Fragile Minds

FRIDAY 21ST JULY SILVER



So Sadie and Anita were both missing, and that was all there was to it. Sadie might well be away somewhere as Paige had suggested; Silver prayed she was safely ensconced somewhere, with one of the ‘loser’ boyfriends perhaps, in a fug of sex and sweat; but she hadn’t crossed a border, according to Kenton’s checks – and Lucie had said she’d lost interest in men recently.

He took another call from Kenton just as he was leaving Tessa Lethbridge’s flat, which Craven had already visited a day ago. As Craven had reported, there had been nothing of any great interest in the Bloomsbury rental, apart from a few travel documents he’d retrieved, namely an air ticket to New Zealand in Lethbridge’s name, for the evening of Friday 14th July – the day of the explosion. They had checked where and when the ticket had been booked; she was travelling alone apparently. Now Silver, who didn’t quite trust Craven, was here to double check the flat himself. If she was travelling under the name Tessa Lethbridge, she must also have a false passport somewhere – and possibly her real one.

Silver slipped a photo of Tessa and a dark man out of a frame on the mantelpiece and pocketed it. He noted a penchant for nursery rhymes and children’s toys, though to his knowledge she had no children of her own. How whimsical, he thought wryly – how apt for this pretentious ballet world. She was definitely of the hippy persuasion, that too was obvious. Rummaging through a half-packed suitcase on the bed, he looked for a passport in case Craven had missed it, but couldn’t find one. He did however find a stack of papers hidden in a ballet book on some bloke called Diaghilev, pamphlets about the Daughters of Light. Bingo. Typical of Craven to miss the crucial.





‘The woman, Rosalind Lamont,’ Kenton was fighting to keep the excitement from her voice down the phone line. ‘She was out in Australia. Melbourne.’

‘Right. So you’re thinking she could be the mysterious Lethbridge?’ Silver clicked the car open, cursing his bad luck once again. He would do anything to stay in London now the leads were starting to pay off. ‘Bloody big coincidence if it’s not, no?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good work, Lorraine. Keep me posted.’

‘There’s something else, too, guv,’ she cleared her throat. ‘Just spoken to the family of a girl called,’ he could hear her pause as she checked her notes, ‘Meriel Steele. She was an Academy student; they’ve not seen her in nine months. According to the Academy, she dropped out last year, but the family thought she was still there.’

‘Christ.’ Silver rammed the key in the ignition hard. ‘What is it with these f*cking families? They never know where their own are half the time.’

Which of course was entirely ironic, given his own circumstances, Silver thought as he negotiated the New Cross one-way system with as much calm as he could muster during a Friday night rush hour. He was finding serenity harder than usual today. A heavy woman with faded tattoos of Winnie-the-Pooh up both flabby arms pushed her buggy almost directly in front of Silver’s car as she cut through the traffic, and he braked hard, swearing beneath his breath, placing his hand on the horn. From the safety of a traffic island, the woman mouthed a choice selection of obscenities at him before pushing the baby straight into the next lane of oncoming traffic. Julie London was singing Cry Me a River on the stereo; he turned her up to drown out the sound of traffic as best he could.





Leticia was in the kitchen when Silver arrived home, looking for his landlady.

‘Mum in?’

‘Nah,’ Leticia didn’t bother looking up from her laptop. ‘She’s collecting Precious from swimming.’

‘Good day at school?’ Silver poured himself a glass of juice from the fridge and kicked the door shut. ‘Learn anything cool?’

Leticia shot him a withering look. ‘Cool?’

‘Sorry,’ he grinned. ‘Got the wrong lingo have I?’

‘Lingo?’ She shook her head with disdain, her pink heart sunglasses askance in her little afro. ‘What are you, like, ninety-three?’

‘No,’ he said, still smiling, ‘not quite. Not yet.’ He grabbed a nectarine from the overflowing fruit bowl and walked behind her towards the door, glancing down at the laptop as he did so. He froze.

‘What are you looking at, Leticia?’

‘Nothing.’ She slammed the lid shut.

‘Let me see.’

‘No.’ She slumped her body over the computer. ‘It’s, like, none of your business.’

‘Well, OK.’ He put the glass and the nectarine down on the table. ‘But does your mum know?’

‘Know what?’ the girl muttered, scowling furiously. Silver’s heart went out to her. God, it was hard being young today. Life moved too fast to keep up with it.

