Cold Revenge (Willis/Carter #6)(12)

‘What about the other woman in the photo? Do you know her name?’ asked Willis.

‘They call her Donna. I call them all a fucking nuisance. I knew who they were, I’m old enough to remember what they did and Felicity used to brag about it sometimes. She used to try and trade it for a bit of custom, her claim to fame, she’d shagged Jimmy Douglas.’

‘Did you see her most days?’ asked Carter.

‘Yes, not always the same time though, any time she needed the money for her habit, I suppose. They’re all hopeless junkies.’

‘Did you ever see her with a pimp?’ he asked.

‘No, she worked with the other one sometimes.’ Mary tapped the photo. ‘They were good friends because they picked up punters together, or took it in turns, that’s pretty unusual for these girls. Most wouldn’t think twice about stabbing one another over a customer. Unfortunately my bedroom is at the front and I see a lot whenever I look out.’

‘Do you know where Donna lives?’ Carter asked, tapping his finger on Yvonne Coombes’s face.

‘No idea. They are nothing but trouble to me; police do nothing about the girls. They move them on and they come here!’ She raised her hands, exasperated.

Willis was taking down what she said but she paused to ask: ‘Anyone else come in looking for either of these women?’

‘People come in asking for Felicity all the time, she was really popular. Is she dead? I wouldn’t be surprised, she was no spring chicken, the streets take it out of you and she’d had quite a life, hadn’t she? I hope she managed to die with a bit of drama instead of an overdose.’

‘She was thirty-three. Okay, thanks, we’ll be in touch. If anyone comes in asking for either woman, please ring the number on the card. If you see Donna, don’t alert her, don’t repeat what you’ve heard from us, just ring us straight away without fail, okay? You are not allowed to speak of this to any member of the press.’

‘All right, all right.’

They got outside and began crossing the street. ‘I want to try the taxi firm here,’ said Willis, striding ahead. ‘They must know the women, they have a good relationship with the street walkers normally, they look after them.’

Carter caught her up. ‘She rattled you a bit, didn’t she, Eb?’

‘Yes, she did, it’s her attitude and the way she said, “is she dead?”, like it didn’t matter either way to her. One less human being to bother her; one less prostitute to watch from her bedroom window. They should stop persecuting the girls and do more about the kerb-crawlers.’

‘You can see it would be a nightmare to have someone crapping in your porch,’ said Carter as they got to the pavement outside the cab office. ‘Fighting with the other girls? Having sex in your doorway?’

‘Yes.’ Willis stopped, turning to face him. She knew he was playing devil’s advocate; usually it would have been him saying what she said, but Willis felt a huge obligation to try to look after the street workers. ‘She also said punters came in looking for the girls, they probably bought a pint whilst they waited.’ Something about Millie’s case was getting to her. Millie had made some bad decisions but a lot had been made for her, and at eighteen? That was a good age to be steered the wrong way for life.

Willis had only ever trusted one or two people: trusting made her feel vulnerable, it went against self-preservation. But she trusted Carter without hesitation, they had saved one another before and they had each put the other’s life before their own.

Willis showed her badge as they entered the minicab office and she held up the photo at the grille. She introduced herself and Carter.

‘Do you recognise either or both of these women?’ The Cypriot woman behind the counter leaned in to take a better look. ‘They may have been working the streets around here?’

‘Can I take it inside and show it to my drivers?’ Willis passed it beneath the grille. After five minutes two men came out from the back.

‘I did see her regularly, most days. This is Felicity,’ answered a man of Turkish origin, who was short and dark, with an oversized tan leather jacket, ‘but I haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks now. Has something happened?’

‘We can’t discuss that with you at this time.’ Carter smiled.

The driver kept looking at the photo. ‘The other one is called Donna, she worked with her sometimes but not all the time, just part-time. She comes here for a couple of nights then not again for a few weeks.’

‘When did you see Felicity last?’ asked Carter.

He thought about it. ‘I last seen her working here on a Tuesday, not this last week, or the week before, I didn’t work that week and I don’t work Mondays.’

‘So that would be Tuesday the nineteenth of last month, September?’ Carter clarified.

‘Yes, definitely, I remember it. It wasn’t busy out on the street for us. I remember it was busy for her and I said to her that very thing and she laughed. I think she lived on Queens Drive, I saw her when I drove past, I saw her go in with men. She was a friendly woman – sad she ended up on the streets.’

‘Do you know where Donna lives?’ asked Carter.

‘I have seen her pushing a buggy not far from here, towards Finsbury Park station, she lives down that way. She has a young kid.’