Behind Dead Eyes (23 page)

‘Did you ever speak to her with a problem?' asked Tom, and Callie looked at him suspiciously for a moment as if he was trying to trap her. She must have decided he wasn't because she eventually answered.

‘Sometimes; the others are mostly guys and it's easier.'

‘To talk to a woman?' said Helen.

‘Yeah,' she said.

Tom had previously thought of Sandra as being little more than a girl when she worked here but to a young lass like Callie, she must have seemed like a grown-up.

‘Did all of the girls talk to her like that?' asked Helen.

‘Some,' she said, ‘not all.'

‘Some prefer to keep themselves to themselves?' questioned Tom.

Callie shrugged and fell back on her usual answer: ‘S'pose.'

‘Was there anyone who was particularly close to Sandra?' asked Helen.

‘Diane,' admitted Callie, as if they must have known who she was talking about.

‘Which Diane?' asked Tom quickly, as if there was more than one. He needed a surname and he didn't want Callie to be suspicious of his reasons.

‘Diane Turner,' answered Callie. ‘She's my best friend but she's had her problems. She's had a shit life,' and then Callie added quickly, ‘before coming here.'

‘But Sandra helped her,' observed Helen.

Callie nodded. ‘She locked herself in a bathroom, didn't she? Said she was going to cut herself. The staff tried to get her out but she wouldn't come. They was gonna call the police and everything, break the door in, but Sandra said she'd talk to her. She persuaded them to back off for a bit and give Diane some space. She sat on the floor outside and spoke to her through the door. After a bit, Diane opened the door but only to let Sandra in. Then she locked it again and they carried on talking.'

‘Do you know what they were talking about?'

‘No,' said Callie firmly, ‘me and Diane was good mates but she wouldn't even tell me.'

‘What happened?' asked Helen,

‘In the end they came out of the bathroom but then they went into Diane's room and closed the door. We was about to sit down for breakfast when Diane and Sandra finally came out.'

‘So she listened to Diane all night?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Must have been quite a conversation for it to go on that long.'

‘S'pose.'

‘How did they look when they finally came out?' asked Tom.

‘Knackered,' she said, ‘how do you think they looked?'

‘Upset? Relieved? Happy? Pissed off? You tell me.'

‘Upset,' she said.

‘Tearful?' asked Helen and Callie nodded. ‘Both of them?' She nodded again. ‘And you've no idea what it was all about?'

This time Callie shook her head. ‘I told you I tried asking Diane what they talked about but she wouldn't tell me, and Sandra wouldn't be allowed to tell. It's confidential innit. It was like it was …'

‘Their secret?' supplied Helen.

‘Yeah.'

‘Must have been a pretty big secret if it took all night to come out?' said Tom.

That was the signal for the shutters to come down again. ‘S'pose,' said Callie.

‘Is that Diane's room next door?' he asked.

Callie shook her head. ‘Used to be. She left.'

Another brick wall, thought Tom. The one person who might have been able to tell them something about Sandra Jarvis was already gone.

‘Why did she leave?' asked Helen.

Callie shrugged. ‘Got sick of it, wanted to go to London, get a job, get a flat,' she said as if all of those things were easy.

‘Did they mind her leaving like that?' Helen probed.

‘Who?'

‘The people who run this place,' she said. ‘Dean,' she offered as an example.

‘Like it or lump it can't they?' said Callie. ‘Can't stop her, can they?'

‘You must have heard from her though,' said Tom, ‘if she was your best mate?'

‘She sends me postcards.'

‘Postcards?' asked Helen.

‘From London.'

‘Whereabouts in London?'

‘Well she ain't gonna write that, is she?' said Callie. ‘She was underage when she left. If they found her they'd drag her back here.'

‘What does she say on the postcards then? If you don't mind me asking.'

‘Wotcha babes,' Callie smiled at the memory, ‘she always starts off like that, calls me babes then she tells me stuff.'

‘What sort of stuff?'

‘What she's up to, you know, stuff,' said Callie but she quickly grew impatient with the line of questioning so instead she rolled across the bed, slid open the drawer of her flimsy bedside cabinet then pulled out a handful of postcards.

Tom took them from Callie. One had a big red double-decker bus on it, another showed the statue of Eros in Piccadilly Circus, a third featured a guard dressed in a red tunic with ceremonial bearskin hat and finally there was an image of Buckingham Palace. They all had London postmarks on them so they really had been sent from the capital and the dates showed gaps of between four and six weeks. The messages on the back were very short and etched in spidery capitals by someone who obviously struggled with writing. One just said ‘Miss you babe.' They were signed ‘Di' but he supposed they could have been written by anyone.

He turned one of the cards round and asked, ‘This definitely her writing?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You're sure they are from Diane?'

‘Yeah, course,' she sneered at him, ‘who else they gonna be from?'

He ignored the question. ‘She doesn't say much,' Tom said gently, ‘about her life down there?'

Callie finally sat up then and took more of an interest in the conversation. ‘She can't, can she? In case they go looking for her. She's keeping her head down, but she's going to get in touch when she can and we're getting a flat together.'

‘You're planning on joining her in London?' asked Helen.