‘That you’re looking at those sites.’

‘What sites?’ She sucked her teeth at him. When Silver looked at her, he could see the woman in the child’s face, and it scared him.

‘Letty,’ he used the baby name Philippa sometimes did, ‘you know what I mean. They’re a bit old for you. That lad I just saw, he was twenty-five if he were a day.’

She rolled black kohled eyes. ‘He’s, like, seventeen.’

‘My eye.’

‘Your what?’

‘I just mean, you can’t believe everything people say on the web. It’s easy to make things up. Be anyone you want to be.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘Well, if you know it, then why use them? You must meet nice boys at school.’

‘I don’t.’ There was a pause. ‘They all tease me,’ she muttered.

‘About what?’

She grimaced at him, tears glinting in eyes shaped just like her mother’s, brandishing her metallic smile in his face. ‘Do you think anyone’s ever gonna like me, let alone kiss me with a mouthful of this shit?’

‘Of course they will,’ he frowned. ‘You’re a lovely lass. There’s plenty of time for kissing.’

‘Lovely?’ One big tear plopped out now, and rolled down her smooth cheek.

‘Yeah, Letty. Lovely. Just give it time. You’re only thirteen.’

‘I’m a teenager.’ She was defiant. ‘I’m nearly grown-up.’

He thought of his children, waiting up North, no sign still of their own mother, and he sighed. Standing now, he downed his juice.

‘Listen, I’ve got to go home for the weekend.’ Please God it was just the weekend. ‘Will you tell your mum I’ll call?’

Leticia shrugged. ‘Sure.’

‘And, Leticia?’ He bit into the hard fruit.

‘Yeah?’

‘Promise me you won’t meet anyone from the internet without speaking to your mum or me first.’

‘Ras. You’re not my flipping dad.’ He heard her suck her teeth as he took the stairs two at a time. He’d call Philippa later and make sure she knew exactly what her daughter was up to.





Silver had just filled the car up at the local petrol station when his phone bleeped:

Meet me at the Soho Hotel at ten; about Misty.

It wasn’t signed but there was a single smiley face followed the message. He deplored those smiley faces: Julie had loved them – which made them anathema for Silver.

He checked the time. He’d really wanted to be on the M1 by ten, but he had no choice. He swung the car round, swapped Julie London for Nina Simone on the stereo and headed for central London.





FRIDAY 21ST JULY CLAUDIE



By the time I arrived at Helen’s I was dry-mouthed and slightly shaky and utterly convinced someone was following me. I’d looked over my shoulder so many times as I’d walked the last ten minutes from the bus stop that I had a crick in my neck.

Helen let me in and frowned at my appearance.

‘Your hands,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen them so bad.’

I looked down; I’d scratched my skin to shreds somehow. She held my shoulders, her grey hair tumbling over her green cashmere cardigan, a fragile gold chain bearing a tiny flat matryoshka doll around her neck, the skin round her watery blue eyes crinkled as she searched mine. Her house smelt comforting somehow: of baking and roses and Diptyque candles. I’d only been here once before, but today, to my relief, calm pervaded me as I stepped past the stained-glass door. The little gold plaque beside the doorbell read: Helen Ganymede, MA SCs in flowery letters.

‘I’m very glad to see you, Claudie.’ She let me go and opened the door into her therapy room, ushering me in gently. ‘I don’t think you are well enough yet to be out there totally alone, without your support systems.’

Rather reluctantly, I told Helen of my fears that someone had followed me here.

‘Why?’ she frowned, ‘why would anyone follow you, Claudie?’

‘Because,’ I mumbled. I didn’t know whether to begin the whole Tessa spiel; it seemed so complicated. But the level of distress it was causing me was immense and, I recognised, debilitating. Speaking to Helen about her might normalise the situation a little.

Helen sat in the wicker chair opposite me and smiled gently, crossing her feet, and I felt myself relax slowly.

‘It’s been a bit crazy, Helen, since I saw you last time.’ I tried to smile, but I felt my eyes start to swim slightly.

‘The Thursday before last?’ she asked quietly. ‘So why’s that, Claudie?’

‘Because of everything that happened at the Academy.’

‘The explosion, you mean?’

I nodded. ‘Yes. But it’s worse than that.’ I told her about Rafe, and then about Tessa and the fact she’d lied. I told her about me attempting to get to work on the day of the explosion, and blanking out, and the fact that I was positive I was meant to be meeting Tessa that Friday morning, yet the details kept escaping me.

