13
It had to be the big redhead in the corner. Bev grabbed a couple of coffees on the way over. “Wotcha.”
The woman looked up from the stars in The Sun and mirrored Bev’s smile.
“Val, isn’t it? Val Masters?”
Any hesitation was down to the current Titian beehive, jostling with the black raffia bouffant in Bev’s memory bank. Uncertainty vanished the minute the woman opened her mouth. “Lend us a couple of quid, Sarge. Me belly thinks me throat’s cut.”
Bev already had her hand in her pocket. “I’ll get it. What d’you fancy?”
“I could murder a plate of chips.”
She’d got death on the brain; must be the threats. “Two secs.”
“Maybe a couple of eggs on the side?”
“No prob.”
“That geezer’s sausages look a bit of all right.”
Bev glanced at the next table, relieved to see someone tucking into bangers and mash.
“Okay, sausages.”
Val was still scanning the horoscopes when Bev staggered back with a tray.
“Got you a few slices of bread and butter, Val.”
“Better be low-fat.” Then, with barely a pause, “Joke.”
She waited while Val built a chip buttie the size of a house brick.
“Let’s have a look at these threats then.”
“I’ve only got the one. I bunged the rest in the bin.” She licked grease from her fingers, burrowed in a black shoulder-bag and eventually retrieved a crumpled, none-too-clean sheet of cheap, lined notepaper. Bev bet there’d be dabs all over it, and not a single whorl the writer’s. She skimmed the words; read them again. The author had clearly not had the benefit of a grammar school education.
F*ck OFF SLAG
NO MORE WARNINGS
YOUR NEXT WHORE
She waited until Val’s mouth was more or less empty. “Fill me in, love. How many have you had? When did it start?”
Val pursed her lips, which by now had lost at least one layer of scarlet. “Must be a good six, seven weeks since the first. It come by hand, though. Not in the post.”
A nod from Bev. “’bout Christmas, then?”
Val winked. “Made a change from all the cards.”
Bev watched, fascinated, as Val pensively ran a sausage along her lips then sank suspiciously-white teeth into the meat. Her mastication was attracting quite an audience.
Bev cleared her throat. “Er, Val, you were saying..? ’Bout the letters?”
“Sorry, chuck, I was miles away. Let’s see, now. There’s been four, definite, mebbe five. Tell you the truth, Sarge, I didn’t reckon much to it at first. Not till young Shell, like. You get used to the abuse and that. People shouting filth, shoving shit through the letterbox. Know what I mean?”
Another nod. “What did the others say?”
“Same sort of crap. Slag, whore, tart.”
Bev pointed at the note. “It says no more warnings. Tell me about the earlier ones.’
Val shrugged. “Sorry, chuck, can’t remember. As I say, I got rid of the buggers straight away.”
Bev was distracted by raucous laughter from a group of blokes at the next table. Bet they weren’t discussing needlework.
“So you can’t remember anything?”
The headshake was loosening the beehive’s foundations. “One of the others might.”
“Go on.”
“After Shell, a few of us got together. Started chatting like, and it turns out I’m not the only one on his mailing list.”
“His?”
“Do me a favour, Sarge.” Bev shrugged; a lesser woman would have quailed under so much contempt.
“You obviously don’t recognise the writing, but any ideas who might be sending them?”
“Don’t be soft. I’d tell you if I knew. Or I’d send the boys round.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Bev put her elbows on the table and leaned closer. “Talking of boys, what do you know about a big boy called Charlie Hawes? Word is, he was Michelle Lucas’s pimp.”
“Name rings a bell…”
Hallelujah. “They call him Mad Charlie,” Bev said. “Mind, that’s unfair to psychos.”
Val turned her mouth down. “Nah. Can’t place it. But you know me, Sarge. I keep well away from pimps. Can’t be doin’ with the bastards.”
Bev hid her disappointment; someone had to know him, didn’t they?
“Tell me about the meeting.”
“What?”
“The girls. You said you got together.” Intriguing, that was. She knew about the national groups; the more vociferous women had been joining voices for years but she couldn’t see the likes of Val and Vicki becoming card-carrying members of the Collective.
“It was just me and the kids really.”
Curiouser and curiouser. “Oh?”
