London Noir: A gripping crime suspense thriller (Kal Medi Book 2) Page 3

  Kal watched the woman’s heavily mascaraed-eyelids as Candice blinked. She felt a ripple run around the group. Pimps usually had a favourite, and Kal guessed that this ringleader, Candice, was top of the list for the man Candice mentioned, Sugar G. The other women were hanging on Candice’s every word.

  ‘What have you got to say for yourself? I’m waiting,’ Candice said.

  Kal took a slow breath. She’d got Candice’s attention so she was off the starting block. What she needed now was a clue to make her next move. Without more information, Kal didn’t know how to craft her pitch and if she got it wrong, this woman would strike like a viper and the others would follow suit. All she needed was a tiny pointer. So Kal rubbed her forearms as if she were cold. She looked at random at a couple of the women in the circle, and then, for a micro-second, she let her soft gaze make contact with the most susceptible woman in the group, purple-streak. It was a silent, subconscious plea for help. Come on purple-streak, take the bait.

  ‘If something doesn’t happen around here soon, I’ll die of boredom,’ said one of the women behind Kal.

  ‘Keep your panties on, it’ll get busy later.’

  Snickers ran through the group. They were losing interest in her – she’d better act soon or she’d be walking away with nothing.

  ‘Are you any good at dancing?’ asked purple-streak.

  Bingo.

  ‘Yeah, actually I love belly-dancing, you know, oriental stuff. I’m pretty good at it – won a couple of awards.’ Kal began circling her hips, sultry and slow. Then she raised her hands and let them Arabic dance across the air. Her mother had practised belly dancing for years and Kal had tried out plenty of the moves since she was a child. She changed to a figure of eight movement with her hips and finished with a shoulder shimmy. It was all a lie but with a barrel full of guts, you can go a long way – subterfuge and infiltration relied on it. Maybe that was why Kal was so good at them.

  Candice did a slow clap. ‘Not bad, at least, better than a cow in labour. Punters like a bit of something different.’

  Candice walked around Kal as if she were assessing an animal at auction. ‘Ever taken your clothes off in public?’

  Kal once watched a burlesque show at a Soho club but she was pretty certain that didn’t count. ‘No.’

  ‘I didn’t think so.’

  Still, something made Candice hesitate. All Kal’s training focused on the dynamic playing out around her. Candice wants to get rid of me except there’s a thread dangling and it’s keeping her interested. Why did purple-streak give that hint? Was it to help me? Or was it to boost her way up the pecking order by helping out the ring-leader?

  ‘You seem in good shape. And, like I said, you’ve a body for it, mind you, why the hell should I stick my neck out for a know-nothing, green runt like you?’

  ‘Because I’m a great dancer, and,’ Kal cast an admiring glance at Candice’s legs and gave a saucy smile, ‘because I like your boots?

  Candice guffawed. ‘Because you can lick my boots more like. I like a girl who can make me laugh and I like a girl with spirit. There’s not enough of that around here and it can get as dull as a morgue some days. Okay, you do exactly what I say and don’t try to get smart. I’m taking you to Sugar G.’

  Chapter Six

  At Lilac Mansions

  Night lights lit the path and Sophie followed the line of lamps. Her sequin-covered dress rustled. Damp air brought goose bumps to her arms, or was it the adrenalin and the anticipation that made her hot and cold at the same time? The gardener kept the path weed-free and as pristine as the day when it had been laid all those years ago, except, over time, he’d become less forceful pruning the bushes. Many of them now reached over Sophie’s height, though she remembered when her mother first planted them as little bundles of earth and a few sprouting stalks. Trailing ivy brushed Sophie’s shoulder. Sophie’s breath caught and she froze as the cold leaves dragged over the azure butterflies and then she laughed at herself and carried on. No one else would be here, not yet. Tack. Tack. Her steps sounded firm as she approached the front door and inside her clutch bag, one hand kept a firm grasp on the pepper spray as Sophie searched for the house key. She would be the first to arrive, she knew that. So no need to get jumpy.

