The Babysitter(25)
Following him at a discreet distance, Mark drove on by as Cummings parked up outside a 1960s high-rise, the seventh floor of which, Mark knew, was home to Tanya Stevens. Located just off the M5 into Birmingham on a notorious overspill estate, the decaying block of flats should have been demolished years ago, in Mark’s opinion. Cummings wasn’t paying Tanya a social visit, that was for sure. Normally to be found working the inner-city streets, Tanya only ever entertained her regular clients at home. Was Cummings one of them?
Driving around the block to allow Cummings time to go in, Mark planned to wait until someone turned up to allow him access into the foyer, but was surprised to find Cummings still parked up outside. So now what? Mark debated and then pulled into the car park of the adjoining block. There was a chance Cummings might have spotted him, but noting the open driver’s side window and the billowing cloud of cigarette smoke, Mark thought not. The cocky bastard was clearly quite comfortable waiting there, for reasons which were pretty obvious in Mark’s mind.
Sure enough, after a minute or so, Tanya appeared. She obviously didn’t consider Cummings a regular, or else didn’t trust him enough to allow him access to her flat. As a sex worker, Tanya was street savvy and choosy. Clearly, she had standards that excluded slimy, chauvinistic pricks like Cummings. Would she offer up any information about him, he wondered, given the right incentive? Mark doubted it. He’d first made her acquaintance after a girl who’d worked the patch next to her had gone missing, as, sadly, they sometimes did. Some of them had moved on, or more likely been moved on by their pimps. Some succumbed to drug abuse. Occasionally, missing girls would turn up having been hospitalised by their charming employers, or by the equally charming clients they hadn’t been so streetwise about. Mark had a hard time convincing the girls he was more concerned for their welfare than how they earned a living. Realising he was on the level had earned him a grudging respect, and one or two informants. Not Tanya, unfortunately, who’d told him that, unless he could guarantee twenty-four-hour protection for her kid, she’d rather not piss off her pimp.
Watching as Tanya spoke briefly to Cummings through his window and then went around to the passenger side, Mark considered his next move. He had no wish to resort to taking snapshots of Cummings’ nefarious sexual activities, but the fact was, if the man was passing drugs here, then he needed evidence of it.
Realising that Cummings had started his engine, probably to avoid whatever activities were about to go on in the vehicle being caught on CCTV, Mark did likewise. He doubted Cummings’ ‘liaison’ with Tanya would be a long one. She’d want to be in and out of that car ASAP. Then Mark would need to talk to her – buy some of her time, if necessary.
Surprised when Cummings’ car slowed again as it hit the street, Mark idled behind him. Either that was the shortest hand job in history or there was some negotiation going on. Serious negotiation, from the look of it. Mark narrowed his eyes, reaching to unfasten his seatbelt as he noted the animated body language inside the vehicle.
What the—? He watched as Cummings turned to Tanya, his hand shooting out to clutch her by the throat and force her head back against the passenger-side window. Mark was out of his door in a second flat.
He was almost upon the car when the door flew open and Tanya spilled from it to hit the kerb hard. Bastard. Hearing the rev of the engine, and guessing Cummings was about to step on the accelerator, Mark deliberated, and then, noticing Tanya wasn’t moving, he went instinctively to her.
She was out cold. ‘Tanya? Seeing a trickle of blood on the road, Mark crouched down and quickly attempted to assess the damage before moving the girl. He blew out a sigh of relief as her eyelids flickered open.
‘Hi. How’re you doing?’
Tanya blinked, disorientated for a second, and then clearly registered who he was. ‘Fuckin’ marvellous,’ she grumbled, her face creasing into a scowl. ‘How do you think I— Ouch!’
‘Don’t move,’ Mark said, as she tried to lift her head. ‘You might need an ambulance.’
‘Yeah, right. Blinding idea, Detective Cain. I’m lying in the gutter with me fanny on show and he says don’t move.’ Eyeing the sky, she heaved herself up regardless, amid much wincing and cursing.
Mark smiled, embarrassed, despite his years on the force. He debated whether to help her with the very short skirt she was tugging down, decided against, and offered her some assistance up instead. ‘You’ve had a nasty blow to the back of your head, Tanya,’ he pointed out, as she hung onto his arm, attempting to right herself on the pavement. ‘You could be concussed.’
‘Well, I never. I wondered why I was bleeding. It’s no wonder you’re a detective.’ Sighing, Tanya rolled heavily made-up eyes, and then looked around for her missing stiletto, without which she was decidedly lopsided. ‘Do us a favour, will ya?’ she said, nodding towards it.
Dutifully, Mark obliged, offering his arm again as she wobbled while stuffing her foot into the shoe. ‘I’ll help you home,’ he said. He guessed he’d probably get a load of verbal for his efforts, but he wasn’t about to let her make her own way like this.
‘Thank God for the freakin’ cavalry,’ Tanya muttered, as he steered her in the direction of his car. ‘Wanker…’ she added disdainfully.
Mildly surprised – he wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn that – Mark glanced at her, and then followed her gaze to where Cummings was cruising slowly by.