Death Call (13 page)

‘He drinks in here most nights. Comes in after eight and has a few beers, does a little business,’ Smith said, getting to his feet. ‘I don’t want any hassle from you two – if you come around again...’

‘If we come around again,’ Carroll interrupted, ‘we’ll find a nice clean pub with no drugs or stolen goods – and if we don’t, then you’d better start worrying, my pot-bellied little Führer. Verstehen Sie?’ Carroll added, using what little German he had.

Smith nodded the nod of understanding and adjusted his beer-stained T-shirt, before disappearing back into the pub. Grant followed him, with Carroll hot on his heels. Once they reached the bar the ape-like noises started all over again.

Grant had had enough, and took his anger out on the nearest ape-imitator, stamping on his foot and twisting his arm behind his back in a swift move that attracted a surprised and admiring look from Carroll.

‘Come on, Tonto, let’s get out of here before we have to nick the lot of them,’ Carroll said, tugging at Grant’s arm.

Grant disengaged himself and moved to the door, followed by the clientele of the pub, one of whom shouted:

‘Fuck off back to the jungle, bunny boy! Fuck off back to the jungle, and take Paddy with you!’

Carroll turned, caught the man who was shouting, and kicked him between the legs. Grant started the car, and Carroll got in as quickly as he could. The two detectives sped away from The Bulldog grinning like young children at Christmas.

City Slickers Escort Agency wasn’t too unlike the first escort agency that Carroll and Grant had visited after the death of Joanne McCrae. It had the same type of grimy stairwell leading up to it and a claustrophobic feel that got under your skin. The reception room was empty, and a kettle, sat on a little table, was on the boil. Someone was home, thought Dan, scanning the room with his eyes.

The sound of a flushing toilet and the unlocking of a door latch came from behind them. A rather thin door opened and a young woman stepped out. She wasn’t the sort you might expect to find working in an escort agency. Tall, slim and well groomed, she walked like a model and spoke like a privately educated princess.

‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?’ she asked.

‘I’m Detective Grant, and this is my partner, Detective Carroll. We have reason to believe that a girl called Isabella Visi used to work here.’

‘I’m sorry, the name doesn’t sound familiar...’ she said.

‘Can we have your name, Miss?’ Carroll asked, politely.

‘Jeanie. Why are you looking for this woman?’ she asked.

‘We’re not looking for her, we’ve just found her – she’s dead, and we’re conducting an investigation into her death,’ Carroll said.

‘Dead?’

‘She was found yesterday. We need your help in piecing together her last movements. We’ll need a list of her last couple of jobs – can you help us?’ Grant asked.

‘When... when did you find her? How did she die?’ Jeanie asked.

‘We have reason to believe that she was murdered while on a job – that’s why we need your help,’ Carroll said, looking over at his partner.

‘What do you want?’ Jeanie asked.

‘Well, she did work for you, didn’t she?’ Grant said.

‘Yeah, she did a few shifts a week. She was a good worker, always popular with the punters, you know....’

‘Do you keep a list of calls your girls go out on, Jeanie?’ Carroll asked.

‘Yeah, I’ve only got five girls working for me at the moment, so it’s not a problem keeping track of them.’

‘We’d like a list of the jobs Isabella went on in the last few days,’ Grant said.

‘Okay, just a moment, I have the details in here somewhere,’ Jeanie said, opening a drawer in her desk. As she pulled out a ledger, the phone rang. Jeanie answered it.

‘City Slickers Escort Agency, Jeanie speaking. What can we do to you?’ she said seductively.

Carroll could hear a faint voice on the other end of the line, and Jeanie nodded in response to whatever questions were being asked.

‘Yes, we can have someone call over to you. It’s £150 for one hour, all inclusive, or £500 for a night. We’ll need your credit card number in advance, and we’ll need to ring you back to check the number, okay?’

Carroll looked around the room. It was sparsely decorated and had two other doors leading off from it. Carroll knew one to be a toilet. He wanted to find out what was behind the other one. Jeanie was still busy on the phone as Carroll walked over and opened the door.

Inside, a young woman lay naked on a bed, while another performed oral sex on her. Neither seemed to notice that Carroll had opened the door. They seemed to be enjoying themselves enormously. Jeanie caught Carroll by the arm and pulled him back from the doorway, closing the door.

‘You’ll have to pay if you want to watch that, Detective Carroll,’ she said. Dan thought that he wouldn’t mind paying to watch it for a little while. It looked wonderfully sexy, and he could already feel a presence in his trousers, as his penis began to extend. Slightly red-faced, he turned to Jeanie.

‘Not for now, thanks. We just need the details of Isabella’s last jobs – contact numbers, addresses and all that....’

Grant looked over at Carroll. He hadn’t gone over to the door when Carroll had opened it, so he wasn’t aware that Carroll had seen anything unusual. Even though Jeanie had said he would have to pay. Grant seemed a little distracted today, Carroll thought, sitting on Jeanie’s desk.

‘How was she killed?’ Jeanie asked. ‘Was it just some sort of accident or overdose?’

‘She was murdered and mutilated. We’ll need any information you might have on her address and any family she might have in the area.’ Grant said.

