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  “What would have happened to Mandy if she’d left the Mission?” asked Olbeck.

  “We would have tried to find her a place at a B&B or something. Perhaps another hostel. By evicting her from the Mission, we would have been making her effectively homeless, so the council would have had an obligation to house her.”

  “But that didn’t happen?”

  Father Michael stared at him.

  “No, it didn’t,” he said. “Because she died before it came to that.”

  “Where you upset by her death, Father?”

  The thick eyebrows jerked upwards.

  “What a question, officer. The death of a young girl – of course I was upset. Of course I was. We were all devastated.”

  Kate stood up, thinking that they had enough to go on by now.

  “Just one more thing, sir. Could you tell us your whereabouts on the night of the fourteenth of June?”

  “That’s when Mandy died?”

  “Could you answer the question please, sir?”

  Father Michael considered for a moment.

  “Well – I’m afraid I was at home. I usually am in the evening.”

  “Can anyone confirm that, sir?”

  Father Michael shook his head slowly.

  “I’m afraid not,” he said. He looked worried. “I live alone, you see. I didn’t talk to anyone—”

  “What’s your address, Father?” asked Olbeck. He wrote down the answer as the priest answered him.

  “Twenty six Lavender Street, Charlock.”

  “That’s fine, sir,” said Kate. “We’ll leave our cards, and I’m sure we’ll be back to ask you some more questions. If you think of anything at all that you think might be relevant, please don’t hesitate to get in touch.”

  Father Michael nodded, his face serious. He stood back a little to allow them access to the door.

  “Do you have any idea who might have done this dreadful thing?” he asked, just as they were leaving.

  “Our enquiries are continuing, sir,” said Kate, the usual response.

  “I hope you catch him.”

  Kate and Olbeck said nothing, but smiled neutrally before saying goodbye.

  J’s Diary

  I ordered the first girl online.

  It’s amazing if you think of it – how you can put in a request for a human being as easily as you might order a new television or even your week’s shopping. Click a mouse and put something in your virtual basket: milk, sausages, chicken breasts, a woman. Just another type of commodity. Just another type of meat.

  I purposely used a site I’d never used before or since, directing the responses to a new Hotmail address I’d set up specially. The credit card payment was more difficult. In the end, I used one of Mother’s, thinking perhaps I could say it had been stolen if it were ever traced back to me. Of course, at that time, I wasn’t foreseeing any of the kind of trouble that happened that night. I merely wanted to avoid any potential embarrassment. God forbid that anyone would recognise me. So, a strange agency and a strange girl was what I wanted.

  I was very nervous before she arrived. It had only been a few weeks after Mother had died, and I still felt as if she were going to suddenly appear at any moment. Several times, I thought I heard her faltering footsteps in the bedrooms above me, and once, after a creak in the hallway, I was convinced that her head with its puff of white hair and her piercing steel-grey eyes would appear around the living room doorway momentarily. I even froze for an instant, clutching the arms of the chair, before realising how stupid I was being. There was no one there, of course. I kept telling myself, She’s dead. She’s gone. She’s dead. She’s gone.

  So, the night the girl arrived, I was extremely jumpy. I prowled the rooms downstairs, glancing nervously at the clock as the hands inched around to 9:00 p.m. I’d gotten everything ready, and for the first time ever in my life, I actually felt like myself. I actually felt as if it could work. I regarded myself in the hallway mirror, pulling my tie straight. Yes. It will work, I told myself. You can do it.

  The doorbell rang at that moment, shattering the silence in the house, and I’d actually jumped. Then I hurried to the door and opened it as quickly as possible. I’d taken the lightbulb out of the porch light socket, but I was still suddenly terrified that the neighbours would be looking out of their front window and wondering what a tart was doing ringing my doorbell.