I could see Helen struggling slightly to keep up, and at certain points, she asked me to repeat parts of the story. I tried to clarify them as best I could, but it was difficult, because my head had been hurting on and off so much again, and things had been hazy, almost as if I’d been anaesthetised at times.

‘Wow,’ Helen looked at me, and I felt that calmness again that she brought me. ‘I can see why you did call it crazy, Claudie. You must be exhausted.’

‘I am a bit,’ I nodded again.

‘I’ve read about Tessa Lethbridge in the paper, I’m so sorry. And I’m not surprised that on one level you feel betrayed,’ she said, and her placid face seemed almost angry for a moment. ‘You put your trust in Tessa, you shared your innermost secrets, didn’t you?’

I nodded.

‘So, it must be difficult to equate that with the fact she lied about her identity?’

‘Yes,’ I said slowly. ‘I do feel betrayed. That’s absolutely it.’ I was just relieved Helen didn’t seem to think I was mad.

‘But you weren’t the only person she duped,’ Helen said. ‘It’s important to remember that. And she must have been deeply disturbed to have done so. It’s hardly a rare occurrence in my field, though, forming a new, more idealised persona. How do you feel about it,’ she looked at me intently, ‘other than betrayed?’

‘Stupid,’ I whispered. ‘And sad.’

‘Well, you’re not stupid by any stretch of the imagination.’ Helen crossed her legs. ‘I did meet her once, you know.’

‘Really?’ I was astonished.

‘She came to me for an appointment; she said you’d recommended me. I explained that I couldn’t see two friends. It’s not ethical.’

‘I didn’t recommend you.’ I was loath to talk to anyone about my therapy, though I knew I had mentioned Helen to Tessa once or twice. ‘I mean, of course I would do, but I didn’t tell her to come to see you.’

‘Well, with cases like Tessa Lethbridge’s, it wouldn’t be unusual for her to cross into your life inappropriately. In fact, it’d be par for the course.’

I gazed at her. ‘Really?’

‘Absolutely. But what concerns me is how it’s left you feeling, Claudie. The deceit.’

I contemplated her words. ‘Wobbly.’

‘Which is natural,’ she nodded. ‘So how can we rectify this?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘No doubt Tessa was very damaged herself, and she picked up that you were absolutely vulnerable. She very likely selected you specially to be her friend. You must acknowledge that it wasn’t your fault that you let yourself believe in her. You have been in such a low and sad place. So,’ Helen smiled again at me, but her face was sad. ‘We’ll have to do a little work to repair the damage this revelation has done, won’t we?’

‘There’s something else too,’ I said, carefully. ‘Like I said.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve got a nasty feeling I was followed here.’

Helen contemplated me for a moment. ‘We’ve talked about this before, Claudie, haven’t we?’

I blinked. ‘Yes, I know.’

‘It’s likely to happen when you are disassociating, these fears. You are splitting again, to free yourself of the trauma.’

‘But a man attacked me.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Helen frowned. ‘That’s terrible. Where?’

‘At St Pancras station.’

‘Attacked you? Did he hurt you?’

‘Well,’ I paused. ‘He tried to.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I was clearing out Tessa’s locker.’

‘Right,’ Helen held my gaze. I wanted to look away but I couldn’t. ‘And you’re quite sure he wanted to attack you? Think, Claudie. Don’t let your mind go to the obvious, damaged places.’

I thought. I thought so hard it almost hurt. Maybe he hadn’t been after me; I hadn’t hung around to see. Maybe he was after the French girl, the girl who had still been screaming as I ran. Maybe he’d snatched a handbag, or her purse—

‘I suppose,’ I said slowly, ‘I could have imagined it.’

‘Maybe you did. You have before, haven’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I said quietly. I thought about the phone calls. I didn’t mention them.

‘Can I recommend a book to you?’ Helen stood now, and retrieved a book from the big shelf above the dresser.

‘Of course.’

‘Dr Everdene’s work on disassociation is powerful stuff, and it might take some of the fear away too. It’ll really help you get a different insight into the condition, how the mind shuts down and takes us somewhere else when we are very desperate. We will talk some more when you come back on Monday.’

‘On Monday,’ I repeated.