‘She doesn’t have any family in England – you see she’s Italian – she’d only been over here about a month before she started working for me,’ Jeanie said.

‘And when did she start working for you?’

‘About two months ago – she has a flat up in Highbury or Canonbury. I’m not really sure – we don’t keep records of those things...’

‘Well, we’ll need your help to try and trace her family, okay?’ Carroll said.

‘I’ll ask the girls if they know any more than I do...’ Jeanie said, still trying to come to terms with the fact that one of her girls had been murdered whilst out on a job. Suddenly a thought struck her. Hadn’t she heard of another working girl being killed on the job recently? Somewhere in the Islington area, too? She decided to ask Carroll, to confirm what she was thinking.

‘This is the second killing in the area, isn’t it?’

‘I’m not at liberty to discuss any other cases with you, ma’am,’ Carroll replied, trotting out the old and well worn police line used on busy-bodies. Only Jeanie wasn’t your average busy-body. No – Jeanie was a valuable link in a chain of events that could help to catch whoever was responsible for these gruesome murders. And he knew that he had no right to brush off her question in so light a manner.

‘We,’ Carroll hesitated, questioning his judgement, ‘had another girl turn up in the same way last week – she was cut open like an envelope. Whoever killed Isabella, killed the first girl – that’s why it’s so important that you help us in our inquiry. You see, if we can get a good line on who might’ve done this, well, we have a good chance of stopping what could turn into a serial killer. Do you understand?’

Jeanie nodded, unsure as to whether she actually did understand. It all seemed so far from the dream-like world she had come to know over the two years she had been managing, and on the odd occasion working for, the City Slickers Escort Agency. The times when she just sat there motionless and staring off into space while the girls went off on a job – they seemed to all blend into one right now, as they always had. She had never expected that one of the girls might never return from a job. Sure, she’d had her fair share of fat-lips – not that there was anything fair about a client slapping you across the face and refusing to pay. No, but it was par for the course. It was to be expected to a greater or lesser degree, and that was what she accepted. No more, no less. It came with the job.

Poor Isabella had come to the City Slickers Escort Agency with no experience whatsoever. Jeanie had taken her to one side and explained the way the business worked. £150 for an hour, straight sex with condom, and anything else could be worked out on a personal basis. She had used the example of a client she regularly had to explain her point. For £200, she’d let him piss into her shoes, and then lick her inner thighs, before giving himself one off the wrist. It was easy money, she had told Isabella. It was just a matter of knowing how far you could take it with each punter. It didn’t take Isabella long to find her feet in the business – hovering above her head, as Jeanie had joked on the odd occasion. She did the job and there were no complaints. One hundred percent satisfaction. What more could you ask from a professional? And now poor Isabella was dead.

Chapter 14

Henry Young was in a rather good mood, as usual. For someone who made a living out of opening up dead bodies and weighing their entrails, he seemed pretty content.

You couldn’t say that about very many people in the business. At least not in Henry’s business. Always one with a joke or a pun, Henry was getting his table and cadaver in order, while he waited for Carroll and Grant to arrive. They had fixed the ‘opening time’ as Henry liked to put it, for 3.30 PM, but it was now 3.45. He didn’t seem overtly worried – the dead have plenty of time, he thought, and this particular corpse was going nowhere.

As he waited, Henry flicked through the report of the last similar murder victim on whom he had done a post mortem. Joanne McCrae – her details and his report lay on the slab before him. The marks he could see on the new corpse, which lay there waiting to be examined, were uncannily similar to those detailed in Joanne McCrae’s file. The more he looked at the file, and then at Isabella, the more he wanted to get started to prove to himself that it was the same guy, the same Modus Operandi.

Grant arrived at 3.50, apologising for Carroll’s absence, and informed Henry that he would soon be there. He’d had one little errand to do before he could get down to the morgue. Dr. Young didn’t seem to mind.

‘It looks like it’s the same guy from a first glance at the entry wounds, Detective Grant,’ Henry said.

‘Call me Samuel, please. Henry, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Henry. If you look here, Samuel, you’ll see the puncture wounds at the top of the abdomen,’ he said pointing at the torn flesh on the cadaver in front of him. ‘It’s looking like the same sort of knife that was used on the last woman you brought in here a week or so ago – Joanne McCrae....’

‘We think it’s the same guy....’

‘So do I, detective. So do I. If you can see here,’ he said pointing at the corpse again, ‘the serrated knife or blade that I told you about in the McCrae case – it’s virtually identical. Either it’s the same murder weapon, or the guy wants it to look like it is – and murderers aren’t that smart, Samuel, are they?’

‘Not generally,’ Grant agreed.

Carroll arrived at 4 PM and bustled through the corridors until he found the examination room. He entered gingerly.

‘So, what’s the story, Henry? Is it the same guy? Same style?’ Carroll looked anxious for it to be so. The last thing that they needed were two nutters wandering the city with knives in their paws and hate in their hearts. No prostitute would be safe if there was more than one guy at it. It seemed highly unlikely that there could be. Besides, the description that Elizabeth Gardener had given them matched the general description that Noel Harrigan’s guys down at forensics had given them. It was the same guy all right, and Carroll knew it.