  I don’t know why but I’d imagined a girl in heels, a leopard-skin coat, red lipstick. Stupid, really. The woman standing on the doorstep was short, thin, and dressed in a shabby blue fleece and skinny jeans and trainers. She looked a most unlikely prostitute, but as I hurried her into the house, I could see the fleece was unzipped slightly and a curve of damp cleavage visible beneath the zip. I felt a welcome surge of excitement.

  I closed the door behind her.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, peering through the gloom at me.

  “John.”

  Even in the dim light, I could see her lip curl. I think she knew it wasn’t my real name.

  “John, eh? Right you are, John. What d’you want to do?”

  Funny, all this time I’d been frantically waiting for this moment, the moment of actually doing what it was I’d wanted to do for so long. And now that it was here and on the verge of happening, I found myself backpedalling.

  “Do you want a drink or something?” I asked. My voice sounded tremulous – I despised myself. Why couldn’t I sound forthright and authoritative? In my head, I could see Mother’s sneer, the same sneer that had confronted me almost every day of my life.

  I could feel my hands clench.

  “Yeah, all right,” said the tart, and I gestured towards the kitchen.

  I’ll come clean now and say I was already quite drunk. I was nervous – so nervous – and I had to have something to calm my nerves. I’d heard of alcohol having the wrong kind of effect, of course I had, but I was in such a state before she arrived that I thought I’d risk it. I’d already had about three large whiskies before the door went.

  The tart strutted into the kitchen like she owned the place. I’d kept the strip light off and the only light came from a candle I’d placed on the kitchen windowsill. The girl stopped when she saw it and I could see she was momentarily disconcerted. Perhaps she was thinking that I only wanted to do the romance thing. I’d heard of men doing that – hiring tarts to pretend to be their girlfriends for the night.

  I didn’t want the romance thing. I wanted everything.

  I poured her a whisky without asking her what she wanted. She sipped and made a face, as if it wasn’t the best aged Laphroaig. After Mother died, almost the very day she died, I’d gone to the sacred drinks cabinet, where unopened bottles had stood ever since Father had left, and broken the seal on the first one I could find. There were only a few left now.

  After her first sip, she knocked it back in one swallow, grimacing as if it were medicine.

  “All right,” she said. “I ain’t got all night. Let’s get going.”

  “R-right—” I began, but before I could say any more, the tart said something like “Fucking dark in here” and snapped on the light switch.

  There was a moment of blinding dazzle after the strip light stuttered on. Both of us recoiled slightly, blinking. I had time for a second of outrage about the fact that she’d just taken it upon herself, in someone else’s house, to dictate the light levels. It was my house. Who did she think she was?

  I only had time for a second of thought because at that moment she saw me clearly. A moment later, a harsh disbelieving laugh rang out into the kitchen.

  She was laughing at me.

  For some reason I thought of Mother and her sneer that was half a smile. Before I could even open my mouth to tell her to shut up, I flinched backwards against the kitchen counter and suddenly the steak knife was in my hand.

  “Shut up!” I hissed, and I thrust the knife forward.

  Did I just mean to scare her? I don’t know. All I wanted
was for that mocking laughter to stop. The knife sank into her stomach, piercing the fleece. The tart said, “Oh,” a sound of surprise rather than pain. We both looked down at the knife protruding from her belly, just to the right of the zip. I still had hold of the handle.

  There was a moment of silence. Then she drew in her breath and screamed, shatteringly loud.

  Panicked, I snatched my hand back and drove the knife forward again, not caring where I hit her. I just had to stop the noise. But the strangest thing happened. As the blade sank into her, again and again, I – well, I…

  La petit mort, they call it. I was swept away, lost, carried away on a release so powerful that when it finally stopped, I believed for a second I had died too.

  When I came back to reality, I was face down on the body of the tart, my hand still clenched around the handle of the steak knife that was buried deeply inside her. I was wet with blood and not just with blood. I rolled over onto my back, next to the body on the kitchen floor, gasping for breath and holding the knife against my chest like a talisman.

