JESSIE KEANE Scarlet Women

SUMMER 1970

Annie Carter was standing at the top of the stairs in the Palermo Lounge, looking down at the shell of the place that had once been her late husband Max�s favourite club. The builders were in�and running late. They were taking the curtains on the small stage area down. Huge red velvet drapes, a bit faded now, a bit tired-looking, like the rest of the club.

As she watched, a man up a ladder took out a hammer and chisel. He chipped loose the big gold letters �MC� at the apex where the curtains joined together. He threw them down to his mate. The M hit the floor, and shattered.

And how�s that for an omen? she thought with a pang of the old sadness.

There was so much to be done, so much to think about. The brewery had been in and agreed�after some hum-ing and ha-ing�that they would continue to supply liquor to the club. The drinks licence was, after all, already in place. The dance floor�which was a total fucking mess at the moment, broken up and knocked all to hell�was going to be relaid, and there were going to be strobe lights, the works.

But first the red velvet curtains, the plaster cherubs, the flock wallpaper, all that old dated tat, had to go.

Sorry Max.

She�d hired a good accountant, set out her aims. She planned that this club�and eventually the two others, the Blue Parrot and the Shalimar, which were currently standing empty�were going to earn her a good living, support her and her small daughter in some style. That was the plan, anyway.

Of course, the first thing the accountant had done when he�d seen last year�s books, peering at her over his pince-nez spectacles, was to suck in his breath.

She got this all the time. From the brewery bosses. From the builders. Now from her accountant. She was a woman in a man�s world, and all the men in it thought she couldn�t cope.

�It would appear the business has been running at quite a loss,� he said, giving her a pitying glance.

�Or could it just be that the profits haven�t been finding their way into the accounts?� she suggested.

He�d shrugged, nodded. �Certainly, that could be the case.�

Ha! Certainly, that was the case. He�d departed, leaving her sunk in gloom. But then she had a stern word with herself. Okay, she�d been shafted�royally worked over. But now she had to pull it all back together, even if the going was tough. Hell, she was used to tough.

She had lost her husband. She had loved gang lord Max Carter almost beyond life itself, and losing him had cut her to the heart. But she still had her daughter. She still had Layla. And that was in no small part due to American mob boss Constantine Barolli.

Annie frowned.

When they�d last spoken, Constantine had said he�d be back from his home in New York soon to see her. But three whole months had passed. Three months without a word, without a telephone call, with nothing. She felt furious, rejected, and she knew she�d made a bloody fool of herself into the bargain by asking him to call her. Because, guess what? He hadn�t.

�Fuck it,� she muttered, her hands clenching around the wrought-iron banister. She closed her eyes for a second and instantly she could picture him�a smooth, slickly suited Mafia don, with armour-piercing blue eyes and a commanding aura, a tan and startling silver hair.

The silver fox.

The rumour was that his hair had turned from black to silver overnight when he was in his twenties and had been told that his mother and brother were dead, victims of a deliberate hit by another Cosa Nostra family in his native Sicily. That�s what they called him on the streets of New York, the silver fox. And like a fox he�d slipped away.

Hell, she�d probably panicked the bastard, been too keen too soon. And, of course, he�d run straight for the hills. She�d blown it. Fuck it.

She went up the second flight of stairs to her office and slammed the door closed behind her. She slumped into her chair behind the desk. Once it had been her late husband�s chair; now it was hers. Now she was in charge of the East End manor that he had once ruled.

It was a very different manor now. A very different firm. Times had changed. Gone was the old respectful Kray and Carter style no-drugs-but-plenty-of-the-hard-game rule of the Sixties. Now there was an active�and often violent�drugs scene in London.

Annie had made it clear from the start that she wanted no part of that sort of trade�but she had been quick to see how the firm could profit from its impact. The Carter firm was all about legitimate security now; the firm controlled an army of enforcers working all over London and Essex, keeping order at venues.

And shit, how it paid. The money was rolling in.

Even better, it was all above board. She�d come close once to going down, and she was never going to risk it again, not with Layla to consider.

So now it was her who took payment from the halls and arcades and shops, her boys who gathered at Queenie�s�Max�s late mother�s�house, to meet with her and receive their orders.

As it turned out, everything had worked out pretty much okay. The boys had accepted her, and they had also accepted that Jimmy Bond�who had been Max�s number one back in the day�was history.

She thought about that.

Yeah, they had accepted her, but she was concerned that it wasn�t a full acceptance. It was an acceptance of her role as Max�s widow, that was all. She knew her position was tenuous. These were hard men, men who�d grown up on the wild side�out on the rob, out on the piss; they took no shit from anyone. Legitimate business had been a shock for them, but�so far�they�d swallowed it. Or had they? She was never sure.

She looked down at her thumb, where Max�s ring glinted. A square slab of royal blue lapis lazuli set upon a solid band of gold embellished with Egyptian cartouches. Yes, he was long gone, but it calmed her to look at the ring, the symbol of his power and authority.

Only now, more and more, it was reminding her of another ring, the diamond-studded one that Constantine Barolli always wore.

Ah, what�s the use?, she thought. It�s done.

He�d gone, and he wasn�t coming back.

Now she had a job to do, and that was good. She had to lose herself in getting the clubs up and running again. She was lucky to have an interest, a business that demanded so much of her time, because, if you were busy, you couldn�t think too much of how you had fucked up your chance of a great love affair by playing it all so disastrously wrong.

There was a tap at the door and Tony, her driver and her minder, poked his bald head around it. The crucifixes in his cauliflower ears glistened bright gold in the summer sunlight streaming in through the office window.

�First of the girls is here, Boss,� he said.

She was interviewing staff now. Bar staff, kitchen staff, cleaners, dancers. Not the dancers that had been here before, swinging their enormous naked tits about for all to see. No, these would be discreet go-go dancers, twirling and whirling in fringed white bikinis on tiny strobe-lit podiums around the new dance floor.

She didn�t want the dirty-mac brigade coming back in here. She wanted a better class of clientele, and she was going to make sure she got it.

Annie sighed. Tucked all thoughts of Constantine away.

He�s gone for good, she told herself. So forget it, okay? Move on.

She got her mirrored compact out of her handbag and dabbed away the shine from her nose. Then she applied a slick of scarlet lipstick and paused, staring at the image reflected in the mirror; the steady dark green eyes, the arched black brows and thick black lashes, the good olive-toned skin, the straight fall of thick, cocoa-brown hair, the wide, sensuous, painted mouth. It was a face that could, in fact, be called beautiful.

Then why didn�t he call?

She let out an exasperated sigh and closed the compact with a snap. Dumped it back in the bag, gave Tony a brisk smile.

�Right. Send her up, Tone.� She had fifteen girls to see this afternoon and opening night was just three weeks away. Best to crack on. Distract herself. Get on with it.

The room was small, bare and windowless. On the near side of an oblong table were two chairs, one of which was quickly occupied by the portly, bald and sweaty-looking cop. They seated Chris on the other side of the table. He slumped there, his slab-like forearms spread out on the table, his big ugly ex-boxer�s head resting upon them. He looked fucked.

Annie watched him worriedly. She�d known Chris for years. He was a big, hard man who had once been the bouncer on the door at the Limehouse brothel. He was a Delaney man, but he was rock solid. Tough as nails. Took no crap from anybody. Now when he looked up at her his eyes were full of desperation; his face was wet with tears.

�Oh Christ,� he said, and put his head back down again, and sobbed like his heart was breaking.

When they got back to Limehouse they sat at the kitchen table in a state of shock. Dolly had gone for the medicinal brandy, thrown it back, grimaced. Annie didn�t drink. Her mother Connie had been an alcoholic, the booze had killed her, so she had never developed a taste for it. She sipped her tea, and thought of Aretha with the big beaming grin, Aretha telling her funny stories about clients, Aretha breezing into this very kitchen and lighting the place up with her exuberance.

She�d never come here again.

�They said two others had been killed the same way,� said Annie numbly as they sat there listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering what the fuck had happened to their world.

Dolly shook her head. �I never heard about that.�

Annie had. Newspapers had mentioned it, but it hadn�t been on the front pages. Because these were whores. Who really gave a stuff if whores were killed? Many people would think they�d got their just deserts. Few would care. Few would want to know who did it. All they would say now was, well, they�ve got the bloke anyway, case solved.

Only it wasn�t. Not in Annie�s eyes.

Because she knew that Chris could never be a killer. She knew his opinion of men who beat up on women. To physically harm a woman would be beyond him. Like most of the real hard men around the East End, Chris had been raised to respect women, not batter them. He would look down on any man who did that. And to do it himself? No. It was impossible.

�He did hate her going back on the game,� said Dolly, looking awkward.

Annie looked across at her friend. She nodded. This was true.

Chris�s job as a security guard at Heathrow never paid much. They both knew that this had been a source of embarrassment for him. He wanted to keep his gorgeous wife in luxury, give her everything she wanted�and Aretha wanted plenty�but he couldn�t. He made a decent, solid living, but it wasn�t enough for Aretha, who loved the latest clothes, who loved to earn her own money, and the way she�d always done that and earned plenty was through tarting at Dolly�s. When Dolly had extended her business to include a small escort agency, Aretha had been right up the front of the queue for more work.

Oh, Aretha had loved money.

Through all this, despite his own unhappiness with the situation, Chris had supported Aretha�s choices. He�d known his woman since way before he�d ever married her. To him, Aretha had been exotic, exciting, beloved. Annie guessed he�d closed his mind to the rest of it. Made sure as far as he could that she kept herself safe. Waited for her in a parked car on rainy London nights. Didn�t want her on the bus or the Tube that late. Waited for her. Supported her. Loved her in the best way he knew how.

And now they were supposed to believe that he�d killed her?

�They�ve got it wrong,� said Annie, laying a hand flat on the table in absolute denial of this shit they were trying to stick on to Chris. �Chris did not kill Aretha.�

Dolly was silent.

�Doll?� asked Annie after a beat or two.

Dolly shrugged. �Yeah, but from what you told me they�ve got real evidence. Real evidence. That thing, that��

�The cheese wire,� said Annie with a shudder. The garrotte.

�Yeah, that. But�well, you said it had Chris�s blood on it. And his hands were cut.�

�From where he tried to get it off her,� said Annie.

�Yeah, but is that how it really happened?� Dolly frowned at her. She looked awkward. �Is that really it? Or��

�Or what, Doll?� Annie looked at her.

�Or�God, I hate to say this�did he get the cuts when he did the deed, you know? Did he get those cuts on his hands, cut himself, when he�when he strangled her with that thing?�

Annie was silent for long moments. Then she said: �You don�t believe that.�

Dolly swigged back the last of her brandy, slapped the glass back on to the table between them as if laying down a challenge.

�Fact is, I don�t know what to believe,� she said, shaking her head wearily. �But if the evidence is there��

�Well I do,� said Annie firmly. �I believe that Chris loved Aretha. I believe that he injured himself trying to get the garrotte off her neck. And I believe that unless we help him out here, the plod are going to fit him up with this and with the murders of those other two poor bitches that were topped. He�ll be sent down for Christ knows how long, Doll, and I can�t let that happen.�

�Yeah, fine words,� sniffed Dolly. She poured herself another stiffener, held the bottle aloft to Annie. Annie shook her head. �But what can you actually do? Supposing he didn�t do it, and you know what? I think he probably did. Once the Bill think they�ve got the right man, do you really think you�re going to change their minds?�

Annie stared at the table, thinking hard with shock and disgust. How could Dolly believe Chris had done the deed? But she was right, up to a point. Convincing the police�particularly that cynical bastard Hunter�of Chris�s innocence would be an impossible task. She knew it. But didn�t they at least have to try?

�The Bill must have informed Aretha�s Aunt Louella by now,� said Annie.

Dolly nodded grimly. She�d given them Louella�s full name and address, the poor cow. Louella was Aretha�s only relative in England so far as they knew. Aretha had been sent to her Aunt�s to stay, by her parents in Rhodesia. Louella was childless herself and poor�she was a cleaner at the local hospital�but Aretha�s parents, who scratched a meagre living in a squalid township, were destitute. They had no doubt sent their precious daughter to foreign shores with a heavy heart, but with the sincere hope that she could make a better life than the one they had.

And now look.

Annie remembered sitting right here with Aretha, and Aretha telling her the tale of how she became a brass. The London of the Swinging Sixties had seemed like paradise to the teenage Aretha, and she had joined in a life where everything seemed possible: a golden future, no more hunger, plenty of money, free love�the Pill was a miracle!�and fun.

Her happy pursuit of fun had soon convinced her that all the fun she was having with boyfriends could be turned into a good living. So she started to charge for fun. She had no qualms about that. Her impoverished background had taught her that you got money wherever you could, by whatever means you could�who gave a damn how?

Soon Aretha was coining it. Aunt Louella, who was a fierce Christian, found out about it and was furious. They argued, Aretha left and moved in with Annie�s aunt Celia, who ran a quiet and orderly establishment in Limehouse before Annie and then Dolly took over the reins. And the rest was history. Aretha had settled right in as the house�s resident dominatrix, its biggest earner.

But now look, just look.

Aretha lay in the morgue. Her husband was being held and probably being charged right now for her murder. It was an unholy mess.

Dolly looked sick about all this. �That poor woman�s got a world of grief to get through. They were still quite close, you know. Even though she disapproved of what Aretha did, she made a point of never losing touch with her. Maybe thought one day she�d bring her back into the fold. Very religious lady, Louella.�

Annie nodded. She knew that Louella lived on the Carter patch, her patch. Max would have paid a call, sent flowers, helped out the bereaved in any way he could. When you ran an area, when you owned an area, there was a certain etiquette to be observed, certain dues that always had to be paid. Even Redmond Delaney, who owned these Limehouse streets and the streets of Battersea, even he would understand that. And now that Annie was in charge of the Carter manor in Bow, she was determined to fulfil her obligations too.

�Give me her address, Doll. I�ll go and see her.�

�Yeah, okay,� said Dolly, and stood up and went to the drawer where she kept her books.

�And I want to know who Aretha was with last night. And where.�

Dolly�s expression was irritable.

�You�re like a dog with a fucking bone, Annie Carter,� she grumbled, coming back to the table with books, paper and pen. �I wish you�d drop it. I don�t like this. I don�t like it at all. You ought to leave it to the brief. That�s my advice.�

Ross, the young heavy on front of house, knocked at the kitchen door. He poked his head around it and looked disapprovingly at Annie.

�Tony says a guy just handed him this,� he said, holding out a scrap of paper.

Annie looked surprised and then suspicious. It was late. Who would want to contact her here, tonight? Who would even know she�d be here?

She stood up and took it. �Thanks, Ross.�

She sat back down at the table and spread out the piece of paper. Looked at it. Numbers.

�Jesus H. Christ in a sidecar,� she murmured.

�What is it?� asked Dolly, craning forward.

Annie sat back, shaking her head, her mouth twisted in a bitter smile.

Dolly looked at her. �Come on! What is it?� She peered interestedly at the note. �Numbers? Haven�t you had some of these before? There was a name for them, I remember. Pizza somethings.�

�Pizzino,� said Annie.

�That�s the feller. Oh!� Dolly�s eyes widened. �It�s from that Mafia bloke. Barolli. Well, come the fuck on, what�s it say?�

�What�s it say?� Annie stared back at her in outrage. �Look, Doll, mind your bloody own will you? I can�t think about him now, how the fuck could I? Poor Aretha�s dead because of some psycho, and he thinks he can just waltz back into my life, after three months of nothing, with a note?�

�Well, when you put it like that��

�There�s no other way to put it, Doll.� Annie screwed up the note and lobbed it angrily into the sink. She took a calming breath and nodded to Dolly�s notebooks. �Right, Doll, let�s get back to business.� She stood up. �I�m going to phone Jerry, get him down the station to speak to Chris.�

Jerry Peters was Annie�s brief from way back: a tall, overweight man with a shock of fluffy ginger hair, a florid complexion and a brilliance in legal matters that belied his shambolic looks. �While I do that, dig out Aunt Louella�s address. And�yeah�everything you�ve got about Aretha�s last client, and where she met him.�

�Ah,� said Dolly awkwardly.

�What do you mean, �ah�?�

�Fact is,� said Dolly, her eyes downcast, �I don�t actually know who her last client was. A woman phoned in the booking, said room two-oh-six at the Vista in Park Lane and the time, asked for Aretha, and the client paid Aretha, so�� Her voice tailed off.

�You didn�t know this woman? You didn�t even take a name?�

Dolly looked up, her expression unhappy. �Sorry,� she said, �no.�

�Shit,� said Annie.

Mira Cooper would forever remember the first time she set eyes on Redmond Delaney. She�d been sitting in the luxuriously ornate dining room at Cliveden with Sir William Farquharson, married ex-member of the House, when they�d shown Redmond and his party to a nearby table.

He was just the most exquisite man she�d ever seen: tall and lithe, with red hair, lime-green eyes, smooth skin and an air of command about him. He was with a group of five others, and a darkhaired stunner was paying him a lot of attention. Redmond�s attention, much to the brunette�s visible annoyance, was fixed upon Mira, whose beautiful blonde looks had always been her fortune.

Chatting to William as they ate, her eyes were constantly drawn back to Redmond�and she couldn�t help but compare the two. William was short, pot-bellied, balding and plain. Redmond Delaney, however, was a god.

Annie was in church. She never went to church except for the usual stuff�funerals, christenings and weddings. Apart from those, she normally wouldn�t have been seen dead in such a place. She hadn�t been raised that way.

Her mum, Connie Bailey, had never even sent her or her sister Ruthie to Sunday school. Other kids had attended, collected those neat little stamps with pictures of Jesus to stick in books and get a gold star, got those little raffia crosses from the vicar on Palm Sunday. Annie and Ruthie had spent Sundays wondering whether this was going to be the day when their mother finally up and died on them. Choked on vomit, drank herself into oblivion, take your pick. Their mother had been a drunk, and Dad was nothing but a faint memory.

So, no church. No giving thanks to the Lord, because excuse me but what had there ever been to give thanks for, really? Annie and Max had been married in a no-fuss, no-frills ceremony in Majorca, and Layla had been christened there too. The Church of England, into which Annie had been born, was foreign to her.

But now here she was.

In church.

And a choir was lifting the roof off, singing �Praise the Lord, hallelujah!� Twenty purple-clad black women were standing in front of the high altar, shafts of multicoloured sunlight illuminating them through the stained-glass window. They were moving rapturously to the beat. A dumpy, pop-eyed little man was at the organ, flapping one arm at the choir and mouthing along, obviously doubling up as choirmaster. The vicar was standing silently beside the lectern, listening and watching. The organ was belting out the backbeat, the beaming women giving it their all, the very rafters of the beautiful old building were vibrating with the power of the combined sound.

Annie sat in a pew and listened, feeling all the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Yeah, it was magic.

She�d called first at Louella�s address, expecting that a whole bunch of family would be gathered around to support her. But a neighbour told her that Louella had gone to church. Said Louella always went to church this time every week for choir practice. So Tony had driven Annie over, and now here she was, listening to the choir pounding and clapping and swaying and singing to the rafters and wondering what good she could possibly do here. But she had to be here, had to say how sorry she was, had to ask if there was anything she could do to help, if only for Aretha�s sake. She didn�t even know what Aretha�s aunt looked like�but, as it happened, that proved no problem, because there, on the left-hand side of the group, bellowing out the words of praise and swaying in time to the beat, grinning and clapping with all the rest, was a woman whose eyes were full of tragedy and whose cheeks were wet with tears.

It had to be Louella, singing and sobbing at the same time.

Annie gulped as it hit her again. Aretha was gone. Had Aretha ever come here, with her Aunt Louella? Had she ever sat right here and listened to the choir? Before Aretha and Louella had fallen out over Aretha�s career choices, had they come here together to worship?

Annie didn�t know. There was so little that she really knew about Aretha Brown. All she did know was that she�d been a friend. All she knew beyond that was that she couldn�t let Chris get stitched up for something he didn�t�couldn�t�do.

The choir roared out one last, bell-like note, and it echoed all around the great vaulted ceiling before finally fading away. Their organist clapped madly. The vicar clapped politely too. Annie stood up and joined in. The choir started to disperse. Annie walked up the aisle. Some of the women were patting Louella�s shoulder, murmuring to her. The vicar came forward and talked quietly to her. Annie waited until he moved away, then she stepped up and said: �Louella?�

The woman looked at her blankly. Her eyes were swollen with all the tears she�d shed.

�Louella, I�m a friend of Aretha�s. I�m Annie.�

Louella�s face closed down. She looked at Annie with suspicion.

�You one of them Delaneys?� she asked.

Annie shook her head.

�Only she was workin� at a Delaney place,� said Louella.

�I know.�

�And you ain�t one of them? You ain�t one of them that preyed upon my little girl?�

My little girl.

But Aretha wasn�t Aunt Louella�s little girl: she was someone else�s. Someone thousands of miles away, toiling under the baking Rhodesian sun, had lost a daughter. The Africans had extended families; they shared their children, their grandparents, their joys and their losses. The English did not.

�I�m not a Delaney, Louella. I�m Annie Carter.�

Louella looked no happier. She rubbed a hand over her face, drying her tears.

�She spoke about you,� she said.

�Did she?� asked Annie.

�Yeah, she said you was tight together. But you was involved with that place she worked, I know that. You and that Dolly woman, and there was a boy too who worked there��

�Darren,� said Annie, swallowing hard. Darren was gone, and she still missed him.

�He was homosexual, that�s against the word of the Lord,� said Aunt Louella huffily.

�He couldn�t help what he was,� said Annie.

Louella looked at her. She shrugged. �Maybe. Anyway, the Lord says hate the sin, but love the sinner.�

�Can we sit for a moment? Have a talk?�

�They told you she�s gone, my baby?� asked Louella, tears spilling over again.

Annie nodded sadly. She indicated one of the front pews. Louella heaved a sigh and sat down. Annie sat beside her.

�I�m so sorry,� she said.

�Oh, I sorry too,� said Louella, choking on a sob. �I�m sorrier than I can say. The police, they come to me and they tol� me what happened, they tol� me they got the one who did it. I said to her so many times, don�t do that stuff, why you got to do that when you could get a nice job, be a good girl like I promised your mama you would be. How could I tell her that her little one was doin� things like that when she sent her here to me, put her in my care, expected her to get a good life for herself?�

They tol� me they got the one who did it. Annie�s guts churned and her mind rebelled. They had Chris; they were convinced he was the murderer. Annie was equally convinced he wasn�t.

So prove it, she thought. She had to, or Chris was fucked.

Louella was looking at her. �Yeah, she spoke about you,� she said again. �You�re one of the bad people, the people my baby should never have got herself involved with. I know about the big gangs, the things they do. I know. You were with Max Carter.�

Annie took a breath. �I�m in charge now,� she said.

�Yeah, you�re bad people. I know that,� said Louella.

�I�m not a bad person, Louella. I was a good friend to Aretha. She was an even better one to me.�

�Yeah, you say.�

�Hate the sin, not the sinner?�

Louella looked at her sceptically.

�That�s neat, turnin� my own words back on me,� she said.

�We both loved her. That�s what matters. We both want to see who did this brought to justice.�

�They got him, her husband, he done it.�

�Did you know Chris?� Because if you did, you�d know this is all bullshit.

Louella shook her head. �No, but I seen him at their wedding. He sure was frightening to look at.�

Being frightening to look at was going to prove a problem for Chris, and Annie knew it.

�I was at the wedding, of course,� Aunt Louella went on. �Even though I was angry with her for what she did to make a livin�. We�re talkin� family. She was my baby. But we sort of drifted away from each other. I wanted her to change her ways; she wouldn�t. It made things�hard.�

Annie was silent. It was cool in the church, peaceful. Outside, traffic roared, people fought their corner in the heat and glare of the City. In here was tranquillity. Annie watched the vicar moving about at the altar, repositioning a highly polished candlestick, brushing a fleck of dust from the altar cloth. The dumpy little pop-eyed organist was gathering up his sheet music, fussily arranging the papers in order.

�Do you need help? With the arrangements?� she asked Louella.

Louella shook her head. She sighed.

�They won�t release her body yet,� she said. �I asked them. I said I wanted to lay my baby to rest, but they won�t do it, not yet.�

�When they do, I can help.�

Louella shot her a scornful look.

�You think I�d bury my baby with gang money?�

Annie looked at her steadily. Louella�s eyes dropped away.

�It�s what we�re here for,� said Annie. �To help our own.�

Louella shook her head. �I don�t want nothing to do with any of that.�

�Well, think it over.� Annie stood up. �Funerals are expensive. I know you can�t earn much��

�Whatever I earn, I earn by honest toil,� said Louella sharply. �I�ll manage. Thank you.�

Annie nodded. The vicar had gone into the vestry; the organist was gone too. The church was empty, but for Annie and Aunt Louella. Their voices echoed when they spoke.

�My door�s always open,� said Annie. �If you should change your mind��

�I won�t.� Louella�s face was closed off and truculent as she stood up too. �Goodbye, Mrs Carter.�

Annie sighed. She looked up at the altar, and then above to the glorious stained-glass windows. She stared at them and wondered where God had been when Aretha was fighting to stay alive.

Tony drove her up West to the hotel where Aretha had met her last client. She was sure she was wasting her time, but if there was anything, anything, she could turn up by poking around, then she knew she had to try.

�You want me to come in with you, Boss?� asked Tony as they pulled up outside.

�No, Tone. I won�t be long,� she said, and jumped out of the back and trotted up the steps to the plush hotel. The doorman, resplendent in purple with gold braiding, tipped his hat to her.

�Good morning, Madam,� he said.

She nodded and pushed through the swing doors. She looked around as she crossed to the reception desk. It was some place. There was a lot of pink marble, a fountain in the centre of the lobby, big, cream, velvet-covered buttoned chairs and reading lights on console tables. She could see a guest lounge through an open set of double doors to one side, two lifts on the other, beside a huge, gold-painted sweeping staircase.

At the reception desk, a purple-suited and smiling blonde whose name-badge said �Claire� asked if she could help.

�I hope you can,� said Annie. �Two nights ago a friend of mine died not far from here. This was the last place she was seen alive. With a guest of yours.�

The smile vanished.

�I�m not sure I can help you with that,� she said.

�I�m not sure you can either,� said Annie. �That�s why I need to speak to the concierge who was on duty that night.�

The phone started ringing. The girl turned to it with obvious relief. �If you�ll excuse me�?� she said.

�Sure,� said Annie, and waited while the girl took a booking for the following weekend.

Claire replaced the receiver and turned back to Annie.

�As I said, I�m not sure we can help��

And then the phone rang again, and Claire gave Annie an �oh, sorry� smile as she picked it up. She took another booking. Annie waited.

�So sorry about that,� said Claire, and then the phone rang again. She picked up. Then her professional smile died on her lips as Annie snatched the phone from her hand and replaced it on the base, cutting the call dead. Annie leaned over and pulled the phone jack out of its socket. Claire�s mouth dropped open. Annie gave her a tight smile.

�The fact is,� Annie said, pausing to glance at the girl�s badge, �Claire. The fact is that my friend is dead and I�m upset, so bear with me here and don�t even think about plugging that phone back in unless you want to be wearing it as a necklace, you got me? I need to speak to your concierge, preferably this year and not next. Preferably within the next five minutes. Preferably now. So call him up or have someone fetch him or whatever it is you have to do, and stop it with the fucking phone, please, because this is very, very important, do you understand?�

Claire nodded slowly. She�d gone pale.

�That�s good,� Annie congratulated her. �That�s very good, I can see we have an understanding here, Claire. Now, what�s his name, this concierge who would have been on duty two nights ago, at gone midnight?�

Claire fiddled about with some papers on the big curving desk. She found a list, and checked down it. She looked up at Annie.

�That would be Ray Thompson,� she said. �He�s on twelve to eight all this week. He�s not here right now.�

�He�ll be here at twelve tonight?� asked Annie.

Claire nodded, swallowing, her eyes wary.

�Then I�ll be back to see him then. If he don�t come in for any reason, you call me, okay? I don�t want a wasted journey�that would upset me, do you understand what I�m saying?� Annie took a notepad and pencil out of her pocket and jotted down her name and the Palermo�s number. She handed it to Claire. �My name�s Annie Carter, I�ve put it down right here so that you know. Reach me on this number, okay?�

Claire nodded.

�I�ll be back at twelve if I don�t hear from you first. Oh, and can you tell me who was in room two-oh-six two nights ago?�

�I shouldn�t�� Claire started.

Then she looked at Annie�s face. She gulped and flicked back a page or two in the guest book, scanned down it. �A Mr Smith.�

Not exactly original, thought Annie.

Dolly had told her that a woman had made the initial booking and that there was no contact number because Rosie�being Rosie�had taken the call, and hadn�t asked for one. Aretha had to meet a man named Mr Smith in room 206 at nine, that was all.

�Were you on duty that night?� asked Annie.

Claire shook her head.

�Write down the name of whoever was on duty,� said Annie.

Claire wrote down a name and handed the headed compliment slip to Annie.

�Thanks for that,� said Annie, pocketing it. �And is this person going to be back on duty tonight?�

Claire nodded. �I think so.�

�That�s good, I�ll see him too. Have you heard anything about what happened?� she asked. �Anything that might interest, for instance, the police�maybe help them with their inquiries?�

�I don�t know anything about it,� said Claire, shaking her head nervously. �I just saw the police out there when I came in next morning, and people were talking about it. They said it was the third murder in as many months. I�m just really glad I don�t do nights.�

�Okay. If I don�t hear from you first, I�ll be back at twelve to see Ray and the receptionist.�

Claire nodded. �That�s Gareth�Gareth Fuller,� she said.

�Gareth Fuller. Thanks Claire.�

Annie turned away from the desk and started to walk back across the reception area to the door. It spooked her, that feeling that she was walking in Aretha�s footsteps, tracing the path the dead woman had taken on her last night on earth.

For a heart-stopping moment she felt she could almost see Aretha up ahead, swinging through the doors into the night, her feather boa trailing behind her, the smell of that horrible hairy Afghan coat she always wore clinging to the air, mixed with the attar of rose scent she favoured, dreads bouncing as she went, flashing a broad grin back at Annie.

Bye girlfriend, catch ya later.

And then the vision was gone, and it was daylight, and Aretha was dead.

It was too late now to bring her back. But not too late to find out who had taken her from them.

There were voices coming from the lounge, male voices, people moving on the edge of her vision. She�d paused there in the middle of reception, but now she moved again, heading for the door just like Aretha had done two nights ago. And then one of the men emerging from the guest lounge called out her name, and she turned and to her shock saw Redmond Delaney standing there�with Constantine Barolli.

Redmond Delaney bought Mira diamonds. She loved diamonds. He bought her furs. She loved those too, but she loved him more.

�This is just between us,� he said to her, meaning their love, their lust, whatever the hell it was that drew them together.

Mira nodded her acceptance, but deep down she felt uneasy and hurt. She knew he had parents in Ireland, but there was never any chance that she would meet them. He had a sister too�his twin, Orla. She had met Orla once; they�d been having lunch at a restaurant, and Orla had come in. Reluctantly, Redmond had introduced her to Mira. Orla had looked at Mira like she was contaminated.

So she had become his dirty little secret, one he kept well away from his family. She understood that, even though it pained her. She knew she wasn�t fit for polite society, fit for any society really. Sometimes she even shocked herself. That blackness in her heart sometimes made itself felt in dark moods, wild behaviour. She knew her own weaknesses. She knew that what had been done to her in her childhood had warped her somehow. There were lines that most other people, most normal people, would never cross. But she crossed them every day, with every breath she took, and only occasionally would she think: Jesus, did I really do that?

Not long after their affair began, Redmond bought her a flat in Battersea, close to his family�s breaker�s yard. Not Mayfair�which was what she was used to�but a nice flat in a decent area, a large and sunlit flat which she�d decorated in the latest styles at his considerable expense.

She was happy. William was a distant memory. The brothel she had worked in, the brothel where she met William, had been closed down long ago by the police�so that was all over. But then he already knew that. He made it his business to know things, particularly about Annie Carter and the mob of thugs she controlled.

�I�m all yours, darling,� she said, flinging herself into his arms one sunny Sunday afternoon in the sitting room of the new flat.

He�d told her how much he loved her voice, so mellow, so Home Counties. By now Mira knew that he adored the upper classes in general, and they got a kick out of mixing with him, because he was a bad boy and everyone knew it. A bad boy, but a rich boy too�a boy with clout; so the London glitterati flocked around him. From humble beginnings, he had climbed the greasy pole and now he was at the top, with a high-class mistress in tow. She adored him. He adored her. It was love.

�I was all yours from the minute I first saw you,� she said against his cheek.

�Oh?� Redmond buried his head in her fragrant neck. She wore Shalimar. He loved that too: it was a classic like her, he�d told her.

�In the dining room at Cliveden.�

�You noticed me too?�

�I couldn�t keep my eyes off you. But I had to. Because of William.�

�He�s the past,� he said, pulling her in tighter so that she could feel his erection. �We�re all that matters now.�

They had christened the new bed in the new flat, and it had been dusk before they were sated, lying together in the warm afterglow.

�I�m so happy,� she murmured against his chest.

He was happy too. She was beautiful, polished, exotic�of course he was happy.

�Tell me about yourself,� he�d said. �I want to know everything.�

He settled down for an erotic treat, and was not disappointed. She reeled out the background he had already imagined her to have. Old family money, pony clubs, private schools, a year at Egglestone being �finished� followed by lavish country-house balls and wild, carefree summer parties at Henley. And then, of course, should have come marriage, babies�

Suddenly she fell silent.

Redmond looked at her face. She was crying, silent tears slipping down on to the pillow.

