After witnessing the appeal from Lewisham Row, where DCI Foster had publicly linked the murders, the figure was torn. There was an instinct to flee far away, to start again, but there was also an itch which needed to be scratched. The link had been made, but the police had nothing. The figure was sure of this.

So, at six pm, the figure drove up to Paddington Train Station, where the cabs dropped off and picked up passengers, and where the girls hung around . . .

The girl looked confused when the figure pulled up in the car. She was standing a little way down the end of a dirty slip road which was used by cabs to turn around, or by people on the lookout for a good time.

‘I can give you a good time,’ she said, automatically. She was a thin girl with a strong Eastern European accent. She shivered in tight leggings, a spaghetti strap top and a large, ratty, fake fur coat. She had pale pointed features and shoulder length, poker-straight hair. Her eyes were surrounded by glittery eye shadow and she was chewing gum. She leaned back against the skip, waiting for a response.

‘I’m looking for a good time . . . Something a bit different, a bit rarer.’

‘Oh yeah? Well, you know, when stuff is rare, it costs more.’

‘I know your boss,’ said the figure.

She scoffed at him. ‘Yeah, they all say that . . . If you’re looking for a discount, you can fuck off,’ she said, going to turn away.

The figure leaned forward and told her a name. She stopped and came back to the window, dropping all pretence of being alluring. Her eyes were frightened. Fear surrounded by glitter.

‘Did he send you?’ she asked, looking around at the cars roaring past.

‘No. But he knows I put a lot of business his way . . . So he’ll expect me to get what I want.’

The girl narrowed her eyes. Her instincts were good. This might be harder than expected.

‘So, you come here and drop the name of my boss. What do you want me to do?’

‘I like outdoor scenes,’ said the figure.

‘Okay.’

‘And I like it when the girl plays scared . . .’

‘You mean you want a rape fantasy?’ said the girl bluntly, rolling her eyes. She looked around and pulled down her top, showing her small pert breasts. ‘That will cost more.’

‘I can afford it,’ said the figure.

She pulled her top up. ‘Yeah? Show me.’

The figure pulled out a wallet and opened it, pushing it under her nose. The money was in a crisp block, glinting under the street lights.

‘Fifteen hundred. And we have a safe word,’ she said, pulling a mobile phone from her leggings. The figure put a hand out and covered the phone.

‘No, no, no, no. I want this as real as possible. Within the realms of fantasy. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going.’

‘I have to call.’

‘An extra five hundred. The boss doesn’t have to know.’

‘No way. He finds out, and I don’t get to have a safe word.’

‘Okay. All above board. Two grand. And the safe word is Erika.’

‘Erika?’

‘Yes. Erika.’

The girl looked around and chewed on her lip. ‘Okay,’ she said. She pulled open the door and got into the car. The figure drove off, activating the central locking, telling her this, too, was part of the game.