  Chapter Four

  “Don’t forget we’re training again tonight,” said Olbeck as they got into the car.

  Kate gritted her teeth.

  “I hadn’t,” she said, after a moment. “That’s all we do, every night. Every day and every night.”

  “You’ll thank me,” said Olbeck breezily. “Tell you what. How about we do our run and then you come over for dinner with me and Jeff?”

  Kate was waiting to join the main road. She used the time spent gauging the oncoming traffic to think over Olbeck’s suggestion. It was tempting. Jeff was Olbeck’s partner – Kate kept thinking of him as Olbeck’s ‘new’ partner, despite the fact they’d been together for just over a year. Jeff was thirty-eight, an academic specialising in sports sciences and a fitness fanatic. Kate knew who to blame for Olbeck’s newfound fitness regime and his punishing insistence that Kate join in. Still, it was a minor niggle.

  Jeff was warm, witty, nice-looking and a supportive and easy-going boyfriend to her friend. She’d spent many an enjoyable evening with the two of them: at dinner parties, at the theatre, at a barbeque with mutual colleagues and at lazy Sunday brunches at the local pubs. Kate and Jeff got on very well and she could see that he and Olbeck were a loving and committed couple. And yet… And yet…she felt guilty thinking it, but she couldn’t deny it. Occasionally she wished it was just her and Olbeck again, as it had been when he was single. She felt terrible for even thinking that, but at the same time, she couldn’t help it. You’re jealous, she told herself again. Not jealous because she wanted Olbeck for a boyfriend, for God’s sake. But jealous because before Jeff appeared, it was just the two of them and now there were three and now Kate was the odd one out.

  It was funny; for years she’d been happy with her own company. She hadn’t wanted a partner. Unlike those women who said they were happy being single because they thought if they said that sort of thing out loud, the universe would reward them with the perfect man, Kate really had been happy being single. She had enough friends and enough interests to fill those odd hours that weren’t taken up with work. But now…she sighed inwardly. Now, she felt differently. I’m lonely. I want someone of my own. Not just someone. One person – Anderton.

  Kate drove ruminatively, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.

  “Let’s go and talk to Claudia Smith now,” she suggested. “She sounds like she knew Mandy, even if just in a casual way.”

  Olbeck nodded.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  There were two branches of Boots the Chemist in Abbeyford: a small shop on the outskirts of the town and a much larger central store in the main shopping area. Kate and Olbeck made their way to the latter, reasoning that Claudia Smith would be more likely to be found here. They were correct. After enquiring at one of the make-up booths, they were directed to a small bank of tills at the rear of the store.

  Claudia Smith was easily picked out by her nametag. She was a small, dark-haired woman. As Kate observed her as they waited in the queue, she could see that Claudia was an excellent example of a basically pretty girl whose thick make-up, hugely volumised hair and overload of cheap jewellery negated rather than enhanced her attractiveness. Kate looked at the thick foundation, the hard line of black eyeliner, the orange fake tan and the huge, cheap silver hoops which dragged down Claudia’s earlobes. Why did women do this to themselves? Did they genuinely think they looked better? Kate supposed they must. She had a secondary thought that those kind of women probably looked at her and wondered why she wasn’t making more of herself.

  Claudia’s till became free and Kate and Olbeck stepped forward.

  Kate introduced herself and her partner and flashed her card. Claudia’s heavily outlined eyes widened.

  “Don’t be alarmed, Miss Smith,” said Kate, realising that Claudia was also casting anxious glances towards an older woman hovering nearby who was clearly her line manager. “We’d just like to talk to you about Mandy Renkin. Would you like us to wait until you finish your shift?”

  Claudia looked as though she wanted to agree but perhaps realised that asking the police to wait – loitering in the aisles, with her work colleagues giving them curious glances – would be worse. She shook her head and said “I’ll just ask if I can go” before scurrying off to her line manager. Kate and Olbeck shifted a little to allow some shoppers to pass them by. After a minute or two, Claudia Smith came back, minus her Boots tabard and with a much studded and fringed but obviously cheap leather handbag.

