Dead Of Winter (Willis/Carter #1)(41)

‘Right . . . decision made . . . we’ll do the heavy-handed approach instead.’ He phoned Ebony. She was in the warehouse looking at the rest of the Carmichael exhibits and organizing for them to be shipped back to Fletcher House.

‘Meet me in Soho.’

Carter parked the car in the underground car park. He emerged up on ground level, pulled up the collar on his coat and waited by the paying kiosk for Ebony. He sent a text to Cabrina.

‘Can’t bear the thought of Christmas without you.’

Ebony found Carter scrolling through his messages. He put his phone away when he realized she was there. They walked along the water-logged pavement where the melting snow had turned into dirty slush. They stopped at the Crystal Blue: the clip joint next to Cain’s that Digger also owned but didn’t admit to. It was part of the same building, connected by an entrance behind the bar at Cain’s.

An ageing Thai woman dressed in an elf’s costume stood in the doorway. She huddled by an electric heater in the entrance before stepping back out onto the street and trying to coax someone in.

‘You wanna see me dance? Five pounds.’ Her teeth chattered with the cold.

‘Is Santa in?’ Carter asked.

Two men appeared behind him. One did the talking. The other stared.

‘Two hundred for two drinks. Two hundred more to see her dance.’

‘A lovely girl like that . . . too cheap. Do you take plastic?’ Carter opened his wallet and took out his warrant card. ‘Is Digger here?’

The man spoke in Russian to his silent friend and then left to deliver the message. He returned a few moments later.

‘Come with me . . .’

They followed him next door into Cain’s. Three women were practising their Xmas-themed strip on the podium when Carter and Ebony were led to Digger’s table. He was sitting on the edge of the dance floor at one of the tables framed by velvet curtains. Ebony had a quick glance around the club. She’d heard of it, of course, but never been inside. She was surprised to see how jaded it looked. The women carried on dancing to ‘Santa Baby’.

Digger watched them walk across towards him. He kept his eyes on Carter. He was trying to get the measure of him by his walk, his demeanour. He could see the glint of gold on his fingers. Carter looked down at Digger and smiled:

‘Mr Cain?’

Digger returned his smile. ‘Detective?’

‘I’m Sergeant Carter and this is DC Willis.’

Digger leant back to get a better view of Ebony. He smiled at her. She didn’t smile back.

‘Know him?’ Carter showed him the photo of Sonny taken outside Cain’s.

Digger took the photo.

‘No, sorry.’

Ebony walked across to a woman washing glasses behind the bar. Digger nodded across to Ray the barman to stay with her.

‘Do you know this man?’ She showed her a photo of Sonny. The woman looked across at Ray. Then she shook her head. Her face was grey: waxy, sweaty. ‘ID?’ Her bones stuck out of her narrow shoulders. ‘I need to see your ID,’ Ebony repeated.

Ray came to stand very close. ‘I look after it for her.’

Ebony turned to face him. ‘And what about you . . . some ID?’

Ray smiled. ‘Sure . . . Miss . . . it’s in the office. Don’t keep it on me, you understand; I’m as British as you are, of course.’

The woman returned to washing glasses, head down. Ebony glanced towards the table and Carter. He was still talking to Digger. Digger’s attention was elsewhere.

‘Get it now.’

Ray went through the door at the end of the bar. Ebony waited a few moments and then she followed. Ahead of her was an old part of the building, the paint on the walls peeling from the damp. She tried the handle of the first door on her left. Inside, a woman was changing. She froze when she saw Ebony. Ebony stepped inside the room and let the door close silently behind her.

‘Your name?’

‘Tanya.’

‘This man, Tanya?’ She held up the photo of Sonny. ‘You know him?’

For a few seconds Tanya hesitated then she gave a small nod.

‘Here?’

‘Yes. He was here last night. He’s here most nights.’

There was the sound of a door closing further down the corridor and then approaching footsteps. Ebony stepped back out into the corridor.

Ray looked past her into the dressing room.

‘You need a warrant to search.’

‘Just looking for the toilet, got lost . . . Got the ID?’ She took it off him and looked at his first and then the woman’s and gave it back. ‘Thanks . . .’ She followed him back out into the club. Carter was ready to leave. He was wrapping up: ‘We know you know him, Digger. Shall I tell you why? Because he is one of the biggest traffickers of women in the UK – one of the last of the Brits to still be running a racket with the Albanians and the Romanians.’

Digger swept his arm around towards the stage and the three women.

‘As you can see, my dancers are locals.’

Carter looked at the dancers. ‘Keep it that way. We’ll be here tomorrow and every day after that, Digger, until you start remembering who and where Sonny is. We’ll be putting a squad car outside your club twenty-four seven just to reassure your punters that the police care. Here’s my card. You phone when you have a sudden urge to save your business.’