�Hey�� he murmured, and held her tighter.

Faltering, she went on talking.

There had been a pregnancy. Her parents had been ashamed. They had demanded to know who was the father of her child, but she hadn�t told them, she couldn�t tell them that her father�s brother, the beloved uncle who had dandled her on his knee as a child, had impregnated her.

�What happened then?� he asked her, wiping away her tears.

�They sent me away to my cousin�s for the abortion,� Mira told him, choking to get the words out through her tears.

�Shh,� he said, rocking her.

�And after that,� she said when she could speak again, �I never went home again. Never saw my parents again. Couldn�t stand to see the disappointment in their eyes when they looked at me.�

She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. He stroked her back, feeling oddly relieved. She was like him after all. She too had gone to forbidden places, and lived to tell the tale.

�You could tell them the truth. It wasn�t your fault. It�s not too late,� he said.

She shook her head vehemently.

�Yes it is. My father loves his brother better than anyone in the world, including me. He didn�t believe me then and he wouldn�t believe me now. Neither would my mother. It�s too late. It�s over.�

�I�m sorry,� he said, understanding completely, utterly. �So after that you became�?�

She shot a glance back at him. A tight smile.

�A whore?� With a heavy sigh she threw herself back on to the pillows. �It wasn�t that difficult a transition. Men flocked around me, wined and dined me, bought me jewels. Men always have. My family was dead to me, I had to make my own way and what was I good for? I�d never had any training. Anything beyond arranging a few flowers and making a perfect Sacher torte was beyond me. Stupid, yes? What a way to raise a girl to face the world.�

He said nothing.

�These men coveted me, wanted to pay for my company on holidays in the Bahamas and dinners at the best restaurants, in exchange for sexual favours. So I drifted into that life. And you know what�s strange? I never felt anything for any of them, never felt a thing, until I met you.�

He nodded, pulled her in close against him. He knew that she had instinctively recognized that taint in his soul, the same taint that was in her. That was what had drawn them so swiftly together. It would never leave either of them.

�My poor darling,� he said against her hair, and pushed her hand down to his cock again, because the tale of what her uncle had done to her had aroused him.

Kath, Annie�s cousin, was up in the flat with her three-year-old son, Jimmy Junior, her baby Mo�and Layla. Layla saw Annie coming up the stairs and threw herself at her mother�s legs. She clung on like a small, dark-haired limpet.

Annie scooped Layla up into her arms and smiled into her daughter�s face, although she felt annoyed with Kath because the door had been open, the stairs were a danger, the workmen had been down there with masonry and shit flying in all directions; the kids could get hurt here.

�You didn�t have to come over, I�d have come to you,� she said to Kath, who was cuddling her grizzling baby against her vast bosom.

�Ah, they were getting bored and Layla kept asking for you and I needed some stuff from the shop, so I thought, why not?� said Kath.

�How�s she been?� asked Annie.

Kath shrugged her plump shoulders. �A pain in the arse,� she said, but her grin said otherwise.

Annie kissed Layla�s silky dark hair�so like her own�and inhaled the sweet scent of her daughter.

�You been a good girl for your Auntie Kath?� she asked Layla.

�Yeah!� said Layla.

�Is that the truth?�

�Yeah!�

�What about you, little Jim?� asked Annie of Kath�s little boy, who was at the table, his sandy head bent over his paper and crayons. �Been good?�

Jimmy gave her a tired smile and rubbed his eyes.

�He�s ready for his nap,� said Kath. �They�re all getting overtired.�

�Can Layla stay with you tonight, Kath? I�ve got to go out late on business.�

�Sure,� said Kath with a sigh.

She didn�t ask what business. After years of being married to Jimmy Bond, who had once been Max Carter�s number one man, she knew better. But Jimmy Bond was history now, and Kath didn�t seem sorry. In fact, there was a new spring in her step. Jimmy had knocked seven kinds of shit out of her, and she didn�t have to put up with that any more. She was still a train wreck, though; still messy, still untidy.

Annie noticed that Layla had started to cling on tighter to her. She drew back and smiled into the little girl�s eyes�eyes that were the same colour as her own: a dark, dense green. �I�ll collect you after breakfast tomorrow, okay? That�s a promise.�

�You promise, Mummy?�

�On my life,� said Annie, hating the anxiety in Layla�s eyes. �Uncle Tony�s going to drive you over to Auntie Kath�s with her right now, okay?�

This seemed to reassure Layla, and she nodded and allowed herself to be ushered out the door along with little Jim, baby Mo and a mountain of childcare products and colouring books, plus her overnight pyjamas and Bluey, her new fluffy toy bunny.

At last they were gone. Annie sat in the flat and turned on the TV to catch the news. The Manson trial was still going on in the States, the army had used rubber bullets for the first time in Belfast, and a plane had crashed in Peru, killing all ninetynine people on board. Her attention sharpened as the guy started saying that another escort girl had been found dead, this time in London�s West End, and that the girl�s husband was now helping police with their enquires into this and two earlier killings.

So they still hadn�t formally charged Chris yet. Maybe Jerry Peters had convinced them of Chris�s innocence, and maybe not. They might not have charged him, but neither had they released him. It was too soon to open the bubbly and start dancing on the frigging tables, that was for sure.

Next morning at eight there was a knock at the Palermo�s main door. Annie was up and dressed. She went down the stairs and opened up. The club was quiet for once, peaceful. Too early for the builders.

The bald, portly man standing there peered at her with watery blue eyes, squinting past a curl of cigarette smoke. He threw the stub on the pavement and ground it out with his heel.

�Detective Sergeant Lane,� said Annie, looking up and down the street. There was nobody about, but still�

�We�ve charged him,� said Lane.

Shit, thought Annie.

�Can I have a few words?� he asked.

�Sure,� said Annie, and ushered him in, up the stairs, into the flat. She closed the door, indicated that he should take a seat. He did. He looked an utter bloody mess, corpulent and red in the face, his stubby fingers stained with nicotine, his white nylon shirt yellowish and sweat-stained and straining over his belly. He didn�t smell exactly fresh. Annie sat as far away as she could get and thought about Chris, charged now. Poor bastard.

�I thought the rule was that we were never seen together,� she said irritably.

He shrugged. �You�re helping the police with their inquiries,� he said.

�Fair enough. What�s the new DI like?�

�Like a bear with a sore arse. Just got divorced and transferred in and now I�m stuck with the picky bastard. I�m telling you, that sod�s suspicious by nature.�

�But he�s got no reason to be suspicious of you, has he?�

�None at all. I�m squeaky clean.�

Which was ironic, since DS Lane always smelled like he hadn�t bathed in a month. If we have to have bent coppers on the firm, can�t we at least have clean ones? she thought. But the boys had assured her that Lane was a very useful contact. She�d have to open a window the minute he�d gone. Either that or fumigate the fucking place.

�What have you got?� she asked.

�She was at the Vista Hotel visiting a Mr Smith in room two-oh-six,� said Lane.

�I know that.�

�But it fits the MO of the other two that got done.�

�Not the same hotel?�

�No, different hotels every time. This is the poshest one yet; our boy�s stepped up a notch on the social ladder. The other two got done outside three-star places in the East End. But same meat, different gravy. Prostitutes calling and getting killed for their trouble. Same pattern, same method. You really think Chris Brown didn�t do these?�

Annie swallowed a sharp stab of revulsion at his casual tone, his relaxed manner. He didn�t care that Aretha was dead. Or the other two. He didn�t care that Chris was innocent. He just had a curiosity about the case, an interest in the puzzle it represented. And he thought they�d already solved it.

�Did you find any trace of him on the other women? Any reason to believe he did those two as well as Aretha?� asked Annie coolly.

�No. None.�

�But he�s been charged for doing Aretha.�

�Yeah. Look, I got to admire your loyalty, but let�s face it, the man�s going down.�

�The wire could get lost,� said Annie.

�What?�

�The cheese wire. Could go missing.� Annie was staring at him.

�And what difference would that make? There�re still the cuts on his hands, there�s still his blood on the vic. Hunter�s on it and trust me he won�t let it go. You could lose the fucking suspect on this one, and everyone would still be one hundred per cent convinced that Chris Brown did it.�

�He couldn�t kill Aretha,� said Annie.

�No?� Lane gave an unpleasant smile. �If my old lady was out tomming�hell, even I could do it. Think you�ll find men don�t like that sort of thing.�

�He knew Aretha was on the game before he married her.�

�Yeah? I find that hard to believe.�

�It�s true.�

�Then he�s a tolerant bloke and my hat is off to him, it really is. I�m just saying, most men would consider offing the old woman if she was out porkswording the whole neighbourhood. Ew, think of the stuff you could catch off it. And it was fucking with knobs on, let�s not forget. When I saw the stuff in that bag of hers, I damn near blushed.�

�He didn�t do it,� said Annie. �I want you working hard on this, finding out who did. I want to know about these other two girls. I need to see copies of the case files.�

He screwed up his face. �Tricky.�

�I don�t care how fucking tricky it is, you do it.� If there was any sort of link between the two other girls and Aretha, then maybe some sense could be made out of all this. Maybe they could find not only Aretha�s killer but their killer too. Find the bastard who�d killed them, nail him good. Or her. Best not forget that. A woman could have done this too. By doing all that, maybe she could get Chris out of the frame.

�Look, I�ll give it my best.� Lane stood up.

�Do that,� said Annie, standing up too. Christ, she was going to have to air this place with a vengeance. �You�ll be well rewarded.�

�That�s always nice to hear,� he smirked, showing yellow tombstone teeth.

�So you don�t rate the new DI?� she asked.

�Hunter?� He shrugged. �He�s a pain in the arse, the miserable bastard, but he�s a good cop. And there ain�t many of them about, as you know.� He gave her a lopsided smile.

God, he was repulsive. On balance Annie preferred hard-eyed and tight-lipped DI Hunter to this rancid tub of lard. The immaculate and sourfaced Hunter might look at her as if she was lowlife, but at least he was straightforward in his intentions and she felt he simply couldn�t be bought. You had to admire that. If you cut DI Hunter open, the words HONEST COP would run right through him like BLACKPOOL runs through a stick of rock. Slice DS Lane open and all you�d find would be the stench of corruption.

�Hey,� she said sharply. �Don�t take this lightly. And don�t let me down.�

The smirk vanished. �I said I�ll do my utmost. But I can�t part the fucking Red Sea or nothing. My name ain�t Moses.�

Annie stared at him. Then she crossed the room and opened the door. Tony was standing silently outside it, at the top of the stairs, waiting to usher the copper out. Neither of them had heard him come up. Tony could move like a ghost, and he could move fast too, for a big man. Lane looked at Tony�s huge bulk and swallowed hard.

�Do your best, okay?� Annie reminded him. �Let me down and you�ll be sorry.�

Annie was sitting with her head in her hands at Dolly�s kitchen table. She still felt as though she was going to throw up. It was nearly lunchtime of the same day, the day on which she and Hunter had discovered that Gareth wouldn�t be providing any evidence this side of eternity.

Dolly was busy ferrying covered plates of sausage rolls, tuna vol-au-vents and sandwiches through from the kitchen to the front parlour, in readiness for the rush. This only ever used to happen on Fridays�party day�but now it was something she tended to do most days of the week. Along with the bar, it kept the punters happy and kept them coming back for more. Plus, it added a bit to the takings. Everyone was a winner. All except Annie, who took one look at the tuna vol-au-vents and had to take a hasty trip to the loo.

Mungo Jerry was belting out �In the Summertime� from the little trannie over the sink. Dolly was hurrying about the place, absorbed in her various tasks. Annie sat down again, flinching at the smell of warm sausage rolls. She envied Dolly that facility, to be content in your own four walls and to shut out the chaos. She had seen Dolly perform this act of denial before; it seemed to come naturally to her.

Lucky cow, thought Annie, wishing she could do the same.

Annie knew that this capacity for turning a blind eye to trouble came from Dolly having been kicked out of the family home in disgrace and left to suffer alone through a really bad backstreet abortion. Under circumstances like that, you�d have to build stout barricades in your brain to stop yourself from going mad, and this was obviously exactly what Dolly had done.

Ellie was mopping the floor and giving Dolly dirty looks because she�d just done that bit, for Chrissakes, and here was Dolly trotting around on her clean floor like a ruddy racehorse.

�Someone certainly got out of bed the wrong side this morning,� observed Dolly as Ellie irritably redid her work on the floor.

Annie looked up at Ellie. Ellie had been at Dolly�s place a long time, since before it had been Dolly�s place at all. She�d been there when it had been Annie�s, and there before that, when Aunt Celia had been running the show. It was no secret among them that the knocking-shop paid protection to the Delaneys, because the Delaneys ran Limehouse. It was no secret either that Ellie was the Delaney insider, which had caused them all a problem or two over the years, but Ellie had come to know which side she was batting for.

Annie knew Ellie was loyal to the house now before all else. She�d been on the game for years, the chubby-chasers had loved her ample curves, but she had not long since started displaying all the worrying signs of someone who couldn�t hack fucking for a living after all. Scrubbing herself, trying to get the scent of sex off her. So now she cleaned houses. She cleaned here, and she cleaned at Kath�s place. Made a really good job of it too. Liked to see a place all spick and span.

�Jesus, you look just about ready to hurl,� said Dolly to Annie as she passed by. She stopped and stared at Ellie too. �And you. What a face on you. You miserable mares.�

�Doll, I have hurled,� said Annie. �And if you�d seen what I�ve seen this morning, so would you.�

Rosie, one of Dolly�s new working girls, wandered into the kitchen in a transparent powder-blue peignoir and fluffy slippers. She was a small, pretty blonde with dynamite curves and a relaxed attitude. Yawning, she filled the kettle and switched it on, jigging sleepily away to the beat. She sent Annie a vague smile.

�Oh for fuck�s sake,� said Ellie loudly, slapping the mop back into the bucket. Rosie stifled another smile.

Annie could understand Ellie�s bad mood. Ellie had carried a torch for Chris for years. To see him banged up and about to be sent down for a long stretch was upsetting her badly. And now Annie had to tell her even more bad news.

�They�ve charged him,� she told her bluntly.

�Oh no.� Ellie looked devastated.

�Sorry, Ellie, I really am.�

Dolly came hurrying down the hall and into the kitchen to butter more bread on the worktop.

�Rosie, for fuck�s sake will you get tidied up?� said Dolly.

�I am tidied up,� protested Rosie. �All I want�s a cup of tea, for God�s sake.�

�Well take it up to your room; we�re up to our arses down here. Poor Ellie�s trying to get the floor done. Stop winding her up.�

Grumbling good-naturedly, Rosie made her mug of tea and departed.

Dolly paused. Her face clouded as she looked at Annie. �Did I hear you right? They�ve charged him?�

Annie nodded and glanced at Ellie, seeing the pain on her plump, pretty face. She�d scraped her long dark hair back into a ponytail and she was wearing a pale blue overall that gave the effect of an overstuffed sausage. She looked hot, irritable, and above all, worried. But then she would be. She�d always adored Chris.

�Oh no, it looks bloody marvellous,� said Annie tiredly, ticking off facts on her fingers. �His wife�s dead. And if that ain�t bad enough, his blood�s on her body and on the murder weapon. Our only possible lead�s her last client, who nobody knows a damned thing about except that he�s calling himself �Smith�, and the only person who might have actually noticed this Smith bloke has decided to top himself. Or at least, that�s the story.�

�What do you mean, that�s the story? It was suicide.�

�It looked like suicide. There was a chair kicked over, and the flex was tied up just right�poor bastard. The cop in charge told me that he�d heard things in the hotel about the boy. That he was a loser. Always stoned out of his head on pot. Couldn�t hold down a job for ten minutes before he started screwing up.�

�Well then,� said Dolly.

�Yeah, but ain�t that bloody convenient? We�re all after this �Smith� person like longdogs�and there�s no saying he�s the one who did this to Aretha anyway. In fact anyone could have rushed up behind her in the street and done this; any sly bastard with a length of wire in his�or her�pocket.�

�Fuck me, you think a woman could have done this?� demanded Dolly. She was looking at Annie in exasperation. �You�re crazy.�

�Who the hell knows? But still, we�re after Smith,� she went on. �It�s all we�ve got. And our only link to him or her has just killed himself.�

�Wait up,� Dolly objected. �How�d this person who killed him�supposing that�s what happened�get into the flat?�

Annie shrugged. �Easy. Knock on the door, he opens it, they barge in, shut the door behind them, exit through the same door, no problems at all. No need to break in.�

�What about the doormen at the hotel?� asked Dolly.

Annie shook her head. �I had Jackie Tulliver talk to the doormen. They�ve got no recollection of the man, none at all.�

Jackie was an ugly, cigar-smoking little goblin who had been with the Carter firm forever. If Jackie said there was nothing, then there was nothing. End of.

�So that�s that then,� said Dolly firmly. �Now, will you just let it go, for the love of God? Chris did the deed. It�s bloody sad, but he did. I suppose she goaded him about how little he earned, she went back on the game, they argued�and he just snapped. So just let it go.�

There was a loud silence from Annie and Ellie.

�Oh come on,� protested Dolly.

They both ignored her.

�What will you do now?� asked Ellie, sitting down at the table across from Annie.

�No idea.� Annie stared at the table. Her brief Jerry Peters had phoned her early this morning saying that it looked very bad for Chris.

�I fear for your friend, Annie,� he had said gravely. �I really do.�

So do I, thought Annie.

�This must have hit Aretha�s Aunt Louella like a sack of shit,� said Ellie. She looked at Annie. �I hope the firm�s going to take care of her.�

Dolly looked up. �That�s the first sensible thing either of you has said.�

�Yeah, but she don�t want our help, Doll,� said Annie.

�Look, make her take it. She can�t afford funerals and such: she�s poor but she�s proud. She�d probably like to accept an offer of help but it�s beneath her dignity.�

�I�ll try,� said Annie with a sigh, standing up.

�So what now?� asked Dolly. �You seen that Barolli bloke yet?�

Oh yeah, thought Annie. And instead of calling me, he�s been calling Redmond Delaney. The bastard.

�No,� she said. She really didn�t want to get started on all that.

�Well, you ought to catch up with him. Have some fun, forget all this business.� Dolly looked at her sharply. �You know what I�ve got to look forward to this afternoon? An assortment of fat naked arses and the frigging washing-up. Oh, and I�ve got to find a replacement dominatrix now that we�ve lost poor bloody Aretha. The silver fox, eh? Damn, that sure beats doing the dishes. Oh, and I forgot to say, your cousin Kath phoned. She was moaning about when were you coming over to get Layla, you said just overnight and she�s been there all morning. Kath says she don�t mind, but she�s got her hands full with her own two and you did promise Layla after breakfast at the latest, and Kath said where the fuck were you, in that charming way she has.�

Annie sighed again. Damn, it was true. She couldn�t keep dumping Layla on Kath like this while she addressed all sorts of business crap. She was going to have to sort out something more permanent, more settled, for Kath�s sake and for Layla�s. Within a few months she was going to have to think about schooling for Layla, too. But for now, she was going to sort out something else. Something she had already put off for too long.

They�d been so happy together, so very happy�two survivors clinging on to the wreckage of life; but to the outside world they were winners�a glossy, polished couple so wrapped up in each other, so much in love. Or so Mira had thought.

They were voracious in their appetites. Redmond had a taste for the high life and he also had a taste for excess, and she matched him in that. They ate at the finest places, mixed with TV stars and peers of the realm�and then there was the sex: they gorged themselves on stupendous sex.

And then suddenly one day she realized she was late. She was overjoyed. She knew he would be, too.

�What do you mean, late?� Redmond asked her when she told him, smiling happily.

�Late.� Mira threw her arms wide, let out a laugh. �As in, I could be pregnant.�

�Pregnant?� He stared at her. �But you�re on the Pill.�

�It�s not one hundred per cent reliable,� she said. �You know that.�

He did know it. She�d told him, but he�d said they�d chance it anyway. He hated to use condoms, he liked to be naked inside her: wearing a condom was like trying to scratch your toes with your boots on; he hated the things. He�d known this could happen. So why was he standing there, saying nothing, looking at her as if she was a stranger?

�It�doesn�t have to be a disaster though, does it?� Mira said hesitantly, the smile dying on her face.

Redmond ran a hand through his hair. He was still looking at her in that peculiar way, like he was wondering what the fuck she was talking about.

�I mean,� she went on hopefully, �we love each other. We could�have a family.�

He walked over to where she stood. Sunlight poured through the big picture window on to her golden, tousled hair. She was a vision of beauty. But�pregnant.

Redmond heaved a shaky sigh and ran a hand lightly down her cheek.

�Get rid of it,� he said. �I�ll pay.�

At the Palermo, the builders got back from lunch at their usual time of one, ready to start work after a brew and a glance at the day�s papers. They had left the place as a work in progress, had started whitewashing the cellar, stripping the old flock paper off the walls upstairs, knocked down the old plaster, repainted the ceiling, refurbished the bar, dumped all those tired old velvet drapes and soft furnishings. The job was coming along pretty well and they were pleased.

Now it wasn�t. And they weren�t.

�Fuck it,� said the foreman as he went down the cellar steps and found himself standing in several inches of icy wetness. One of the pipes on the wall by his head was spurting water out on to the floor. It was soaking down here; the water level was rising even as he watched; it was a mess and a half.

�What happened?� asked his mate, clattering down the stairs behind him and peering down.

�Damned pipe�s fucked,� said the foreman.

He looked at the pipe. It was old. These buildings were Victorian, beautifully built�he appreciated that because he was a craftsman, a master builder; he had an eye for a lovely old place like this, wished he could own such a place; no sodding chance.

An old lead pipe like that could easily weaken over many years and eventually spring a leak. A miracle it hadn�t happened before, really. He frowned at the pipe. Touched a finger to the edge where the breach was. His frown deepened.

�These old pipes, they can go at any time,� said Gordy, his mate. �Jeez, we�re going to have to get a pump down here now.�

�Yeah,� said the foreman, and made a mental note that he was going to speak to the Carter boys right now. He didn�t want to carry the can for this. This wasn�t his doing and he hoped it wasn�t his mate Gordy�s doing either. He�d known Gordy a lot of years and he didn�t think he was a fool. Not fool enough to start arsing about for a wedge of cash-in-hand, because the Carter firm were very strong on loyalty, and the lack of it would upset them. You didn�t want to upset the Carter boys, ever.

�You locked up behind us, didn�t you?� he asked Gordy. Gordy had been last out, after all. Tel had strolled ahead to the pub, leaving his old trusted working mate to lock the door. But had he locked the door? That was the question.

�Course I did. I always do, don�t I?�

And the lock hadn�t been breached. It had opened sweet as a nut when they�d come back from their pie and pint. Someone had a key, then�unless Gordy was lying through his yellow buck teeth. Either way, they were in the shit, and if this was Gordy�s doing, then he was going to beat the crap out of the stupid little git for landing him in it.

�This pipe ain�t worn,� he told Gordy, and he turned and grabbed Gordy by the front of his paint-stained boiler suit and shook him, hard. Gordy�s beery eyes were suddenly wild with alarm. He lost his footing, slipped down a step or two. Tel leaned over him, bigger and stronger than he was�his old mate, he�d always thought, his friend, but now he looked mad as a cut snake. �Did you do this, you silly bastard? Come on, own up.�

�I didn�t do nothing, Tel,� bleated Gordy, shocked at the change in his old pal and drinking mate. Fuck, what had got into the old fart? One minute he was normal, the next he�d gone berserk.

Tel shook him again. Gordy�s balding head clunked painfully against the cellar�s dank wall and he let out a holler of protest.

�What happened, did the other lot slip you the cash to cause trouble? That what happened?� demanded Tel furiously. �You stupid sod, you don�t arse around with people like this. We�re responsible. We left this place and now we�ve got trouble and it�s down to us.�

�I didn�t do nothing,� said Gordy breathlessly. �Honest, Tel. I locked the cunting door, I swear it. I didn�t do nothing.�

Tel looked into Gordy�s eyes. If he was lying, he was a good liar.

�I �spect the pipe just gave way, age and that,� said Gordy hopefully.

�It didn�t give way, you stupid fuck,� said Tel morosely. He looked at the water gushing out, shook his head. He released Gordy. No good taking it out on him, whatever had happened here. It was his responsibility, he was the foreman, his arse was going to be chewed off, not Gordy�s.

Tel looked morosely at Gordy. �This pipe�s been cut through,� he said. �And if you didn�t do it, then who the fuck did?�

�Somebody,� said Gary Tooley, �is taking the piss.�

That evening, Annie sat at the head of the table in the upstairs room in Queenie�s house. Queenie had been Max�s mother. She�d been dead some years now, but Max had never got around to selling the place, so the Carter mob still met there, just as they had always done. It was mostly empty, full of ghosts rather than furniture. Only a spare bed in the back room and the large table and chairs in this one remained.

Ghosts.

Annie listened to what Gary was saying, feeling like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Didn�t she have enough going on, without this? For instance, there was Chris banged up and Aretha dead. For instance, there was Kath who�d given her a verbal arse-kicking over her tardiness in collecting Layla. And Kath was right, absolutely right, but still the rebuke had stung her to the marrow. She�d left Layla now with Dolly and Ellie, left her in a fucking whorehouse, but what else could she do?

Was she a bad mother? Was she putting her business concerns, her friends, her own needs before Layla�s? And the thought of her needs led her mind straight to Constantine. She thought of her visit to see him, and his invite to lunch with the family. She�d wanted to refuse, but she�d accepted. Now she was having doubts. A lunch with him, fine. With his sons, though, and with Cara and maybe even snooty Gina too�total bloody nightmare.

She ought to be putting Layla first and she knew it. Layla had been traumatized enough by all that had happened to her: didn�t she owe it to her daughter to be there for her as much as she possibly could be? There for her, as Constantine was for his kids, ready to drop everything at a moment�s notice and pitch in to help?

But Annie had all this other shit to get through, things that she couldn�t delegate, things that were taking up so much of her time, and how could she help that? There was, for instance, this latest thing, which was all she fucking well needed.

All the boys were in. Steve Taylor on her left hand, Gary Tooley on her right. Jackie Tulliver down at the bottom of the table like a sulky elf, puffing on a large Cuban cigar. Deaf Derek was in. Tony was in. The gang was all here. All except Jonjo and Max.

Annie pushed all thoughts of that aside. Max and his brother Jonjo were gone. Now, she was in charge. Yeah, right, she thought.

Constantine was right, being a lady boss was hard. Because even when she felt like her head was coming off from all the stress, she had to hold it together, to be seen to be rock solid, or the boys would say, see, didn�t we say this would happen? You can�t expect a woman to be strong enough to run a firm, it just ain�t natural.

And what would they think if she cosied up to Constantine? She knew he was right about that too. The boys were loyal to the Carters, but mostly to Max�s memory, not to the living, breathing Carter in front of them�because she was female. If they got wind of a sexual liaison between her and Constantine, they�d take a dim view of it, of course they would. What would they say about her then? That she liked the old pork sword too much, that she was a slag, that there was no way they could take orders from a tart like that.

So she had to keep her secrets.

Hold it together. Dig deep and stand alone. As per fucking usual. And now, this thing.

�You say the pipe was cut?� she asked Steve.

He nodded. Steve was just five feet eight inches tall, and all muscle. He had a round, high-coloured face, hard mud-coloured eyes, dark hair and a permanent five-o�clock shadow. He could shave three times a day and still look like he could use another.

Steve had many talents, though. He could chop the air out of your lungs with a squeeze. He could clamp his fingers around your ankle and fell you in agony, like a cut oak. Get into a wrestling situation with him and he could get you in his infamous �grapevine�, wrapping his legs around yours with such force that he could snap your femurs like twigs. He was squat, powerful, and much feared on the manor. He was also fiercely loyal to the firm.

�Cut right through. Nothing to do with Tel, though, I�d stake my life on that,� Steve went on. �I asked him about it. Kicked his arse all around his kitchen. His old lady went wild, chucked a frying pan at me, grease and rashers and all sorts of shit all over the place, but Tel was sound. Apologized, said he�d get it repaired on him, give us a discount on the job even though it�s going to cost him more, you know, pumps and all that stuff�that�s dear shit we�re talking about.�

�What about the one who was supposed to have locked up?�

�Gordy? Not stupid enough to fuck us around. I had a word. He swore he locked the door, wouldn�t budge on the story. Think it�s the truth.�

�Then who got in? Who did it? The lock wasn�t breached,� said Annie.

�Ways and means to do that,� said Gary, pushing back his chair and stretching out his stick-thin legs. If Steve was squat, Gary was long, like a crane. Blond and pallid and skinny, with eyes as vicious as a shit-house rat�s. �Place is wide open. Builders in and out all day like they are.�

There was a silence. The club refurb was another bone of contention. It wasn�t going to be the Palermo Lounge any more, it was being renamed �Annie�s�. Nothing had been said, but she felt the boys were resistant to the change. They had resisted the dropping of the dodgy stuff and the expansion of the security business, too. They resisted, in fact, any fucking thing she cared to suggest and she was getting sick of it.

Security! What a laugh. They were in the security business, and someone had easily breached the club, cut the pipe and flooded the cellars.

Fuck it.

�Can we spare some muscle to keep an eye on things?� she asked.

�What, just the Palermo?� asked Jackie.

�All three clubs.� Better to be safe than sorry.

�Yeah, just.�

�Okay, do that. You all know about what�s happened with Chris Brown and his wife Aretha?� asked Annie.

�Yeah, Boss, we know,� said Deaf Derek. He shrugged. �You marry that sort of trouble, you�re going to get more trouble, am I right?�

He looked around the table. They all looked back at him blankly.

�I�m just sayin�,� he said, reddening.

�Well don�t just say, cunt,� advised Jackie, puffing vigorously.

Annie shot a freezing glance at Derek. If it wasn�t for his usefulness in keeping contact with all the grubby little lowlife bastards that crawled around this area, milking them for information about anything that was going down, Annie would have gladly seen him out the door.

�I want someone keeping an eye on Aretha�s Aunt Louella,� she said. �Make sure she�s okay for money, but take it easy. She�s a proud woman.�

All the boys nodded. This was the way the firm was run, since way back before Max was in charge, since the days when his dad had held pole position. The boys looked after their own. Widows were cared for, and orphans. Guys who came out of nick and were known to them were looked after, set back up on their feet. Pensioners were helped out all around the East End. Kids� hospitals and even boxing charities profited from the firm�s business�Max and his brother Jonjo had been keen sportsmen in their youth, and Annie saw no reason to stop any of that. It kept youngsters in the East End on the right path to get a bit of boxing in.

There was still, despite the growing influx of drugs on to the streets, a strong code of ethics among the various firms who did business around the City�despite any villainy they might perpetrate. The rules were still clear-cut. You didn�t steal off your own, you never interfered with other men�s wives, ponces and dealers were treated with contempt, sex offenders were the lowest of the low and to be seen off with a good kicking.

�That�s all for tonight, then,� said Annie.

Jackie took a folder out from under his coat and pushed it towards her. �Laney gave me this for you. Said it was a bitch to get hold of,� he said.

Annie nodded. DS Lane had done a blinding job, and that was good. �Okay then. I�ll see you all later.�

One by one they filed out.

�Want me to wait in the car, Boss?� asked Tony.

�No, Tone.� She stood up, picked up the file. It wasn�t going to make very pleasant reading, but it had to be done. �Come on Tone. Let�s go home.�

Goods were moving around London and up and down the country all the time. It was money on the hoof and, usually, if you had your fences lined up ready, those goods were easy to dispose of. If security was the Carter speciality, then lorry hijacking was the Delaneys�. It was lucrative and easy.

A load of brand-new car parts had vanished overnight on the road to Basingstoke, and were already being taken to where a price had been agreed for them. Money for nothing, thought Redmond Delaney.

He and his twin Orla were in the static office of the family�s scrap-metal yard, having a celebratory whisky after a profitable day�s business. The fact that the car-parts depot that their boys had robbed was on Carter soil just made the heist that much sweeter. The Carter firm would get hassle from their clients over security fees paid out for fuck all. So it was business and pleasure, all rolled into one.

It pissed Redmond off that the Barolli family were still proving resistant to his offers on the clubs, but it was a minor annoyance. He had been interested to see the interaction between Constantine Barolli and Annie Carter when they had chanced to meet at the Vista Hotel. Maybe there was more than a business interest going on there. He would look into that. Knowledge was power: that had always been Redmond�s motto. He�d discussed his suspicions with Orla.

�You really think there could be something going on?�

Orla was sceptical. If Annie Carter was risking an affair with the Mafia boss, she was risking a great deal. Her own standing as Max Carter�s widow, for a start. The Carter boys would take it badly if she betrayed Max�s memory. She�d be tossed out into oblivion at the very least.

At that moment, Charlie Foster knocked on the door of the static and poked his head in. He had crew-cut pale brown hair, a blob of a nose and very light blue eyes that always seemed to be having a private joke�at someone else�s expense.

�That fucking Carter cow�s here, says she wants a word,� he said.

Both Redmond and Orla tensed.

Speak of the devil, and she appears, thought Orla.

�She�s alone?� asked Redmond. �You checked her over?�

Charlie had reason enough to be careful around Annie Carter. He�d just patted her down with his own stunted hand. He had only seven fingers to everyone else�s eight, and that was down to Annie Carter. He�d love to get that high-toned bitch alone down a dark alley. In fact, he was determined to do just that, one of these days.

�She�s got her boy with her. And she�s not packing anything but a good set of knockers.�

Orla stifled a grimace of disgust. Charlie Foster was like a wild thing, partially tamed but never completely stable. She hated his leering, ever-smiling face and his pale predatory eyes that seemed to strip every woman he encountered�even her. He might be Redmond�s right-hand man, but he was also a vicious thug without any conscience. He was dangerous. Redmond valued that, and used it. It made Orla nervous. She had a mental picture of him frisking Annie Carter down in the yard, and had to suppress a shudder.