‘You can’t deal with all this on your own, Claudie,’ she was earnest, her eyes full of consternation. ‘You need to be supported. Let me help you. It worried me a lot when you sounded so distressed on the phone. How are you feeling physically?’

‘OK,’ I blinked at her. ‘A little tired. Not a good time to give up smoking either,’ I was rueful.

‘Ah, but you’re doing so well. Still using those patches?’

‘Yes. They do seem to help.’

‘Yes, I’ve found them effective myself. It’s such an on-going battle isn’t it? Blasted nicotine. And how have the headaches been?’

‘Quite bad. And I’ve run out of my migraine pills.’

‘I can help you there.’ Helen opened the dresser and found her prescription pad. As a psychiatrist, she could prescribe as well as listen. ‘It’s good for you to keep the migraines in check because as we know, the bad heads just cloud your thinking more. It puts you under more stress.’

When I had first seen Helen, she had quickly diagnosed me with psychotic post-traumatic disorder. I had described how I had stood at the kitchen window, waiting for Ned to come home; apparently, on the first day, I had stood for nine hours without moving, until my family called doctors who sedated me and forced me to finally lie down. I didn’t remember much of it, but that’s what had happened. I had lost whole sections of days, weeks sometimes; I couldn’t retain the memories. I had no recollection whatsoever of Ned’s funeral, for instance, although I saw the tiny coffin over and over again in my dreams.

Helen had slowly taken me through the reasons the disassociation would have happened, and I had been glad to learn I was not insane. The hospital therapists were quick and dry and dismissive, eager to prescribe huge quantities of mind-altering drugs. Helen, on the other hand, really listened. She had explained the delusions were quite normal and that I would need help and training to free myself of all of them. She was spiritual, shamanistic even, which I had been sceptical about at first, but it had helped me in some way. She had discouraged the terrible guilt I felt whenever I managed to derive any sort of pleasure from my life. I had been bereft after Will had chosen America over our marriage, but she had explained that Will could not deal with the trauma and sadness either and that was his way of coping.

‘I think you should try to dismiss Tessa as a wounded soul,’ Helen said now. ‘Embrace the anger, if there is any. Eventually you will be able to forgive her for what she has done, but it may take a while.’

‘Yes.’ I looked at her, and I nodded. Anger had not been my prevalent emotion, but I felt a taste of it now. ‘I will try, but it’s not going to happen immediately. She told me so many lies.’

‘Such as?’ Helen leant forward, almost knocking into one of the tall carved statuettes beside her. This one was a woman threshing corn, a baby bound to her back.

‘Well, like the babies she lost. I mean,’ the thought was horrible, ‘perhaps – perhaps they weren’t even real.’

There was a pause.

‘Possibly not,’ Helen agreed eventually. ‘But she would have needed something to bond with you over loss and grief. To pull you in, as it were.’

‘Pull me into what, though?’ I stared at her, troubled.

‘That, I’m afraid, Claudie,’ Helen shook her head gently, ‘remains to be seen, doesn’t it? Her world, I guess. We can talk about it next time.’

We walked to the front door and she handed me my parka and my prescriptions. ‘I’ll see you on Monday, yes?’

I nodded gratefully.

‘And get some sleep. But don’t hesitate to call me if you need me. I’m always here, Claudie.’

I smiled at her. ‘I know you are.’

I just didn’t know who might be lurking outside.





FRIDAY 21ST JULY SILVER



Joe Silver hated glitzy places like the Soho Grand with a vengeance. All low lights, over-priced cocktails and constantly teased iPhones. He’d far rather be in the local pub; although actually, since the days of AA, he’d be more likely to be found taking his problems out on a squash ball.

He squeezed himself onto the last corner of the row of tightly packed tables with a copy of the Evening Standard and the world’s most exorbitant soft drink, stretching his legs out into the aisle and scanning the apparently sophisticated crowd to see if he could pinpoint the sender of the message. After twenty minutes of poker-faced waitresses glowering at his ill-placed legs, depressing stories in the paper about teen stabbings and the lisping posh bloke next to him banging on about sound-scapes and how post-modern Jean-Michel Jarre was, Silver was utterly fed up. He should be halfway up the M1 by now, not trapped in pseud’s hell. His head was thumping and there was still no sign of any contact. He stood, draining his drink, when a little voice purred somewhere below his left ear.

