I stopped. ‘What kind of service were you expecting?’
He snorted, took a step closer and lowered his voice. I could smell the mint in his glass. ‘I called about my friend. And she doesn’t know that I did. Thought they sent women for girl stuff …’
‘Girl stuff?’
He nodded. ‘Said when I called. You all not on speaking terms?’
‘Dispatch aren’t as articulate as you are, Mr …?’
‘Earl.’
‘That a first name or a surname?’
‘Only name you’re getting. What do they call you? To your face, I mean?’
I smiled. ‘Waits.’
He looked at me for a second. Thought about it. ‘Heavy,’ he said, finally. He led me into a kitchen-cum-communal space. ‘Park here, I’ll find Soph.’
I could hear ambient sounds from the hallway, a steady hip-hop beat, but there was no one else in the room. Because it was dark outside and the lights were on, I could see myself reflected in the black mirror of the window. On the table there were trays of crushed ice, mint, sugar and lime. There was a row of jelly glasses and a wet bottle of rum.
Through a door I heard a girl say: ‘What?’
I sat there, beneath the blazing fluorescent lights, and waited. A minute or so later, Earl came back into the kitchen, went to the trays and began fixing a strong drink without looking at me. He had the practised movements of a professional cocktail maker, even going so far as to spin the rum bottle in his hand.
He saw me notice. ‘I mix in The Alchemist,’ he said. A celebrated Spinningfields bar where you could do permanent damage to your body and bank account. ‘Here.’ He slid me the glass he’d been working on. A mojito.
‘I’m on the clock,’ I said, catching it.
‘Not for you, Sherlock. Maybe she needs one?’ He walked out into the hallway, nodded at the door he’d come from and then went to his own room. I picked up the glass, so cold that it hurt my hand, went to the door he’d indicated and knocked.
I didn’t know what to expect.
‘Hello,’ said a shaky, southern voice. The room smelt faintly of suntan cream and the girl inside it was young. Sitting on the bed in denim cut-offs and a vest. Her shoulders were starting to turn red from the weather but the rest of her skin glowed from weeks of vitamin D. She had freckles about her eyes and a heart-shaped face, and as her desk fan strafed the room it tousled her hair, brown with the tips dyed blond. There were some bruises on her legs but I was glad to see she didn’t look upset or in distress. Just a little embarrassed. A little put out. She closed a laptop and pushed it to one side.
‘I expected someone older …’ she said.
‘I’ve got the liver of a man twice my age.’ She almost smiled and I handed her the glass that Earl had given me. ‘My name’s Aidan Waits, Detective Constable.’
‘Sophie,’ she said.
‘We could talk in the kitchen if you like, Sophie?’
She considered me for a moment. ‘Here’s fine. Would you close the door, though?’
I did, then motioned to an absurd pink chair at her desk. ‘May I?’ She nodded and I sat down. ‘Sounds like your friend out there’s worried about you.’
‘Earl’s a good guy …’
‘Tight-lipped, though.’
‘I was surprised he called you at all. He hates the police. I mean—’
‘Don’t worry, I basically agree with him. We do have our uses, though. I’m guessing if he picked up the phone it’s something serious. Why don’t you tell me about it from the start?’
‘Well, I’m a first year …’
She said it like it explained everything else.
‘No crime there. What are you studying?’
‘English lit?’
‘I’ve heard of it.’
‘Probably not much use in the real world.’
‘Sometimes the real world’s not much use itself …’
‘Yeah.’ She put the glass to her forehead for a second, rolled it from right to left and then took a drink. ‘So, last week I went to a club. Actually.’ She reached over to the desk and handed me a crumpled flyer.
Incognito.
The picture was of a young woman, dressed in school uniform. The copy pitched hard to entice freshers to a club night. Free entry (pardon the pun). Free birth control, too, as the rumour went. Most girls went once, 100 per cent in on the joke. They took the free drinks, absorbed the heated stares of the regulars and then left. You still heard the odd horror story, though. Entry for men was twenty quid a go and most of them wanted their money’s worth. I’d seen the queues, sliming their way down the street.
I handed back the flyer. ‘I’ve heard of that, too.’
‘I met a man, Ollie. Older but, y’know, nice. Well dressed and stuff. He seemed like a big deal in there, anyway.’ I had a good idea of what a big deal in Incognito might look like. Sophie rubbed her palms, unconsciously, on the bed. ‘We went back to his flat …’
‘We can have a female officer here if you’d prefer?’
She shook her head. ‘We slept together, it was fine.’
‘Those bruises?’ I said, referring to the marks on her legs.
‘Oh, no, I’m a cyclist. It’s one of the things I love about it here.’ She paused. ‘Look, the night was fine, it’s just that he filmed us—’ She stopped abruptly, looked down at the bed.
‘And now he’s holding it over you.’
She blushed, nodded. ‘I didn’t know people actually did that.’ She took another mouthful of her drink. ‘He said,’ she stopped. ‘He implied that if I don’t see him again he’ll leak it on to the internet.’
‘I take it you don’t want to see him again?’
She shook her head.
‘Do you have a surname for Ollie?’
‘What will you do?’
‘I’ll talk to him.’
‘Now?’
‘There’s no time like the present.’
‘Isn’t it a bit late, though?’
‘The later the better, it might give him some idea of how serious this is.’
‘… And is it serious?’ I could see that she was trying to talk herself down.
‘Your friend out there seems to think so. I think I agree. Ollie’s trying to blackmail you into doing something. For some men it’s the only way they know.’
‘I didn’t get his surname.’ She looked away. ‘God, you must think—’
‘I don’t think anything. Can you describe him?’
‘Older than you, maybe mid-thirties? And, I guess, he was a little chubby. He had sort of light red hair, like it was losing its colour.’
‘And he got in touch with you about the video. Did you swap numbers?’
She shook her head. ‘In the morning I got up and bolted. Stupidly, I left my jacket with my student ID in. He messaged me today.’
‘Where did Ollie live?’
‘The Quays. I’m not sure which building, though. I think the big one.’
‘Can I see the message?’
She made eye contact for a second. ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’ It was the first time she’d sounded anguished, and I was glad Earl had made the call.
‘It’ll be a big help if I know the nature of the threat. If I know everything you do.’
‘So, is this official already? It’s just, I didn’t call you, Earl did.’ She paused. ‘My parents would kill me.’
I thought about it for a second. ‘If you show me the message, I’ll know as much as you do. If I can find him, I can have a word informally if you like.’
‘There’s a picture.’
‘It’ll stay between us.’
‘You don’t look much like a priest. No offence …’
I sat back, gave her some space. ‘Nicest thing anyone’s said to me in months.’
She made up her mind. Opened the laptop, turned the screen towards me and then stared at the wall. Loved your debut, think you could be a star. Should the world see this, though? Maybe you can come back around and convince me otherwise ;) xxx
Beneath the text there was a gif. It repeated one second of video on a loop. In it, Sophie was naked, sitting on a bed laughing. I thought she looked high. I turned the screen back towards her, got up and left my card on the desk.
‘Leave it with me.’
4
I went back to the car and climbed in. I could smell the disinfectant that Sutty had wiped the surfaces down with, and when I picked up the radio it was slippery in my hand.
‘Complainant doesn’t want to make a formal statement at this time, over.’