  Kate’s conscience gave her a little nudge.

  “I hope we haven’t got you into trouble with your boss, Miss Smith,” she said. “We’ll be happy to talk to her if necessary, explain how things are.”

  Claudia shook her head. She was walking quite quickly, with her head down.

  “It’s all right,” she said in a small voice. “Is it okay if we talk as we go along? It’s just I have to pick my daughter up from the childminder’s.”

  She barely looked out of her teens herself. How old was her daughter? Kate asked her.

  “Four.” Claudia’s make-up-caked face brightened a little. “Her name’s Madison.”

  “Perhaps we can give you a lift,” suggested Olbeck. “That might give us a little time to talk.”

  When they were parked a few metres away from the childminder’s house in Arbuthon Green, Olbeck turned off the engine and turned in his seat to face Claudia and Kate, who was sitting next to her on the back seat.

  “We’re trying to find out something more about Mandy,” he said. “Were you friends with her?”

  Claudia nodded nervously.

  “We were at school together.”

  “And you’ve been friends ever since? You kept in touch after you left school?”

  “Sort of. We both – we kind of both got into bad situations.” Claudia’s eyes flickered downwards. “Mandy started seeing this guy, Mike Fenton. He was really cool, everyone wanted to be with him, and Mandy was the one who ended up with him. But he was really bad news, got her into drugs and all that. She kind of dropped off the scene for a bit, for a long while actually.”

  Kate had been listening closely. She suppressed a sigh at the usual sad story: schoolgirl promise squandered on a boy who was a bad lot, someone who dragged you down into the gutter. And once you were there, it was almost impossible to climb out.

  “Did Mandy get back in contact with you? How did you both end up at the Mission?”

  Claudia fiddled with her earrings.

  “We kind of kept in touch, off and on,” she said. Her gaze dropped again. “She was a good mate to me. She helped me out when – when I needed it. She’d got off the drugs then, left Mike and was kind of getting herself back together again.”

  “When was this, Claudia?”

  “I dunno. About two years ago.”

  “Was Mandy working as a prostitute then?”

  Claudia’s orange-hued face went faintly pink.
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  “I dunno,” she said, again. “We didn’t really talk about stuff like that.”

  “But she was kind to you?”

  Claudia nodded. “She was there for me when I need her. Gave me some money, helped me—” She stopped for a moment. “She helped me get out.”

  Olbeck shifted a little in his seat. “What happened, Claudia?”

  The girl kept her eyes down and spoke haltingly. A sad tale of a relationship that seemed to start off well, an accidental pregnancy, an older man who, when his partner was at her most vulnerable, decided to begin abusing her.

  “That’s very sad,” said Kate. “You left the relationship, though?”

  “Yeah. I had to. I took Maddy one night and got – got out. Mandy helped me. She came and met us and took us to the hostel.”

  “Was that the Mission?”

  Claudia shook her head. “No, a woman’s refuge. We couldn’t stay there for long, though. I used to take Maddy to a church toddler group, and I met Father Michael there. He told me there were mother and baby rooms at the Mission, and I managed to get one, after a while.”

  “How long have you been at the Mission?”

  “Not long. Only a few months.”

  “But you like living there?”

  Claudia shrugged. “Yeah, it’s all right. I’ve got my name down for a council flat, but I dunno how long that’s going to take.”

  Olbeck shifted again in his seat, easing the ache in his neck from twisting around to talk to Claudia.

  “So Mandy was a kind girl, Claudia?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, she was, as long as she weren’t on the drugs. Then she were a right bitch.” The girl coloured a little. “Sorry. It’s just that – well – I knew she’d started using again just recently.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I could tell. Also she started stealing again. She stole a silver locket that me mum had given me for Madison.”