  With the door shut behind her, the darkness of the old, family house surrounded Sophie. Click. Sophie turned on the lights, took a breath and turned to face the huge mural painted on the side wall by her mother. Charlotte Kendrick had painted a mass of flowers, the blues and purples and lilacs dominant, the blossoms tumbling as if they fell from the sky. Her mother told Sophie she’d painted it during her first year in her new home and that it had gone hand-in-hand with the way they’d named their new house “Lilac Mansions”. Charlotte had planned the gardens to be full of lilacs and roses and lavender – a beautiful, English garden full of colour and scents, just as she’d always wanted.

  Sophie walked forward and reached out to stroke the petals of a rose. She took a long in-breath as if she could inhale its scent, or maybe the scent of Charlotte, as her mother swept her paintbrush to create the colours and forms. Sophie swallowed down the sadness. Tonight, she mustn’t let it get in the way. Nothing must get in the way.

  The house seemed untouched. A black umbrella waited in its stand behind the door. Tucked around a corner, the guest coat rack remained empty. The matt gleam of the wooden floor spoke of hours of polishing by the housekeeper and Sophie was pleased to see Raymond was fulfilling his promise to keep the place in shape. The only problem being it felt unlived in and unloved. A shell empty of occupants, biding its time as the days and years ticked by.

  Ahead, her father’s one extravagance swept up to the top floor – a staircase as if from a Hollywood movie, more fit for an elegant villa in the Mediterranean than an English house in the countryside. Her father had insisted on the grandiose staircase because he’d always dreamed of one, and this was supposed to be a house of dreams. It had turned into a house of nightmares.

  Sophie’s dress rustled as she mounted the stairs. She counted the steps - one, two, three, four. On the fifteenth step, she faltered. This was where it happened. A cold sweat broke out on Sophie’s lip as a fragment of memory shifted into focus – she’d been carried down the stairs by a police man. She remembered his face, older than her father’s. Remembered the strange, petrol-like smell of his uniform. And that her cheek was pressed against one of his metallic buttons. She remembered too, that it looked like carrying her was making him want to cry. He’d held her tight as he walked across the hallway. She’d wanted to look back, to see into the living room but his grip was so firm she’d not been able to move one inch. He must have done that on purpose. So she wouldn’t see all the blood. Except that didn’t stop Sophie seeing it in her nightmares – on the walls, soaked into the furniture and, worst of all, the streaks where her mother had tried to drag herself away.

  Chapter Seven

  Candice took Kal to number forty-one. On the outside, it was shabby. On the inside it was a game-players paradise, with the lounge housing wall-to-wall screens and the surfaces jammed with games consoles and cluttered with controls and leads. Candice explained Sugar G was an avid player and she warned Kal not to touch anything. The room seemed set up for a three-dimensional experience. What types of games interested Sugar G? War, fantasy, or something more sinister, like three-dimensional adult snuff movies or child porn? Kal was making it her business to find out.

  As predicted, Sugar G was the women’s pimp. He was black, tall and gangly and his arms hung at his sides as if he were missing a few brain cells. Kal quickly realised this was a front, because Sugar G was sharp as a razor and he assessed her in a few blinks of his dark eyes. She knew he didn’t buy her story. And she knew he didn’t like her.

  But then neither did Kal like Sugar G. Hiding yourself as a simpleton was a clever trick and not an easy one to pull off because sooner or later most violent men had to strike, had to show their strength just to prove who was
in charge. Sugar G kept himself well hidden behind his disguise, though Kal felt the edge in him. It was an edge of tension, evident at the back of his eyes and in the way he held himself. This man had an edge ready to cut. A dangerous man if you rattled his cage. The type likely to slash first and ask questions later. Kal pegged Sugar G as a knife man. For sure, he’d keep one on him at all times. Question was, did Sugar G attract a line of men willing to pay big money to rape underage girls? Careful not to grit her teeth, nor even press her lips together, Kal kept her posture soft. She’d got her foot in the door and now she needed to play the part for Sugar G. He must see her as inexperienced and malleable. Someone he could reel in at his leisure and manipulate. She gave Sugar G her most innocent smile, one she’d practised for hours in the mirror until it met her father’s satisfaction. It had proven to be priceless.