‘Nice whistle.’ The petite redhead from the club stood beside him, wrapped in a tight green silk jumpsuit and beautifully made-up, looking infinitely more elegant than earlier. She stroked his arm. ‘Armani? I’ve never seen a copper with so much style.’

He racked his brain. ‘Paige?’

‘That’ll do.’ She stared up at him, her freckles almost luminous in the dim light. ‘For now.’

‘Drink?’

‘Yes, please.’ She blinked once, slowly. ‘Shall we go somewhere a bit quieter?’

‘Such as?’ Silver looked around; the bar was heaving.

‘I’ve got a room upstairs,’ she moved a little closer. ‘Don’t want no one listening to my secrets. Know what I’m saying?’

Silver thought he knew exactly what she was saying.

‘I’m sure we can talk down here,’ he said pleasantly.

She bit her pink bottom lip with her tiny white teeth. ‘No.’ She looked around quickly. ‘If you want what I know, it’s got to be somewhere walls don’t have ears.’

Her strappy shoes were so high, her voluptuous body was tipped slightly forward, like a ship’s figurehead. Looking down at her, Silver was unable to avoid that freckled creamy cleavage. To his irritation he felt a vague stirring of something.

‘There’s a pub round the corner,’ he said, with purpose. ‘We could go there.’

‘I don’t do pubs, darling.’ Hands on hips, she waited. ‘Not in this clobber. It’s upstairs, or I’m going.’

In the lift, Silver leant against the wall, as far from Paige as he could manage. He watched her; she watched her own reflection, seemingly fascinated, preening herself. She was almost feline, her yellow eyes half closed. Any second now, she’d start cleaning behind an ear with one delicate paw. But she was alert like a cat too.

The room she had booked was minimalist and rather sterile, with no proper window, the air conditioning rendering it icy. Paige shivered slightly and then leant over Silver to reach the bottle of champagne she must have pre-ordered.

‘Drink?’

‘I don’t, thanks.’

‘Don’t be so dull,’ she pouted, dripping the bottle across his lap. ‘Bollocks to all that on-duty stuff.’

‘It’s not to do with duty,’ he shook his head, ‘it’s personal preference.’

‘Come again?’ She stared at him.

‘I just—’ He didn’t have the mental energy to explain. ‘I don’t like the stuff.’

‘Ex-drinker?’

Perceptive. He could like this girl.

‘Suit yourself.’ She poured herself a long glass and pulled the cord for the ceiling fan, turning the air conditioning down on the wall. ‘I love a real fan, don’t you? Sort of – Arabian nights.’

‘So?’ Silver leant against the white lacquer dressing-table. He was starting to feel a little impatient. ‘What did you want to tell me?’

The fan’s breeze ruffled the flimsy material of the girl’s outfit so it became obvious she wore no underwear beneath it. She exuded sex from every pore, but this was work, Silver reminded himself – and he couldn’t help feeling he was being manipulated. He sensed Paige had a will of iron beneath her artificial façade.

Paige perched on the edge of the huge double bed, her silk legs splayed. ‘Sit beside me,’ she patted the bedspread, ‘I’m lonely over here on my own.’

‘Paige,’ Silver ran a hand through his short hair and checked his watch again. ‘I’m working, lass. And I’ve got to get up to Yorkshire tonight on urgent business. Can you please just share whatever it is you know?’

This was not a girl used to being ignored by men; this was a girl used to using her sexuality to her best advantage. ‘What if I don’t want to tell you now?’ Her little face had darkened.

‘I’d be immensely grateful if you would.’ He smiled at her.

‘What’s it worth?’ She narrowed her unusual eyes at him, ever more cat-like. He had a sudden image of her springing towards him, claws extended.

‘Depends what it is,’ he said, gritting his teeth beneath the grin. ‘Do you know where Misty is?’

‘No,’ she sulked. ‘But I might know who she was screwing.’

‘Who?’

‘Apart from half of Spice’s punters, that is.’ She inspected her nails with nonchalance.

Silver raised an eyebrow. ‘Surely sex for money is vetoed by the club?’

‘Are you joking?’ she snapped. ‘They practically f*cking pimp us out.’

‘Right,’ no surprises there. ‘So – Misty?’

Paige eyed him like he was her prey. He could sense her deciding whether to help him or not. And he sensed something else. A slight unease. Fear, even. ‘It’s just—’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘She’d gone a bit – weird recently.’

‘Weird?’

‘Like, holier-than-thou.’