‘Once I'm older,' said Callie quickly, ‘when it's allowed.' Helen guessed she was used to telling figures in authority what they wanted to hear.

‘Has Diane got a job?'

‘Looking for one, isn't she?' Her tone was defensive now and Tom immediately changed his line of questioning so as not to antagonise the girl.

‘When did she go down to London?' he asked.

‘A while back.'

‘Was it around the same time that Sandra Jarvis went missing?'

‘Before that,' said Callie then she frowned, ‘no, after,' she thought some more, ‘must have been just after.'

‘There's no way Diane would have left with Sandra?'

‘Diane … and Sandra … together … like a couple of lezzers?' And she laughed as if this was the best joke ever.

‘I didn't mean it like that,' Tom told her, ‘I mean like you and Diane?' he said. ‘Friends.'

Callie shook her head. ‘Nah, they weren't mates like me and her.'

‘Is this Diane?' asked Helen and Tom realised she had picked up an unframed photograph of Callie and another girl that was propped up on a shelf. They were outdoors somewhere, the local park possibly. Callie was pulling a funny face and her friend was laughing. It must have been a nice moment Callie was determined to keep.

‘Yeah,' she said, ‘that's Diane,' and she went quiet then, as if seeing her friend made Callie feel her absence more acutely.

It looked for a moment as if that was going to be the end of the conversation but then Callie's eyes seemed to widen and her teeth bared. ‘You bitch,' she snarled at Helen, ‘you fucking bitch!' Before the reporter could utter a word in her defence, Callie was up on her feet and lurching towards an alarmed Helen.

Tom
tried to grab Callie but she shot past him, barged Helen aside and carried on towards the door. They both saw Callie rush for another young girl, who was standing in the doorway. The teenager was dressed in a brown suede jacket and Callie immediately grabbed it in both hands, slammed the girl against the door frame then snatched a clump of her long dark hair and bashed the other girl's head viciously against the wood.

‘Callie!' cried Helen, while the other girl screamed and both Helen and Tom went to separate them. Callie had crashed her opponent's head twice more against the frame, raked her nails across her face and was now tearing at the girl's jacket to pull it away from her before Tom managed to grab her.

‘Give me that, you slag!'

With one huge tug the brown suede jacket was torn from the other girl, who fell to the floor swearing and cursing. ‘It's fucking mine!' she managed between shrieks.

‘That's Diane's, not yours!'

Tom wrapped his arms round Callie from behind so he could wrestle her away from her victim. He managed to pull Callie backwards but she let fly with a kick that caught the other girl right on the chin. Tom had seen violence in his time and been involved in more than one fight himself but he had never seen anything like this. Callie's casual savagery was shocking. Helen reached the other girl, who was dazed but still spitting and swearing defiantly at Callie from her position on the ground.

‘She fucking stole it!' Callie screamed. ‘That's Diane's jacket, the fucking cow nicked it!'

When the two girls had finally been separated, Dean arrived at the scene. ‘What's going on?' he demanded and he was greeted by four voices all trying to explain matters at the same time, two of them hysterically. Dean somehow realised the fight was over the jacket and that Callie maintained it belonged to her friend and not the other girl.

‘Get her away from here,' Dean ordered, and Helen struggled to steer the other girl from the room. ‘Get in there, Susie!' Dean shouted, and between them Helen and Dean managed to manoeuvre the injured but still furious girl into the empty room. There was blood on her face but she was still shouting.

‘Calm down, Susie,' ordered Dean, ‘and stay in here! Don't let her out,' he warned Helen, who nodded, for she had no desire to witness a repeat of the highly one-sided fight.

Dean closed the door on both of them and returned to Callie. ‘You!' he shouted. ‘With me now! You're on report.' Callie seemed to slump on hearing those words, giving up the fight all at once.

‘That's not fair,' she whined. ‘Susie stole Diane's jacket!' Bitter, frustrated tears fell.

Dean snatched the jacket from her then handed it to Tom, who released his grip on the now calm girl. ‘Look after it,' Dean said, placing a firm hand on Callie's shoulder before marching her out of the room.

‘Don't give it to Susie!' shouted Callie.

‘He won't,' said Dean. ‘Keep an eye on it till I get back,' he told Tom, who nodded. Anything to keep the peace, he thought.

‘It was her favourite,' sobbed Callie as Dean led her away.

‘I'll be back in a few minutes,' he told Tom. A moment later, the journalist found himself alone in the room. All was
still now; the photograph of Callie and Diane that Helen must have dropped during the scrap the only evidence there had ever been a disturbance here at all.

‘Jesus Christ,' he said to himself. Helen was still in the other room with the injured girl. He knew she would look after her somehow and his presence would probably not be welcomed, so he stayed put. He marvelled at the way Susie had taken several blows to the head, some deep scratches and a kick on the chin as if this was just a normal day for her.

And all over a jacket.

He was still holding the offending item and he sat down on the bed with it. The suede jacket was nice enough, Tom supposed, but it looked quite old, probably a charity shop purchase. It had two breast pockets with press-stud buttons and a brown leather collar that matched the colour of the rest of the jacket. There were two further side pockets and one inside.