�Show her in,� said Redmond.

Charlie opened the door wide. Not quite wide enough to let Annie Carter enter easily. She had to squeeze past him, and Charlie�s smile told them all how much he enjoyed that. Tony the driver came in after, nudging Charlie out of the way. Charlie�s cocky grin widened. He stayed there, the door wide open, listening and watching.

�Mrs Carter,� said Redmond, not standing up.

They hadn�t changed, Annie thought. They were still beautiful, the twins, with their red hair and pale, clear skin�and still chilly as the Arctic tundra. Dangerous people. But you didn�t ever show fear when you faced down a foe�Max had taught her that. Be cool, be confident, be in control. Never let them see you wobble; never let them see you bleed.

�What can we do for you?� asked Redmond, his voice just the same as she remembered, a cool Irish lilt, almost soothing, almost lulling you into a false sense of security. But you had to be on your guard with Redmond. Redmond was smart, and he didn�t care who or what he flattened to get his way.

It had been a risk, coming here again. Tony hadn�t been happy about it. But things had to be said, and she had to show them that she was not afraid to say them.

�You can back off from the Barolli club contracts,� said Annie flatly. She could feel nervous sweat trickling down her back but she spoke steadily, clearly. �Constantine Barolli told me you offered to halve our charges.�

�Did he also tell you that he hasn�t yet decided whether or not to accept our very generous offer, or to stay with the Carters?� asked Orla.

Annie looked at her. Once, she had thought Max was all wrong about these two. Vipers, he�d told her. Never trust a Delaney. Once, she had tried to convince Max that this feud was madness. But not now.

Now, she saw things as they really were. Now she could not forget that Billy Black had died in her arms, dragged through the streets behind a Delaney car, on Redmond�s orders, the skin flaying from his body, every bone getting broken and every muscle mangled.

She looked squarely at Orla. Gorgeous pale green eyes, a long patrician face. Oh yes, they were beautiful, the Delaney twins. Beautiful, Machiavellian, and deadly.

�He won�t accept your offer,� she said flatly, although in her heart she wasn�t sure of that. �He�s loyal to the Carter firm.�

�Is he?� Redmond asked her curiously. �Or just to you?�

Annie sent Redmond a freezing glance, but her stomach was suddenly in a knot. What had made Redmond say that?

�Barolli�s content to deal with the Carter firm because we�ve always given a good, solid, reliable service. And I�d appreciate it if you�d back off.�

They looked at her blankly. Orla sipped her whisky.

�I mean it,� said Annie, her heart thumping madly in her chest.

�We�re really scared,� said Charlie Foster from behind her.

Annie turned her head and looked at his sneering face. �You ought to be,� she said, and Tony lunged at him and had him by the throat in a split second.

Charlie let out a half-strangled yell. Tony hoisted him off his feet and glared into his eyes.

�You be careful what you say to Mrs Carter, you cocksucker,� he growled.

Annie turned and looked at the twins, sitting there at the desk.

�Back off from Barolli,� she said, and turned on her heel and walked out the door and down the steps and off across the yard to the gate.

Tony gave Charlie a last shake and dropped him. He sagged, clutching at the wall, gasping in breaths. Then Tony followed Annie out the door.

�Fuckers,� hissed Charlie, his perennial smile gone for once. His eyes following the pair of them with hate. He had unfinished business with Annie Carter. He watched her go out of the gate, and promised himself that, soon, he was going to get her. Get her good.

�Try this,� said Redmond, and he had given her a small brown bottle with white pills in it.

Mira took it listlessly.

She saw him looking at her, and knew what he was thinking�that she looked like shit, not like his bright, vibrant beauty at all, and he was annoyed at this; he liked things right. He�d told her that what she needed was pepping up, and he knew where to get things that would help. He�d got these from one of the suppliers his people knew on the street.

�What are they?� she had asked him, awkwardly aware of the big shadows under her eyes. Shit, she hadn�t even thought to apply her make-up. It wasn�t like her to let herself go this way. �Just some uppers to give you a lift.�

�I�m not sure��

Redmond had drawn her in close and kissed her. Mira turned her head away, just a fraction, but she knew he noted it. Noted it, and was angered by it. She could see the anger in his eyes, could read his thoughts again. For fuck�s sake, he was thinking, she�d had an abortion. Millions of women had abortions. There was no need to go to bloody pieces over it.

�What, don�t you trust me?� he asked her. �I�d only ever do what�s best for you. You know that, don�t you?�

Mira nodded warily.

�That�s good,� said Redmond. �You love me, yes?�

She had nodded again. She didn�t, not any more. But he was holding her, his strong hands encasing her jaw, his fingers brushing her neck. He smiled his angelic smile and gazed into her eyes.

�That�s good,� he said. �You know that if you ever tried to leave me, I�d kill you, don�t you?�

Oh Jesus, thought Mira. But again she nodded.

He let her go, satisfied. He fetched water from the kitchen. Sun had been streaming into the flat and Mira stood there in shit order, unwashed�she knew she smelled stale, she knew he wondered where his glitzy girl had gone, the one who was scrupulously clean and drenched in Shalimar. She looked down at herself and found, almost to her surprise, that she was wearing a tea-stained dressing gown, at four o�clock in the afternoon. What was happening to her?

�Here, take a couple now, you�ll soon start to feel better,� he said, and took the bottle and shook some out onto his palm. He held them out to her. She put out her tongue, as helpless and trusting as a child. He placed them there, and she took the glass of water from his hand and washed them down.

�Good girl,� he said, and kissed her brow. �Now go and get cleaned up, we�re going out tonight.�

Annie had learned from the stolen case notes that Teresa Walker, one of the murdered girls, had worked part time as an escort; but her real job had been as a stripper, doing lunchtimes and evenings�and some private dancing in between�with the punters at the Alley Cat strip club in Soho.

Teresa had been an enterprising sort of girl. She hadn�t worked for an agency; she had merely touted her own business in the club, which hadn�t gone down too well with management.

The following evening, when Annie got into the car, Tony folded his paper away with unusual swiftness, almost as if he didn�t want her to see it.

�Something in the paper I should know about, Tone?� she asked with a sigh.

God, please don�t give me any more trouble, she thought.

Short of the sky falling on her head, she didn�t know what else could go wrong. She had a gutful to contend with, and now Steve and Gary had told her that a lorry working out of a car-parts depot that the firm protected had been robbed on the Basingstoke road, making the Carter security boys look like a bunch of useless tossers and costing them a lot in compo.

Delaneys, she thought. Truck heists were their thing. Yeah�but try proving it.

Tony handed the paper back to her and she looked at the front page. The headline shrieked at her: ��SCARLET WOMEN� KILLER STRIKES AGAIN.�

�Shit,� she said.

�I know,� agreed Tony.

Annie threw the paper down in angry disgust. It was so easy to point the finger, to disdain the girls who got into the game, to sneer and come over all superior and judgemental.

Yeah, she thought bitterly. And to use their tragedies to make juicy headlines.

But maybe these women were just more desperate and more alone in the world than other, luckier girls. Maybe they didn�t have the softening, civilizing cushion of a caring family or ready money to keep them from the game.

Tony drove Annie over to Dolly�s to drop off Layla for the evening�Kath was rebelling, saying no way�and then took her on over to Soho and went with her into the subterranean depths of the club. What they found there reminded Annie of what had been happening to the Carter clubs in the absence of Max.

Topless girls were everywhere, serving overpriced drinks to semi-drunk and furtive-looking punters who skulked at tables in the half-dark. There was a small, semicircular stage on which two tired-looking girls gyrated in a simulation of lesbian sex, to the strains of Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg murmuring their way through �Je t�aime�moi non plus.�

The two girls wore silver thongs and nipple tassels, nothing else. They looked as though they�d done the rounds and then some, and were bored to tears. Annie felt the same, just watching them. But she glanced around the room and saw that the punters seemed fascinated.

Men. So easy to please.

She exchanged a look with the manager, who sat at the small round table with her. The manager was Bobby Jo, a six-and-a-half-feet-tall drag act, tricked out right now in a tight-fitting gold lam� dress and a huge red wig. Bobby�s heavily madeup face and spidery false eyelashes would give you a hell of a fright if you came across him in a dark alley.

Bobby Jo didn�t own the club, he just managed it. Gave the punters what they wanted.

�Which is very often lesbian action, as you see,� he told Annie with a light shrug. �I know, it�s a mystery.�

Annie nodded. Several tables away, Tony was reading his paper. He glanced up occasionally, checked out Annie and Bobby Jo, checked out the lesbian action, shook his head gently, got back to the paper. One of the girls, a hard-eyed brunette, was glaring at him.

�Can you tell your man not to read the paper? It looks bad. It upsets the girls, and that don�t take a lot, believe me. Plus, we don�t want to give the punters the impression that the acts are boring, now do we? Not at the prices we charge.�

Annie caught Tony�s eye, nodded at the paper, shook her head. With a sigh, Tony folded the paper and slipped it inside his jacket.

�Thanks,� said Bobby Jo.

�So tell me about Teresa.�

�I�ve done all this with the Bill,� said Bobby Jo.

�Yeah, but you�ve heard about the latest case?�

�The black girl done up West? Yeah, I heard. Fucking shame.�

�Friend of mine.�

�Oh?� The ferocious painted mouth turned down in an expression of sympathy. �Sorry.�

�Thanks. So tell me.�

Bobby Jo told Annie about Teresa�s enterprising spirit, that she had been caught on several occasions handing out business cards (�Fucking business cards, I ask you, that girl�) in the club, advertising her services as an escort.

�I mean you don�t do that, do you? Work for one business and set yourself up in another, in the business�s time? Ain�t that unethical or some fucking thing?�

�Yeah.� Annie wondered how much these girls got paid for parading up there on the stage pretending they were batting for the other side. Not much, she guessed. A little more wedge would come in dead handy. A little sideline�keep the wolf from the door. Sadly, Teresa�s little sideline had got her killed.

Annie looked at Bobby Jo. A big, lean man in women�s clothing. Bobby Jo was narked with Teresa because she�d been promoting her own business on his firm�s time. Maybe his boss had leaned on him to come down hard on her, and somehow it had got out of hand? But again, why go so far as to kill her? A sharp warning, maybe. Even the sack. But a terminal solution? No. And there were two other girls who�d gone the same way. Val Delacourt and Aretha. Which suggested someone who was developing a distinct pattern, not a one-off. Didn�t it?

�She get on with everybody, did she?� asked Annie. �Any cat-fights? I know what these girls can be like.�

Bobby Jo gave a low rumble of smoker�s laughter. �I�ve had the filth crawling all over the place asking me all this. Big tall bloke, dark hair, face like an undertaker.�

�Hunter,� said Annie.

�That�s the one. I�ll tell you what I told him. These girls always have enemies. They scrap like wild dogs over the best-paying punters. They worry over who�s got the best tits, the flattest stomach. There�s no sisterhood in here, my dear. Far from it.�

A weary-looking hostess came wobbling over on ridiculous heels and put their drinks on the table. Orange juice for Annie, a bottle of Krug in a bucket of ice for Bobby Jo.

�Perks of management,� he said, pouring the champagne and giving the girl a wink as she departed. He held the bottle up. �Sure I can�t tempt you?�

Annie shook her head.

�Your loss.�

�What about her friends?�

�Teresa? She didn�t do friends. She was a chippy little cow, rubbed everyone up the wrong way.�

�She must have. After all, someone went and killed her.�

Bobby Jo was looking at Tony, sitting there peacefully watching the act.

�I like the muscle,� he said to Annie. �Thinking of getting myself a minder.�

�What, you think you need one?� Annie sipped her juice.

Bobby Jo turned back to her. His perfect teeth flashed in a shark-like grin. His eyes were like little black stones behind the dense false eyelashes.

�These are dangerous times,� he said. �People getting themselves killed, what�s the world coming to? It makes a person nervous. You want to watch yourself, Mrs Carter, poking around in this sort of thing.�

�I�ll bear that in mind.� Annie finished her juice and stood up, thinking that she really didn�t like Bobby Jo at all�in fact he gave her the creeps.

Tony rose too.

�Thanks for the refreshments, Bobby Jo. If you hear anything of interest, let me know. You�ve got my number,� she said.

�Sure,� said Bobby Jo, and sank some more Krug.

Next day Tony drove her over to Dolly�s place. Ross was already at his station by the door. Tall dark Sharlene and cute blonde Rosie were in the kitchen helping Dolly get the buffet organized. Ellie was in there too, polishing the top of the stove and wearing her pale blue overall that bulged open over her curvy torso in all the wrong places.

�Hi, all,� said Annie.

There were muttered greetings from all around. Ellie was slumped at the kitchen table, looking unhappy and doing what she always did in times of crisis�digging into the biscuit tin.

Dolly, who had been leafing through her notebook and having an increasingly heated conversation about who was going out tomorrow night and who was not with Sharlene and Rosie, paused and looked across at Annie. Then she went on: �Look, nobody�s taking the fucking booking, don�t go getting all antsy about it, either of you. After what just happened to poor bloody Aretha? No escort jobs, not now. I mean it.�

�But Rosie�s already taken the damned booking,� whined Sharlene, who was always up for an argument about anything.

�Well, she shouldn�t have,� said Dolly. �Even if she did, she should have got a contact number. Don�t I always tell her to get a contact number so that we can call the client if we need to? Did you in fact do that small thing, Rosie?�

Rosie looked petulant. �No,� she admitted.

�Oh for God�s sake. Then we�re going to have to let the punter down. And that�s an end to it, okay?�

They both nodded.

�And Ellie,� said Dolly, �put your bloody face straight, will you? And will you stop eating those fucking things? I know you�re upset about Chris, but you�re just going to have to accept it. I know you like Chris, but it looks as if he did it.�

Dolly�s easy acceptance of the situation irritated the hell out of Annie. She would never understand it. She frowned as she thought of the mess Chris was in. He was banged up right now, awaiting trial. And her conversations with Jerry hadn�t filled her with optimism for Chris�s chances of escaping a substantial stretch.

And Dolly�s ready to just accept all this shit? she thought angrily.

�Look, his brief�s on it,� Annie told Ellie, trying to give the poor mare some comfort. She didn�t look at Dolly; she was bewildered and offended by Dolly�s attitude towards the shit-load of trouble that was hitting poor Chris right between the eyes. �And he�s a bloody good man, Jerry Peters�the best.�

Sharlene and Rosie were still bitching cheerfully over who would have taken the booking up West tomorrow night.

�I told you,� said Dolly sharply. �Neither of you�s going to take it, so pipe down the pair of you.�

And then a black tornado came bursting in the front door, barging through into the hall, nearly knocking Ross clean off his feet before he recovered and got to grips with this spitting mad apparition.

It was a stocky black woman of middle years, all heaving chest and huge arms and mad-crazy eyes. Ross grabbed hold of her, and she kicked and lunged, and then she spotted Annie watching slack-jawed with surprise from the open kitchen doorway.

�You!� she yelled, and struggled afresh. Ross was half grinning now, tickled by this demented woman�s mad efforts to break free of his grip. His amusement was making the woman even madder.

�Ross!� Annie called out.

Ross looked up, almost laughing.

�Let her go. It�s okay.�

Ross released Louella. She straightened her clothes and put her hat back on from where it had been knocked askew. Like a bull approaching a matador, she charged on along the hall. All the women in the kitchen except Annie drew back a bit. Louella came thundering into the kitchen.

Aunt Louella was holding a wad of fivers in her hand. When she got up close to Annie, she threw the notes into her face. Annie flinched. Notes fluttered. Rosie and Sharlene restrained themselves admirably and didn�t make a dive for them.

�Hey!� shrieked Louella. �Here�s what I think of your dirty money, girl. I tol� you I wanted nothing from you people. You think I�m not serious; you think I don�t mean what I say? You think I frightened by those boys of yours, comin� around my house tellin� me to be grateful, to take this, to do that, that I oughtta show respect, that I oughtta take it and shut up?�

Annie stood there and let Louella get it all out. One of the boys had obviously got over-zealous in his efforts to help her out and had forced money on her. Annie guessed at Deaf Derek, the silly fucker.

�Excuse me,� said Dolly, getting steamed up on Annie�s behalf. �Don�t go coming in here shouting the odds��

�And you.� Louella turned, glaring, to Dolly. Her eyes swept with disdain over the neatly dressed madam, then over the thinly clad pair of girls standing there, open-mouthed, enjoying the fight. �You think I don�t know what happens here, what bad people you are? You should be ashamed.�

�All right, that�s enough.� Now Dolly was good and mad too. �I don�t have to take this. Ross!�

Ross came along the hall to the kitchen. Annie held up a hand and he stopped in the doorway, giving her a look that was half sneer, half question.

�Hey, you and your trained ape don�t frighten me,� said Louella. �It�s because of people like you that my little girl�s gone from me. It�s people like you caused all this, luring her with your filthy money into this bad life.�

Louella�s eyes were suddenly full of tears. She stepped up close to Annie and yelled full in her face: �You want to have your boys work me over �cos I�ve refused to take your dirty stinking money? Well, go ahead! They can�t hurt me any more than I hurt already.�

The tears spilled over and now she was sobbing.

�My little girl, she was all I had and I lost her early on. I know I should have tried harder to stop her going to the bad but I didn�t and that guilt I just gotta live with,� she cried. �You think I afraid of what you�ll do to me? I ain�t afraid. God�s my only judge, Annie Carter, not you.�

Louella raised her meaty fist and waved it in Annie�s face.

�I don�t know what to do,� wailed Louella suddenly. �Vengeance is for the Lord, not for me. Yet I feel this anger. I want to hurt someone, beat someone, and that ain�t right.�

Annie thought back to how she had felt when someone had snatched her whole life out from under her nose. She had wanted to lash out, to hurt, to maim.

�I know,� she said quietly. �I know, Louella.�

�I don�t know what to do,� Louella repeated hopelessly, her shoulders shaking with great, grief-stricken sobs.

Annie took a breath. After a moment�s hesitation she moved a step forward. Tentatively, she put her arms around Louella�s shoulders. The big woman stiffened for a second, then all at once she relaxed and cried hard. Annie hugged her, rocked her like a mother with a sick baby.

�I know, Louella,� she murmured, holding the shaking woman tight. Her eyes met Dolly�s over Louella�s head.

Dolly was nearly crying too. She�d loved Aretha. They all had; they were all hurting.

�I�ll put the kettle on,� said Dolly. �Ellie, get Louella a seat.�

In the kitchen it was warm, cosy and safe. Out there, a killer lurked. Annie knew it. She and Ellie settled Aretha�s Aunt Louella at the kitchen table, brought her tissues, biscuits, tea. Rosie and Sharlene made themselves scarce. Ellie and Dolly joined Annie and Louella at the table.

�At least they got him, they�ve charged him with my baby girl�s murder,� Louella said when she�d calmed down a bit.

Annie looked at Dolly, who looked away. She knew Dolly�s take on this; Chris was guilty. End of story.

Annie looked next at Ellie, whose mouth had opened to protest. She shook her head and Ellie�s mouth shut like a clamp. The police might have charged Chris but, like Ellie, Annie was convinced they had the wrong man. But this was not the time to start in on that again, not with Louella here.

�They�ve released her body,� said Louella.

�Oh,� said Annie, and drank tea, trying to warm up the film of ice that seemed to have formed over her heart. She thought of her friend Aretha lying dead because some pervert had taken it into his head to kill her.

�She�s in the Chapel of Rest.�

�Have you been to see her?� asked Dolly after a beat.

The big black woman shook her head.

�I wanted to. Couldn�t face it alone. I just couldn�t,� she moaned.

�We�ll come with you,� said Annie. �Pay our respects. If you want to go?�

Louella looked at Annie, then at Dolly. She�d cursed them both a few minutes ago, called them bad people. Her dark eyes were full of hurt and suspicion. But she nodded cautiously.

�Yeah,� she said. �All right. I�d appreciate that.�

Annie made a mental note to kick Deaf Derek�s stupid arse up between his shoulder blades next time she clapped eyes on him.

First it had been the uppers: they had made Mira feel so much better, had blurred the edges of her pain, lifted her, repaired her shattered spirit even though they ruined her appetite. She�d lost weight. She could feel her ribs sticking out. She felt self-conscious about that.

Then the downers, the wonderful downers, had made her sleep without dreaming; she hated to dream, her dreams were nightmares, technicolour, hideous: she was pleased to be free of them at last. But for every plus there had to be a minus. She awoke every morning feeling vile, hung over, and when she looked in the bathroom mirror she saw that her skin had lost all its youthful bloom and that her hair was dull. No amount of pamper treatments and visits to the salon seemed to make it any different, either.

�Try some of this,� Redmond said one evening when they were laid out on the couch watching television, and put a line of white powder on to the glass top of the coffee table. He rolled up a ten-pound note and handed it to her and said: �Just sniff it in. It�s amazing.�

She was in a happy mood. She�d taken her tablets and they�d drunk a full bottle of champagne between them; she felt good. She felt good because she refused to think about anything, and the pills made it so much easier not to think. The sex between them, for instance. It had become increasingly experimental, veering into sadomasochism, stuff she didn�t like, stuff that frightened her, and she wouldn�t think about that, she refused to think about it, how it turned Redmond on when he hurt her, she just took her pills and felt good.

She took the little rolled note from him, leaned forward, inhaled the powder.

Suddenly, Mira felt like God.

Nothing was beyond her. Everything was possible. She looked in wonderment around the room, and saw that every colour was brighter, crisper; that he was more beautiful than ever, his hair like flames, the sheen on his white skin like alabaster, his eyes the brilliant pale green of fresh limes.

�Oh�oh shit�� she murmured, staring around her with eyes new born.

He was smiling benevolently. �You like that, darling?� he said, and trailed a hand down her bare arm.

It was ecstasy; she shivered and half closed her eyes, it felt so good.

Redmond leaned forward and kissed her, his tongue playing with hers. She felt hotly aroused in an instant, as if she was going to come right then and there. She leaned into his kiss; he unzipped himself, and pushed her head down; he was so beautiful, she kissed his rigid cock rising from its nest of red pubic hair and then did what he so loved her to do, and then she paused and looked up at his face, his exquisite, wonderful face, as handsome as an angel�s, and he was holding a square of what looked like soft rubber over his nose and mouth, the material flattening out on his face as he struggled to breathe against it.

�Keep doing it,� he said, his voice muffled, gasping. He closed his eyes. His erection was huge now. Feeling drunk, feeling ecstatic, feeling high, Mira turned her attention back to his straining cock and did what whores did best.

Mad Mick knew the rules as good as any fucker. The rule was, you played by the light. You put your money in the meter, and the light over the table was on. Twenty minutes of snooker, and the light was off. If you weren�t finished then, if you had say a pink or a blue or a black still to pot, tough tit. You stood aside and let the next players on to the table.

That was the rule. Everyone knew the rule.

But there was Rizzo Delacourt, playing up to the crowd, drinking beer and saying it was like gnats, saying the boys around here couldn�t play fucking snooker even though one of the same boys had just soundly beaten him on the table. Getting aggressive, getting drunk. Calling for a whisky chaser as he set up the balls again in the wooden triangular frame, poncing around in his big-collared shirt and flared trousers�talk about a dedicated follower of fashion, what was he, a fucking nancy?

All this, despite the fact the light was out, despite the rule. Despite the fact that Mad Mick was waiting for a table to come free, and this table technically was free, the light was off, wasn�t it?

Mad Mick put this theory forward for Rizzo to think about.

Rizzo Delacourt stuck some more coins in the meter and looked at Mick. �Well, now the effing light�s on,� he said. �See that? On.�

Mad Mick had a reputation to consider. He was built like an outside craphouse and all his mates were watching. He reached out, removed the triangle and scattered the balls to the four corners of the table.

�It was off,� he said quietly. �That�s the rules, see? When the light goes out, you make way for the next people who want to play. It�s only polite, I�d say.�

There was a deep hush in the snooker hall as everyone listened in, ready for Mad Mick to start the slaughter in his usual fashion.

�You don�t shut your fucking mouth,� the runty little Rizzo said softly, �my bruv Pete�s gonna use your cunting head as a ball, you got me?�

Drunk people. They either wanted to fight you or fuck you, and sometimes both. And what bruv? Mick looked to where Rizzo�s eyes were indicating.

There was a large figure lurking back there in the gloom, cloaked in the half-darkness that surrounded the brightly lit table. Now, the figure stepped forward. A gasp went up.

�Shit,� said one of Mick�s mates, a fag dropping from his half-open mouth to the floor.

Mad Mick stared.

The man standing there holding the cue like a weapon was not just tattooed, he was covered in tattoos, blanketed in the fucking things. There were swirls of blue and red all over his face and neck and his thick, beefy arms.

They all thought, Ugly great bastard. Little piggy blue eyes and a massive shaven head; tattoos all over that too; he looked downright fucking fierce. Confident that he now had Mick�s attention, the tattooed freak gave him a bone-chilling smile. His tongue flicked out, and there was a further collective gasp from the watchers. His tongue was forked, like a snake�s.

Mad Mick did something he had never done before. He stepped away from a fight. The runty little man called Rizzo played another frame, and then another. And no one disturbed him, light or no light.

It was two o�clock on Sunday morning when the phone started to ring right beside Annie�s bed. She shot up, startled, disorientated, with her heart in her mouth.

�Shit,� she said, and fumbled for the light.

She knocked over the small table lamp, righted it. Pressed the switch. Light flooded the room and still the damned thing was ringing; it would wake Layla soon. Oh�but Layla was at Ruthie�s. She felt the pain anew. Shoved it aside. She snatched up the phone.

�Yeah?� she asked. �Who is it?�

There was silence except for someone breathing.

This is all I need. Heavy breathers at two o�clock in the sodding morning.

�Hello?� she said loudly.

�It�s me. Dolly. Can you come over?�

Dolly?

Annie looked at the phone and frowned. �Doll, it�s two o�clock.�

�Come over. I think we got trouble.�

Annie dragged a hand through her hair. �I was asleep.�

�Come. I wouldn�t ask�but just come, will you?�

�Fuck me, Doll.�

�For God�s sake come.�

And then Dolly put the phone down.

�Oh for�� Annie said, and slapped the phone back on the cradle. What the hell could have happened? Whatever, it sounded serious; she had to go.

She got out of bed, still feeling groggy, and pulled on yesterday�s clothes. She phoned for a taxi�no need to bother Tony, not at this late hour. This had better be damned good, Doll, she thought as the taxi tore through the abandoned streets toward Limehouse.

Robert �Rizzo� Delacourt might have been a runty little man, but he had a big attitude. Like many runty little men with attitude, he liked to display his masculine superiority by beating up on women. So the two girls he still ran, who shivered in miniskirts and little jackets night after night on the towpath under the canal bridge over the Mile End Road, were justifiably nervous of him.

Hey�they were nervous, full stop.

Because they�d heard about the girls getting done. They�d heard about it and experienced it first hand. Poor bloody Val, Rizzo�s sister, for instance. She�d been a cow at times but she hadn�t deserved that. But they were working girls. They had to eat, and anyway Rizzo wouldn�t let them bunk off. So they huddled against the damp wall under the bridge near the lock, and talked loudly and smoked cigarettes and joked about the clients, to stave off the jitters.

Their profession was the oldest in the world but it could certainly pay better. Rizzo took a big wedge out of what they earned, but Rizzo was The Man. If they didn�t hustle, then Rizzo would be mad, and that wasn�t good. So no matter what they heard, and no matter what they experienced�first hand or not�then here they were, working their little patch, Rizzo�s little patch, which now sported just two girls instead of three.

Rizzo wasn�t happy about that. He�d lost a valuable asset in Val. And, incidentally, he�d lost a sister too. He�d drafted his little sis into the business when she turned sixteen. He remembered it well.

Their mum had been at bingo and Val, mouthy little bitch, had been sitting in their front room with him and their little cousin Paulie, watching The Avengers on the telly, him saying what a tosser Steed looked with that bowler, like a toff, what good would a geezer like that be in a ruck?

Val had been droning on all through the programme, which Rizzo had found pretty bloody irritating. On and on about what would she do now? She�d left school, she didn�t want to work in no effing shop, not even in a clothes shop, the pay was piss poor and life was too short, but signing on was a drag. All the while painting her nails orange�Jesus, that stuff stank.

�Will you shut the fuck up?� asked Rizzo, popping a can.

The programme was getting interesting, Emma Peel was looking tasty in a leather catsuit and was about to get done by a villain if Steed didn�t get a fucking move on and show up, and all he could hear was Val going yackety-yackety-yack in his ear.

Now she was saying she didn�t want to work in a grocery shop either, she�d die of boredom, but maybe she could get an apprenticeship at the local hairdresser, what did he think?

�I think you should shut the fuck up,� said Rizzo.

Paulie, crawling around on the carpet, getting in front of the TV screen, sticky fingers all over the damned thing�for God�s sake, was there no peace to be had?

�Yeah?� Val snapped. �Well I think you should take an interest in what your own sister�s doing. Would it kill you to just have a proper conversation with your own sister?�

At which point Rizzo wopped her a hard one around the chops. Orange nail varnish splattered all over the arm of the sofa and on to the floor. He saw the surprise there on her face as the redness bloomed on her freckled cheek. He�d never done that before.

Paulie froze on the carpet, his eyes going between the two. Val�s expression changed from surprise to fear. Good, thought Rizzo, and right then and there he devised a plan.

�Don�t worry. I can get you a job,� he said.

And so it was that Val Delacourt entered her new profession. Took to it like a duck to water, too.

Rizzo was pleased; she pulled in a good living and so did he�half her earnings went straight into his pocket to feed his little habit.

The escort work had been something else, just a little extra. He�d been mad about it when he�d found out. He didn�t want his girls subcontracting; his business was what mattered, not their own.

And the escort stuff had resulted�sadly, really sadly�in Val getting herself killed stone-dead. Their mum had wailed and screamed and cried when the cops came by to break the news, he�d never forget it. Felt a bit guilty too. After all, he�d started Val out along the path to her own destruction, setting her up as a brass. Even if he didn�t like her escorting, he had to admit that she wouldn�t have been escorting if she hadn�t started tarting first.

Still, he didn�t feel guilty for long.

So now Rizzo had just the two girls, and one of them wasn�t all that, until he managed to source a third. Because good girls were hard to find. This girl, this one who was standing on the towpath chatting to his two remaining girls, was not a good girl. He could see it clearly as he approached, Benj his bull terrier tugging his arm out of its socket as usual, straining to get forward as always.

Rizzo loved Benj. You knew where you were with a dog. Step on its paw and it would howl, but ten minutes later it�d be there licking your hand, kissing your arse and humping your leg. And Benj helped Rizzo�s reputation.

Benj had pulled down a Dalmatian belonging to one of the other pimps in the park last month, chewed the mutt all to hell. They�d had to haul the thing off to a vet�s and have it put down. Benj had been going for the pimp, too�the bastard had been trying to muscle in on Rizzo�s patch�when Rizzo called Benj off. The pimp had been traumatized and he hadn�t been seen in the area since.

Now he looked ahead and saw a girl, no, a woman, whose stance told him she would not take orders. This one would try to give them, and there was no fucking way Rizzo Delacourt was taking any orders off any skirt, no sir.

�What the fuck you doing?� he asked loudly, coming nearer, Benj pulling him ahead like a tugboat hauling a liner.

Rizzo was pissed off.

He�d expected both of the girls, Jackie and the other one, Misery he called her, to be off earning by now, pulling in the johns like they were supposed to. It was nearly eleven thirty and the pubs had emptied out, but no, here they were, standing about shooting the breeze.

Shit! Couldn�t you leave these bitches unattended for a couple of hours, go about your business in the expectation that they would be about theirs? It was hard running a business these days. You had to have eyes in your arse, and that was a fact. Couldn�t turn your back for a minute. Who�d want to be in management when it was so damned hard?

�Hey! You hear me? I said what the fuck you doing?� he yelled. Yelling worked well with women, he knew that. Shout at them, get in close, act like a threat and they folded. Started to cry, poor little dears. Benj let out a yap, excited because Rizzo was, in tune with his master just as he�d been right from a pup. Bit anyone and anything, but never Rizzo. All the family were scared shitless of the hound, even the tattooed hulk Pete wouldn�t touch him�although Pete hadn�t been around lately�but not Rizzo. Rizzo was The Man.

Only this girl didn�t look the type to fold easy.

He came up close and she just stood there. In the dim yellow light cast by the streetlamps he could see dark hair and steadily staring dark eyes. Jackie and Misery were acting nervous and that was good. Shooting looks at each other, shifting from foot to foot, they didn�t want no hassle with Mr Rizzo Delacourt. Misery, a skinny blonde, drew deeply on her cigarette and eyed him nervously but said nothing.

�We ain�t doing nothing, Rizzo,� said Jackie, short dark bobbed hair and a skirt hitched high enough to show what she�d had for breakfast.

Rizzo ignored Jackie�s whining and addressed himself to the tall dark woman who stood there.

�What you doin� here, wastin� my girls� time?� he demanded.

�Just asking them a few questions, that�s all,� said the woman, who was not reacting to Rizzo as he was used to being reacted to. In fact, she seemed more interested in eyeing up Misery. Perhaps she was a lezzer. Maybe here to strike a deal, who knew? He took it down a notch. Business was business, after all.