  ‘It doesn’t look to me like you need the work,’ Sugar G said. He draped himself over the edge of a table. His left eyelid drooped and a deep gouge ran just below his eyebrow. Kal presumed the man had almost lost an eye in a fight.

  ‘I need cash and I need it quickly.’

  ‘What d’ya need it for?’

  ‘It’s personal.’

  ‘No secrets around here,’ said Sugar G, ‘you can tell your daddy anything.’

  ‘Leave the poor kid alone. She says she’s a good mover and I reckon she might be,’ Candice said.

  ‘You reckon do you? What I reckon is that ever since that dip-headed Melanie over-dosed, there’s been a hole in the show and my profit’s pouring through it faster than shit down a toilet. That girl was pure talent and I told you to keep an eye on her.’ Sugar G stabbed an accusing finger at Candice and the woman flinched. Kal understood why purple-streak had thrown out a safety line. She’d done it to get Candice back in Sugar G’s good books by replacing the show girl they lost.

  ‘Take off your jacket,’ Sugar G said.

  Kal complied, shrugging it from her shoulders and then purposely flicking back her hair.

  He beckoned Kal over and he leant his face to her neck, stopping fractionally short of Kal’s skin. A strap from her top slipped off her shoulder and Kal controlled the urge to deck Sugar G. He lingered, seemingly inhaling her scent and Kal could hear the sound of her own pulse thundering. From him, she smelt musk and strong coffee with no trace of cigarettes, nor alcohol. His polo shirt showed clean forearms with the veins intact - so Sugar G wasn’t a drugs man. In Kal’s view that made him more clever, since it gave no one a lever they could use over him.

  Sugar G held her in a loose embrace and he took in the scent of her hair. Kal worked hard to keep calm and in role. Prostitutes were compliant with their pimp and he’d never take her on if he sensed otherwise. Kal occupied her mind by pondering where he would conceal his knife. She was careful to not move her body a fraction even though with a couple of tiny movements she could have revealed the location of the weapon – for instance by shifting her leg without Sugar G realising, to feel the hilt against her calf, or by draping her arm down his back to where the indent in the material would tell of a hilt stuck in the back of his belt, inches below her fingertips.

  Over Sugar G’s shoulder, Kal scanned the room. Massive screens, a tangle of controls and leads across all surfaces. A low, glass table which was covered in accumulated take away containers. It looked like Sugar G was a big Thai food fan, though he also ate Chinese and pizza. The windows had dark roller blinds, presumably to cut out light for his games experience. As Kal’s gaze swept to the corner of the room, a tingle of electricity ran up her spine. An umbrella was propped in the corner and a man’s jacket had been placed over the back of a chair, as if to dry. Under the jacket, a turquoise strip of material peeped out, the end decorated with a fringe. It was Sophie’s scarf.

  Sugar G finally moved away and, as he did, Kal caught a flash in his eyes, partly of lust and partly of something altogether more violent. It was quickly gone and Kal knew better than to stare.

  Sugar G gave her a smile, totally lacking in mirth. He ran his finger down her cheek and Kal wondered, once Sugar G got to know his girls, if he threatened to scar their faces if they didn’t comply. ‘You smell sweet and spicy. You sure you want a job?’

  ‘I’m certain.’ She gave him her practised smile again, though with this man, she wasn’t sure he totally bought it.

  ‘Maybe you’ve got something worth having after all – so you get one chance and only one – you can have the six o’clock slot. It’s the warm up before the main event. So show us what you’ve got and then you and I can get together and have another chat about your prospects.’

  Chapter Eight

  I knew I was passing time until I got older. To when I would do something daring and brilliant.

  In my better moments, part of me knew the way I thought about other people was wrong. More than that, that I was wrong. But I knew it was only a matter of time before I crossed the line. The line we all know exists. The line that keeps us sane. That means we can call ourselves ‘normal’ or ‘decent’.

