bitter enemies. And although Annie had once associated with them, and even formed a business relationship with the chilly and devious Delaney twins, Orla and Redmond, the things they had done had turned her against them.
However, Redmond still allowed her to visit Dolly here, turning a blind eye to the head of the Carter firm walking his streets, and that was good of him. But she knew that what Max had always told her about them was the truth. They were vipers, he’d said, and not to be trusted. She knew now that he was right.
‘Well, whatever you think best,’ said Dolly.
Annie stood up. ‘I’ll catch you later,’ she said, and went off down the hall, nodding to Ross. As a Delaney boy, it pissed him off to see a Carter here; but he’d had his orders from the top. Her presence was to be tolerated.
For now, anyway, she thought.
Through the open front parlour door, she glimpsed half-naked tarts bouncing up and down on happy punters, and the sounds of sex drifted down the stairs.
Ross sat there, impassive.
She opened the front door and to her shock found Tony standing there. He pushed inside, closing the door behind him. She glimpsed two policemen coming up the path. There was a cop car parked just in front of the black Jag.
‘Shit,’ said Annie.
‘Don’t think it’s a raid, they’re not mob-handed,’ said Tony. ‘Still, better keep it down in here.’
Ross was already on it. He’d shot out of his chair at the word ‘raid’ and was already in the front room passing the word. The music was turned off. The laughter died. As the front doorbell rang he grabbed the visitors’ book from the hall table and ran off up the stairs to spread the word. Silence fell up there. Then he came back down and went into the kitchen, told Dolly. White-faced, she came out along the hall and looked at Annie and Tony standing there. She straightened her suit jacket, patted her hair and opened the front door.
‘Miss Farrell?’ asked one of the young coppers, politely removing his helmet.
Dolly nodded: yes.
‘Sorry to disturb you, miss. Can we come in?’
Oh hell, thought Annie.
They went on into the kitchen. Ross was gone, out the back way. Dolly gave Annie a quick ‘don’t you dare fuck off’ glance, so Annie followed her and the coppers into the kitchen and they all sat down. Tony went off into the front room, out of the way.
‘What’s this about?’ asked Dolly.
The coppers exchanged a look, then the older one spoke.
‘Miss Farrell, a body has been found. There was a card on the body that led us to believe that the person in question was working out of an escort agency run by you from this address.’
‘A body?’ Dolly looked whiter than ever.
‘A young black female.’
Annie felt as sick as Dolly looked. She thought of Aretha, not calling in this morning. Aretha had been out on an escort job last night.
‘Jesus,’ Dolly whispered. ‘Not Aretha?’
‘We’d like you to accompany us to the station,’ said the copper. ‘If you’re willing to identify the body?’
Ain’t that Chris’s job? thought Annie. She looked at Dolly.
‘It’s okay, Doll,’ she said, standing up, ‘I’ll come with you. Wait up while I phone Kath and let her know I’ll be delayed.’
Five minutes later they were in the back of the cop car being driven to the police station, both sitting silent and shocked, wondering what the hell was kicking off here, hoping against hope that the young black female was anyone, anyone at all, but not—please God—Aretha Brown.
When they reached the station they were led into the bowels of the place, into an antisepticscented room.
‘Oh fuck,’ said Dolly.
There was a body laid out under a sheet.
Annie grabbed Dolly’s hand and held it tight.
An attendant pulled the sheet back while the same two coppers hovered in the background. Annie stepped forward, but Dolly seemed rooted to the ground. But she was close enough to see who was there. Together they looked down on the dead face of their good friend Aretha.
‘Oh no. Oh shit,’ whimpered Dolly, putting a hand to her mouth.
Annie was silent, staring, her guts churning with shock and grief.
Aretha’s face was not her own any more: it was a mask of death, wet and greyish, all the life gone. The eyes were closed, the mouth half open. There was redness along the jaw and around the neck there was a thin, bloody line.
‘Do you positively identify this woman as Aretha Brown?’ asked the older PC.
Dolly nodded, unable to speak, tears starting in her eyes.
‘Yeah,’ said Annie shakily. ‘That’s her. That’s Aretha.’
When they were being led back through the station to the front desk they came across Chris—huge, bald, heavily muscled Chris: Aretha’s husband. Two more cops were taking him into a room. Annie saw to her shock that he was handcuffed. And his hands were bloody.
‘Hey!’ she said, quickening her pace. ‘Hey, Chris!’
All three men stopped and looked at her. One of the cops was tall and dark haired, the other one was dumpy and balding. Chris towered over them both.
‘I didn’t do nothing!’ Chris yelled out, tears streaming down his face.
Annie hurried over. The tall, dark-haired one had the air of being in charge, so she addressed her remarks to him. ‘What’s going on here? Wait up! You don’t think Chris had anything to do with Aretha…?’
The two plain-clothes cops exchanged a glance, then looked at her as if they’d stepped in something nasty.
‘And who are you?’ asked the tall one.
‘Annie Carter. This is Dolly Farrell.’
‘We’re interviewing Mr Brown. The officers will show you out.’ He turned away.
‘I’m going nowhere until I’ve talked to Chris,’ said Annie.
He turned back and stared at her with dark, unfriendly eyes. ‘What?’
‘You heard. Chris used to work for me. He’s a close friend of mine, I want to talk to him.’
He looked at her. Assessing her. He was going to tell her to bugger off, she just knew it. But then he surprised her.
‘All right. You can sit in on the interview for ten minutes, then you’re out.’
Annie