�About what?�

The woman�s eyes pulled away from Misery and fastened on to Rizzo. �Val Delacourt. You�re Rizzo? Her brother?�

Rizzo shot his girls a glare. Loud-mouthed cows. They shrank back. �What�s that to you?�

The woman shrugged. �Just asking. Sad business, her dying like she did.�

Now Rizzo was getting mad. He didn�t care if she was a punter; all this delving into his private business was strictly out of bounds. �Look, I don�t want you coming down here putting the wind up my girls by goin� on about all that. We had all that out with the Bill. They got the man, it�s done.�

�It�s not done, Rizzo. They got the wrong man.�

Rizzo�s mouth dropped open. Then he rallied himself.

�Look.� He came in closer to the uppity bitch and poked a finger at her shoulder, ramming his point home. �I want you to fuck off, girly. You�re botherin� my girls. Val�s dead and gone. They got the man who done it. End of story.�

Annie recoiled from Rizzo�s breath. She glanced down at the dog, slavering and pawing the ground just like its owner.

Big dog, small cock, she thought.

�You understand me?� he yelled in her face, spittle flying.

�Yeah. Think I got that.�

Annie drew back, walked a few paces away. Looked again at the blonde skinny one, shivering in the shadows despite the mugginess of the night, turning her face away. She felt strongly that she knew the girl, knew her well. It is, thought Annie. It�s�

�Mira?� she said suddenly.

The skinny girl�s head whipped round.

Out of the shadows along the towpath stepped a squat, muddy-eyed geezer and a bloke wearing a deaf aid. Both dressed in neat, sober clothes, like the woman. Rizzo stiffened. His hand slipped into his pocket, folded over the knife he always carried for his protection.

�Hey, what�s going on?� he asked.

�Nothing�s going on, Rizzo,� said Annie. �Just me asking questions and you answering them.�

She pulled her attention away from the girl she was sure she knew. Although the girl was so changed, so�bedraggled. She couldn�t believe her own eyes�and yet. It was. It was Mira.

�Yeah, and you�d better fucking well hurry up and cough up the answers,� said Deaf Derek.

Annie sent him an annoyed glance. No use showing the tosser up in front of his �girls�; he�d only dig his heels in and act tougher to maintain face.

�Yeah, or what?� asked Rizzo.

�Or nothing,� said Annie. �We just want some answers, that�s all.�

�I ain�t talking to you. I told you, it�s done.�

�How�s your mum taking it?� asked Annie.

�I told you, no more questions,� shrieked Rizzo.

�Hey, you wanna show some respect,� said Deaf Derek.

Annie threw him another look. Why don�t you shut up, arsehole?

She returned her attention to Rizzo, feeling a surge of disgust for this horrible little specimen who had put his own sister on the game, who kept these poor pitiful skinny girls out here come rain or shine, while he bunked off to the cosy pub or to his mum�s nice warm house to get bladdered, watch telly or shoot up.

She held up her hands in a peacekeeping gesture.

�Hey, Rizzo, we don�t want trouble. That�s the last thing we want. What we do want is to get whoever did this, and that�s not the man the police are holding. Your sister�s dead, Rizzo. Don�t you want to get him too?�

�Last warning,� said Rizzo flatly, shaking with rage.

He�s on something right now, thought Annie. No good reasoning with him.

She stepped back, shrugging; okay, no worries. But at the same instant Derek stepped forward and waved a finger in Rizzo�s face.

�Hey, you know who you�re talking to, cunt?� he yelled.

And that did it. Rizzo let out a curse. Jackie and Mira screamed and shrank back as he let Benj off the leash.

Next morning at nine the builders were back, and at ten an immaculately dressed DI Hunter was knocking at the door. One of the builders directed him up the stairs. He went up and found the office door open with Annie sitting inside working on some figures. She looked up, surprised to see him there. Bloody good job she�d given the police case notes back to Lane. If she�d had them out on the desk, that would have taken a bit of explaining away.

�Good morning, Detective Inspector,� said Annie cordially.

DI Hunter didn�t look in a friendly mood; then again he never did. His mouth was set in a thin line. His dark eyes were frosty. She was about to have her arse chewed, she could see it coming.

�Mrs Carter.�

�Have a seat.�

He stared at the seat as if he might have to get it deep-cleaned first. He sat down. Looked at her. �We�ve had a complaint. A Mrs Vera Delacourt has said that her son was assaulted last night.�

�Oh yes?�

�By one of your�associates,� he said.

Annie�s face was blank.

�She claims that he was badly beaten and that his dog was killed. But even as she was lodging the complaint, her son was denying anything had happened. His face was bruised, scratched. I asked him where the dog was. We�ve had a few complaints from neighbours about the dog�s barking. He said it had run off. Said his mum was imagining things.�

�Really.�

�Yes. Really.� His eyes held hers steadily.

Bloody Derek, thought Annie. She hadn�t got rid of him a moment too soon.

�I don�t know anything about that,� she said. �But I�ll certainly look into it.�

He sat back in the chair. He wasn�t done yet.

�I don�t like the way you people do business, Mrs Carter,� he said.

�Us people?� Annie looked at him.

�Intimidation. Taking the law upon yourselves.�

�I�ll have a word about it,� said Annie.

�Only, I�m wondering what your connection is to this son of hers, this Mr Robert Delacourt.�

Rizzo, thought Annie. Trust a loser like that to give himself a snazzy name.

�I have no connection with her son,� said Annie.

�I�m only asking because Robert Delacourt had a sister, Valerie Delacourt, a known prostitute who died a couple of months ago�killed, we believe, by Christopher Brown, who has been charged with her murder and with the murder of Teresa Walker, and with that of his wife, Aretha Brown�a close friend of yours, as her husband still is. So there is a connection.�

�Not a very strong one,� said Annie.

�I just want to say this once, Mrs Carter�don�t interfere in the law�s business. Be very careful.�

�In what way?�

�I�ve checked you out. You have associated with known prostitutes. You were charged with running a disorderly house and selling liquor without a licence.�

�And cleared.�

�You weren�t cleared. Your sentence was suspended, that�s all.�

Annie�s eyes held his. �Do you think it�s possible the law has made a mistake in this matter?�

�No,� he said flatly. �I don�t.�

�Well, I do.�

He stood up. �Remember what I said, Mrs Carter. Please. Or we may fall out, and neither of us wants that, I�m sure.�

Annie stood up too.

�It�s the very last thing I�d want,� she said. �Did you find out what happened to Gareth?�

�What?�

�Gareth. The boy we found dead in the block of flats?�

�It appears to be suicide, but the post-mortem will tell us more. And Mrs Carter, whatever it was, it does not concern you. I hope we understand each other.�

�We do.�

He nodded and went off down the stairs. Annie phoned Tony, went down to make sure the builders were hard at it, and was out the door, her face set in grim lines, to catch up on business before doing something she really, really didn�t want to have to do.

First thing next morning she phoned Ruthie and spoke to Layla, who told her about the kittens and seemed happy. Warm, caring Ruthie was more of a natural mother than she ever was, she knew that. Okay, she didn�t like it, but it was a fact. Then she left the builders to it and called over at Dolly�s in Limehouse.

�Cuppa, Mrs Carter?� asked Rosie, sauntering around the kitchen while Dolly badgered her to smarten herself up, which Rosie cheerfully ignored.

�No thanks, Rosie. Got a busy day ahead. How�s tricks?� Annie liked the girl. A real daydreamer, that was Rosie, padding around in bare feet and smiling nonstop.

�Ticking over,� said Rosie with a lazy grin.

�Yeah, not ticking very bloody fast though,� said Dolly, bustling through. �Go up and get dressed, for the love of God, Rosie. And tell Sharlene I want her to get down the shops�preferably before this Christmas, if she can spare the bloody time.�

Rosie strolled off upstairs.

�Jesus, that girl,� said Dolly with a reluctant smile.

Annie thought again of how panicked Dolly had been when she thought Rosie�d taken that escort job. Panicked beyond all reason, it seemed.

�You okay now?� Dolly was asking her. �You seemed a bit shook up yesterday.�

�It was bloody horrible, seeing Aretha laid out.�

�I know, I know.� Dolly patted her arm. �Poor old Louella. Ten times worse for her. What you up to, then?�

�Just work,� said Annie, �what else?�

�Ain�t it the truth,� agreed Dolly.

The grinding of the saw was usually the thing that sent him heading for the chair by the sink. DI Paul Hunter sat down there now, not wishing to suffer the indignity of actually collapsing on to it. There were advantages to doing this while Dr Penyard and his assistant worked on the corpse on the table. You couldn�t get a clear view of the proceedings, for a start. Which was a good thing. And, even better, you couldn�t smell much, either. He liked the chair by the sink.

Over the years he�d attended his fair share of postmortems, and nothing had yet hardened him to the procedure. He�d started off this one just as he did all the others�standing by the table. But that hadn�t been the wisest thing. Because hangings were never pretty, and Gareth Fuller�s was downright appalling.

Once the corpse had been an averagely good-looking young man. Now, in death, all pretence of that was gone. His face was drained to blood-less white. The tongue, which still protruded from between the chapped bluish lips, was dry, scaly black. And the open eyelids revealed the worst horror.

�That�s scleral haemorrhage,� said the gowned, goggled, gloved and chubby Dr Penyard cheerfully when Hunter had commented upon it. �Turns the whites of the eyes red.�

It was a hideous sight. The whole body was a hideous sight, and a pitiful one. The marks on the neck were brutal, horrible. The boy had puncture marks on his arms: he�d injected drugs. The lower legs looked bruised and were scattered with tiny red haemorrhages.

�Tardieu spots,� said Dr Penyard, as he briskly finished up on the thoraco-abdominal incision. �Consistent with hanging.�

Penyard put the saw aside and lifted off the ribs and breastbone to expose the pleural cavity.

Enough, thought Hunter. He didn�t know why he put himself through this.

Dedication, maybe. Insatiable curiosity�and, okay, he admitted it, just a little doubt. Just a little worm of doubt that gnawed away at him, made him think: Could she be right?

He couldn�t shake the image of Annie Carter�s face from his brain. A gangster�s moll, by all accounts. Tough as nails and twice as nasty, with a murky past. But stunning, he had to admit that. And with such intense conviction in her dark green eyes, such certainty that Chris Brown was innocent, such determination to prove that Gareth Fuller had not killed himself, but had been murdered to cover a killer�s tracks. Her passionate beliefs made him ask himself the question again: could she be right?

That was why he was here, even though he wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, else. To gain certainty. To know.

Now Penyard and his assistant were removing the heart and lungs, impersonal as butchers working on the carcass of a cow. They went on to remove the intestines, the brain. Hunter detached himself from what was going on here. Thought of other things. Like how he had to get this job done. Like his suspicions about DS Lane, too. The man was basically unlikable, but that didn�t matter. What mattered was that he was untrustworthy. Hunter felt that strongly.

�Hey Paul?�

Hunter looked up. Penyard was beckoning him over.

Groaning inside, Hunter stood up and walked over to the table.

�Found something?� he asked, keeping his eyes away from the gaping cavity in the corpse�s chest and the big skin flap on the head, where the skull was exposed. At least it covered up those bloody, staring eyes.

Penyard was looking at the neck.

�The flex left a deep bruise,� he pointed out. �Extensive capillary damage. Broke the hyoid cartilage.�

�Meaning?�

�The flex wasn�t placed around the neck after death.�

�So?�

Penyard shrugged. �Could be suicide, but could be murder too. There�s no sign of struggle though.�

�What if he was drugged?� asked Hunter.

Gareth had a clear reputation as a drug user. What if his killer had come across him in a drugged state?

He could imagine that. The knock on the door. Gareth, half out of it on dope, opening it, letting his killer in. Too weak and spaced out by the drugs to fight, or even to protest. Hoisted up on the light fitting, killed.

Easy.

And all because he checked in Smith, and checked him out, on the night Aretha Brown was killed? wondered Hunter. All because he might have been able to identify him?

Hunter thought about that. Something about the Aretha Brown case was looking subtly different to the first two. Something was niggling at him.

�You tested for drugs yet?� he persisted.

�Not yet. We will.�

�Okay,� said Hunter, and left the autopsy suite with a huge sense of relief, but also a profound feeling of frustration. He wanted to know. That was his driving force, his reason to be a cop, a detective. He needed to know. It was what had wrecked his six-year marriage, his dedication to the job. He�d got home one night and there was a note on the table, Goodbye. Simple as that. It was his own fault, and he knew it. He loved the job too much. And maybe�yeah, maybe he�d loved his wife too little.

When he got back to his desk, Collating were on the phone and they weren�t happy. DS Lane had been found down there taking out a couple of files.

�So?� he asked.

�Well, not so much �taking� them out as sneaking them out without permission, you know the procedure. He was heading for the photocopier room with them,� said the agitated voice on the other end of the phone.

�Which files?�

�The Aretha Brown murder. And the Gareth Fuller case too.�

Annie fucking Carter, he thought.

Dolly met Annie at the front door when she called in again at the Limehouse brothel.

�Someone here to see you,� she said in a whisper, her mouth pursed in a cat�s-bum curve of disapproval. �She�s been here ages.�

�Oh? Who?� Annie took off her jacket, shook the rain off, hung it on the peg.

�She wouldn�t give her name. Scruffy-looking little mare, looks sort of familiar but I can�t place her.�

Annie�s heart gave a leap. �In the kitchen?�

The cat�s-bum curve got deeper. The kitchen was sacrosanct to Dolly. It was the one place in the house where punters were never granted entry, where only favoured visitors were admitted.

�Fuck me, no. Tart like that, you�re kidding. The girl said she wanted to have a word with you, and I said you might not call in, and she said well she�d wait until you did, and she whiffs a bit so I almost thought of letting her wait out in the street. But anyway, call me a soft touch, but it�s peeing down out there, I couldn�t do it. She�s in the front parlour, which by the way I am probably going to have to get fumigated after this, and the bill�s coming to you, Annie Carter, is that clear?�

�It�s clear,� said Annie, trying not to crack a grin at Dolly�s gruff but kind ways.

She went into the front parlour and found Mira sitting huddled on the sofa, clutching her thin bare legs with clenched hands. She looked up sharply when Annie came in, and shot to her feet.

�Mira?� Annie stood there at the door and shook her head. �Fuck, it is you.�

But this wasn�t the Mira Cooper she had known. The Mira who had once worked for her up West, as a high-class call girl, had been the most luscious creature, with a huge mane of shining blonde hair, a film-star gloss to her perfectly tanned skin. She�d had couture dresses to wear, and jewels and furs, all bought for her by doting admirers.

She made a couple of calls from a nearby telephone box and then summoned Tony. Within half an hour she was standing at Mrs Walker�s front door. She knew she didn�t have time for this, not really, but then she didn�t truly have time for lunch at a swanky Park Lane hotel with the Barollis�if she was a bit late, sod it.

Mrs Walker looked exactly the same. Her red hair was scraped back and her face was lined with exhaustion. She was as washed out as a faded watercolour painting, clutching a pale lavender woollen cardigan around her tall bony frame as if it was a cold day. It wasn�t. It was hot, bright, a beautiful English summer day. She looked at Annie for a moment without recognition. Then the pallid eyes flared briefly. �Oh!�

�Yes, Mrs Walker. It�s me, Annie Carter. Can I come in?�

Mrs Walker stood back. Annie went past her into the same scrupulously clean but very threadbare front room, looked again at the photos of Teresa lined up along the mantelpiece.

Mrs Walker followed her into the room and sat down. She picked up the Bible from the arm of the chair, sat there stroking it nervously. Annie sat down too.

�Mrs Walker, I need to ask you something.�

�Yes?�

�Did Teresa have any tattoos?�

�What?�

�Tattoos. Did she have any, that you know of?�

Mrs Walker�s face contorted briefly. �No. Of course not. I always hated tattoos�so common. Only sailors and sluts have tattoos.�

Like Teresa was a Sunday school teacher, thought Annie. But she kept quiet about that.

�You sure?�

�Yes, I�m sure,� said the woman emphatically. �Teresa didn�t have any tattoos.�

And that neatly knocked Mira�s theory into a cocked hat. Unless�unless Teresa did have tattoos and simply kept them hidden or didn�t tell her mother about them. The flame tattoo had been applied high up on the inner thigh, Mira had told her. Maybe, just maybe, Teresa had been tattooed but, knowing her mother�s disapproval of them, she had not confided in her mother about it.

And a couple of days later, you�re dead, that�s what Mira had said.

Val had a tattoo. It�s a marker, Mira had told her.

She wondered whether Teresa had been buried, or cremated. Couldn�t bring herself to ask this poor little woman such a question. But there was an urn on the mantelpiece, among the photos.

�That your husband, Mrs Walker?� she asked her.

Mrs Walker shook her head. �No, that�s my little girl. That�s Teresa.�

And there went the only way of ever checking out Teresa�s tattoos.

She hadn�t noticed any reference to tattoos in the police files and it was too late to take a second look. Lane had already put the damned things back. Sod it.

She didn�t even want to think about what her next move was. It was too fucking horrible to contemplate. But she knew she was going to have to do it.

A doorman in dark green livery and a gleaming top hat greeted her at the door. She told reception that she was with Mr Barolli�s party and was quickly shown to the penthouse�s private dining room. It was so exquisitely beautiful that she felt as though she was dreaming when she stepped into the room.

A big circular dining table was covered with white linen and set ready for lunch with silver cutlery, costly crystal glassware and low bowls of fragrant pink roses.

Living ones, not dead sprang into her brain and she threw it straight back out again.

All around the walls of the room were huge mirrors, edged with ornate and exquisitely delicate gold filigree. Vast windows, draped with ivory sheers, led out on to a terrace overlooking Mayfair. There was even a semicircular fountain out there and, as she took a glass of champagne from the tray offered by one of the staff, she saw Constantine standing out there beside it, glass in hand, talking to his son, Lucco.

Constantine�s head turned and his eyes met hers.

She felt it again, that same hard physical jolt of sexual attraction that hit her every time their paths crossed. He was so gorgeous, so striking. His silvergrey suit exactly matched the tone of his hair and was clearly bespoke and straight from Savile Row. The blue shirt and striped grey and blue tie complemented his eyes. He was confident of his own attraction, an Alpha male to his bones. He was watching her with drink in hand, casually eating something, some little appetizer, and his eyes clearly said first this�then you.

Lucco had looked round too, alerted by Constantine�s sudden distraction.

Well, there�s one person who don�t look pleased to see me, she thought.

Lucco had always made his feelings about her very clear. He didn�t want her anywhere near his father, and he had always taken pains to make that obvious. It must be creasing him, having her show up here, invited by his father as an honoured guest.

�Mrs Carter?�

A young replica of Constantine came forward to greet her. She smiled.

�I remember you. Alberto.�

�That�s right. And this is my Aunt Gina.�

Gina, an imposing-looking woman of middle years was standing by the dining table. She glanced at her watch.

�Mrs Carter,� she acknowledged frostily. �You�re a little late.�

�I know, I�m sorry.�

�I don�t believe you�ve met Cara? And her husband, Rocco?� Alberto indicated Constantine�s daughter and her new husband. The couple moved forward to be introduced. Cara, prettily blonde and with an unappealing spoilt pout to her lovely face, gave a sour half-smile. Skinny, dark-haired Rocco shook Annie�s hand.

�My father�s expecting you, come on out here,� said Alberto. �It�s beautiful, you can see the whole of Mayfair��

Alberto had all the charm of Constantine without his dangerous edge. Instinctively she liked him. Out on the terrace, with the fountain tinkling prettily in the background, Constantine came forward and kissed her on both cheeks. For a moment, as Alberto moved off to talk to Lucco, they stood alone.

�You look ravishing, Mrs Carter,� said Constantine in a whisper against her cheek. �I�d like to fuck you right now.�

Annie felt her body respond to that, to his nearness, his power, his strength. He smelled delicious, and she caught herself inhaling the scent of him, identifying the cologne he always wore, Acqua di Parma�and, under that, a muskier, darker scent of pure animal maleness. No kissing of the hand this time. She looked into his eyes, knew he was thinking about that too. Constantine put a hand on her back and turned her toward Lucco.

�Mrs Carter, you remember my son�Lucco?� he said.

Lucco gave an exaggeratedly formal half-bow and kissed her hand.

Oily little creep, she thought, and stifled the impulse to wipe her hand afterwards. He was still the same smoothly attractive package, all dark hair, black eyes and slimy poise.

�Shall we eat then?� asked Constantine, and led the way back inside.

It was Wednesday morning, ten o�clock, sun bright in the sky, traffic honking and nudging along the roads, girls out in short skirts, the parks green and beautiful. And there was Annie, feeling depressed and queasy and sitting alone in the waiting room of the funeral parlour, alone this time and wishing she was out there in the noise and the heat and the fumes, anywhere in fact but in here.

She felt sick, thinking about what she had to do.

She snatched up a paper from one of the chairs, trying to distract herself and failing. Read about troops firing CS gas at rioters in the Bogside area of Londonderry, and scuffles between blacks and police in Notting Hill. Everywhere, it seemed, there was fighting, destruction, death.

Then the same thin woman she had seen last time came in, smiling and efficient as always. Black Vidal Sassoon-type bob, black suit, neat white shirt and black buckled shoes. Clipboard clutched briskly to her nonexistent breasts.

Annie put the paper aside.

�Mrs Carter,� said the woman.

�Yes,� said Annie, and stood up.

�You�d like to spend some more time with Aretha, I understand,� said the woman in the same sugar-sweet and soothing tone she�d used last time.

�That�s right,� said Annie, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth, it felt so dry.

�That�s no problem at all. Were you very close?�

Oh God, she wants me to make polite conversation, thought Annie. I�m here to do the unthinkable, and now she wants a fucking chat.

�Yes,� she said. �Very.�

That was, if you counted being madam and whore together. If you counted laughing together until your sides ached, and sharing breakfasts and dinners and sometimes tears and gripes about period pains and men and this face cream or that nail varnish and the state of the whole damned world. Silly little things, but all shared. She couldn�t tell this woman how funny Aretha had been, or how courageous; how more than once Aretha had come through for her and for others, putting herself at risk to help her friends.

Now, all that was gone.

�Follow me then,� said the woman, her professional smile growing more fixed as she took Annie�s tone for what it clearly was�a rebuff.

Annie followed her into the same room as before, the Chapel of Rest, where last time she had stood with Dolly and Louella. The coffin was still there, the coffin containing all that was left of Aretha. Annie felt her stomach constrict. She didn�t want to do this.

�If you�d like me to stay with you�?� the woman offered.

Yes please, thought Annie.

But this was something she had to do alone, without an audience. And once again she wondered why she was taking Mira�s words so seriously. Mira the wreck, the junkie. But still, Mira. Mira who had once, long ago, strode through Mayfair in furs, adored, applauded, cosseted, her favours highly prized. Mira, who had known her own value to the nth degree. Who was nobody�s fool.

�I want to see her alone.�

�If you need me, I�ll be�� She indicated the next room.

Annie nodded. The woman withdrew, closing the door behind her. Annie took a breath and walked forward. Stopped, heart thumping sickly. Moved forward again, forced herself to move one foot in front of the other. Until she was right there, looking down at Aretha�s slumbering face. No, not slumbering. The face was dead. The face was just a shell that would soon dissolve, disintegrate, fade back into the earth.

�Christ,� muttered Annie under her breath. She could feel cold sweat breaking out all over her body. She felt as if she was going to chuck up, right now.

But it wasn�t really Aretha, lying there. She told herself that, very firmly. And when she half closed her eyes, she imagined she could see the real Aretha, the Aretha of the high-fives and wide watermelon grin, standing there in her hot pants and her Afghan coat by the dummy altar�watching her old friend, and amused by her trepidation.

Jeez, girlfriend, you so soft, said the real Aretha. Get on with it, for fuck�s sake. What, you think that poor empty thing�s gonna leap out an� bite you or somethin�? Dream on.

Annie gulped.

�Oh fuck this,� she muttered miserably, and reached out.

She had to do this. If only to be certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was all nonsense, all the product of a junkie�s tormented mind. She stepped forward, leaned over the coffin. Reached down with a shaking hand and touched the frilled gown at Aretha�s throat, pushed the fabric back. Saw the red contusions that the gown had concealed. Felt her heart squeeze tight with grief and pity. Then felt the rage come hot on its heels. That someone could do this to Aretha. The rage helped her, steadied her a little. Her hand drifted down, gently lifting the gown at Aretha�s feet. She hesitated.

�I�m sorry as hell about this, Aretha,� she said into the still, cold air of the place.

Annie lifted the cool linen, pulled it slowly up. As she did so a faint fragrance wafted up. She wrinkled her nose and gagged. What she could smell was the sweet, almost sickly whiff of corruption. The ghastly smell brought it all home to her with vicious force. Aretha was dead. And although it was cool in here, slowing the natural processes, postponing the inevitable, outside it was high summer and it was hot. Soon, Aretha�s remains would begin to rot.

Bile rose, hot and sour, in her throat. She swallowed and moaned. She had to force herself to stay there, force herself not to run away from this.

Got to dig deep and do this.

For Chris, she had to do this. Otherwise he was going down, for sure.

Again she had that strong feeling of Aretha standing nearby, laughing her head off.

Damn, girl, get the fuck on with it, what you waitin� for now?

�Okay,� said Annie, straightening up, gathering herself. �Okay.�

She lifted the white fabric higher, up over the dead Aretha�s sheeny chocolate-brown skin, over her long calves, over her shapely knees, up over her long, strong thighs. The smell was stronger now. Annie was breathing through her mouth, trying very hard not to throw up all over the damned corpse.

�Oh Jesus, Aretha, help me out here, throw me a fucking bone, will you?� she groaned aloud, sweating, nearly crying aloud with revulsion and loss. She leaned in and lifted Aretha�s leg. It was a dead weight, dead in every sense. A bubble of hysterical laughter almost escaped her then.

Who could have thought a dead person�s leg would be so heavy?

Annie found that she was sweating heavily now, despite the coolness of the room. She felt disgusted with herself because she was doing this, disgusted with Aretha for being dead, disgusted with the sick bastard who had destroyed this living, breathing woman and inflicted a thing like this on them both.

�What in the name of God you doin�, girl?� said Aretha�s furious voice loudly from right behind her.

Annie�s heart leapt into her throat. She dropped the leg and spun round, clutching her chest. But it wasn�t Aretha at all, it was Louella, standing there with hands on huge hips, staring at her with horrified eyes.

�I�m�� Annie�s mouth was so dry she could hardly speak.

�Well, what?� demanded Aretha�s aunt, shaking her head. �You sick,� she spat, turning on her heel and making for the door. �I�m gonna get that woman in here and she goin� to kick your sorry arse right out on the street, you hear me?�

Annie heard her. And she knew she had to get this done quick. She turned back to Aretha�s corpse, lifted the left leg again, put all her weight behind it this time, grunting with the effort. Looked high up on the inner thigh. There was nothing there. Nothing at all. Just pure, unblemished skin. She could hear Louella screaming and bawling to the woman in the next room, could hear a chair scraping back, hurried foot-falls coming closer.

So little time.

Yeah, girlfriend, so get the fuck on with it, why don�t you�?

She dashed around the other side of the coffin and reached in and lifted the right leg this time. Hefted it up with a grunt of effort. Right up.

�What the hell do you think you�re doing?� demanded the woman, dashing in with all pretence of charm gone, all guns blazing. She�d even forgotten her clipboard. She turned back towards the door. �I�m calling the police��

And there it was.

Annie stared at Aretha�s inner thigh, and there it was.

Her mouth dropped open in surprise.

A flame tattoo. It�s a marker, Mira had said. There�s money in it. Aretha loved money.

But what the hell did that mean? And a marker for what�and for who?

Aunt Louella was babbling something, but Annie didn�t hear her.

�Hey!� she shouted. The woman stopped, turned, her face a picture of total fury. �Yeah, go on. Phone the police. Ask for DI Hunter. Tell him it�s urgent.�

�Another complaint, Mrs Carter,� said Hunter coldly. �This is getting to be a habit with you. First intimidation, now interfering�for God�s sake�with a corpse. Anything to say about this?�

They were pacing about on the pavement outside the undertaker�s. DS Lane was leaning against the cop car watching them, and Tony was leaning against the Jag watching too. Louella had thrown a few accusations about when Hunter had first arrived, and then she had stormed off, warning Annie not to go near �her baby girl� again. The woman from the funeral parlour had filled him in with the unsavoury details of the situation.

Annie had sat in the waiting room, watching his face while he absorbed what had gone on here. He didn�t look happy about it, and that was a fact. Finally, he said they�d talk outside, and told the woman goodbye. She�d watched Annie go with a sneer of disgust.

�Yeah, I got something to say,� said Annie. �I was looking for a flame tattoo, on her inner thigh.�

Hunter stopped pacing and turned to face her.

�And this is significant how?� he asked.

�God, I don�t know. Someone told me these girls who have been killed were all marked with this particular tattoo�I know, it sounds sick�at a parlour beside the Alley Cat club in Soho, shortly before they were killed.�

Hunter looked at her. �In France, prostitutes used to be marked with the fleur-de-lys,� he said.

�Well these were marked with a flame.�

�Who is this someone?� asked Hunter. His dark eyes were probing, searching her face for answers.

�Can�t tell you that,� said Annie.

His gaze got harder. �Withholding information from the police is a serious matter, Mrs Carter.�

Annie stuck her hands in her jacket pockets and looked at him.

�I�m not trying to be obstructive,� she said. �I think we can help each other out here. I spoke to Teresa Walker�s mother, but she had no knowledge of a tattoo and Teresa was cremated so there goes all hope of checking it out now. But you must have things like that on record, distinguishing marks, moles, stuff like that.�

He was still gazing at her. �Of course.�

�Then check it.�

�What about Val Delacourt?� he asked.

�You know she worked in the Alley Cat, stripping?�

He drew breath. Seemed to count to ten. �Of course I know that.�

�Right next to the tattoo parlour. We can check that too.�

�Mrs Carter.� He raised a finger and pointed it squarely at her. �I can check it. You can stay out of trouble.�

They locked eyes. He had nice eyes, she thought. Dark as bitter chocolate. They could even be warm, if he ever unbuttoned himself enough to relax and smile.

�What about Gareth?� she asked.

�What the f�what about him?�

�You said the post mortem was on Friday.�

Hunter gave a sigh. �You�re a very annoying woman, Mrs Carter.�

�Yeah, it�s a bitch,� said Annie. �I�m annoying and you�re uptight, what can you do?�

He ignored that. �The findings were inconclusive. Consistent with asphyxia, but��

�But? But what?� demanded Annie.

�There was evidence of a lot of drugs in his system. It seems that with that level of toxicity, it�s unlikely the victim would have the energy or the inclination to hang himself. Open the door, possibly. But hang himself? Almost certainly, no.�

Annie�s attention sharpened. �So you think I could be right�you think someone hanged him?�

�It�s possible.� Hunter looked at her. �Have you heard of autoerotic asphyxia, Mrs Carter?�

�Oh come on,� she gave a half-smile. �You know my history. Of course I�ve heard of it. You think Gareth was into that?�

�We don�t know yet. And whether he was or not is actually no concern of yours.�

�This was my husband�s manor,� said Annie.

�I don�t believe in �manors�, Mrs Carter, you know what I�m saying?�

�Now it�s mine,� said Annie, ignoring what he�d said.

He was back at the finger-wagging again. �Keep your nose out,� said DI Hunter.

Annie looked at the finger, thinking that if he wagged it in her face just one more time, she was going to bite the fucker, hard. But she kept a lid on it. After all, she needed his cooperation. �Sure,� she said. �Can I see Chris Brown? Is that possible?�

�No,� said Hunter. �It isn�t.�

�He needs a friend to talk to. I�m his friend. Let me talk to him.�

Hunter looked at her as if she was some interesting alien species. �Despite all that he�s done?�

�If I thought he�d done it, I wouldn�t be asking.�

�Obstinacy isn�t a virtue, Mrs Carter,� said Hunter.

�Persistence is,� said Annie.

He paused. Looked at her. His hand dropped to his side. She had the distinct impression that he was almost stifling a smile. �I�ll see if there�s anything I can do.�

Annie nodded, satisfied. She went to the Jag and got in.

He watched her being driven away. Her manor, for God�s sake. He approached the malodorous DS Lane, who was leaning there smirking against the car. He hated Lane. He was sure that the creep had been passing info to Annie Carter. He had a cop�s nose for who he could trust and who he couldn�t. Lane was bent. He just knew it. And Annie Carter? Who the hell knew what went on in that woman�s brain?

It was her day for getting grief. Grief off Louella and the woman at the Chapel of Rest, then grief off Hunter, and now even more grief, from a thunderous Dolly this time, when she joined her in Limehouse for lunch.

�Something up, Doll?� she asked, since they were alone.

�You want to know what�s up?� Dolly crashed the teacup down into the saucer. �I�ll tell you what�s up. I�ve had Aretha�s Aunt Louella on the phone bending my ear over you. Saying how you should be ashamed of yourself, you are a monster, a pervert, possibly a lezzer, no probably a lezzer, shouting down my ear, she was for about half an hour, and all because of what you�ve been up to.�

�Ah,� said Annie.

�You might well say �ah�. When she told me, for fuck�s sake, Annie Carter, when she told me that, I didn�t blame her.�

�Doll��

�I don�t believe you. I really don�t. I cannot believe that you�d do a thing like this, fiddling with a fucking corpse.�

�Doll, look��

�Shut up, I�m not done. You�ve really put the tin lid on it this time. You�re off on some bloody wild-goose chase again looking for something you�ll never find, looking to pin this whole horrible business on someone other than Chris�well, let me tell you, Annie, you won�t. Because�face it�Chris did it. He did Aretha, and he did the other two as well. He�s guilty as sin and they�ve got him for it and he�s going to go down for a long, long stretch and that�s good because he did it. Now.� Dolly stood up, placed both hands flat on the table and glared down at Annie. �Aretha�s funeral�s on Thursday, and you�d better be there and you�d better apologize to Louella for all this upheaval. God knows if she�ll ever forgive you, but it�s the decent thing to do and so you�re going to do it. Got that?�

Annie pursed her lips and looked up at Dolly.