Tom reached inside the jacket, stopped, paused for a moment then persuaded himself he was doing the right thing. He glanced at the open door and listened. All he could hear was Susie's voice as she protested her innocence and railed at the injustice of the attack from Callie while Helen acted as counsellor. There was no other sound and he knew Dean must have taken Callie to the far end of the long corridor they had marched up to get here.

Tom slipped his hand into the inside pocket but felt nothing. He didn't really expect to find anything. If Diane had been wearing another jacket when she went she would hardly have left anything valuable behind, assuming she actually owned anything of value, which he doubted; and the jacket's new owner would surely have found it by now if she did. Next he checked the open side pockets but all he found was a bus ticket for a local journey. Finally, and with little
expectation, he opened the buttons of both breast pockets and fished inside. There was nothing in the first but he felt something in the second and pulled it out.

Tom was now holding a smart and expensive business card. He glanced at the front, which had a black silhouette of a naked woman on a red background. There was one large word printed on it in embossed gold lettering.

‘MIRAGE'.

Underneath this in a stylish, italicised font was written, ‘
Where your fantasy becomes reality
.'

He turned the card over and found an address in Brewer Street and a phone number with a London area code. Brewer Street rang a bell and Tom remembered how he'd once written a piece on Soho clip joints that featured a place on that street.

He heard a door slam and immediately pocketed the card. He listened as footsteps came from the corridor. Just before they reached him he made an instinctive decision. The photograph of Callie and Diane was still on the floor. He knew this was one of Callie's few precious possessions but he bent and quickly snatched it up. He had just finished stuffing it into his pocket next to the Mirage business card when Dean appeared in the doorway looking harassed but a little calmer than when he had left the room with Callie.

‘All quiet on the western front,' he said. ‘Callie's in the dinner hall and won't be going anywhere. I've got a doc coming to look at Susie, though she's as tough as old boots, that one. Not the first time she's taken a beating,' he observed sadly, ‘poor little cow,' then he remembered Tom was still holding the jacket and he stretched out a hand. ‘I'd better take that,' he said. Tom duly handed it over.

They trudged back to the car together. ‘That was … unexpected,' said a shocked Helen when they were both inside the vehicle.

‘Did Susie say anything while you were with her?'

‘Just that Diane had given her the jacket before she left.'

‘Why would Diane give it to her and not take it with her, if it was her favourite?' asked Tom. ‘Why not give it to Callie instead of Susie if they were best friends?'

‘I tried to ask those questions but she just got very irate.'

‘Know what disturbed me the most,' he asked her when they reached the car, ‘and I'm not talking about the fight?'

‘The way they kept telling us how safe they felt?'

He turned to face her. ‘And we never even asked them.'

‘Sounded like they were all reading from the same script to me,' observed Helen. ‘I wonder who wrote it.'

It was DC Malone who answered the phone. ‘Yes, he's here,' she said, eyeing Bradshaw. ‘Ian,' she called, ‘it's the bloke from the garage, about your car.'

‘Thanks, put him through.' DC Malone stabbed at some more buttons then waited until Bradshaw's landline began to ring.

He gave Malone a thumbs up before answering, ‘Ian Bradshaw speaking, have you found the problem yet?'

‘Sorry, pal, she's a total write-off,' said Tom.

Bradshaw swivelled in his chair so he was facing away from his colleagues. ‘How did you get on at Meadowlands?' he asked quietly.

‘It was … interesting.'

‘How so?'

Tom briefed Bradshaw on the fight at Meadowlands and the way all the girls there seemed brainwashed, except for
one. ‘Diane Turner,' Tom told the detective, ‘who absconded around the same time as Sandra Jarvis.'

‘You want me to some digging about this Diane Turner?'

‘Not unless you can do it under the radar. If you start asking questions about Diane it'll be noticed and, forgive my paranoia here, but we don't know who we can trust.'

Tom expected a lecture from Bradshaw about not every policeman on the force being in the pay of gangsters but instead the detective said, ‘Just because you are paranoid, doesn't mean they ain't out to get you.'

‘Exactly. You can check it out discreetly but something tells me Diane's disappearance wasn't reported.'

‘It wasn't,' confirmed Bradshaw.

‘How could you possibly know that without checking?' asked Tom, then he remembered the case Bradshaw was working on. ‘Because of the burned girl?'

‘Believe me, I am familiar with every missing persons report from the past year.' Bradshaw's immediate thought was that if Diane's disappearance
had
gone unreported she might even be the burned girl but he knew that was a long shot and she was probably just another runaway.

Tom must have realised that's what he would be thinking. ‘Diane is alive and well and living in London apparently. She's been in touch with Callie but finding her won't be easy. We have no address and she doesn't want to be found.'

‘A missing teenage girl in London,' observed Bradshaw dryly.

‘I know,' admitted Tom, ‘a needle in a haystack.'

‘That's alright,' said Bradshaw dryly, ‘I'm not remotely busy.'

‘There's one other thing,' Tom told him and he reached inside his pocket, drew out the business card and looked at it.

‘What is it?' asked Bradshaw.

‘Mirage,' Tom told him, ‘where your fantasy becomes reality.'