‘You mean, religious?’ Silver was confused. A Bible-bashing lap-dancer seemed unlikely.

‘No, not really,’ Paige shook her head. ‘More like, the world needed saving from itself. It was big and greedy and dirty and we were all going to pay the price, that kind of thing. Humanity was suffering, apparently,’ she sniffed. ‘Silly moo. Ideas she hardly seemed to understand.’

‘OK,’ Silver was intrigued now. ‘And when did that start?’

‘Only quite recently, I think,’ Paige shrugged. Her nipples were like bullets in the green top; an unbidden memory of their pale pink hue flashed through his mind. ‘Since I came back from being ill.’

‘Did you ever meet any of her friends? Or boyfriends?’

‘Yeah, once or twice. There was one bloke with a funny name. Only it seems to have slipped my memory.’ She smiled up at him sweetly and he felt that damned lick of lust again. ‘Can you help jog it?’

‘Her flatmate mentioned a couple of blokes.’ He ignored the unsubtle invitation. ‘Lucie Duffy.’

‘That stuck-up bitch?’ Paige banged her empty glass down emphatically. ‘The ballet dancer? She can go f*ck herself.’

‘I see.’ Silver suppressed a smile. They’d be a match for each other, Duffy and Paige. ‘You didn’t see eye to eye?’

‘We didn’t see each other full-stop. I only met her once, at some poncey Members’ bar a few weeks ago, and she didn’t even bother to speak to me at all.’ Paige gave a sniff of derision. ‘Anyway, this geezer was there. He was called – oh God, I really can’t remember. I’m good with names usually.’

‘Describe him.’

‘Tall. Dressed a bit stupid, like, young for his age. Kind of cowboy hat and boots. Really intense. Amazing eyes though. Like they could see right through you. It felt like I recognised him actually. From telly or somewhere.’ She stood and refilled her glass now. ‘He got a bit flirty with me, which well f*cked that Lucie bird off.’

‘You mean Misty?’

‘No. I mean that ballet dancer one.’

Silver considered this information. ‘But why would Lucie be annoyed if he was Misty’s boyfriend?’

Paige shrugged again. She licked her top lip with a little pink tongue. ‘I got the feeling they shared stuff, them two girls.’

‘Shared?’

‘Yeah, shared. You know – clothes, make-up, men.’ Paige moved towards him and pressed herself against him now; she was so close he could smell her hairspray. ‘Us club girls, we get used to sharing.’ She fluttered a strategic hand near his groin. ‘Know what I’m saying?’

Silver took a deep breath. ‘That’s very nice of you, Paige—’

‘Nice wasn’t necessarily on my mind, babe.’ She moved her hand infinitesimally nearer.

Despite her small size and her voluptuous body, Silver found her persistence off-putting. He felt the last vestige of desire trickle away. He stepped back, relieved at his own feelings. ‘Another time, another place, Paige, love.’

‘There won’t be another time,’ she scowled at him. She turned to pick up her glittery purse. ‘You had your chance. This is dangerous for me. Perhaps you don’t realise what those monkeys running the club can do.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He genuinely was. ‘What can they do?’

‘They’re nasty, those Russians. You must know that.’

‘Which Russians?’

‘All of them. They don’t stand for no shit. Specially—’

‘Specially?’

Paige paused, checking her hair in the mirror, hesitating. Eventually she spoke quietly.

‘Look, something was going on with Misty. Let’s just say – well, she might have got too close to someone.’

‘Who?’

‘Someone at the top. And you don’t mess with the boss, know what I’m saying? Cos if he gets bored of you – well.’

‘Are you saying he’s done something to her? The “boss”? Who is he?’

Paige gazed at him with something akin to contempt.

‘You can find that out yourself, surely? All I’m saying – there was some weird shit going on. He might have – like, passed her on.’

‘To who? You’ve lost me, Paige.’

‘Really? I am surprised.’ She grabbed a cigarette out of her purse and then thought better of it. ‘You know, you’re starting to piss me off.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I’m fed up of being bullied. Know what I mean?’

‘No,’ Silver said frankly. ‘Explain, please.’

‘Look, if Misty got all la-di-da or if she started talking out of turn – well, they like the girls smacked-up or submissive. But,’ she hesitated again, ‘I don’t know. It was more than that.’

Silver felt his frustration building.

‘Paige, I really need your help, love.’