Trust Dolly to tell it exactly how it was. And maybe she was right. Maybe she was right and Annie was wrong. But while they were flinging mud about, what about Dolly? What about her weird behaviour when Rosie went walkabout? She�d been shitting bricks, and Annie hadn�t asked her to explain that yet, because if Dolly thought that Chris had killed them girls, then why was she so worried for Rosie? It didn�t add up.

�Look,� said Annie. �I had a good reason for acting like I did. Mira told me something��

�That junkie?� snorted Dolly.

�Yeah, that one.� Annie�s voice hardened. �Doll, you�re just going to have to trust me on this. I had reason, okay? But listen. I�ll be at the damned funeral. And I will apologize.�

Dolly let out a breath. �Good.�

�Now I�ve got to go,� said Annie.

�I had to say something,� said Dolly.

�I know, Doll.� Annie slipped on her jacket and went down the hall, past a boot-faced Ross in his seat by the front door. �Where are the girls?� she asked him, pausing there. �It�s quiet.�

�Sharlene�s got a client in. Rosie�s out,� said Ross reluctantly. He hated her, she knew that. She was a Carter, he was a Delaney boy. They couldn�t get past that.

Annie went on outside, closed the door behind her. She knew one thing for sure. She had to pursue this thing with Aretha, whatever else might get in the way. She had to try. And the first thing on her to-do list was finding Mira again.

The Alley Cat club was busier in the evenings. In fact, the place was heaving, with bare-titted hostesses in little frilly skirts shimmying through the seated throng bearing trays of wildly overpriced drinks. �Get Back� was pounding out of the huge sound system until Bobby Jo swaggered on to the stage in a long gold-sequinned gown and huge red bouffant wig to a wave of rapturous applause. He promptly started turning the air blue with his jokes.

Struggling to see through the rising smoke of a hundred cigarettes, Annie and Tony descended the stairs and took a table while Bobby Jo did the build-up to the next act. Annie was annoyed and worried. At her instruction, Steve had checked out the canal bridge under the Mile End Road last night, and Mira hadn�t been there, only Jackie.

When asked, Jackie had shrugged and told Steve that she hadn�t seen Mira and it looked like she was gone for good, and while he was there how about a blow-job for a fiver?

Steve had graciously declined. Asked how Rizzo was doing. Told her to go get a life, kick Rizzo to the kerb. Jackie graciously told Steve to fuck off.

�That one won�t bail out,� he told Annie on the phone when he reported the news. �Thinks the little runt loves her or something.�

�Don�t worry about Jackie,� said Annie. �It�s Mira I�m concerned about. She�s a friend from way back. I want her found.�

�I�ll put the word out. And I�ll check again tonight, okay, but don�t hold your breath. She won�t be there.�

Annie had said: yeah, do that. She looked at the Rolex on her wrist and hoped and prayed that Mira wasn�t gone for good.

�Now the ONE, the ONLY, SASHA!� Bobby Jo roared at last, and stepped down from the stage. Spotting Annie there, he came across to her table. On the way, he snapped his fingers at one of the hostesses, pointed to the table. She instantly swerved around a punter�s grasping fingers and made her way back to the bar.

Bobby Jo pulled up a chair as whoops and shouts erupted all around them.

�Nice to see you in again, Mrs Carter,� he said loudly in her ear. �Welcome back to the jungle.�

�Thanks.� The hostess was back with Bobby Jo�s ice bucket containing an opened bottle of Krug.

Expensive tastes, thought Annie again.

�Drink?� offered Bobby Jo.

Annie shook her head. Tony too. He looked as though he wished he�d brought his paper, like last time. Annie saw him glance at the act unfolding on the stage. Sasha was up there doing something obscene with a boa constrictor. She turned her attention back to Bobby Jo.

�Do you own this place, Bobby Jo?� she asked him.

The sharp black eyes met hers from beneath their concealing forest of fake lashes.

Talk about Halloween, thought Annie. She really didn�t like this man at all. There was something sinister, something deeply hidden, about Bobby Jo.

�Nah,� he said shortly, turning his gaze back to Sasha and her pet. �Wish I did,� he said, pouring himself a glass of champagne. �I�d make a mint. This is a fucking Wednesday night, can you believe it?�

There was no accounting for taste, that was for sure. Annie refused to be sidetracked.

�So who owns it?� she asked.

The ferocious painted face of Bobby Jo was still for a moment. The black pebble eyes looked coldly into hers. Annie didn�t look away.

�Consortium of businessmen,� said Bobby Jo. �You know the sort of thing. Tax write-offs��

�Money laundering?� suggested Annie. �Clubs are good for that.�

She knew that all too well. Years back, this had been the main function of the Carter clubs. But now she made sure that any cash that passed through them was squeaky clean.

Bobby Jo gave a grin, shrugged.

�As I said, I�m only management.�

�And you don�t know any of the owners?� Annie stared at him. �That�s hard to believe.�

Bobby Jo gave a tight, mirthless grin. �I�m paid to know nothing,� he said. �That�s the deal.�

�How about the tattoo parlour next door?� She and Tony had paused outside the little parlour on the way in, looked in the dirty windows, seen the faded pictures of clients and their tattoos, the charts detailing all the many and various designs a person could have tattooed on to their body. The CLOSED sign was up. In the flat above the shop, a dim light burned behind closed curtains. �They own that too, these businessmen? I heard Pete Delacourt runs it.�

Bobby Jo looked at the act. Annie looked at Bobby Jo.

�No, they don�t,� he said.

�You know who does?�

Bobby Jo turned his head and his eyes met hers. �No.�

Annie nodded and looked at what Sasha was doing with the python. �Did Sasha know Teresa?� she asked.

�Yeah, I suppose. But I told you. All the girls in here hate each other. They compete. They don�t do bosom buddies.�

�Did you know Teresa?�

Bobby Jo squinted at her. �Sure I knew her. I told you, she pissed me off by passing around her business cards in here. And she was nicking stuff from behind the bar. I can�t prove that�but I�m sure it was her because the minute she went AWOL, the thieving stopped.�

�I mean, were you intimate with her?�

�Intimate?� The grotesque face was a picture of shock, then suddenly Bobby Jo was laughing. �What, me and that little slapper? Jeez, I wouldn�t touch her with someone else�s, let alone my own.�

�Then who was? Someone must have come close to her.�

�Nobody in this place,� said Bobby Jo. �Not that I know of. I told you. She was a right little cow, good at making enemies, shit at making friends.�

�You don�t know much,� said Annie. �Considering you run the place.�

Bobby Jo turned his face to hers. No flicker of amusement there now.

�I keep my head down and do my job,� said Bobby Jo. �Best that way. Safer.�

�You don�t mind if I have a chat to the staff?�

Again the shrug. �I�ve no objections.� But he didn�t look happy.

�Good,� said Annie, and stood up. �No time like the present.�

After about an hour it became clear to Annie that the bulk of the staff neither knew nor cared whether Teresa Walker was dead or alive. But the hard-eyed hostess who had waited on their table, Tamsin, visibly wobbled when questioned about Teresa�s love life. Bobby Jo was watching Annie�s progress around the room; she could feel those cold shark eyes boring into her back everywhere she went.

�Hey,� Tamsin said above the roar of the crowds, her eyes darting nervously around the smoke-filled room, �I don�t know nothing about that. I keep my head down and do my job.�

Echoing, with spooky accuracy, Bobby Jo�s own words.

Annie told her thanks, and Tamsin hurried gratefully away.

On Thursday, Annie got an unexpected call from DI Hunter. By eleven that same morning she was sitting in a chilly, blue-painted and comfortless room in HM Prison, Wandsworth. The room contained two hard chairs and an oblong table. There was no window. The light was coming from a forty-watt bare bulb hanging overhead. It glimmered weakly on Annie and on Chris Brown, who was sitting opposite her wearing prison fatigues.

Annie thought Chris looked sick. He�d lost weight, his skin was developing a greyish pallor, his eyes looked haunted. She knew that look. She�d seen it in the mirror. But she was disturbed by how quickly this had happened to him. Chris, the strong ex-boxer, built like an armour-plated tank. Chris the tough and uncompromising Delaney hard man. Who also happened to be her friend.

She thought about that. Yeah, here she was again. Crossing over the invisible line that had been drawn long ago between the Delaney and the Carter firms. The Delaneys ought to have been fitting Chris up with a brief and pushing for a visit�but instead here she was, doing their work for them.

Over the years she had come to appreciate this man. He looked like a terrifying bruiser�but in fact she believed he was gentle to the core. She knew his appearance gave the lie to that. He had shoulders like slabs of beef, a huge neck, hands that could knock nails into wood. No doubt about it, Chris was a fearsome sight, even diminished as he was by suffering. Easy to see why Hunter was trying to pin this on him. He looked guilty as fuck, a perfect fit for a frame.

Annie frowned, watching Chris. Hunter still seemed convinced that Chris was their man.

And what if he�s right and I�m wrong? What if I get to prove Chris is innocent because I�m too stubborn and I�m trying to prove a point as usual, and he gets off and then tops some other poor bitch?

But no. She looked into Chris�s eyes. No. She couldn�t be wrong. She had to carry on believing that.

�They treating you all right in here?� asked Annie into the leaden silence of the room.

�Yeah. Fine.� Chris passed a hand over his eyes, as if they were sore. He looked at Annie.

�They released her body yet?�

Annie gulped down a breath and nodded.

�When�s the funeral?� he asked in a whisper.

�Friday.�

He nodded heavily. �They won�t let me go. Not a chance.�

�No. I don�t think so.�

There was a pause. �I didn�t do it,� said Chris. �And those others. I don�t know them from a hole in the ground. Honest.�

�I believe you.�

�Can�t prove it though, can I? Same MO.�

�We�re all trying to help, Chris. Seriously.�

Chris nodded again, tried to smile. �Friday,� he said, and his voice cracked. �Christ. Friday. And I can�t even be there.�

There was absolutely nothing Annie could say to that. Nothing at all.

�This is Mira. You remember Mira, she�s been here before. She used to be one of my girls up West,� said Annie.

Dolly was staring at the apparition that had materialized in her spotless kitchen. So was darkhaired, sharp-faced Sharlene, who looked as if someone had just dropped a dead rat at her feet. Even easy-going, sleepy-eyed little Rosie was struck dumb. Ross was out. Just as well, really.

�I remember Mira from your place up West,� said Dolly, her eyes travelling up over the bag of bones standing there whiffing the place out. �Jeez, I thought this one looked familiar when she came here last time, sort of. But you�ve got to be kidding me. This ain�t Mira.�

�Yes it is, Doll. This is Mira.�

�Well, for fuck�s sake. What happened, she get hit by a truck?�

�Don�t talk about her as if she ain�t here,� said Annie, getting miffed on Mira�s behalf. She might be a wreck, but she still had feelings.

�I�d prefer it if she wasn�t,� said Dolly smartly.

�I�ll go,� said Mira listlessly, turning on her heel, heading for the hall. �I should go, let me go, for God�s sake��

�No, you won�t,� insisted Annie. She turned to Dolly, who was nearly quivering with disgust at this thing Annie had brought into her tidy, homely little place. �Look, Doll. I can�t take her to the flat over the club, I�m never there and she needs keeping an eye on.�

�She needs her next fix by the look of her,� said Dolly in disgust. �Get her out of here. I don�t want her here.�

Annie looked at Mira. Whatever Mira was on, she was clearly starting to feel withdrawal symptoms. The shivering had stepped up a gear. Dolly had a point. But it wasn�t like her to be so bluntly uncharitable. �Yeah, about that,� she started in.

�You can�t be thinking she�s going to stop here,� said Dolly, reading her mind.

�I�m not stopping here,� said Mira through chattering teeth.

�Yes you bloody are,� said Annie. She turned to Dolly. �Yes she is, Doll.�

�No,� said Mira.

�See? She don�t want to stop here,� said Dolly triumphantly. �So for fuck�s sake get her out, okay?�

Sharlene and Rosie were watching from the sidelines like spectators at a tennis match, their heads moving back and forth, following the action.

�Will you both shut it?� snapped Annie. �Mira�you�re stopping. Dolly�she�s stopping. I hate to ask, but��

�Oh, here we go,� snorted Dolly.

�Come on, Doll. I wouldn�t ask if it wasn�t necessary. Please. I want someone I can trust to keep an eye on her. Just tuck her away nice and quiet. Keep her out of the Delaneys� way.�

Dolly�s mouth dropped open. �What the�now look, if she�s crossed up the Delaneys in some way, I don�t want to know. I don�t get involved in their business, you know that.�

�I�m not stopping here,� bleated Mira.

�You�re stopping,� said Annie, her eyes flinty with determination as she turned her gaze on Dolly. �What is up with you?�

�Me?� spat back Dolly. �Nothing wrong with me. I didn�t bring this piece of shit in here.�

Annie turned away from Dolly. �Rosie, take Mira up to the back room, settle her in. Oh yeah�and run her a bath.�

�Why me?� whined Rosie.

�Because you�re a nice girl, Rosie. And you can see that Mira needs your help.�

�Oh fuck,� complained Rosie, and went past a grinning Sharlene to stand in front of Mira. �Jesus�she stinks.�

�The bath will sort that out,� said Annie, and Rosie ushered the shambling Mira out of the kitchen and into the hall and up the stairs. Sharlene stood there leaning against the worktop, smirking. Dolly gave Annie an angry glare.

�I hope you know what you�re bloody doing,� she said. �Me, I don�t think you do.�

�I�m helping a friend in need,� said Annie, following the two girls out into the hall. �And for God�s sake, Doll, I�d have thought you�d do the same. Seems I was wrong. Oh yeah�keep Ross away from her. And tell the girls not to throw her name around, okay? Call her�oh, I don�t know�Susan or some fucking thing, but not Mira. And look�after she�s had a bath, you�d better make sure there�s a lock on her bedroom door. She tends to wander off.�

�Fuck you, Annie Carter,� said Dolly with feeling.

�Thank God you�re back,� said Dolly frantically, meeting her at the front door of the Limehouse parlour.

�Why? What�s up?� Annie asked, freezing in alarm as she saw the expression on Dolly�s face. And then the noise came. It sounded like a soul trapped in hell, wailing and moaning. Goose bumps sprang up on her arms, and all the hair on the back of her neck lifted. �What the fuck�?�

�Mira. It�s bloody Mira,� said Dolly, and hurried away upstairs. �I told you I didn�t want her here.�

Annie followed, her heart in her mouth. Ross was nowhere to be seen. When they got up to the top landing, Rosie was standing with her face bleached white with alarm outside Mira�s door. Along the landing, they could see Sharlene through the open bathroom door, running water into the sink, splashing her face, groaning. The water was running pink.

�What�s happened?� Annie demanded.

�Sharlene took her in a cup of tea, that�s all,� said Rosie shakily. �No good taking her in food, she just chucks it at you, she never eats a thing. I was in my room, I saw Sharlene go past, and that girl in there�she�s been shouting and screaming all morning, it�s enough to drive you mad, she just went bloody crazy. Sharlene said she upped and cracked her one in the jaw, split her lip and everything, and Sharlene just got the hell out and locked the door on the mad bitch.�

Something hit the door, hard. They all stepped back. Annie went along to the bathroom and looked at Sharlene. The sink was a mess of blood, and Sharlene now had a white towel clamped to her mouth. The towel was slowly turning red.

�You all right?� she asked Sharlene.

Sharlene nodded, but she looked shaken all to hell. �Just a cut lip,� she said, her voice muffled. She tried to smile. �I�ve had worse off punters.�

�Rosie.� Annie beckoned the blonde girl along, and she gratefully moved away from the door and came to the bathroom. �Stay with Shar and look after her, okay?�

Rosie nodded.

Annie went back to the door and looked at Dolly. Dolly returned her stare.

�You ever see anyone go cold turkey before?� asked Dolly.

Annie shook her head.

�Well I have. That�s what�s happening here. It ain�t pretty. One of my cousins got into drugs and his dad shut him in the shed for three days to dry him out. I�m telling you, by the time it was done and he was clean again, the inside of that shed looked like a fucking nuclear fallout zone.�

A huge thump hit the door.

�Gotta get out! Out! Let me OUT,� shrieked Mira.

Annie and Dolly exchanged tense looks.

�I�d better go in there,� said Annie. �She knows me, maybe I can talk to her, calm her down.�

�Rather you than me,� said Dolly, wincing as something smacked hard against the other side of the door again. The key in the lock fell out and hit the carpet. �I warned you,� said Dolly in agitation. �I told you not to bring her in here. But would you listen? No. As per fucking usual. You always have to fly around like a fart in a bottle, messing around in things you don�t even understand.�

Annie turned to her with hands on hips. �Okay, let�s have this out in the open. What the fuck are you talking about?�

�Nothing.� Dolly�s eyes slipped away from hers. �I don�t want a ruck with you, I just don�t want this girl here, she�s killing my business. I want her out.�

�You�re coming in with me,� said Annie, snatching up the key.

�Thanks a bunch,� said Dolly.

Annie took a breath to steady herself. Christ knew what they were going to find in there. She put the key in. Suddenly the howling and screeching from the other side of the door stopped dead. She paused. Looked at Dolly. Dolly mouthed, Get the fuck on with it then.

Annie turned the key in the lock.

Nothing.

She turned the handle and pushed the door open wide with the flat of her hand.

Inside, it looked as though an army of chimps had been marauding around the room. There was blood and shattered crockery on the floor, tea seeping into the carpet. The bed was shit�and urine-stained. The mirror above the dressing table opposite the door was cracked right across, talcum powder dusted all over the top of the dressing table and on the floor too. Scent bottles were thrown to the four winds, some broken, their jagged bits of glass strewn all over the place.

But�silence. Sudden, unearthly silence. A sort of waiting silence.

But this was Mira. Skinny, weak, no threat to anyone. So really there was no need�was there?�to feel like just relocking the door, turning tail, leaving whatever demons had been unleashed in there to play on and do their worst.

Annie stepped forward, aware that Sharlene, her chin still swathed in the reddening folds of the towel, was watching with Rosie from the open bathroom door. Annie walked cautiously into the room. China and glass crunched underfoot.

�Mira?� she said quietly into the silence.

No answer. She took another step forward. Saw a movement in the broken mirror across the room and ducked instinctively back, out of the way of the sliver of broken perfume bottle that Mira brought crashing down, intending to strike her head with.

�Jesus!� hollered Dolly, as Annie fell back against her.

A flailing figure came at them, arms pin-wheeling, slashing, trying to inflict harm. Wild hair flying, face twisted in a rictus of hate, eyes glaring. Annie was faintly aware of the two girls along the hall erupting into hysterical screams, but the only thought in her mind was: Christ, she meant to kill me with that. Mira was going to kill me stone dead.

Trapped between this crazy whirling dervish and the staggering too-slow body of her friend, Annie pushed forward hard, grabbing hold of the wrist of the hand holding the lethal glass shard.

Mira was snarling, spitting, her other fist raining blows down on Annie�s head. Dolly recovered herself and charged in too, trying to get a hold on that arm. But Mira was out of it and�shockingly�she had the strength of ten men.

�Let me out, I�ve got to get out!� she was yelling and screaming, panting with the effort of trying to do damage.

�Mira!� Annie shouted, trying to get through to her. �Mira, for God�s sake. It�s me, it�s Annie!�

But Mira was shoving forward, both hands caught, the two women struggling against her single-minded fury. Even though they had hold of her, they were losing the fight. She was pushing frantically, edging them back out through the door, literally throwing herself against them. Dolly went down on to her knees but held on tight to the wrist whipping about above her head. Annie pulled back, not wanting to do it, hating to do it, but what choice did she have? She pulled back as far as she could and punched Mira hard on the jaw. Mira toppled, the glass fragment flying out of her hand. Dolly let go of the girl�s skeletal wrist and hauled herself back to her feet.

�Shit a brick, who�d believe she�d be that strong?� she panted in wonder.

Annie sagged against the door, nursing her aching knuckles. Gasping, shaken, she stared down at Mira, who was squirming weakly on the floor, her eyes closed, her face screwed up in pain. Sharlene and Rosie crowded into the open doorway behind them.

�What�s she been on?� marvelled Rosie.

�Who gives a fuck?� muttered Sharlene, wincing behind the towel. �She ought to be locked up. She�s a sodding nut job, that one.�

�What the hell we going to do with her now?� Dolly asked, looking at Annie.

Rosie screamed.

They turned. Mira was scrambling back to her feet. Damn, thought Annie, bracing herself for the next onslaught. But Mira didn�t run at her. Mira gave the women in the doorway one desperate, despairing look, and her eyes shifted sideways. All at once, she was running across the room, towards the window.

�Shit!� said Dolly loudly.

Oh God help us, thought Annie, and dashed after her.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Mira up ahead, arms pumping, ready to fling herself into a sheet of glass to get out, ready to run herself into a messy and final oblivion. Annie rushing after her, the screams coming from Rosie, Dolly yelling something that Annie neither fully heard nor understood. Had to be quick, and oh shit she was so slow, too slow, surely too slow�

She caught up with Mira when she was right on top of the closed window, caught her and held her, pulled both her arms back, uncaring of how badly she might hurt her, intent only on stopping her committing suicide.

�Let me go, I�ve got to get out, I can�t stay here, he�s after me, for fuck�s sake let me go!� Mira was shrieking incoherently.

�Mira! Stop it! You�re going to kill yourself!� shouted Annie, losing her grip, struggling, Mira kicking back, trying to get free, trying to throw herself right through a solid pane of glass that would surely kill her, cut an artery, make her bleed to death even if she survived the long drop on to the paving below.

Mira got a hand free, and to Annie�s horror she started punching the glass, shouting, yelling, screaming, and the glass cracked, the crack running across the surface, and then another blow, and the cracks were deepening, spreading, and now there was blood on Mira�s hands, splashing out scarlet on to the curtains, spurting on to Annie�s face. And oh fuck Annie could feel her grip starting to go.

�Jesus�� she muttered, knowing that in an instant Mira would be through the glass, cutting herself, damaging herself irreparably.

�It�s okay,� said a male voice by Annie�s ear, �I got her.�

Ross was there. At last. Grabbing Mira bodily around the waist, ignoring her kicks, her struggles, her screams; taking her over to the dirty, disgusting bed and dropping her down on to it.

�Restraints,� he said as Annie sagged to the floor beside the window and tried to get her breath back.

Dolly had her head in her hands. The two girls in the doorway were standing there bloodied and tearful.

�We need something to restrain her,� said Ross again, to his exhausted audience.

Dolly dropped her hands. �The punishment chair,� she said, and left the room and came back with what looked like two huge leather belts. Ross took them from her, and secured Mira, who was sobbing uncontrollably now, to the bed.

�Well thank fuck,� said Sharlene from behind the towel.

�You can say that again,� said Dolly, and went and hauled Annie back to her feet.

Annie looked at Ross. Wondered if he�d heard her scream out Mira�s name. Maybe not. She hoped not.

Charlie Foster got the shock of his life when he got up on to the landing and found Annie Carter standing there. She was pointing an old .38 Smith & Wesson revolver at his head. He froze on the top step. Ross, coming up right behind him, paused, looked ahead, saw her standing there.

�What the fuck?� he asked in annoyance.

�Hiya Charlie,� said Annie.

Charlie carefully put his hands up. He was staring at the gun, which was now pointing towards his chest.

�Hey,� he said with a nervous half-smile, a thin shadow of his usual predatory leer. �Careful with that.�

�I�m always careful, Charlie.�

�We don�t want no trouble, Mrs Carter,� he said, his pale eyes still on the gun in her hand.

�What do you want?� asked Annie.

�You�ve got something of Mr Delaney�s here, Mrs Carter. That�s all we want. Just that.�

�You�re talking about a friend of mine,� said Annie, holding the gun steady although she could feel her heart stampeding inside her chest, could feel her stomach clenching with terror and loathing. Charlie Foster was a tough, mean bastard and she was scared shitless, but she wasn�t going to hand Mira over to him, not in a million years.

But here was the thing. She was here, standing in a parlour that paid protection to the Delaneys. She was on Delaney soil. The Delaneys owned this patch and controlled everything in it; she was only permitted to be here because Redmond Delaney said she could be. When he said she couldn�t, she was going to have to get the fuck out of it pretty damned fast�and it looked like that time had come.

She had something Redmond Delaney wanted, and that thing was Mira. She had no intention of handing her over. He wasn�t going to be hanging the flags out about this; in fact he was going to be seriously pissed off with her.

Charlie smiled coldly, his eyes running over her. �She�s ours, Mrs Carter, and you are out of your depth here. Let�s make this nice and easy. You put the gun down and stand aside, we take the girl, no harm done, no comebacks. How does that sound?�

�Like a bad idea,� said Annie. She was sweating with nerves. She could feel her hand growing slick with it on the burred walnut stock of the gun. �I�ve got a better one.�

�Yeah?� His eyes were watchful.

�Yeah. Here it is. You turn around and go back out the door, and I don�t shoot your balls off. How�s that?�

Charlie�s gaze didn�t waver but his ever-present smile dimmed a bit.

�Like I said, we don�t want no trouble,� he reiterated, taking a step forward. �Just hand the gun over��

Annie fired. The shot deafened them all. The bullet struck the ceiling above Charlie�s head. A chorus of screams went up from the kitchen below, but not a peep out of Mira, locked inside the bedroom, tied to the bed, helpless. Good girl, thought Annie. Plaster plumed out in a thick cloud, dusting down over Charlie like snowfall. He staggered back a step, blinking, choking, and was steadied by Ross.

Annie stepped forward.

�I told you, Charlie. Back off. Just keep going. Because I�m telling you, the next one�s going to blow your bollocks into mincemeat. You�re a young man with lots of productive years in front of you, do you really want that to happen?�

Charlie started to back down the stairs. Ross backed up too. Someone was pounding at the front door. Tony, thought Annie. He�d heard the shot.

Charlie held his hands up. The dust in his hair was white; he looked like he�d aged twenty years in the last few seconds. He wasn�t smiling any more.

�Hey�okay. I�m going, see? I�m going.�

�Yeah. Keep going, that�s the way,� said Annie, moving forward, following him down the stairs as he backed up.

�You ain�t heard the last of this,� said Charlie when he was at the front door. Ross opened it, glaring back at her.

Tony was there, ready to break heads.

�Keep out the way, Tone,� said Annie, and Tony saw the gun, saw the situation, and moved swiftly to one side. To Charlie, she said: �Keep going. You too, Ross.�

Annie was aware of Dolly and the two girls watching her from the open kitchen doorway.

�What the hell?� demanded Dolly, her eyes opening wide in horror as she stared at the gun in Annie�s hand.

Nobody answered her.

Charlie backed up out to the front gate, Ross following behind him. Tony fell in behind Annie, who was out on the front step now and still pointing the gun at Charlie�s undercarriage. In bright daylight, Charlie looked pale as milk.

�You�re bang out of order, you,� said Ross angrily to Annie.

�I�m doing what I have to do,� said Annie. �Go on now. Piss off, Charlie.�

With one last poisonous glare at her, Charlie went.

Ross stared at Annie and shook his head. �You�re fucking crazy.�

�You too. Go,� said Annie.

Ross went. When they were both out of sight, Annie handed the gun to Tony, who slipped on the safety and pocketed it. They went quickly back indoors, shut the door behind them. Tony threw the bolts over.

Dolly was staring at them both, aghast.

�What the fuck have you done?� she shouted at Annie.

Annie went to the phone. �Don�t worry, Doll, I�m going to make sure the Delaneys know you had no part in this.�

�Are you crazy?� asked Dolly, barging along the hall and glaring angrily at her. �Of course they�ll think I had a part in this. I run this place, what the hell do you think you�re doing?�

Annie snatched up the phone. Then she paused and looked at Dolly.

�Doll�they were going to take Mira.�

�Why the hell would they want to do that? What possible interest could a wreck like that be to the Delaney boys?�

�They came to get her. Ross heard me say her name and they came for her. Redmond wants her, I don�t know why. I couldn�t let them take her, Doll, even you must see that.�

�All I see is that you�ve landed me in the crap right up to my neck, that�s all. I told you she was trouble. How am I supposed to explain this away to Redmond Delaney?� Dolly�s eyes were crazy with exasperation and growing fear. �I don�t question what he does or don�t do. That ain�t my place.�

�Yeah,� said Annie. �You�ve made that clear enough.�

�And you didn�t fucking well listen to me!�

�You mean you�d have let them take her? I don�t believe you.�

�Don�t be a silly cow, Annie. If the Delaneys want to snatch a junkie�even one who�s a friend, or one who has been in the past, anyway, and let�s face it, she was your friend, not mine�then I don�t question it. What, do I look suicidal? And what am I supposed to do about Ross? You can�t just order him out of here, he�s my bloody doorman, he�s a Delaney boy�what the fuck are you up to now?�

Annie was dialling a number.

It was ringing.

She was praying he was there. Oh shit�what if he wasn�t?

Constantine picked up. �Yeah?�

Thank you, God.

Annie gulped down a breath and pushed the words out. �I need you. Right now.�

�What�s happening?� His voice was suddenly sharper.

�And a safe house, you got a safe house for somebody? And a doctor?�

�You okay?�

�I�m fine.�

�Where are you?�

Annie told him.

�Don�t move.� He put the phone down.

Annie glanced at Dolly, who looked mad enough to spit blood. At the two girls, cowering in the doorway. At Tony, whose expression said nothing. He just folded his arms and prepared to wait for backup to arrive.

�I�ll clear it with Redmond Delaney,� said Constantine, sitting in Dolly�s kitchen with Dolly, Rosie, Sharlene and Annie. �No worries.�

�No worries?� echoed Dolly angrily. She�d had a shock when Charlie Foster had come in and Annie had fired the gun, then an even bigger one when Constantine Barolli pitched up with half an army, but she was recovering fast. She always did. �How can you say that? I pay protection to the Delaneys, and there�s a Delaney man on the door�at least there was until this one,� she indicated Annie with a tetchy twitch of the head, �took it into her head to throw him out in the street.�

�I�ll sort it,� repeated Constantine. �The Carter family and me, we got a mutual thing going; everyone knows that. The Delaneys won�t want to cross me up. It�ll be fine.�

Annie felt limp with the aftermath of fear. Even cocky Sharlene and laid-back little Rosie seemed shattered by the experience they�d just been through, too traumatized to even give a magnificent hunk like Constantine the glad eye.

Annie had half expected to die, or to see Mira perish in front of her. She couldn�t believe that they were all sitting here in one piece. Now Tony and Constantine�s men were bringing Mira down the stairs, and she was wailing and crying again.

Redmond wanted Mira, and I�ve thwarted him, she thought worriedly. Is he really going to let this go?

She thought of Layla, across town at Ruthie�s, both of them unprotected. And her cousin Kath and the kids. She went out into the hall. �Tone?�

Tony drew back from the crowd and looked at her.

�Send some of the boys over to Kath�s, and to Ruthie�s in Richmond, right now.�

�Sure, Boss,� he said, and went out the front door.

Mira, her face haggard and streaked with blood, was stretching out a bony hand to Annie as they manhandled her carefully, wrapped in a clean blanket, down to the bottom of the stairs. Annie took the girl�s hand.

�It�s okay, Mira,� she said, squeezing her hand tightly. �These people are on our side. They�re not going to hurt you. You�re going to see a doctor, we�re going to get you well again.�

�I don�t want him to get me�� sobbed Mira.

�Jeez, is she out of it or what?� complained one of the men. �That�s all she keeps saying. I keep telling her, everything�s cool. But she keeps on saying that.�

Because she�s terrified for her life, thought Annie, her heart wrenching with pity.

�Be careful with her,� said Annie.

�Hey, no problem.� The young one who�d knocked at the door gave Annie a winning smile. �A friend of yours is a friend of ours, Mrs C. Don�t you worry about it.�

They took Mira out to the car. Annie went back along the hall and met Constantine coming towards her.

�I�m going to phone Redmond,� he said. �But until I do that, I�m leaving one of mine on this door, okay? Just until I straighten him out. You want one of mine with Layla?�

�No, I�ve got that covered,� said Annie, feeling suddenly awkward.

Well, she�d said it. She needed him. Now she knew that if she was honest with herself, she wanted him too. Not out of gratitude, and not on the rebound from a dead man.

She looked at him. Constantine stared back at her.

�You got some time to spare?� he asked her, eyes sparkling with challenge.

She didn�t waver. She nodded.

�Then let�s go,� he said.

Annie told Tony where she wanted to go next, and Tony drove in silence. It wasn�t his usual relaxed, amiable silence, however. This silence had a voice, and that voice was disapproving. Annie read the paper in the back seat and waited for him to tell her what was wrong. He kept glancing at her in the rear-view mirror then, when she glanced at him in return, his eyes flicked away.

She sighed and looked at the paper. Ulster was still in turmoil, Coronation Street had been running for a thousand episodes now. She put the paper aside.

�All right,� she said at last. �Come on. Say it.�

�Say what?� Tony shrugged, smoothly changing gear.

�Whatever�s on your damned mind, Tone. Either that or stop with the face, will you? I got troubles enough, without you throwing a strop on me.�

Tony was still silent.

Fuck it, thought Annie, and sat back.