“Some of them are still at school, Sarge. Someone’s gotta look out for them.”
“Gonna be a regular thing is it?” Could be useful, that.
“What do you think we are? The Women’s Institute?”
“Just wondered.” She couldn’t see Val filling jars – not with jam anyway. Shame, though.
“As it happens, they’re coming over to my place tomorrow. There’s another protest on the patch. Usual load of God-botherers and do-gooders. They’re a bloody nuisance. It don’t half piss the punters off. Me and the girls are gonna crack a few cans, get a vid.”
“Can I come?”
Val choked on her sausage. “You what?”
Bev sneaked a chip. “I mean it. I’d really like to.”
“I dunno…”
“Go on, Val. It’d be great. Could be dead useful. Captive audience and all that.” She bit back a line about two birds with one stone. There must be worse ways of putting it, but offhand she couldn’t think of one. And anyway, she’d have to clear the idea she was working on with Byford before sharing it with anyone else. Val was clearly still considering the request.
“Dunno if they’ll buy it. You being the Bill.”
“If anyone can swing it, you can. Go on, Val. Put a word in. Tell them I haven’t got two heads.”
Val was chewing her bottom lip.
“Look, Val, you said yourself, you’re not the only one getting these threats. Those girls are easy meat, standing targets. I’m not looking to give them a hard time. Nothing I say’s gonna get them off the game. I just don’t want to see anyone else hurt.”
The big woman made up her mind. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Brill.”
“Can’t guarantee how many’ll turn out though. One of the kids has already legged it.”
“Who’s that then?” Bev tried to keep her voice casual.
“Don’t know if you’d know her.” Val wiped vestiges of yolk with the last of the bread. “Dead pally with Shell, she was. Girl called Vicki.”
“Vicki Flinn?” Bev frowned: Vick had done a runner?
“Yeah. She give me a bell last night.”
“Where from?”
Val closed her eyes. “Hold on. It’s on the tip of me tongue. Somethin’ with a B.” Eyes wide and finger in the air, it finally emerged. “Bognor. No. Wait a min. Brighton. That’s it. Brighton.”
“Big place, Brighton. Did she say where she’s staying? Who she’s with?”
“Nah. Cheeky little cow. Only rings cause she wants me to tell her ma she’s all right. I says, ‘Who’d you think I am? Your social worker?’ I mean, it’s a couple a buses to Annie Flinn’s place and I hardly know the woman.”
“Want me to go?”
“Nah. I’ll get round to it. Don’t bother.”
“I’ll nip round this evening. Best she knows. She’ll be worried if she doesn’t hear.”
Val snorted. “Worried? About Vicki? Pigs’ll fly jumbos. I’ll go at the weekend. Put her out of her misery.”
“No!” It came out sharper than she’d intended. “Really, Val. I’d like a word with her anyway.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Got the address?” May as well get it from Val. Bev could have dropped Vicki anywhere the other night. The girl had lied about her mother’s death. There was no guarantee she’d been on the level about where her mother lived.
“Got a pen?” Val ripped a corner off the newspaper, scribbled a few lines and passed it across.
Good. Bev looked back at the big woman. “If you get any more of these letters, hang on to them. And tell the girls the same. The more we have, the more there is to go on. I’ll be straight with you, Val. At the mo, there’s not a whole bunch we can do. The nutters who go in for this kind of thing are sick but they aren’t stupid. They know not to leave fingerprints, not to lick envelopes. We’ve more or less got to catch them red-handed. Or hope they cock up. Big time.”
“Reckon it’s the bastard who killed Shell?”
Bev hunched her shoulders, held out her hands. The gesture was eloquent enough. “What time are the girls coming round, then, Val?”
“Eight, half eight?”
Bev pushed her chair back and got to her feet. “Great.”
“Thank your stars then.”
“You what?”
Val shoved The Sun across the desk, pointed out a horoscope.
Bev leaned over and read aloud. “Do not be afraid to let new people into your life. With your instincts at their most reliable, you would do well to trust them. Remember, a little friction is not always a bad thing.”
Val was nodding sagely; knew all about friction, did Val. Bev grinned; didn’t know it was yesterday’s paper, though, did she?