The Sister(152)

‘Okay, so that was me. What about you?’

‘Well, I don’t have any unsolved cases as interesting as that. I don’t have any unsolved ones, period.’

She pursed her lips and jerked her middle finger up at him.

‘A number of years ago I got involved in rescuing a girl from a quasi-religious cult.’ He hesitated unsure of how much to tell her.

‘Come on,’ she urged, ‘don’t hold out on me.’

An idea formed. ‘It’s difficult to explain really without going into boring details, but let’s just say it all came about because I developed an interest in the brainwashing techniques employed by the Chinese around the time of the Korean War.’

She planted her elbows on the table between them and propped her chin on her thumbs, fingers aligned either side of her nose.

‘Whilst researching that I came across an article about cults and their use of the same or similar techniques. They were operating or recruiting in all the major cities. I decided to go to London, on a field trip, and to paraphrase you.’ He winked at her. ‘You’ll never guess what I found.’ She opened her mouth to speak, but she wasn’t quick enough.

Miller moved on. ‘I came across not just one group, but several, all working the tourist attractions. At Piccadilly Circus, there was a group of girls. Every single one of them attractive and they were approaching young men. Openly flirting and waving leaflets at them, they were selling something as well, quasi-religious charms. They parted the men from their money and got them lining up at the edge of the pavement.

‘There were two men with them, could have been Asian. One was slim, but athletic looking. The other was bulkier and stood a little back; I think he was probably a minder. He looked dangerous, but anyway the slim guy was about the age I was then. When I looked closer, I realised he was of Mediterranean, possibly even South American appearance. He had a whole harem of girls he’d recruited tucked in behind him like the pied piper. I wanted to get closer to hear what he said to them that worked so well for him,’ he said, winking. ‘By the time I crossed the road onto the island of Eros; a bus had pulled up, and they ferried them all aboard. He turned as he got on – and I’ll never forget this – he had the most unusual eye colouration I’ve ever seen. Have you ever seen the colour of a lion’s eye in the sunshine? What colour would you say that would be?’

‘I don’t know…a kind of dirty deep golden colour?’ She shrugged, her face quizzical.

‘Well, that’s what his eyes looked like. His skin was bad; pock marked. Not so terrible it ruined his looks, but those eyes and his magnetism made him irresistible to young women.’

‘Where has he been all my life, he sounds like just what I’ve been looking for.’ She yawned, fanning it with her hand as she slouched in her seat. He shot her a sharp look and then noticed the German had dozed off. She was mimicking his slumped position.

‘I’m not bored! My bum has gone to sleep, and it’s making me tired, that’s all,’ she declared, wriggling herself upright.

Miller heard the trolley rattling up the aisle. ‘I’m going to have a drink, and it sounds as if you could do with a coffee. Would you like one?’

Her eyes crinkled. ‘I’ll have tea.’

‘Not long after that London trip, I spotted a headline in the paper. Heiress goes missing in Europe. The Times ran an in depth article on the family. Her father had made a fortune out of exporting English antiques all over the world, but primarily to the States. When he became rich enough to purchase his own estate, he changed the family name from Lake to Kale; all this had happened before she was born. Her name was Olga, and she’d vanished during a visit to Amsterdam. Apparently, she was fiercely independent and headstrong. It was probably the reason she travelled alone and in denial of her father’s wealth. She wanted to believe she was just an ordinary girl, so she dressed like a hippy and hung out with like-minded, disaffected youth.’

The trolley arrived, and Miller paused, not wishing to be overheard.

When it moved off, a drunk shuffled up and fished through his pockets with some difficulty and grabbed a handful of biscuits, which he shoved onto their tray. The biscuits were mostly chipped or broken, and distinctly unappetising. The drunk said in a high, reedy voice, ‘A wee biscuit to go wit' your tea?’

They thanked him, and he hovered unsteadily, examining the German with disdain. He raised the back of his hand to his mouth and confided to them. ‘Drunk,’ he said, jerking a thumb at the sleeping man. He swayed, checking his bearings before finally tottering away, the neck of a bottle of whiskey sticking out of a side pocket in his baggy grey jacket.

She leaned forward and picked a piece of pocket fluff from one of the biscuits. She held it up between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Can you believe that?’ Her face was a picture of amazement and disgust.

Miller told her the rest of the story.

‘Is that it?’

‘No, actually that wasn’t the end of it. Kale decided to have them shut down. It wasn’t easy. It dragged on for a while, but he did it. He obtained evidence they were harvesting vulnerable kids, especially young girls with wealthy parents. Once they'd brainwashed them and bled them dry, they got them working for them; selling all kinds of merchandise, including drugs – selling themselves – they even forced some of them to appear in porn movies. They arrested the leading pastor, but the guy with the lion’s eyes and his minder got away.’