�Okay,� he said suddenly. �You shouldn�t have done that, Mrs Carter. Called in the Barolli mob when we�ve got people of our own at hand. It gives a bad impression. Makes it look like the boys can�t soak up a bit of trouble, and you know they can. They�ll hear about it, and they won�t like it. You�re belittling them. That�s all I got to say.�

Annie let out an exasperated breath.

�Is that what you�re brooding about? For fuck�s sake.� Annie stared at him wrathfully. �Look, Tone. Here it is. I was in a mess and I had to act fast, I didn�t have time to think about hurt feelings, for the love of God. But what I did think was this: I couldn�t call the boys into a dispute with the Delaneys on Delaney turf. It would have looked like an aggressive act�hell, it would have been an aggressive act. And they would have had to retaliate or look like weaklings, like fucking pussies. Redmond Delaney could have moved against Dolly in reprisal, and then it would have been outright war.�

Annie paused. In the past, she knew she had acted on instinct, recklessly, without thought, causing things to happen that could have been avoided. She regretted those things every day, with all her heart. Now, she had learned. She was more careful. The tragedies of the past still haunted her, and her own culpability had made her more circumspect in her actions. She didn�t want Dolly or anyone else hurt if she could avoid it.

�You ever play any chess, Tone?� she asked him.

�A bit,� said Tony.

�Max taught me when we were abroad. It�s an interesting game, you know. Moving pawns and knights and stuff around the board. What I did by calling on Constantine was checkmate. It ended the game, cut all repercussions dead. Redmond Delaney wants to get in good with Constantine. He respects him. But more important than that, he fears his power. I knew that only someone with Constantine�s clout could smooth this over without unnecessary bloodshed. Now do you see why I didn�t just call up the boys?�

Tony�s eyes met hers in the mirror. His expression was slightly warmer.

�Yeah, Boss,� he said.

�Happier?�

�Yeah.�

�And you�ll explain it to the boys, pass the word? I wouldn�t want to make them unhappy.�

�I�ll tell them, Boss. Count on it. Where to now? Back to the Alley Cat?�

�No, I�ve had another thought. We�re overdue a visit to the Delacourts.�

They left Rizzo at the flat and then Tony dropped Annie off at Dolly�s. She was scarcely through the door when Ross looked up with a scowl from his chair beside it and said: �Mr Delaney wants a word with you.�

�Does he?�

Ross nodded towards the closed front room door. �Yeah. He�s in there, with Dolly.�

Shit, thought Annie. But what else had she expected? Had she really thought that Redmond Delaney would take the Mira incident lying down, even if Constantine was involved? She braced herself and went in, closing the door behind her.

Dolly looked up quickly as Annie came in. She was sitting on one of the couches, her hands clenched white in her lap. Redmond Delaney, tall and imposing, with his red hair slicked back and his green eyes cool as ice, was standing a small distance away from Dolly.

�Mrs Carter,� he said when she came in.

�Mr Delaney,� said Annie.

�Certain things have come to my attention,� he said. �Things I�m not happy with.�

�Oh?� Annie could be cool too. Even if her heart was threatening to burst right out of her chest, it was thumping so hard. �Things like what?�

�Annie�� Dolly started, her eyes desperate.

�This is between Mrs Carter and myself, Miss Farrell,� said Redmond, his voice as cutting as a whip.

Dolly flinched and fell silent.

�Things like what?� asked Annie again.

�The girl,� said Redmond unblinkingly.

�You mean Mira? My friend, Mira?� prompted Annie.

�The girl,� he repeated coldly. �She�s mine. And you refused to hand her over.�

�She�s a friend,� said Annie, her mouth as dry as dust. �She was in a bad way. I didn�t want her moved.�

Constantine was supposed to have sorted all this with Redmond. She couldn�t believe that Redmond would go against Constantine�s wishes. This whole thing must mean a huge amount to him, if he was prepared to risk confrontation with the Mafia.

Redmond let out a mirthless laugh.

�Mrs Carter,� he said smoothly, �the decision was not yours to make. The girl is mine. She was to be collected from here. And you had the audacity to try to prevent it.�

Annie gulped. �I think you�ll find I didn�t just try. I did prevent it.�

Dolly made a small suppressing movement with her hand, and her eyes said to Annie, For fuck�s sake button it. Can�t you see how mad he is?

But Annie couldn�t stop herself now. She had to get it out, or choke on it.

�And while we�re on the subject of what�s �yours� and what�s �mine�,� she went on, �what about your girl Aretha Brown? She worked out of this place, out of your manor. How come you�re not doing something to hunt her killer down?�

Redmond gave Annie a baleful look. �They have the killer, or has that escaped your attention?�

�That ain�t true,� flung back Annie. �You and I both know that Chris Brown is no woman killer. He�d spit on any man that was. He�s a friend of mine, but for God�s sake he�s one of your boys, so how is it that I had to get him a proper brief sorted; why is it that you ain�t been moving heaven and earth to get him out of the shit, like I have?�

Redmond�s jaw was flexing with tension. His eyes were flat, murderous, but Annie wasn�t about to show any fear. Not this time.

�I said they�ve got the killer,� he repeated with deathly slowness. �It�s beside the point whether Chris Brown is one of mine or not. Now, Mrs Carter. Take heed of what I�m telling you or you�re going to be extremely sorry. I�m telling you for the last time�back off.�

Redmond walked forward and stood directly in front of Annie, very close. Dolly got up quickly and touched Redmond�s arm. Redmond turned suddenly, like a cobra striking, and grabbed Dolly�s wrist.

�Get your dirty hands off me,� he hissed furiously.

Dolly winced. He was hurting her. �I only meant to say, Mr Delaney, please�can�t we talk about this?� she said in a rush.

Redmond released Dolly with a disdainful flick of the hand. Dolly tottered sideways and fell back down on to the couch. She crouched there, her face screwed up in pain, rubbing her wrist.

�I think the time for talking�s past,� said Redmond, his eyes glinting with icy fury as he turned his attention back to Annie. �Mrs Carter, we have new terms now. Our previous arrangement is revoked. You�re not welcome here. I don�t want to see you in this house or on my streets again.�

Annie could feel sweat trickling down her back. She had never seen Redmond in a fury before, never seen him lose control by one single iota, but she was seeing it now, and it was a frightening thing. But you couldn�t afford to show fear in a situation like this; she knew that. She put her hands on her hips and faced him full on. �And what if Constantine Barolli says I can go anywhere I damn well please?�

�Annie!� said Dolly in anguish.

�You know,� said Redmond, coming even closer to Annie as she shrank back against the door, �you ought to listen to Miss Farrell, Mrs Carter. You have a tendency to push onward when you really ought to draw back.�

His hand lifted.

Fuck, he�s going to hit me, thought Annie. Or wring my neck, one of the two.

His hand was quivering, and in his eyes was something that Annie had never seen before. Real, undiluted rage. His hand was inches from her neck. And he really, really looked as though he would like to choke the life out of her.

All right, you bastard, just do it, she thought. Do it, and Constantine will wipe you off the face of the earth once and for all.

Then suddenly he was back in control again. His hand dropped to his side. His eyes cleared. He gave a tight smile.

�Our deal is revoked,� he said again. �No more hiding behind the big boys. If I see you around here again, Mrs Carter, with or without Constantine Barolli�s backing, I�ll snap you in half. Depend upon it.�

And he pushed past her and left the room, slamming the door behind him. An instant later, the front door closed. She looked at Dolly, sitting there white-faced on the couch.

�You okay?� Annie asked her shakily.

Dolly gave her a look that should have dropped her on the spot. �Oh, I�m fucking marvellous,� she said.

Annie collapsed on to the couch beside Dolly before her legs collapsed from under her.

�You know what, Doll?� she said. �That day when Mira ran out of here, she heard me telling you that Redmond Delaney was on the phone. And you know Rosie told us Mira wrote something in blood on the sheets? I looked at it. She�d written DEL. For a minute I thought, yeah, that�s it, she�s writing DELACOURT��

Dolly shook her head, her eyes wide with disbelief as she gazed at her friend.

�Annie, for the love of God let it go. Whatever the fuck she was writing, forget it. That�s my advice. Jesus! I don�t know what the fuck�s got into you, facing down Redmond Delaney like that. Are you mad? He�ll fucking lynch you, you daft mare.�

But Annie knew she couldn�t let this go. Not when she�d come this far. Not when she could almost smell the answer to all this.

�I�m not scared of him, Doll. Not any more. Mira wasn�t writing Delacourt, was she?� Annie said, almost to herself. �She was writing DELANEY. This is all about Redmond Delaney. And I�m not going to let it go. Not as long as I�ve got breath in my body.�

Dolly looked at her. �Yeah? And how long�s that going to be?�

So that was that. Annie sat alone over breakfast at the club next morning and knew that she could never again visit with Dolly and the girls over in Limehouse. The painters were in, starting early, putting the finishing touches to the walls; the stink of the paint and the rising heat of the day made her feel nauseous.

A night�s fitful sleep had done nothing to ease her turmoil. Her brain kept throwing up an image of Redmond Delaney�s face, white with fury, glaring at her as if murder was intended. She had never once seen Redmond lose it before. It had shaken her, although she would never admit that to a living soul.

He�d cut part of her life, part of her history, away with one fell swoop. She couldn�t go back to Dolly�s. Didn�t dare. But her visits there had become such an integral part of her life that she knew she would miss them like crazy.

Bastard.

She was drinking tea and forcing down a bit of toast when there was a knock at the flat door.

She went and answered it. It was skinny Gary Tooley with his blond hair flopping over his forehead, his blue eyes hard as they looked at her; he was leaning his lanky frame against the wall.

�What?� she asked.

He fished a flick knife out of his pocket and shot the blade out. Annie flinched back. He looked at her, his expression almost amused. Then he started to clean his nails with it. �Tony told me you wanted the dirt on that trannie Bobby Jo Hopkirk,� he said casually.

�You got some?� She swallowed.

Gary nodded. �Some. Bobby Jo�s fucking one of the club owners,� he said.

�Who?� asked Annie, her eyes on the knife. She thought of the last time she and Tony had cornered the transsexual club manager, the way he had sweated and looked evasive and asked them not to spill the beans over him and Teresa.

�A Mrs Selma Callow. Jewish princess. Husband�s loaded and busy making the next million and she�s bored. Sunk some of the old man�s money into the club along with a few other investors, and spotted the manager, who looks okay without the skirt and the wig�it�s a story as old as time. Enter Bobby Jo for a walk on the wild side, spice up her dull little days. We�ve seen them together; she treats him to nice things, plush hotels, the works. Hubby ain�t got a clue but he�s old school. Okay for him to boff the secretary over the desk, but I�m not sure he�d take to wifey doing the same, know what I mean?�

Annie nodded. Which would explain why Bobby Jo had been so nervous when questioned; he didn�t want to rock the boat and end up losing a cushy number.

�You know any of the other club owners?� she asked.

�Not yet. We�ll dig around,� said Gary, excavating dirt from beneath a nail.

�Constantine Barolli�s doing that too,� said Annie, feeling the need to say it, have it out in the open.

Gary�s eyes clouded. He paused in his manicure. �Yeah. About that.�

�What?�

�Barolli.�

�Yeah, what?�

�What�s the deal there? You and him?�

Annie stiffened. �It�s none of your fucking business.�

Gary let out a laugh and closed the knife, pocketed it. �Yeah, but you see it is. Max and Jonjo out of the picture. You ruling the roost. That�s fine. But now, this. Word on the street is you and him are tight together. Word is that you ain�t in charge any more, he is.�

�That ain�t true.�

�No?� Gary�s eyes were acute on hers.

�No.�

�Only the boys like to know who they�re taking orders from, that�s all.�

�They�re taking orders from me. Tell them that. Not Constantine. Me.�

�So long as we understand each other,� said Gary.

�Oh, I think we do.�

�None of the boys would like that,� he went on. �Taking orders off the Yanks. Could cause a lot of trouble.�

�Such as?� asked Annie, straight-faced, but she felt sick to her stomach.

�Such as, well, Steve and me could take over the show and Constantine Barolli could go fuck himself.�

Leaving me nowhere, thought Annie.

�You want that?� she asked.

Gary�s eyes locked on her for a long moment. Then he looked away.

�We�re Carter boys,� he said finally. �Always have been, always will be. You�re a Carter. We�re loyal to the Carters. But if Carter became Barolli��

He shrugged and left the sentence hanging. Didn�t need to finish it.

She was walking a tightrope here with her connection to Constantine�but then, she had always known that.

�Okay, Gary, I�ve got the message,� she said, and the phone started to ring.

�Glad to hear it. Right. See you.� And he loped off down the stairs.

Annie closed the door and let out a shaky sigh before dashing over and snatching up the phone from the side table beside the couch. �Yep?� she snapped.

�Bad day?� said Constantine.

�Worse than bad.�

�Your friend,� he said.

�Mira? How�s she doing?�

�She�s asking for you. Making a bit more sense now, they say. You could visit tomorrow.�

�Okay. Give me the address.� She scrabbled around for pen and paper. �Should I phone ahead, let them know what time?�

�That would be good,� he said, and he gave her the address and telephone number of the safe house.

�Thanks. Constantine?�

�Yeah?�

�I�ve been getting grief off Gary Tooley about hooking up with you.�

�Well, that was sure to happen. He�s loyal to Max. Assert your authority, stamp it out.�

�Yeah, only he seems to think it�s your authority.�

�A woman in a man�s world,� said Constantine.

�Thank you Sigmund Freud.� Annie felt a flare of anger at the injustice of it. �The fucking cheek. They see me as Max�s wife or your girlfriend. Not as me. Annie Carter. The boss.�

�Well, be the boss.�

�Easy for you to say.� She sighed. She wanted to tell him she�d had grief off Redmond, but fuck it, she was too proud. She didn�t want to show herself up as the little woman begging for protection. Fuck that. �What about the investors in the Alley Cat? You got any names? I�ve got one, Selma Callow.�

�I�ve got three besides that one. Hold on, here it is. Colin Stringer, City financier. Evan Davies, banker. And Redmond Delaney, who I think you know?�

Annie nearly dropped the phone. �Holy shit. Redmond�s got a share of the club?�

�Is that significant?�

�I don�t know. I�ve got to think about it. He was mad as hell at me crossing him over Mira.�

�He giving you any trouble?�

She ought to tell him now. She knew it. But she couldn�t.

�He just told me not to go to Dolly�s again. Like, ever,� she said, watering it down, conveying none of the viciousness, none of the fury that Redmond had displayed in Dolly�s front parlour.

�Then don�t. He�s been pushed far enough. Pull back.�

�But for God�s sake! I�ve spent half my life going in and out of Dolly�s place. Why�s this got him so hot and bothered? I�ve never seen him like this before.�

�That�s something you�re going to have to ask Mira about. They were there to get her, after all.�

�I know. I will.�

�Anything else I can help with?� he asked.

Yeah, thought Annie. Come over here and give me a hug, tell me this is all going to be okay even though I just know it never will be.

�No. Nothing,� she said instead.

�I want to see you.�

She felt herself weaken when he said that. �Yeah,� she said. �Okay.�

A pause. �I�m going home soon,� he said.

Don�t, she thought, clutching the phone tighter.

He paused. �I have a penthouse in Manhattan. It overlooks Central Park.� He paused again. �The family never go there. Just me.�

Annie was silent.

�Are you still there?� he asked.

�Yeah,� she said, dry-mouthed.

�You could go there too. Anything you want. A charge account. A life of luxury. Ten nannies for Layla. Anything.�

Max had offered her the same thing. History was repeating itself. Back in the day, she�d been Max Carter�s mistress. Now she would be Constantine�s. He�d found a way to have her in his life without upsetting the family order. She felt deflated.

�We�ll talk,� he said. �Okay?�

�Yeah. Okay.� She put the phone down. Thought about it. Tried to see it as a good thing, that he wanted her close, that his intentions towards her were serious.

But she still felt like a kid whose balloon had burst.

First thing next morning she phoned Ruthie to speak to Layla. But Ruthie had a question for her first.

�I�ve seen a man hanging around, watching the place,� said Ruthie worriedly. �What�s going on, Annie?�

Annie took a breath. �He�s there for your protection. There�s been a little trouble. Nothing to concern you, it�s just insurance.�

�Right. I see.�

�You okay?�

�Fine. Just�I�d forgotten what it was like. All the gang stuff. This reminded me.�

�I�m sorry,� said Annie. �It�s necessary, just for now.�

�You want to speak to Layla now?�

�Yeah. Please.�

�You�re all right?�

Annie had to smile. Ruthie was still her big sis, still looking out for her.

�Yeah. I�m great,� she said, and then Layla came on the line, chattering at her, blowing her kisses down the phone, and for a few blissful minutes she was just a mother again, Layla�s mother, and it was bliss, it was wonderful.

At eleven Tony drove Annie over to a large mock Tudor villa in Harrow-on-the-Hill to see Mira. She was admitted by a grey-haired woman in a white coat, obviously a private nurse. The interior of the house was clean and quiet, with chequered black and white tiles in the hall, and glossy aspidistras as big as Triffids placed around it.

Annie was led into a big conservatory where the tiles were the same as the hall, and the greenery even more pronounced. It was like taking a trip up the Orinoco in there. A huge grapevine, clusters of black grapes dangling from its lush foliage, was twining around the top of the conservatory, casting welcome shade from the midday sun.

The door was open into the garden; somewhere a blackbird was singing. There was a wicker table with a tea tray on it, and several comfy-looking chairs. In one of them was Mira, still looking scrawny but at least clean, with her hair washed and her face scrubbed. She wore a clean set of oversized pyjamas. Her hands were bandaged. Her eyes looked lucid, as they hadn�t done before.

�Hi, how are you doing?� asked Annie, as the white-coated woman quietly vanished back inside the main body of the house.

�I�m fine,� said Mira, although she clearly wasn�t. She tried to smile, but it faltered.

Annie sat down. �You wanted to see me,� she said.

�Yes,� said Mira. �I did.�

Silence.

Then Mira said in a small voice: �I think�I can�t really remember too well what I did, but I think I tried to hurt you. I�m sorry.�

�It�s okay,� said Annie hastily. It hadn�t been Mira anyway; it had been the drugs. �You want to tell me what�s been going on?�

And, haltingly, slowly, Mira started to tell her about her descent into hell.

Falling in love with Redmond Delaney. Then, the abortion. The despair quickly smothered by the drugs, and then the drugs taking over her life. His love�if he had ever loved her at all, if he was capable of love�then turning to irritation, to violence, to twisted cruelty, so that she had to get out because she was in fear for her life.

�Christ, Mira,� said Annie when she paused for breath.

�He was abused as a child,� said Mira. �He told me about it. Him and Orla. God, that can really fuck a person up. I should know, Annie.�

Annie knew about this; she had talked to Orla about it, years ago. A normal life was beyond Orla. What little affection she had, she lavished upon Redmond.

�With Orla, she�s distant, can�t let anyone near her,� Mira went on, �but Redmond is different. Once he has you, he can�t bear to let you go. He hit me, throttled me, suffocated me because he loved me. He said I was his, that if I ever left him he would kill me, and I believed him. He�d learned that controlling whoever he loved was the only way to be certain they didn�t hurt him. But now I have. I�ve hurt him. I�ve left him. And he�ll get me for it, I know he will.�

�He won�t get you,� said Annie. �You�re safe here.�

Mira gave her a tired smile and leaned back in her chair.

�You know, it wasn�t so bad on the streets,� she went on. �At least I was free of him. I used to go down the Sally Army some nights and sleep there. Other times a doorway would have to do. There were always church types who wanted to help, volunteers coming round with chat and blankets, and there�s a soup kitchen run by St Aubride�s in the hall beside the church. I used to go there�a lot of us did.�

Annie paused in pouring the tea. Aretha�s Aunt Louella sang in the choir at St Aubride�s. She had questioned the vicar there. They had buried Aretha there.

�Did the vicar run the soup kitchen?� asked Annie.

She remembered what Dolly had said about him falling down drunk at Aretha�s reception, and how he had vilified prostitutes.

�I suppose he had a hand in it, but the volunteers were working the coalface.�

Annie thought about the vicar. A little grey man who had simply blended into the background. One of those men who could walk into a room and out again, causing not so much as a ripple; afterwards, you would not remember what he looked like. No one would.

Annie took a breath and pushed a full cup towards Mira. �Did Val go to the soup kitchen?�

�Yes.� Mira took a sip of the tea. �And Jackie too. We used to go in there for the soup and bread, get warmed up, then back to the bridge under the Mile End Road. Rizzo didn�t like it much.�

�Fuck Rizzo,� said Annie. �Did you ever see Teresa Walker there?�

Mira looked blank.

�Big, loud-mouthed, red-haired girl.�

�Oh, her. Yes. Couldn�t miss her, could you?�

�Mira, Teresa Walker�s dead. So�s Val Delacourt. They were both garrotted.�

Mira�s gaunt face lost even more of its colour. �I know,� she said weakly.

�My friend Aretha was garrotted too.�

But Aretha wouldn�t have been on the streets, she wouldn�t have been frequenting soup kitchens, so what am I proving with this? Annie wondered.

But there was a connection. The soup kitchen was attached to St Aubride�s church. Louella sang in the church choir. The vicar had officiated at Aretha�s wedding, showing himself up for a bigot in the process.

There was a connection. Someone hated prostitutes and wanted to kill them. Had killed three of them.

�You know what?� Mira�s face was blank, hopeless. �I�ve realized something about myself. I�m poison. Everyone around me gets hurt. I just attract shit. Gareth never did anything��

Annie sat up straight. �Who did you just say?�

�Gareth,� said Mira. �Gareth Fuller.�

Holy shit, thought Annie.

�He was a good friend to me. I moved in with him, he was so gentle, such a complete no-hoper, the poor thing, wouldn�t hurt a fly�and someone hanged him.� Suddenly, Mira started to cry.

�Hush, it�s all right,� Annie said soothingly, fishing out a tissue and pressing it into Mira�s hand. She was thinking: Jesus, it�s all connected. It�s all linked.

�It�s not bloody all right,� said Mira, her face twisted with woe. �It�s me, isn�t it? Everything I touch, I ruin.�

�That�s bollocks,� said Annie.

�Is everything all right? I hope you�re not tiring her too much?� asked the white-coated nurse, appearing suddenly and hovering anxiously beside her patient while shooting hostile looks at Annie.

�No! I�m fine, I�m fine,� Mira sniffed, trying to compose herself again.

�You want me to go?� Annie asked Mira. �I can come back later.�

�No, stay.� Mira looked bleary-eyed up at her nurse. �She stays,� she said firmly.

�All right, but try not to upset her,� tutted the nurse, and departed briskly once again.

�You all right?� Annie was holding on tight to Mira�s bony, bandaged hand.

�Yes.� Mira blew her nose, got herself back together again. Her hands were shaking. The drugs weren�t out of her system yet, they couldn�t be. Poor cow, how low she�d sunk.

Annie squeezed her hand.

�Tell me about Gareth,� she said.

�He was so nice. Completely useless, but nice. You know?� Mira rubbed at her eyes like an exhausted child. �We were sort of friends. I moved in with him. I thought he�d be like all the other men, want sex in return for a roof over my head and a few fixes.�

Christ, she really hit rock bottom, thought Annie.

�If he had I wouldn�t have minded,� Mira went on. �I expected that. But he didn�t. Well, he was so spaced out most of the time that I don�t think he could have managed sex anyway. What he seemed to want from me was company. We sort of looked out for each other. He had a job at one of the hotels up West, working odd hours. Some early morning shifts, some late evening, just filling in, you know? He had a little dog, thought the world of it. Dinky the dog.�

Annie thought of the dog barking endlessly in distress, of Tony breaking the door of the flat down, of her piling in there with Hunter and finding the pitiful remains of Gareth dangling from the light fixture in the centre of the room.

Poor bastard.

�He was looking for me. But Gareth wouldn�t have told Redmond where I was. And look what happened to him!� Mira was off again, crying softly now, the tears wrenching at her body, making her gasp and shudder. �It�s me! I�m just no good.�

�For fuck�s sake, Mira!� Annie burst out angrily. �You can�t blame yourself for what other people do. And you are good.�

�I�m not!�

�Yeah, you are. You were always good to me. And you gave me this�you, Jen and Thelma.� Annie indicated the Rolex on her wrist. �You needn�t have bothered but you did and that was kind of you. I was really touched.�

�That was just money,� sighed Mira through her tears. �I had plenty of that then.�

�No, you took trouble. You got it engraved. You�re a good kind person, Mira, whether you�ll admit to it or not.�

Mira half smiled at that. Then she frowned again. �I haven�t told you about Pete, either.�

�Pete?�

�Pete Delacourt, who runs the tattoo parlour beside��

�The Alley Cat club,� finished Annie for her, feeling a sick swaying in her stomach as all this unfolded.

Mira looked at her in surprise.

�You know Pete? Only he was good to me, took me in for a while, got me some work�� She wrinkled her nose. �Well, he got me in with Rizzo, his brother. He ran the little patch under the canal bridge on the Mile End Road. Rizzo kept me supplied, got me punters.�

�Oh yeah, he�s a fucking saint, that Rizzo,� said Annie grimly. She was totting up the score so far, and it wasn�t looking good. Association with Mira was obviously a dangerous thing. Gareth was dead. And Pete was missing, forcibly removed from his little parlour and probably propping up a new motorway bridge by now.

But how could this tie in to Val, Teresa and Aretha? Right now, she just couldn�t see it.

�I tried to write his name, didn�t I? I wrote it in my own blood�� She looked down at her bandaged hands. �I remember doing that�and trying to hurt you, I was just so desperate, I had to get out, had to get away. I knew he�d come for me, he always said that, that I was his and that no one else would ever have me, that he�d kill me if I tried to leave him��

�Redmond can�t get you now,� said Annie. �You�re safe here.�

Mira looked at Annie with tired, red-rimmed eyes.

�Oh, Annie. We both know I�m not safe anywhere. Not from him. And you shouldn�t have crossed him, not for me, not for anything. Because now you�re not safe either.�

On Monday Annie went to the cop shop and asked for DI Hunter at the front desk.

�He�s busy,� said the desk sergeant.

�I�ll wait,� said Annie, and sat there for nearly an hour.

Finally she was ushered through to an interview room. Hunter was there, alone. No DS Lane to fug up the place with his BO.

�So what can I do for you?� he asked, indicating the chair.

An honest, upright cop. She looked at him and thought once again that he was worth ten of Lane�s sort�although scummy cops like Lane could be useful, she had to admit that. She wouldn�t have known any more than the bare bones of the case against Chris without Lane�s help, but she still despised him.

�Where�s your friend?� she asked, indicating the empty chair beside him on his side of the desk.

Hunter looked her straight in the eye. �Suspended.�

�Oh?�

�Yeah, turns out he was taking bribes,� said Hunter. �Passing information around in exchange for cash.�

�Really?� Annie kept her face expressionless with an effort.

�Really. And we can�t have that, now can we?�

�No way.�

�So.� His eyes were still fixed on her. �What can I do for you?�

Annie swallowed. �I have a friend,� she said, �who has told me things. Important things. About Teresa Walker and Val Delacourt.�

He eyed her sceptically. �Like?� he prompted.

�Like where they used to hang out together. The tattoo parlour next door to the Alley Cat club. And the soup kitchen at St Aubride�s.�

�Peter Delacourt, who owns the tattoo parlour, has gone missing,� he said. �Do you know anything about that?�

�Only what you do. I went there with Rizzo his brother, but he was long gone.�

Hunter was quiet for a moment, digesting that.

�And what�s this about the soup kitchen?�

�Val and Teresa used to go there on a regular basis.�

�So?�

�Can you check out the vicar? He ran it.�

�The vicar?� Hunter�s mouth dropped open. �So he runs a soup kitchen to try to help out these unfortunates. I�d call that a Christian act. So what?�

�So would it hurt to do that? Check his background? He�s a creepy little guy who gets drunk and says inappropriate things to working girls and he�s got easy access to them through the soup kitchen.�

�Well they can�t shoot you for inappropriate language.�

Annie felt anger building in her gut. �Look, I know you�re an upright honest citizen and you think a cleric�s got to be above suspicion, but excuse me, I have other ideas. These girls, these women, deserve the protection of the law as much as anyone else.�

He looked at her coolly. �They have the protection of the law, Mrs Carter. That�s the purpose of the law.�

�Well it�s not doing a very good job of it, is it?� demanded Annie. �Val and Teresa are dead. Aretha�s dead too, and poor bloody Gareth. Not a very great effort on your part so far.�

�Can we stick to the point? The vicar. Do you have anything else on him? Anything concrete, I mean?�

�Concrete? No. All I know is that the vicar�s a bigot who hates working girls, and maybe we should be checking him out. What do you think?�

�Was there anything else?�

�You haven�t found a thing to link Chris to Val and Teresa, have you?� she guessed.

�Same MO,� he said.

�He didn�t do them. I know the man. I�d trust him with any woman.�

�Except possibly his wife?�

�He didn�t kill Aretha. He loved Aretha.�

�So you say.� Hunter stood up, indicating that their interview was at an end. �Thank you for the information, Mrs Carter. We�ll follow it up.�

And she was dismissed, just like that. Annie went out of the station and down the steps to the Jag, feeling that she�d like to kick the crap out of something or somebody�preferably Hunter. Tony folded his paper and looked at her expectantly.

�Where to, Boss?� he asked.

�The Palermo,� said Annie.

Annie gave Tony his orders and told him to be quick about it.

�Hey, you getting religion, Boss?� he joshed.

�Not at this late stage,� said Annie grimly.

The church was quiet today. No choir practice in progress. She got out of the car and put her umbrella up and stood there in the humidity of a summer downpour for a moment, wondering if Hunter had already trodden the same path, wondering too if the church would be locked up and if she was going to have to schlep over to the vicarage to see the little squirt.

Little was the operative word, but it took very little strength to garrotte someone, she knew that. Blackout in seconds, death shortly afterwards. For fuck�s sake, even a woman could do it. Certainly the vicar could, maybe thinking in his twisted, crusading mind that he was liberating these girls from their life of vice.

Bastard.

�You want me to come in with you, Boss?� asked Tony from inside the car.

�No, Tone.� She didn�t want the vicar spotting Tony and running for the hills before she could collar him. And she wasn�t about to turn her back on the noxious little ferret, not for one second. She had a martial arts weapon, the lethal kiyoga, in her raincoat pocket. She was confident that she could handle this, was almost looking forward to it.

She went down the path to the church doors and tried one of the big circular iron handles. To her surprise, she found that the door opened. Inside, the lights were burning. Either the vicar or the verger had put them on, so she was in luck. Putting down her umbrella, she stepped into the silent church and stood at the bottom of the aisle looking up towards the altar. Rows of empty pews stretched away in front of her.

She couldn�t hear a sound. Not a murmur.

�Hello?� she said, and stepped forward, putting the umbrella down on the nearest pew. She slipped her hand into her pocket and clutched the cold comforting steel of the kiyoga. She felt uneasy. All the hairs on the back of her neck were erect.

No answer came. Maybe there was no one here. Or maybe they�re just waiting for you to walk up the aisle so they can jump you, she thought.

The door crashed back on its hinges. Annie spun round like a cat.

�What the fuck are you doing here, Carter?� asked Hunter, coming in with his dark hair plastered flat from the rain, droplets catching the church lights on the sodden shoulders of his raincoat. He really was a good-looking bloke; it was just a pity he was such a pain in the rear. She got her racketing heart rate back under control.

�I�m doing your bloody job, by the looks of it,� she hissed, angry because she�d been getting spooked.

He came towards her, shaking himself like a dog. �I�m doing my bloody job, for your information,� he returned. �We�ve checked out the vicar. And on the surface, he looks spotless.�

�Bollocks!�

Hunter winced. �We�re in a place of worship,� he reminded her.

�Double bollocks,� said Annie. �Look�if this little shit�s been doing these girls, I want him nailed.�

�He�s a boozer. And when he gets drunk, yes, he gets abusive, granted.� Hunter ran a hand through his soaking hair, leaving it stuck up all over the place. He looked at her. He was obviously itching to say something.

�Come on, spit it out,� said Annie.

�There are other people involved in running the church and its charitable concerns beside the vicar,� he whispered. It echoed. Everything echoed like crazy in here.

�Like who?�

�The verger, two lay preachers, the choirmaster, plus several female volunteers who make tea and clean the church and arrange the flowers for Sunday service.�

�And you�ve checked them all out?� Her voice echoed eerily: out, out, out�

�Yeah�and they�re all clean except for one.�

�Like who?�

�Like who?� He stuck his hands on his hips and stared at her. �Back off, Mrs Carter. This is police business. I�ve told you before.�

�It�s my business too,� said Annie.

�Is it fuck,� he snapped.

�We�re in a place of worship,� Annie reminded him with a grim smile.

�Look.� He was back to the finger-pointing again, jabbing away at the air in front of her face. Christ, he was irritating. �Look, Carter��

�No, you look,� Annie cut in. �My friend�s been done. Those other girls, too. I don�t want to see any more of this. I want it cut dead now.�

�We�re in agreement about that,� he said tersely.

�So bloody well talk to me. Tell me what the fuck�s going on. You say there are other people running the show? Tell me who.�

He let out a heavy sigh and walked away a couple of paces. He seemed to count to ten. Then he walked back. �Okay. But this is a two-way thing, agreed? I tell you, you tell me. Clear?�

�Clear,� said Annie, thinking: Dream on my friend. Become a fucking grass? I don�t think so.

�All right then. One of them�s got previous. I�ve just had it confirmed.�

�Previous? What for?�

�Statutory rape.�

Oh fucking hell.

�Served four years, been out for two. And listen�I�m not telling you any of this.�

�Okay. Understood.�

He looked at her. �And anything else you know, you tell me. Yes?�

�Yeah, right.� Yeah, right.