There was a knock at the door. Paige jumped visibly.

‘Room service?’ a voice said.

‘No thanks,’ Silver returned smartly. They waited a moment in silence, Paige glaring at the door as if it might suddenly burst open. Silver stood and moved nearer to her.

‘Paige, you need to tell me what you know.’

‘I don’t know what I know. That’s the point. Like I said.’ She was hissing between neat little teeth now. ‘There was some weird shit going on, and I didn’t want to know. I did my job; I kept my head down and my tits out. But Misty—’ She shoved the cigarette box back in her purse. ‘There was some woman involved. Something to do with the boss. And that’s all I can tell you.’

‘What woman?’

‘I don’t know.’ She was almost tearful with frustration herself now.

Silver didn’t believe that she didn’t know more. She was edgy and scared, far more so since the knock on the door.

‘Please, Paige—’

‘No more.’ Paige stared at him. ‘You must get my drift.’

‘Names?’

‘No names.’

He’d lost her trust.

‘Talk to the other girls.’ She pulled a sheer cardigan on over her jumpsuit. ‘A few have been put in their place the hard way.’

‘Right. And the woman?’

Paige ignored him.

‘And another thing, Joe Silver,’ Paige had her hand on the door handle; she jutted her chin in the air. ‘You shouldn’t be so ready to judge. Like, what you see ain’t necessarily what you get.’

‘I don’t judge.’ But he was lying and they both knew it.

‘Still waters, and all that. Remember.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I expect you can work it out, if you can be bothered,’ she snapped. ‘I’m a dancer, not a prostitute.’

‘You’ve been very helpful,’ he soothed. ‘And I’ll send an officer down to the club.’

‘Well don’t for f*ck’s sake mention me.’ A shadow crossed her little heart-shaped face. ‘Swear you won’t.’

‘Paige, lass, I’m not stupid.’

They stared at each other.

‘If you need protection—’

‘I can look after myself.’ She stuck her chin in the air again, and Silver felt a flash of regret that he’d pulled away from her advances. Her sudden vulnerability was much more appealing.

‘OK. But you can always call me. And if you remember the boyfriend’s name, you’ll let me know?’

‘Why should I?’ Her yellow eyes were cold.

‘Because, kiddo,’ it was Silver’s turn to flex his metaphorical muscles now, ‘Misty is missing, and if we don’t find her soon, well, God knows what might happen to her. And then how would you feel?’





Silver was just past junction 12 of the M1 motorway, deep in a reverie about what the hell he was going to say to the children about their mother, when his phone rang.

He hoped it was Kenton with news on the management of Sugar and Spice, but it was Philippa returning his call.

‘What’s up, Joe?’ she asked. ‘No sign of the ex?’

‘Not really. Hoping she’ll be back soon.’

‘Good luck with that, love. You back Monday?’

‘Sincerely hope that too.’ He remembered Leticia and the internet site she’d been viewing. ‘P – it might not be my place, but – I’m a bit worried about Letty.’

‘Oh?’ her tone was immediately wary. ‘What’s she done now? Not my bloody credit card again?’

‘Not to my knowledge, no. No, it was just – she was surfing the web a little – unsuitably.’ He was reluctant to be the one to tell her. Let the girl have her chance first. ‘Maybe just ask her to talk to you first.’

‘OK,’ Philippa sighed deeply. ‘Cheers, Joe.’

Within minutes, the phone rang again.

‘Don’t tell me. I didn’t do my washing-up.’

‘Not in my place, you didn’t. But you’re still welcome to.’

Paige.

‘Hi there,’ he said neutrally. He felt unreasonably awkward. Chastised, perhaps.

‘One thing I did remember,’ she was talking very quietly. ‘Misty – Sadie’s boyfriend.’

‘Go on.’

She paused. ‘Not that you deserve it.’

He gripped the steering wheel tighter. He needed this information badly. ‘I understand. And I’m sorry, Paige. Really.’

She couldn’t resist it. ‘Sure you don’t want to come back and find out in person?’

‘In another life, lass, I’d be back like a shot.’ Distance equalled safety. ‘So?’

‘Well you know where I am,’ she murmured.

‘And the name?’ he prompted. ‘Of Misty’s boyfriend?’

‘I heard the name Archangel once or twice, but I don’t think he was called that. He was called the Prince,’ Paige said triumphantly. ‘Told you it was something strange.’