  My childhood experiments showed me how gratifying it was to inflict pain. How exalting. Until I made my move into the real world, I studied the masters – Kemper the necrophile, Bittaker and Norris, Brady and Hindley the Moors murderers, Peter Sutcliffe, Chikalito the Butcher – it’s a long, long list. I didn’t find any kinship, only good stories and ideas about techniques for disposal.

  And I studied police techniques. Read all the police manuals so I know everything about how they search for evidence and DNA. I’m clever. Too clever for them.

  I’m a consummate planner these days because I have to keep one step ahead of being caught. That first time, I wasn’t so careful.

  I picked out a girl – low on confidence, longing for a lover, no real friends to speak of, a bit short of cash. She had a wistful quality about her – someone who had hopes for her future, who believed her dreams would come true and good things would come her way, that all she had to do was wait and along would come her opportunity to step up in the world. It was that wistful quality I found compelling. Because what was going to come her way? Me.

  Tracey worked in a coffee shop by day and as a waitress in a pizza bar most evenings. Attractiveness wasn’t one of my criteria, though I have to say she wasn’t unattractive – with pleasing breasts and a liking for short skirts even though she had chunky legs. I became a regular at the coffee shop, telling her I was a student (true) of mathematics (not true) and that I hated my family (true) who were stinking rich (also true).

  Anyway, cut to the chase – I invite her to my apartment. I suggest we have a hot bath as part of our pre-sex games. Tracey readily agrees. When she’s in the bath, I give her a neck massage and then I work my magic as only I can do. It’s a special gift. Quite rare. Then quick as a fox, I get a ligature around her neck and tighten it enough to make her uncomfortable. She’s still breathing and she’s terrified. That first time is still so vivid – the excitement exulted me like a shot of drugs. I practically drooled. With the ligature in place I give her an injection to keep her tranquil. Then I cut off her eyelids. By that time, I was deft with the scalpel. Slice. Slice. Then I wait for Tracey to come round a little. When she does, she begs, she pleads. I’m careful to mist her eyes because I don’t want them to dry out and ruin her vision – she has to see me properly. Up until then, she thought she had a chance. That I was a sadist but she’d get away with her life. Wrong. I strangle Tracey and I enjoy her struggle and the way she stares up at me, unable to blink and not able to block out the experience even for a second. Every fibre of her being is focused on me. I am entirely and utterly the last thing she sees and absorbs before her death.

  As the life ebbed from her body and Tracey pleaded with her eyes for mercy, the moment felt pivotal. So much more than animal lust or sex or gratification from pain, so much more transcendent. Glory be. I knew I’d found my true purpose and reason for being on this earth.

  Chapter Nine

  Kal locked herself in
the toilet. She groaned and rested her forehead in her hands. What had she done? Her palms were sweaty. Thanks to years of training from her father, she could handle violence and guns. Keep her cool around psychopaths and hired killers. But in agreeing to take part in Sugar G’s Girly Show she might have met her match.

  She needed courage and she needed ideas, so she scanned videos on her phone. The videos made it look easy and Candice told Kal she wasn’t supposed to strip. The strippers were in the main part of the show and Kal was the warm up. Still, shit and double shit, was it really worth it just to have a chance to check on Sophie? Why did she give a damn about that girl? Wouldn’t it be better to cut and run? Kal pressed her thumbs onto her eyelids. Ever since her mother’s death she’d been getting these waves of emotion. At first, she’d thought it was grief, but the denial and the anger and the bone-crushing pain, which made her curl up and want to stay that way, they’d all subsided. And what they left behind was a different Kal. A Kal who’d been worn away and smoothed and changed, the problem being, she feared those changes left her weak.

  Her mother, Alesha’s, death had sent Kal on a downward spiral and she’d not been able to use her work as a photojournalist as a safety valve. She’d denied herself the front line in some god-forsaken hell hole, spending months risking her life for the sake of photo shots of the action. Shots that would shock the world and open people’s eyes. Shots that could save those suffering and bring them international help and much needed money. It was taking those risks for the sake of others which kept her sane, but no, she’d stayed in London to be close to Marty. With her best friend’s life hanging in the balance, she’d not given herself the luxury of running away. Which meant the feelings had stayed festering inside, sapping away at her strength. Changing her.