�He�s a loner. The people who do this type of thing usually are. He was employed at his local parish church in Lincolnshire and was caught saying suggestive things to the ladies who cleaned the church. But they let it pass, thought it was just eccentricity. He befriended and finally raped the daughter of one of them. He�d encouraged her to get a flame tattoo done on her inner thigh beforehand. You know these teenage girls�susceptible to flattery, new to male attention and not sure how to handle it. She fell for it, anyway. Pretty nasty business. He got violent during the rape and nearly choked her with a scarf around her neck.�

Oh fuck me, thought Annie.

�Called the poor kid a whore. She was severely traumatized. When the case came to light, a couple of prostitutes in the area came forward and said that they�d been raped and nearly throttled by the man; that he�d paid them extra if they got a tattoo done on their upper inner thigh, a flame tattoo, so they had, but then he�d turned aggressive and raped them and called them whores and said the flame was a sign they were going to burn in hell. Nice man, uh? They hadn�t bothered to report it because would the police think it possible for a prostitute to be raped? You can see they had a point.�

Annie nodded, feeling slightly sick.

�He got a prison sentence for the rape of the girl,� went on DI Hunter, �then he came out and moved to London. That�s always a problem with these people. They move, they fade into the background, and re-emerge somewhere else. Sometimes with a new name, a new identity. Hard to keep track.�

�Wait up,� said Annie. �So�you�re not talking about the vicar?�

�No. I�m talking about Cyrus Regan.�

�Who?�

�Cyrus Regan. He moved to London. His family had disowned him anyway. He signed up for a charitable ambulance association and started giving first aid at summer shows, so that he could grope women when they collapsed in the heat. All heart, that boy. He looked for work of a musical nature, pitched up at St Aubride�s because church music was what he knew best. He then concentrated on making himself indispensable. Took over the vicar�s charitable business with a home for single mothers, which will no doubt yield other tales of touch-ups or worse when we look more closely. The vicar took him on out of Christian kindness, no doubt. As choirmaster and organist.�

�Jesus,� whispered Annie, thinking of the fat, pop-eyed little man she�d seen in here several times�and hardly even noticed.

�And I haven�t told you any of this.�

She nodded. Okay.

�Cyrus has been a busy boy. Fingers in a lot of pies. He even ran the church soup kitchen, catering for the homeless�and for the girls who work the streets.�

Now Annie felt really ready to throw up.

The choirmaster. An ugly little man of no great significance. Easy to overlook, just like the vicar himself. But the vicar wasn�t a really bad man. He was prejudiced and he had a drink problem; he wasn�t a seasoned abuser of women; he wasn�t a rapist whose sick obsessions had now pitched over into murder.

�Can I help you?� asked a loud male voice.

They both spun around, looked up towards the high altar. The vicar was standing there; clearly he�d been in the vestry. He�d probably heard them whispering heatedly at the back of the church.

He was staring at them, waiting for a response. Hunter walked up the aisle. Annie followed.

�Reverend,� said Hunter, flashing his ID as he approached the vicar. �I need to speak to your choirmaster, a Mr Cyrus Regan.�

The vicar looked blankly at Hunter. �You mean on police business?� he asked, looking taken aback. He flicked a glance at Annie, and in that instant she could see that he recognized her. His expression changed to one of distaste.

�Yes, I mean police business. Is he here�?�

�Yes, he��

The vicar�s head turned towards the organ back in the shadows near the chancel, the huge pipes rising majestically above it. Someone was there, in the semi-darkness.

�Cyrus,� said the vicar, but he wasn�t given a chance to finish whatever he�d intended to say. The bastard was there.

And for a dumpy little guy, he could move like lighting�as he now proved.

Cyrus Regan turned and bolted for a small door near to where he�d been standing. Annie had a quick impression of the man: middle-aged, greying, with a chubby face and bulbous eyes. Then Cyrus was gone through the door, slamming it behind him.

�Well, I�� started the vicar, open-mouthed with surprise.

Hunter pushed past the vicar and was after the choirmaster in an instant, Annie hard on his heels. They tore through the low door and up worn stone spiral steps that wound upwards towards a faint chink of daylight. They could hear Cyrus wheezing and puffing up ahead as he fled. The ascent seemed endless.

�Stop! Police!� shouted Hunter, but Cyrus wasn�t listening.

They raced on upwards. Annie could feel her heart pounding madly in her chest, Jesus, were they ever going to come to the end of this?

Hunter was gasping too, and Cyrus up in front sounded like a good candidate for a heart attack. She could hear the vicar coming up behind them, bleating about something or other, who the fuck cared what? They had to catch this arsehole before he did any more damage.

Then suddenly there was more daylight. They were near the top of the church tower. The chink of light became a flood as Cyrus flung open the door at the top. Seconds later, Hunter charged out on to the square crenellated roof of the tower. Annie followed.

Cyrus flung himself gasping across the roof and pitched up panting and wild-eyed against the low far wall. He turned and saw how close they were.

�Stop right there or I�ll jump!� he screeched, and stepped up on to the wall.

They stopped.

�I just want to talk to you, Mr Regan,� said Hunter, trying to sound calm and reassuring when he could barely get his breath back.

�No, I�m not talking to anyone,� he shouted, glancing back at the drop.

Annie�s heart was in her mouth. Fuck, he really means it, she thought.

�Cyrus,� said the vicar, coming full-pelt through the door behind them. �Come on. DI Hunter only wants to talk.�

�They�ll lock me up again,� babbled Cyrus, teetering on top of the narrow wall. �That�s all they ever want to do, lock me up.�

�We have to ask you some questions,� said Hunter, his voice soothing. �That�s all.�

As he spoke he was edging forward, carefully, slowly.

�Yes, that�s how it starts,� yelled Cyrus. �I�m not coming with you.�

And he turned and flung himself off the tower.

�He�s talking,� said the voice of DI Hunter when Annie picked up the phone three hours later.

She was in her robe, having soaked in the bath to recover from the trauma of going against her better judgement and actually rescuing a sick little parasite like Cyrus Regan instead of letting him top himself.

She�d have been perfectly happy to let him go. But there Hunter had been, hanging on like a dog with an oversized stick. And really, he had a point. They had suspicions, they had form, but what they didn�t have until Cyrus talked to the police was a confession, and until they had that, the police had no real case against him and he couldn�t be locked up where he couldn�t hurt any more women.

Annie sat up on the couch, all attentive.

�And saying what?� she asked.

�Saying that he murdered Valerie Delacourt and Teresa Walker.�

Oh thank Christ.

�Uniformed division�s been checking out his flat. They�ve already found a garrotte, and that�s gone off to the lab boys. Also some pretty sick photos of girls with flame tattoos high up on their inner thighs.�

�Another garrotte,� she said, having a horrible sinking feeling about where this was going. �You�ve already got the one that was used on Aretha.�

�He claims to know nothing about the murder of Aretha Brown. I believe him.�

�No,� said Annie.

�Nothing links Regan to your friend�s murder. I�m sorry.�

�No,� said Annie again, shaking her head. This wasn�t what she wanted to hear.

�Look. There were personal items and blood traces from the two girls at his flat and in his car. Nothing on Aretha Brown, though. But in Chris Brown�s car��

�Both you and I know that Aretha must be all over that car. Fuck me, she was in it often enough,� objected Annie hotly.

�On the night of her murder, he called the police from a phone box in a very agitated state,� said Hunter patiently. �When uniformed got there, they found Aretha Brown�s body still on the pavement where he�d apparently �found� it, and parked nearby was the Zephyr. They found Chris Brown sitting in the car, the garrotte on the front seat beside him with his wife�s bloodstains�and his�on it. He�s tied in tight to this killing, Mrs Carter, whether you like it or not. Cyrus Regan isn�t.�

�You�re saying it was a copycat? That Chris saw the stuff in the papers about the first two girls, and thought that would be a good way to polish off the wife he loved? Are you serious?�

�Crimes of passion happen, Mrs Carter. More often than you�d believe.�

�Wait up. That don�t explain the tattoos. Aretha had a flame tattoo just like the other two.�

�She was a working girl, Mrs Carter. It�s entirely possible that she met Cyrus Regan, if not in the soup kitchen then probably at the church where her aunt sang in the choir. She was actually married at that church, wasn�t she? Maybe she met up with the choirmaster to arrange the music for the ceremony. Do you agree that�s possible?�

�Okay, it�s possible,� allowed Annie grudgingly.

�He paid these girls to have the tattoo done; isn�t it possible he paid Aretha Brown and she had it done too?�

Annie was silent. Yeah, it was possible. The twisted little shit. But probable? She didn�t know. She wasn�t happy about any of this.

�We�re thinking now that this was a premeditated act of violence by a man who�d been pushed too far by his wife. Yes, a copy of the first two. He did this, thinking that when we nailed the killer of the two street workers, we would see this new case in the same light, and pin it on whoever their killer was,� said Hunter.

Annie sat back with a sigh. Her relief at Hunter finally catching up with Cyrus had been shortlived. They were still trying to fit Chris up with this. It was all wrong. To plan a copycat killing would take a level of deviousness she was sure Chris did not possess. But at least she knew who had killed the boy, Gareth, and that it hadn�t been suicide; she knew who and she even knew why.

It creased her that she couldn�t tell Hunter about it. She couldn�t turn grass, not even if she was just itching to do so.

�Look�thanks for your help today,� said Hunter, surprising her.

�I wanted to let him fall,� said Annie.

�I know. But then, Mrs Carter, no confession.�

�I know. That�s why I held on. Been divorced long?�

There was a silence. �I�m guessing DS Lane told you about that.�

�Just heard it somewhere. As you do.�

�How about you? Been widowed a long time?�

He knew the answer to that. He had to. �Not too long,� she said.

�I haven�t been divorced long either. It�s tough.�

�Yeah, but you�re tough too. You�ll cope.� Better than Chris was going to cope, having lost his wife and still about to be banged up for something he didn�t do.

�I have to go,� said Hunter.

�Chris didn�t do it,� said Annie.

�Prove it,� he said, and put the phone down.

Christie were giving �Yellow River� their all from the club�s brand-new sound system when Dolly arrived early that afternoon in a state of high excitement. It hurt Annie to see how happy Dolly looked, because she knew she was about to destroy her happiness.

�Fuck me, this is fantastic!� Dolly enthused at the top of her voice as they stood halfway down the stairs and watched the DJ at his deck, familiarizing himself with the levels in the club.

The dancers were rehearsing in T-shirts, hot pants and leg warmers inside their gilded cages around the dance floor. The bar staff were in, setting up, and when they swung through the door into the kitchens, Annie and Dolly could see a hive of activity in there. The whole place smelled of new beginnings and fresh hope. The electricians were testing the strobes, showing the dancers in a mad series of bright flickering images as they boogied along to the beat. Above the bar, the red neon �Annie�s� sign glowed warmly.

�I hardly recognize the old place,� yelled Dolly in Annie�s ear.

�Come on. Let�s go up to the flat,� Annie shouted back.

They went back out of the double doors at the top of the stairs and Annie unclipped the rope barrier, ushering Dolly through and up the smaller set of steps that led to the office and to Annie�s flat. Once inside, it was quieter. The deep jungle beat of the bass kept going, but at least up there they could hear themselves think.

�Drink?� offered Annie, as Dolly cast an interested eye around the flat.

�Yeah, thanks. Hey, this is nice.�

Annie shrugged as she went over to the drinks tray on the sideboard. �I ain�t done much to it yet. Been concentrating on the club itself.� And other things. She poured out a sherry for Dolly and orange juice for herself.

�Take a seat,� she said, and Dolly sat down on the couch, taking her drink from Annie.

�So,� said Annie, sitting opposite Dolly and putting her drink aside. �How�s the business?�

�More punters than we can handle.�

�That�s good. Girls okay?�

�Oh, fine. Rosie�s a nice girl. Too tired to shit, but so likable that you can�t take offence at it. That Sharlene�s sharp as a tack, but she�s pretty honest and she�s a good worker, so I can�t complain.�

�Gave you a bit of a scare though, didn�t they?� said Annie with a faint smile.

�Hm?� Dolly was sipping the sherry.

�I mean, when we thought something might have happened to Rosie. And before that, when they were arguing the toss over who was going to take that escorting job, you remember?�

�Oh, that. Yeah. Sure.�

�Because you knew who one of them was booked to see,� said Annie. �And you�d made it clear to them that you didn�t want to take the booking.�

Dolly�s face had gone very still. She took another sip of the sherry and looked at the carpet.

�Because,� Annie went on relentlessly, �you were afraid for them. Because you knew what had happened last time you took a booking from that person, and you didn�t want to risk that happening again. When Rosie took that booking and went out, you thought she was toast. You were white as a sheet, terrified.�

Dolly raised her eyes and looked straight at Annie. Annie stared back at her. Dolly. Her dearest friend, the one person she would always turn to in a crisis. Big-mouthed and immaculately dressed in her suits, her bubble-permed blonde hair always neatly coiffed, her manicure and make-up always perfect. Dolly wore the mantle of the successful madam with ease and authority.

But here was the crunch, the point at which Dolly would stop and turn away. Dolly still had to pay her dues. And she paid them to Redmond Delaney.

�I don�t know what you�re on about,� she said, and looked puzzled as she sipped the sherry again.

�Come off it, Doll. Shit, I�ve taught you all I know and you still know fuck-all. But you do know this. You know exactly what I�m talking about. I�m talking about taking an escort booking for Redmond.�

Dolly choked.

She went bright red, coughed, spilled sherry down her powder-blue skirt and on the couch. With an unsteady hand she put the glass on to the coffee table and rummaged around in her handbag for a hankie. She coughed into it, then looked at Annie with streaming eyes.

�What the hell?� she managed to wheeze.

�You heard.� Now Annie�s eyes were hard. �Sharlene wanted to take the booking, but she thought Rosie had beaten her to it. So did you. It scared the crap out of you. Just as well Rosie didn�t. I can�t see Rosie hacking the rough stuff. I think we both know by now what a night out with Redmond involves, and it ain�t pretty.�

�Annie�� said Dolly desperately.

�Don�t give me any bullshit, Doll,� she snapped, and Dolly recoiled. �You went to a lot of trouble to lose any information about that last escort booking that Aretha took, didn�t you? You said a woman placed the booking, was that true? Or was that just more smokescreen, more fucking lies?�

Dolly had gone very pale. She sat there looking very small on the couch, the hankie bunched in her fist, her bag clutched against her like a shield. Annie felt bad, having to do this to her.

�No,� she said at last. �That wasn�t a lie. A woman phoned through the booking. I told the police that, you know I did.�

�Yeah, and of course they couldn�t trace the number. Because it was made from a phone booth in the arse end of nowhere. Who was the woman, Dolly? Did you know?�

Dolly was swallowing convulsively.

�No,� she said.

�I said no more bullshit.�

�I didn�t know her,� yelled Dolly straight back.

�The fuck you didn�t. You knew her then and you know her now. You just won�t say it out loud.�

�I can�t,� said Dolly, suddenly dissolving into tears. �For the love of God, Annie, how can I? He�d kill me, you know he would; you know what they�re capable of.�

Now it was Annie�s turn to be still. What Dolly had just said was as good as a confession in her book.

�Yeah,� said Annie. �Okay. So say nothing, Doll. Keep yourself safe�even if some other poor bitches are put at risk because you�re so concerned with covering your own arse. You saw what associating with them done to Mira, and that boy Gareth, just because he was a friend to her. And you believed that Redmond did for Aretha. If that poor little bitch Rosie had done that escort job, she could have come back in bits. She could have been dead meat. You knew how it was going to go, Doll. I only had to look at your face when you thought Rosie�d taken that booking. You were shitting yourself. If he�d done it before, you knew that one of these days he�d do it again.�

�I couldn�t tell you,� sobbed Dolly, tears cascading down her face.

�Okay. Well, I�ll tell you then. Redmond Delaney damn near did for Mira but didn�t quite succeed. She was a messy loophole and he wanted her closed up neatly�that was why he was so hopping mad when he heard she was at your place; that was why he sent in the troops to get her. Gareth? I�m guessing he tracked her to the boy�s flat, but Gareth knew what had happened to her with Redmond, how low he�d brought her down, and he wouldn�t grass on her, wouldn�t tell where she was. He paid with his life for that. How am I doing so far?�

Dolly said nothing.

�And then,� said Annie, �Aretha. Our friend. Yours and mine. A specialist in S & M, and that�s what he liked, that�s what he wanted. I know the history of the Delaneys, Doll, and I guess what happened to them as children twisted them up good and proper. That�s their only excuse for being like they are. It ain�t much of one. But Redmond was happy to let the Bill fit up Chris for it.�

�What could I do?� demanded Dolly through her tears. �You tell me! Go up against that lot? You must be fucking joking! I had to keep quiet. There was nothing else I could do�not if I wanted to get out of it without getting my neck stretched too.�

Annie understood Dolly�s point of view. She knew how scared and how horrified, how powerless she must have felt, to find herself embroiled in something as messy as this. Dolly had backed away, buried her head in the sand. You couldn�t blame her for that.

The rage burned in Annie again�rage against these monsters who thought they had the right to use women so badly. Monsters who thought it was perfectly okay to piss and shit on a girl, as long as they were paying for the privilege. Monsters who drew no line at the level of abuse�who beat them and terrified them and finally killed them, as if the girls were to blame and not their own sordid, twisted natures.

She had once believed that Redmond was not a sexual being. Later, she had suspected he might be queer. She had never expected him to be a woman-beating sadist.

�It was Orla Delaney, wasn�t it?� said Annie. �Orla made the call for Aretha�s booking, and it was Orla who phoned again on the night you thought Rosie had taken a booking with Redmond.�

Dolly shot her one swift, ashamed glance. Then she bit her lip and nodded, and let the tears fall once again.

�She�s having a bad day,� said the white-coated nurse, looking at Annie with disapproval as she stood on the doorstep of the safe house in Harrow-on-the-Hill.

�Hey, we�re all having one of those,� said Annie, pushing past her and into the hall. �Where is she?�

�Upstairs. In bed. I think she may be asleep and she really shouldn�t be disturbed��

�Which door?� asked Annie, already trotting on up there.

�The one on the left, but I don�t think��

�Thanks.�

Annie got up on to the landing and went to the door. She knocked softly, received no answer, and stepped inside. It was a big bedroom, high ceilinged and with a refreshing breeze stirring the nets at the big sash window on the other side of the room. The bed was big too, so that the woman in it looked almost like a child lying there.

Annie stepped over to the bed. Mira�s eyes were open, but she looked bad. Her hair was slicked flat to her bony head, as if she�d been sweating heavily; her wrists and hands were still swathed in bandages. Her skin was an unhealthy yellow colour and her cheekbones stuck out like knives.

Annie looked at Mira and felt pity pierce her heart. She remembered all that Mira had told her about what she�d been through. The cruelty. The perversions. The rubber thing Redmond had held over her nose and mouth during sex. Autoerotic asphyxia�partial suffocation or partial strangulation to heighten sensation during sex. She thought of Gareth, hanging in the flat. Thought of Redmond reaching for her own throat when he�d become enraged. Mira had told her that she had only to smell rubber now to throw up with fear.

�Annie,� said Mira weakly.

�Hi.� Annie went and sat on the bed beside Mira. �How are you?�

�How do I look?� asked Mira with a glint of humour.

�Like death warmed over,� said Annie.

�Yeah, you got that right.�

�Feel rough, huh?�

�Dog rough.�

�It�ll pass,� said Annie. �Stay with it.�

But even as she said that, she wondered just how deeply Mira had become wrapped up in the world of the professional junkie. She wondered if there was any hope of her pulling out of it for good. So many people sank back into the abyss. She hoped that wasn�t what lay in wait for Mira.

�Not much option but to do that,� said Mira.

�Mira, I need your help.�

�What with?�

�Aretha. You remember Aretha. You know the soup kitchen at St Aubride�s church hall you told me about?�

�I know it.�

�Did you ever see Aretha there?�

Mira thought about it. �No,� she said after a pause.

�No?�

�Wait. No, I did. Just once. Talking to that little squirt who ran it, little chap with poppy eyes and a fat face.�

Cyrus. So that explained Aretha�s tattoo. Cyrus paid the girls to have it done, then killed them. Somehow he hadn�t got to Aretha�someone else had. What about the tall red-haired woman?

What about Redmond�s involvement? Then, to her annoyance, the door opened and the white-coated nurse was back again.

�She�s very tired,� she said pointedly to Annie. �She had a bad night. She needs to rest.�

Annie nodded and stood up. The woman was right. Mira looked as though she was having a hard time fighting the drugs off, and she probably did need all the rest she could get, poor bitch.

�I�ll come back and see you soon,� she promised. �When you�re feeling a bit brighter. Anything you want me to bring you?�

�Yes,� said Mira with a grimace. �A new life. I�m sick to death of this old one. All I do is throw up and sweat and shiver.�

�That will pass,� said the nurse reassuringly. �Given time.�

�Yeah, right,� said Mira, and slowly closed her eyes.

She phoned Ruthie to be sure that Layla and her were okay. �We�re fine,� said Ruthie, and put Layla on to enthuse about the kittens. Annie listened to her excited little voice and smiled and thanked God for her. Soon, maybe, she�d have her baby back with her. She really hoped so. For now, it was more important to keep Layla safe, even if she did miss her like crazy.

�I love you, baby,� she said as she rang off, feeling the prickle of tears in her eyes.

�Love you too, Mummy,� said Layla.

Then Annie phoned her cousin Kath. �I�ve got minders coming out of my arse here,� moaned Kath. �What you got kickin� off this time?�

She soothed Kath�s worries and was just off out the door when Ellie phoned. �Any news about Chris?�

Annie felt so sorry for Ellie�she�d always carried a massive torch for Chris. �No�no news at all,� she said.

�He�s going down for this, ain�t he?� She could hear the tears in Ellie�s voice.

Annie had to be truthful. It would be cruel to get the poor mare�s hopes up. �He could be,� she said. �Ellie, you�ve got to be prepared for that.�

At which point Ellie started to sob. Annie soothed her as best she could, but she felt in her heart that there�d be no good ending to this particular nightmare. Feeling depressed, she locked up and went out, got into the back of the Jag. Tony started the engine.

�Where to?� he asked.

�Let�s have a check around the venues. Make sure everything�s running smooth.�

They did the grand tour of the arcades, snooker halls, pubs and clubs. Everyone greeted Annie Carter respectfully but there was an edge to their greetings. She thought of Gary�s warning and knew that the rumours were spreading. Knew she was walking a thin line. But then, hadn�t she always done that? They were nosing through the traffic up the King�s Road when a black cab veered in front of them.

�Jesus!� said Tony loudly, hitting the brakes.

Annie was jolted forward.

�Bloody idiot!� Tony was leaning on the horn.

Annie looked around, startled, starting to feel a twinge of anxiety. There was another cab right up their arse. Another edged alongside and suddenly, just like that, they were boxed off. The driver of the cab alongside the Jag jumped out and came round the car as Tony reached over to the glove compartment.

�Tone!� shouted Annie. It was all happening so damned fast.

The man flung open Tony�s door just as Tony was turning back with a pistol in his hand. Tony was a fraction of a second too slow. The man coshed him hard behind the ear and he crumpled. The man grabbed the pistol and heaved Tony over into the passenger seat.

So fast.

Then another one threw open the back door and jumped in beside Annie. She shrank back. The one up front�in the fucking driving seat now�tossed the pistol to the one in the back. The one in the back was grinning, and wearing a deaf aid.

It was Deaf Derek. The treacherous bastard.

�Hiya Mrs Carter,� he said, and rammed the pistol�s cold butt up hard against her throat.

The cab blocking them pulled away. The man beside Tony�s slumped body eased the Jag forward again, into the flow of traffic. The cab that had stopped alongside the Jag was still there, blocking that lane. Horns were honking, people were shouting, but the traffic flow soon picked up and then that was all far behind them.

The driver glanced back over his shoulder with a malicious grin. Annie saw that he had a finger missing from his right hand, which was clenched on the leather-covered steering wheel. Her heart froze in her chest.

Charlie Foster, the number one Delaney boy. Charlie, who had big scores to settle with her. Now, he was going to get his chance.

�Comfortable back there, Mrs Carter?� he sneered.

He didn�t wait for her answer. The Jag sped toward Battersea. Tony was slumped unconscious in the front. No help there. No help anywhere.

Deaf Derek kept the gun pressed to her throat as the car roared along.

She�d rattled some cages all right. And now they were going to make her pay.

They shoved her inside a shed in the Delaneys� breaker�s yard. Just her. God knew what they�d done with Tony. They slammed the door shut on her and she heard them bolt it from outside. Leaving her in the semi-dark, terrified of what might come next. Annie stood there and told herself to keep calm, to keep thinking�but all the time, panic was exploding in her brain and she was thinking: They�re going to kill me.

She�d done the unthinkable�she�d crossed Redmond Delaney over something that mattered greatly to him. It mattered so much to the twisted git that he was obviously even prepared to risk Constantine�s wrath�and if he was prepared to go that far, she knew she was toast. Unless somehow she could get out? Escape? But there was a guard with an Alsatian on the gate. The guard looked handy and the Alsatian looked as if it would rip her guts out if she set foot in the yard.

It was still daylight, though, and chinks of light were now becoming visible to her, permeating the gloom inside the shed. She was able to look around and actually see things. There were piles of rope on the floor, and a mounded heap of grubby tarpaulin sheets. It smelled stale in there.

If I could find something to use, she thought. Maybe a hammer?

But she couldn�t see any tools, only the ropes and tarps. She went over to the nearest pile of tarps, hoping there was something useful underneath them. She lifted the top tarp and fell back with a cry of horror.

She�d found Pete Delacourt, the tattooed man.

He was there, his tattooed face frozen in a hideous death mask, his staring eyes as blank and milky as a cod�s on a slab. The scent of decay rose from the body and she quickly dropped the tarp back over the corpse, gagging and backing up against the shed wall.

Oh Christ, she thought in fear and disgust.

And now there was a noise and the door was opening. She�d had no time to get anything to defend herself with, no time at all. She turned to the door. Charlie Foster was stepping inside, smirking at her as he closed the door behind him. She�d run out of chances, and now Charlie was about to get his chance for revenge.

Once inside the static, away from any possible prying eyes, Redmond and Orla went to the desk and stood there, staring at her. Annie was swaying on her feet like a drunk. She clutched at the wall, held herself steady. Charlie was right by her, grinning.

Vipers, just as Max had always told her.

Orla was in a neat black suit, beautifully cut, perfectly fitted. She leaned back against the desk and watched Annie like she was an insect impaled on a pin. Redmond was standing there, one arm casually resting on the filing cabinet beside the desk, his face impassive�as if he hadn�t just tried to smother her at all. As if everything was normal. Which, to him, it probably was.

Annie knew she was going down. But she wasn�t going down without a fight, and she wasn�t going down before she had let this sick pair know precisely what she thought of them.

Her thoughts went briefly to Tony. They�d dragged her out of the Jag and into the compound, but she didn�t know what they�d done with him. He might be just unconscious, he might be tied up, fuck it all, he might be dead. That blow to the head could have damaged his brain, caused haemorrhaging. She didn�t know. And right this instant, she couldn�t even give it much thought.

She had to try and stay alive for as long as she could. She didn�t hold out much hope in that direction. Tony might recover and come to her rescue. Or he might not. Either way, she was going to say her piece.

She was very aware of Charlie standing close by, leaning against the closed door, listening in. Anticipating another chance to damage her. She knew he could hardly wait.

�I know all about what happened with you and Mira,� said Annie, looking at Redmond. Her mouth was dry. She had to swallow several times to get the words out.

Redmond was quiet for a beat. Then he said: �I doubt that.�

�Oh but I do. She told me, you sadistic bastard.�

�Sticks and stones, Mrs Carter.�

�If I had a stick I�d beat you to fucking death with it. Put you out of your misery like a dog, you bastard.�

�Ah, but you haven�t, have you? No sticks, no guns, not even that strange little flick-out Eastern thing you carry around with you. Nothing. You�re out of your depth, Mrs Carter.�

Orla was staring at Annie.

�What, cat got your tongue, Orla?� Annie demanded shakily. �Nothing to say?�

She couldn�t let them see how terrified she was, even though she felt literally sick with fear.

Orla shook her head. �How�s the club going?� she asked with a sneering smile. �No problems, I hope? No one trying to sabotage all your good efforts? No one been cutting pipes in the cellar or anything like that?�

Well, that explained that. �You bitch,� said Annie, consumed with cold fury.

�And I thought we were such good friends too! Why couldn�t you just carry on playing businesswoman of the year�that�s what you�re best at, after all, fiddling around with your new club and making it all pretty, ready for the punters�and leave the rest of it alone?� she asked. �Why did you have to get involved?�

�Because there�s such a thing as loyalty,� said Annie. She felt stronger now, and angrier too. �There�s such a thing as standing up for your friends and fighting their corner. And you know, the very fact that I had to fight Chris Brown�s corner when you were so reluctant to do it�that should have made me see the light much sooner.�

Redmond half smiled and put his hands in his trouser pockets. He looked perfectly relaxed, very much in control.

�And what light would that be, Mrs Carter?� he asked her.

�I should have seen that you were involved right from the start,� said Annie. �Fuck it, you were even there the morning after Aretha got killed; you were right there at the hotel. The cops told me that the one who�s committed the crime, the one who�s killed, often feels an uncontrollable urge to revisit the scene.�

�I didn�t know that,� said Redmond.

�And, there you were, meeting Constantine, at that hotel the very next day. And you suggested that hotel.�

�Well done, Mrs Carter,� said Redmond with a faint smile. �How clever you are. And at the same time, how stupid to be telling me this if I had committed a crime at the hotel.�

Annie kept her face blank, even though she could feel the sweat running down her body, even though her heart was thudding sickeningly hard in her chest. She was going to have this out with these bastards, even if it killed her�and it probably would. �Stupid? I don�t think so. Don�t make a sodding bit of difference now anyway, does it? You�re going to get rid of me anyway, ain�t that the plan?�

They were both silent, staring at her.

Annie nodded slowly, her eyes glued to their faces.

�Yeah, that�s the plan,� she said. �Because I�ve confided in Dolly, and Dolly�s a Delaney woman. She�s told you what I�ve told her, and now I�m fucked. Ain�t that right? We may as well be straight with one another now.�

�I didn�t kill Aretha Brown, Mrs Carter,� said Redmond flatly.

�No?� Annie�s eyes were fixed on Redmond�s face. He shook his head. Annie�s eyes slid over to Orla.

Orla let out a laugh. �What, you think I�?�

Annie thought of all that Sir William had told her. A tall, red-haired woman running up behind Aretha�� I don�t know,� said Annie. �Why don�t you tell me, you cold-blooded bitch?�

That stung. Annie could see it in Orla�s face. But she soon recovered and stared at Annie with the gleeful calculation of a cat with a trapped mouse.

Redmond shot his twin a glance. �You don�t have to say a thing,� he said.

�Why not?� Orla shrugged. �The fact is, we�re very close, Redmond and I. We�ve had to stand together over the years; we�ve had no one else to depend on.�

�I know that,� said Annie. She knew all about their background. She knew they�d been abused as children, knew that the abused sometimes become abusers in their turn. �I think unnaturally close would cover it better.�

�Unnatural?� Orla shook her head. �We�re a single unit, Mrs Carter. We work together.�

�And play together?� quipped Annie.

Orla�s eyes clouded, concealing a faint flicker of rage. She folded her arms across her body.

�What exactly are you implying? That my twin and I have some sort of unhealthy intimate thing going on?�

�Well, don�t you?� Annie demanded. Her voice was growing stronger now. Her anger was sustaining her, overriding her fear. �You set up the escort appointment with Dolly; you phoned it in. You pimped for Redmond, what else would you do for him, I wonder? Or did you know that he�d do these things anyway? Did you hate the fact that he needed these kinky sexual encounters, but did you think�he�ll do them anyway; I hate it but this way I can control it. He�d asked for Aretha several times, he liked the rough stuff. Ain�t that right, Redmond?� demanded Annie.

He looked at her with icy loathing and didn�t answer.

�Yeah,� said Annie. �That�s right, ain�t it?� She turned back to Orla. �And you didn�t like that: the fact that he had a particular liking for these sessions with Aretha. And now I�m thinking you hated the thought of him with any woman, so much so that you just snapped and killed her.�

�Say nothing,� said Redmond to Orla, his eyes fixed menacingly on Annie.

�Why shouldn�t I?� Orla looked unfazed by Annie�s accusation. �I didn�t kill that whore. I wanted to. I really did. No, I don�t like the fact that Redmond has these needs. But I accept it�even though it causes trouble, even though it becomes a nuisance at times.� She glanced at Redmond. �That costly blonde whore you became so obsessed with for a while, for instance. I really think��

�What you think about it,� snapped Redmond, �isn�t relevant. That�s my business�not yours.�

Orla�s face reddened at the unexpected rebuke.

So there is trouble in their sick paradise, thought Annie. Orla really is jealous of his women. I almost feel sorry for the twisted bastards.

�You�re talking about Mira?� Annie�s eyes were moving between them both. Orla blinked at the mention of Mira, and Redmond seemed to freeze to the spot. �That was something more serious, wasn�t it? More long term. Quite pleasurable for you, Redmond, but a fucking disaster for her. You introduced her to drugs. You taught her some nasty little habits and you bloody near killed her. She told me about how you liked to half throttle her during sex, and about that little square of rubber you use to get your jollies. If Orla hadn�t interrupted us when she did, you�d have done me with it too. You�re one sick fuck, Redmond, you know that?�

A swift flush of hot colour swept up over his pale cheeks. He didn�t look in the least ashamed: he looked furious.

�That�s why you sent Charlie and the boys round to Dolly Farrell�s place to get Mira back. You didn�t want her blabbing your disgusting little secrets all over the place, did you? And she belonged to you. She was your own personal high-class whore to do with as you would. But the drugs and the abuse and the abortion all took their toll on her, and I guess she started to annoy you once you�d knocked all the spirit out of her and ruined her looks, and so the games got sicker and then she began to think, fuck it, he�s going to kill me if I don�t get out of here. And she was right.�

Redmond was breathing hard. He looked as though he was going to kill her with his bare hands, right now. Annie knew he�d enjoy it, too.

Annie thought of the horror she found under that tarpaulin in the shed across the yard. �So she ran and ended up at Pete Delacourt�s tattoo parlour. He put her on to his brother Rizzo, who kept her drug habit fed and who put her on the streets earning. Funnily enough, you know what? Pete went missing.�

They were silent, staring at her. Their faces said it all.

Annie swallowed. Her mouth was dry as dust. She had to get all this out now, had to let them know they were sussed.

�And Gareth, what about Gareth? The cops are in two minds. He could have committed suicide, but I don�t think he did. I think he blocked you when you picked up Mira�s trail and traced her to his flat, and you lost your temper and strung him up, ain�t that right?�

Maybe I�m dead meat, thought Annie with a shudder. But I�m going down with all guns blazing.

�Orla�it was you who killed Aretha. There was a witness. She left the hotel fit and well. Then a tall red-haired woman was seen hurrying up behind her outside the hotel that night. It was you.�

Orla unfolded her arms and leaned back against the desk again. She shook her head.

�Oh come on,� said Annie. �What�s the use of denying it now?�

�You�re right. Whatever gets said here today won�t go any further. So if I�d done it, what the hell�I�d admit to it. But I didn�t.�

Fuck it, thought Annie savagely. She couldn�t be wrong on this. Orla had to be lying. But why would she bother?

�I�m not lying,� said Orla, straight-faced, as if she�d read her thoughts.

�I don�t believe a bloody word that comes out your mouths.�

�We really don�t care what you think, Mrs Carter, and it really doesn�t matter any more because you are in no position to argue, as I see it. However, for what it�s worth, neither of us murdered Aretha Brown.�

Then who the hell did? A tall red-haired woman. Annie looked at Orla. Orla was about five feet six inches tall. A tall red-haired woman.

How tall exactly was the woman who�d chased after Aretha, though? That was something she should have questioned William about more closely. Something she wasn�t going to get a chance to do�and she thought of Teresa Walker, who�d had red hair too. Shit, Teresa�s mother was tall. Teresa�s mother had red hair�

It was all too late. She�d never know now.

�This is all getting a little tedious,� said Redmond. �We have work to do, and we have to get on with it.�

�Wait,� said Annie.

�Wait for what?� Redmond gave a terse half-smile. His eyes flickered past her, behind her.

Annie started to turn. She saw Charlie coming up fast, too fast.

The cosh caught her right behind the ear. Pain crashed through her brain. And then�blackness.

Consciousness returned to Annie in fits and starts. Her head hurt; there was a sore spot behind her right ear. She opened her eyes to semi-darkness and a dim, familiar interior.

She was in the car. Her car. Charlie�d hit her hard. Her mind was spinning. Her car, that was right. Had to get a grip, start thinking straight. The black Mark X Jaguar. Her beautiful car.

She was lying across the back seat, which smelled of leather and cologne; familiar smells, comforting smells. But she didn�t feel comforted. Alarm bells were ringing in her addled brain; her guts were screwed up with unfocused anxiety.

Tony.

Where the fuck was Tony?

He was usually up there behind the wheel�big, suited shoulders, bald head, gold crucifixes glinting in his ears. Weaving through the London traffic with his usual casual grace and asking where she wanted to go now, then saying, �Sure Boss, okay.� But he wasn�t there. She was in the car alone.

Her heart stalled. She was beginning to remember what had happened. They�d coshed Tony as well as herself.

How long have I been out of it? she wondered, sitting up stiffly, wincing as her head started to thump sickeningly in protest at even the slightest movement.

It was all coming back to her. The Delaneys. She�d been talking to them. And Charlie�oh Jesus, the shed. Pete Delacourt�s corpse under the tarp. Charlie in the shed and then, worse, far worse, Redmond. She was up shit creek, and she knew it. On Delaney turf, on Delaney streets. She had no chance.

Charlie had knocked her out cold. She remembered that now. The sudden pain, the swift descent into blackness. Tony was fuck-knew-where. Now they were going to take the wheel and drive her off in her own damned car to some remote place, where they would blow her brains out, what little brains she had, because who but a fool would push their luck so far as to cross Redmond Delaney the way she had?

She thought of Layla, her little girl, her little star. She knew she had to get the fuck out of here, because she was all that Layla had; she couldn�t afford to get herself wasted. She was reaching for the door when the noise started�a high mechanical whine, deafening in its intensity. She clutched at the seat. Her heart kicked against her chest in alarm.

What the fuck�?

Suddenly the car lurched to the right, flinging her back against the right-hand door. She watched with horror as the left-hand door started to buckle inward. There was a ferocious shriek of tortured metal, louder than a thousand banshees at full moon. With a sound like a gunshot, the glass of the door shattered, showering her with fragments. She ducked down, covering her head momentarily with an upraised arm, then staring in terror as the left-hand door just kept coming at her, buckling inward, metal tearing, ripping, screaming.

And then the door behind her was coming in too. The noise was mind-numbing, beyond pain, beyond anything she had ever experienced before. The second window imploded, and again she was smothered in pieces of glass, felt her cheeks sting with the impact of it, felt warm blood start to ooze from cuts on her face.

�Jesus!� she screamed, knowing exactly where she was now, and knowing what was going to happen to her.

She was in the car crusher in the Delaney�s breaker�s yard.

Then the roof crashed in upon her, folding inward not like metal but like soft cardboard. The car lifted with a violent heave and she fell sideways, ending up on the floor, nearly gibbering with fear. She was going to die, she knew that now.

Just make it fast, she thought desperately. Please make it fast.

The Delaneys were over so far as Hunter was concerned. He�d got so much evidence against them that the whole firm would be going down for years.

�We�ve closed all the ports and airports,� he told her later in the day, when she had been checked out at the hospital and Tony had been found groggy but unscathed in one of the breaker�s yard other outbuildings.

They had both been given a clean bill of health, and told they ought to stay in overnight. Both had refused, despite the fact that they had sore heads, Annie�s ankle was bruised, and her face bore several scratches from all the flying glass.

�We�ll get them,� Hunter assured her. �They�ll be behind bars soon.�

Annie didn�t believe it. It was too easy to slip in and out of the country, if you really wanted to and had the means to do it. For now, anyway, their rule was over. Deaf Derek, the treacherous bastard, had fled. The cops had nearly caught Charlie Foster, but only nearly. He�d given them the slip. Fuck it: they�d all got away with it.

She felt robbed. Behind bars was too good for those bastards, anyway. They�d tried to kill her, they�d nearly taken Layla�s mother from her; banging them up would almost be like letting them off. All right, her contacts could get to them even on the inside, but she wanted revenge. She wanted to see them suffer, right in front of her eyes. She wanted it done.

Still shaken by her ordeal, she was grateful to the cops who dropped her back at the club, and drove Tony back to his flat. They were lucky to be alive. She knew that. Death had been this close. She sat in the flat, her newly refurbished club beneath her, and thought: I could be dead right now. She thought of opening night on Saturday, a big celebration, and she might never have seen it thanks to those fucking Delaneys. They had to be caught. Had to be put down, like the crazed animals they were.

She looked around the small sitting room of her flat, at the mounds of beautiful red roses Constantine had sent her. Suddenly the scent of them was suffocating. They could have been decorating her grave, if things had gone as Redmond and Orla had planned.

Anger stung her at the thought of that. Of what they could have inflicted on her, and Tony, and Layla. Of what Redmond had inflicted on Mira. She thought of Orla�s denial over Aretha. Oh, she so wanted it to be Orla who she could pin that on. It would fit, it would be truly neat, she wanted that so much it hurt. But Orla�s words had rung true. That was the awkward thing, the damning thing. She felt strongly that Orla had been telling the truth.

Fuck it.

So Chris was still in the frame for his wife�s murder. Nothing had changed. Val Delacourt and Teresa Walker were down to that twisted little git Cyrus. Gareth Fuller and Pete Delacourt were down to Redmond. But still Aretha could not rest easy because still they didn�t have a clue who had killed her.

A tall red haired woman, Sir William had said.

The phone rang. Annie snatched it up.

�When are we going to do dinner and talk?� said Constantine.

She sat down on the couch with a thump.

Dinner!

�There�s something I need to talk to you about,� he said.

�There�s something I want to talk to you about, too,� she said.

�Tomorrow night? Eight? I�ll send the car.�

�It can�t wait until tomorrow night,� she said shakily, and told him all about what had happened at the Delaneys� yard.

He was silent, taking it all in. Redmond Delaney had gone against her and in doing that he had gone against Constantine too. �So what are you going to do now?� he asked her.

She felt peeved at him. He�d said nothing. She had expected outrage, a fierce surge of protectiveness towards her. What she hadn�t expected was that he should be so fucking calm about it all.

�What, like you care? Ain�t you even mad that you wouldn�t have gone on getting your sex on tap, if I�d got done?� she demanded, feeling so irritated at his lack of response that she could have screamed.

�What?�

�And while we�re on the subject, it would be really fucking convenient for you, wouldn�t it? Me in the penthouse in Manhattan, all neatly tucked away. No family rucks over that, I suppose. Course you�d have to keep me on the Pill�Christ, what would they think if you had a kid off me?� She dragged a hand through her hair. �Look, I�ll catch you later,� she said, and hung up the phone.

Then she went to the sideboard and rummaged in the drawer, ignoring the phone when it rang again. It would be him. And, right now, she was too damned angry, too hyped up by all that had happened to her to speak to him. She found Sir William�s business card and waited for the phone to stop ringing. Then she dialled the number on it.

He picked up at once. �Hello?�

�How tall was the red-haired woman, did your man say? Aretha was a six-footer.� And Orla Delaney�s only five foot six.

�Is that you, Mrs Carter? Well�he said she was at least as tall as the woman she was clearly following. Perhaps taller.�

�Over six feet tall? That�s big for a woman.�

�Nevertheless, that�s what he said. He particularly noticed the woman�s height, because it was unusual, just as your friend�s height was unusual.�

Orla really didn�t do it.

Annie thought of Teresa Walker�s mother. Tall. Gaunt. Red-haired. Sitting there stroking her Bible, a mad gleam in her eyes. Aretha was connected to Teresa and they shared a mutual love of money. Yeah. At last. She had it.

�Thanks, Sir William, that�s all I wanted to know.�

�A pleasure, my dear. If I can be of any further assistance��

He hung up. She dialled through to the police station, but Hunter was out.

Annie stalked around the apartment, thinking. She had escaped death thanks only to Hunter�s sharp thinking, to his nose for trouble. She couldn�t just sit here, watch some telly, eat a meal, behave normally. She had to do something.

She looked at the roses. She picked out a bunch of twenty, wrapped them in yesterday�s newspaper. Picked up her keys and her bag, and left the flat, left the club. Out in the street, she hailed a cab and told the driver where she wanted to go.

At eleven the next morning, Tony drove Annie over to Soho in a borrowed Rover.

�This is dog rough,� he complained the minute she got in. �I hate this fucking car, pardon my French, Boss. The Jag had class. Look at this cheap trim, and what colour do they call the exterior, what is that, beige or something? Beige with a black roof, that looks like a frigging abortion. They call this a �compact executive� car. Well it don�t look very executive to me.�

�It�ll do for now,� said Annie. It was obvious that Tony was feeling no after-effects from his experiences with the Delaneys, and that was good. �We�ll get another car, a better one.�

That seemed to placate him. Annie explained what they were doing today. They pulled up outside the tattoo parlour. Annie thought of Pete Delacourt, the tattooed freak, another victim of Redmond�s obsessive pursuit of Mira Cooper. She had relived time and again that moment when she�d found him dead in the Delaney yard.

They walked around the side until they reached the back entrance to the Alley Cat club. They went in, went to the dressing room they knew he�d be in. Tony opened the closed door, and they walked in on Bobby Jo, all glammed up in long red wig and sparkly blue dress, getting busy with a blonde club hostess wearing nothing but a frilly skirt, stockings and high-heeled shoes.

�What the fucking hell?� demanded Bobby Jo, while the girl let out a screech and covered her oversized naked breasts with her hands.

�Sorry to interrupt your knee-trembler, Bobby Jo, but I want a word,� said Annie. She turned her attention to the girl. �Out,� she said.

The blonde shot past Annie and Tony like a bullet. Tony closed the door after her, leaving them with one enraged drag queen, a visibly wilting hard-on pressing up against the front of his sequinned frock.

�You�ve got a fucking nerve, coming in here again,� Bobby Jo started in, looming over Annie.

Tall and red-haired. But not a woman at all.

�Tone,� said Annie, and stepped back.

Tony hit Bobby Jo square on the jaw. Bobby Jo shot back against his dressing table, scattering blusher and foundation. He jumped up again, though, and came at Tony with an inexpert swing. Tony blocked the blow easily and delivered a better one to Bobby Jo�s nose. Then he followed through with another to the stomach.

Bobby Jo doubled over, blood cascading down his blue dress. Tony brought his knee up and it crunched into the centre of Bobby Jo�s face. Bobby Jo staggered back, floundered against the dressing table, sweeping off more bits and pieces of the trade�his brushes, a pair of falsies, a tub of face powder that plumed up all around them like a dust storm in a desert.

Tony went back in.

�No!� burbled Bobby Jo past a mouthful of blood. He shrank back against the table, one of his false eyelashes hanging off, blood all over his face and down his dress.

Tony smacked him again.

Annie watched impassively. She felt sick inside, but the bastard deserved this. This, and more.

When Bobby Jo was on his knees, she nodded to Tony.

Tony drew back.

Annie stepped forward and stood in front of Bobby Jo.

�Now,� she said. �Tell me why you killed Aretha Brown.�

�I didn�t, I don�t know what��

Annie stepped aside and Tony moved back in, twisting Bobby Jo�s arms up behind his back until he shrieked.

�I didn�t, I didn�t�� he was babbling, his face a mask of blood and make-up, his red wig askew.

�You want my friend here to take you apart bit by bit?� she asked. �Because believe me, he will. Until you start telling the truth.�

�But I didn�t, I didn�t do nothing�� he sobbed.

Tony wrenched harder.

Bobby Jo screamed.

�No! Don�t! All right, I�ll tell you! I�ll tell you!�

Tony held him there. Any more lies, he�d get more.

Annie pulled up a chair and stared at the grotesque, ruined face without pity. After all, what pity had he shown?

�Tell me,� she said.

�It�it was that cow Teresa. I was fucking her, you know I was,� he was babbling.

�Yeah, I know. Move on.�

�I�ve got a�a thing going, a long-term thing, with Selma Callow who owns a share of the club. She�s a jealous woman. Wants to keep me all to herself.�

Fat chance of that, by the look of things, thought Annie.

�So?�

�Teresa walked in on us once in here,� said Bobby Jo, tears and blood running in rivers down his face. �She was such a little chancer. I told you about her, passing round fucking business cards inside the club, pushing her luck.� He paused, coughed, spluttered. �But I was turking her sometimes so I overlooked the problem��

She looked at him with distaste. �And?�

�She was friends with this Aretha Brown. Said they met at church or some damned mad thing. Teresa in a church! Crazy. But that�s what she said, and it was her idea, this Brown woman, to blackmail me.�

Aretha and her love of money, thought Annie. �Go on,� she told him.

�I can�t, I can�t�� He was panting, doubled over. Tony gave him a tweak. Bobby Jo yelled and straightened up. �All right! I thought they�d drop it after a couple of payouts�but they didn�t. They just kept coming back for more. I didn�t know what the fuck to do: if Selma found out I was dead in the water. Out of the best job I�ve ever had; out of the flat she bought me. I�d lose my car. She said if I ever cheated on her she�d see me dead, and I believed her. You don�t know what she�s like. She�s an obsessive bitch, she�s fucking scary. I was frantic. And then�Teresa was killed. I tell you, that was my lucky bloody day.�

�Keep going,� said Annie when he slumped again.

�Think I�m going to be sick�� he panted, turning his hideous painted face aside and spitting out teeth and blood on to the carpet.

�Keep going,� she said again.

�Jesus��

�Keep going.�

�Teresa was killed like the other one.�

�Val Delacourt.�

�That one, yeah. So Teresa was gone, and that was good news. I relaxed. Thought it was all over. Then that Aretha Brown came calling, saying it was not over, that she was going to keep taking payments from me, and she upped them, upped them a lot. I was desperate then, I didn�t know what to do��

Oh fuck it, Aretha, was the damned money that important, really? Important enough to die for?

Bobby Jo hunched over, and with a convulsive movement was sick. The stench of vomit filled the little room. Gasping, he straightened again. Annie watched him steadily, her stomach knotted up with revulsion.

�Then I�oh shit�I worked out a plan. The Delacourt woman and Teresa had been garrotted, it was in all the papers, and I thought if I made it look the same, then I could get rid of the Brown bitch the same way and�� Bobby Jo paused, gasping down a breath, ��and the police would think it was the same man who�d done all three. They�d never suspect. I�d be home and dry.�

And Chris would have rotted in prison.

Annie stood up, weary and disgusted.

�Now you�re going to tell all that to the Bill,� she said. �And you�re going to serve time.�

Bobby Jo was shaking his head, his bloody mouth twisted into a ravaged smile. �No! You got this out of me with your pet ape beating lumps off me: that won�t stand up.�

Annie drew in close to the wreck in front of her, her face set with rage. She grabbed the wig and threw it aside. Grabbed the skullcap and his own hair through it. Wrenched his head back.

�Now you listen to me, you arsehole,� she spat. �You�re telling the police what you just told us. This ain�t negotiable. You die�now�or you confess to what you done. Tell them you fell down the stairs or a jealous husband beat you up, some crap like that. Then you keep your head down, you do your time. Inside or outside, my boys can reach you. Inside or outside, you step out of line just once and I�m telling you�you�re fucked.�

She let him go, breathing hard. She stepped past him to the dressing table and snatched up the phone. She dialled. When it was answered, she said, �DI Hunter please,� and gave Tony the nod.

He let go of Bobby Jo. She put the phone into Bobby Jo�s shaking hand and stood over him while he confessed to the murder of Aretha Brown.

Finally opening night at the club had arrived. The club�her club�was throwing open its doors at last. There were limos all up and down the street, offloading a glittering array of celebs, and the general public were out in their masses, rubbernecking to see who they could catch a glimpse of.

The press were there, flashbulbs popping.

Annie was centre stage in a long black halter-neck dress, her dark hair swept up in a chignon, diamonds twinkling at her ears and throat as they caught the light of the strobes, the music pounding out a happy beat, champagne flowing freely. The place was buzzing. She�d done it. Annie Carter had created a place to be seen in.

�Well, you made it,� said Constantine at her side. His heavies were there, about six feet away. Close enough to watch; not close enough to be intrusive. Her heavies were there too; they were out in force. Squat Steve and lanky Gary were to be seen everywhere in their DJs and bow ties, moving among the crowds, checking invites and making sure everyone behaved themselves. Tony was a few feet away, keeping an eye on Annie.

�I never thought I would,� Annie admitted to him, having to lean in close to him to make herself heard over Thunderclap Newman�s Something In The Air.

Annie looked around, flushed with pleasure and success. The bar was heaving, the kitchen doors were swinging crazily from all the back-and-forth of the waiters and waitresses ferrying food and drinks out. The go-go dancers were gyrating wildly on their gilded platforms. The dance floor was a writhing sea of bodies.

Half of England�s victorious 1966 World Cup squad were in. She spotted Geoff Hurst and Jackie Charlton. And film stars too: Donald Sinden was in; she was sure that fabulous-looking man over there was Dirk Bogarde; and wasn�t that the beautiful Bond girl who had been painted gold�?

�Yeah, that�s her. Shirley Eaton,� said Constantine.

�Friend of yours?�

�Friend of a friend. Sean�s coming by later.�

�Sean Connery?�

He�d drafted in a truckload of famous faces and young aspiring stunners to give the place some fizz tonight.

Constantine clinked his champagne flute against hers and smiled. �To Annie�s.�

Annie�s heart did a back-flip when he smiled liked that. Yeah, there were gorgeous people here, glossy and polished and elegant, but none of the men measured up to Constantine Barolli. She saw many of the women giving him interested looks and thought: Hands off, ladies�he�s mine.

�Thought any more about my offer?� he asked, his eyes holding hers.

�Yeah. I have.�

�And?� He was gazing at her intently.

Slowly, she nodded. �Yeah, okay. I�ll marry you.�

Constantine grabbed her and twirled her around. Annie laughed and clung to him.

�You sure?� he said against her mouth when he settled her back on to the floor. �Not still hung up on Max?�

Annie shook her head. She�d loved Max and would cherish his memory forever�he was the father of her daughter. But he was gone. And now she was in love, absolutely and completely, with Constantine Barolli.

�Yeah. Very sure,� she said, and reached up and kissed him. Then she drew back. �You�re sure too?�

�Oh yeah.� He pulled her in closer and his answering kiss made her go limp. �Now relax and have fun. Enjoy the night: you�ve earned it. That�s an order.�

�I�m not good at taking orders,� she said against his mouth. �And I�m still hopping bloody mad that Redmond Delaney got away.�

She had the word out. He and that twisted bitch sister of his had to be found.

�Yeah, I noticed,� he said, and kissed her more deeply. �But come on. Let it go.�

Annie drew back and stared into his blue, mesmerizing eyes. �I love you,� she said, stifling a pang of irritation.

How could he be so damned casual about it? She wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn�t. He was right, anyway. She had to enjoy this night; she�d worked hard enough to bring it about, after all.

�Hey, Annie!� It was Ellie, pushing through the crowds, all glammed up and carrying Layla in her party dress.

Layla looked a picture. Her dress was turquoise, all frills and flounces. She�d been trying it on for days. Her dark hair was tied up in bunches with matching ribbons. She had new shoes. Annie felt overwhelming pride and love when she looked at Layla. She�d invited Ruthie tonight, of course she had, but Ruthie had declined. Ruthie wasn�t a party person�she never had been�and Annie respected that.

�Hey, who�s this little beauty?� said Constantine, handing Annie his glass and sweeping Layla up into his arms. Layla laughed excitedly; from the first minute she had set eyes on Constantine, she had decided she loved him.

Animals and kids, thought Annie. They know instinctively who they can trust.

�I�m Layla,� said the little girl, taking him literally.

�I remember you,� he told her.

�I remember you too! I got new shoes, look.�

Constantine admired the shoes. �And a new dress too, uh?�

Layla nodded.

�You look beautiful, honey,� he told her. �You wanna dance?�

Constantine carried her on to the busy dance floor and swayed around to the beat with her, Annie and Ellie watching from the sidelines. Layla was laughing fit to bust a gut. Constantine was smiling and chatting to her.

�He�s gorgeous,� said Ellie in Annie�s ear.

Yep, he certainly is, thought Annie. She looked at Ellie. �You look pretty good yourself, Ellie.�

Ellie blushed and smoothed her hands down over the long red mock-velvet dress she was wearing. The shade flattered her dark colouring to perfection. Ellie in her workaday overalls looked a mess, but this dress was the business. In this she was sumptuously curvy, and it nipped in and out in all the right places, the plunging neckline displaying her milky-white shoulders and ample cleavage, the cunning cut displaying to perfection a surprisingly small waist.

�Do you think they�ll let Chris out soon?� she asked Annie anxiously.

Annie nodded. �They�re just going through the formalities. They�ve got the real culprits, Chris�ll be out in no time.�

�Thank God,� said Ellie, and waved to someone in the crowd and was off again.

Annie stood there and sipped champagne, her eyes scanning the crowds. They met up with another pair of eyes, calm dark ones, also scanning the crowds. She went over.

�You came!� she said in surprise, then shot him a teasing glance. �Looking for villains, DI Hunter?�

�Yes, Mrs Carter,� he said, still looking like the Grim Reaper with his long, handsome, sober face and immaculate suit, totally out of step with the party atmosphere in here. He was holding a glass of champagne as though it might explode on him. His eyes still skimmed over the throng, passing over Steve Taylor and Gary Tooley, over Tony, over several heads of neighbouring �firms�, and finally resting on Constantine. �Finding a few, too.�

�Don�t you ever go off duty?� asked Annie.

�Don�t you?� His lips twitched.

�Hey, was that a smile? Or just wind?�

�The manager of the Alley Cat gave me a full confession to the murder of your friend Aretha Brown.�

Annie kept her face carefully blank. �Yeah? That�s good news,� she said.

�Isn�t it? Although when he came into the station he appeared to be in a bad way. He said he fell down a flight of stairs.�

�That can hurt,� said Annie.

�Yes it can. It looked more as if he�d been beaten, but he insisted he hadn�t.� He looked at her. �Nothing to say, Mrs Carter?�

�Should I have?�

He sighed and gave up. �I�ve spoken to your friend�s aunt.�

�Louella? How�d she take it?�

�With shock. She was convinced Chris Brown was guilty.�

�I nearly thought that myself, at times.�

�We�ve released him.�

�Now that�s good news,� said Annie, happily clinking her champagne flute against his. �Let�s drink to it.�

He sipped the fine champagne as if it was arsenic. Annie smiled. Never thought she�d like a cop, but she�d taken to this one. She couldn�t forget the way he�d held on to her hand when she�d been stuck in that bloody car crusher, either. Here was a handsome man with staying power, a man who might look like he was sucking on lemons, but who had endurance. She appreciated that. In another time, another place, she could have gone for him.

�Help yourself to food, drink, anything,� she said, then she hesitated, looked down at his left hand. Still wearing that wedding ring. �You talked to her? Your ex-wife? Since the divorce?�

He shook his head.

�Maybe you should. Maybe things would be different now.�

�Maybe. Maybe not.�

Annie nodded slowly and smiled. �Well�I gotta mingle.�

And Annie was off again, shaking hands, smiling, schmoozing the celebs. Suddenly she found herself face to face with Dolly Farrell.

�Oh!� said Dolly.

Dolly was in flowing pink lace to complement her blonde bubble-perm. She looked terrific. But when she saw Annie standing in front of her, her eyes grew wary. �Hi,� she said cautiously.

�Hiya, Doll,� said Annie.

�I had the invite but I wasn�t sure I�d still be welcome. Well, after�after all that business with the Delaneys, and Mira�I wasn�t sure.�

�Look, Doll,� said Annie seriously, �you were in a corner. You couldn�t go against the Delaneys, and I understand that. Forget it. Water under the bridge. Okay?�

Dolly looked more relaxed. �I�ve been hearing word on the streets that the Carter boys are moving into Limehouse and Battersea. There�s been violence, but not much.�

Annie nodded. The Delaney boys were leaderless and rootless without Redmond and Orla. And she had wasted no time in grabbing the moment. She had told Steve and Gary to start the push, take over. There had been small pockets of resistance, but nothing significant. There was no way the Delaneys were ever going to run that manor again. Now it would be part of the Carter empire, a lucrative extension of their security business.

The Delaneys�finally�were yesterday�s news. But still, they�d walked away. Police block or no police block, they�d legged it. It gnawed at her that they were still alive and well, when they had caused such mayhem.

�You�ll be paying your wedge to the Carter boys soon,� she said.

�Well, I for one won�t be sorry,� said Dolly with a sigh. �They scared us all shitless, that family. Weird lot. But what could you do? Talk about money with menaces.�

�Let�s go upstairs, Doll. I need to talk to you, and we can�t do it down here.�

On Sunday, Annie had Tony drive her in the despised borrowed Rover over to the church.

�Picked out a beauty,� Tony told her excitedly about the new Jag he had ordered. �Black. Tan leather trim, walnut dashboard, she�s terrific.�

It tickled Annie to think of Dolly being driven around town by Tony. They�d either rip each other�s heads off or get on like wildfire, she wasn�t sure which.

Tony pulled into the churchyard and parked up. Annie got out, clutching a large assorted bouquet of fresh pink flowers and fern. It was windy today, but bright. Soon summer would give way to autumn. Tony followed, six paces back, as she walked across the rough-mown grass to Aretha�s grave.

Someone was there already.

A large figure, crouched beside it.

There was a patchwork of yellowish turf laid out on the grave. Soon the grass would bed in, start to grow. Soon there would be a fine big headstone. Annie would see to that if Chris was okay with it, and if Louella wasn�t too proud to allow it. For now, Aretha�s grave was unmarked.

�Chris?� she said gently, touching his shoulder.

The big man looked up. Tears were rolling down his face. He wiped at them, looked at her. He stood up. Looked past her to Tony and nodded. Tony nodded in return.

�Wanted to come and see her,� he said.

�We�ll go,� said Annie, placing her flowers beside his own offering on the grave. �We�ll come back later.�

�No, I�� Chris swallowed and ran a hand over his huge bald head. �I wanted to thank you, for all you did. She can rest easy now.�

�She was one of the best friends I ever had,� said Annie. �I�ll never forget her.�

Suddenly Chris broke down. �Why did this have to happen to her?� he sobbed.

�I don�t know, sweetheart, I really don�t,� said Annie, feeling tears starting in her own eyes.

�I�d like to kill that freak with my own bare hands,� he muttered.

Annie nodded. Bobby Jo was banged up now; he was going to have a hard road to walk. No Krug or willing hostesses where he was going, that was for sure. That couldn�t give Chris much comfort, but it must give him some.

�I�ll come back later,� said Annie, and this time he let her walk away.

When she glanced back he was on his knees again, hunched over his wife�s grave.

The hot August sun was twinkling through the trees, throwing shadows and dancing shapes.

Annie blinked. There was Aretha, in hot pants, feather boa and Afghan coat, leaning over Chris.

Aretha looked up and her eyes met Annie�s. It�s okay, girlfriend. I�m just fine. Annie blinked again. Aretha was gone.

Shit, now I�m seeing things, thought Annie. But she felt oddly comforted.

�Come on, Tone, let�s go,� she said, and they started back to the car.

Ellie was walking toward them, clutching a bouquet of yellow roses and wearing a neat emerald-green skirt suit.

She looked good. There was a new spring in her step, a new aura about her. Things had changed. She wasn�t a brass any more, catering to the chubby chasers. She wasn�t Dolly�s cleaner. She wasn�t Kath�s cleaner, either�and that had always been a bit of a lost cause, anyway; Annie loved Kath, she was family, but even she was prepared to admit that Kath would probably always be a bit of a sloppy mare. Ellie was going to be madam of the Limehouse parlour now, and she wouldn�t have to kowtow to the Delaneys any more. Already, it was starting to give her confidence.

�Hi, Ellie.�

Ellie smiled faintly. �Thought I�d come and put these on the grave.� Ellie looked ahead, saw Chris crouching down. �Oh.� Her face clouded. �I�d better come back another time.�

Annie glanced over at Chris, then back at Ellie.

�No, don�t,� she said. �Go and see him. I think he could do with some company.�

Ellie shook her head, uncertain. �I wouldn�t know what to say.�

�Say what you feel,� said Annie.

Ellie looked at Chris. She straightened her shoulders, clutched more tightly at the bouquet. �Okay,� she said, and started walking towards him.

Annie stood there and watched her go. Then she turned away, got into the car with Tony.

She glanced back at Aretha�s graveside. Ellie was there, touching a tentative hand to Chris�s shoulder. He looked up at her. Ellie was talking to him. Maybe, thought Annie. Just maybe�

Tony started the engine and swung the Rover out through the church gates. Aretha�s Aunt Louella was just coming through them.

�Stop the car, Tone,� said Annie, and she got out and stood in front of the woman, blocking her path.

�Hi, Louella,� she said. �Um�Chris is at the graveside. I don�t know if you want to talk to him�?�

�What, an� say sorry?� Louella sighed. �I thought he done it. I believed he done it.�

�Well, now you know he didn�t. The police have got the one who did. And Chris is out. All charges dropped.�

�You believed in him,� said Louella.

�I knew him better than you.�

�That�s a fact.� Louella said, standing there looking at the ground. Then she bit her lip and looked up at Annie�s face. �You know, I wasted a lot of time being angry with my baby girl, but now I wish�I wish I�d just accepted her, whatever she was, whatever she did, and been happy for her so long as she was happy.�

�It�s not too late to accept Chris. He made her happy.�

Louella looked at Annie�s face. �No, it�s not. You�re right. Maybe I will. Some day.�

But not yet, thought Annie. The pain of grief was still too raw for Louella to reach out and say sorry.

�I�m going away soon,� said Annie.

�Oh yeah? Well�you have a safe journey.�

Louella gazed at her keenly, almost in puzzlement. Annie knew she�d blotted her copybook more or less for good with Louella. She didn�t expect a fond farewell or any of that crap. But there was a tiny hint of a smile playing around the woman�s lips.

�You know,� said Louella at last, �that policeman told me how you helped to straighten this whole thing out. He said how you put yourself at risk to make sure the evil people who hurt my girl�and those others�were made to face up to their sins. So maybe you�re not all bad, after all.�

Which wasn�t too shabby, coming from Louella. Not all bad, after all, thought Annie. Not exactly praise, but it would do.

Annie got back in the car. Louella stomped on up the gravel drive to the church door, bypassing the grave, Chris and Ellie for now. Later, she might come to it. Annie really hoped she did.

Time heals all wounds, she thought. Tony restarted the engine and pulled away. She didn�t look back again.