Honeytrap: Part 1 Page 3

  He continued to stand for a while, staring all around, trying by the sheer effort of his will to make Ellen materialise from thin air. A light rain was falling but he was barely aware of it. His stomach was taut with frustration, his hands clenched into two tight fists. For the last five years he had tried to push her to the back of his mind, to accept that she was gone for ever, and now …

  4

  It was only as Harry began to retrace his steps that it occurred to him that Ellen may not have left the hotel at all. She could be staying there – in which case she might have fled to her room, or even hidden out in the Ladies’. He increased his pace, taking long wide strides until he was back at the Lumière again.

  Harry hurried over to the reception desk and leaned on the counter. ‘Hi,’ he said giving a friendly smile to a willowy redhead with a nametag that said KIM. ‘I was wondering if you could help? I’m here to see a friend of mine called Ellen Shaw. Do you know if she’s booked in yet?’

  Kim, who had probably witnessed his hasty exit from the hotel, gave him a dubious look. ‘Ellen Shaw?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Kim paused, staring at him for a few seconds before eventually tapping a few keys on the computer. ‘Sorry, we’ve got no one by that name staying here.’

  Harry pulled a face, realising that even if Ellen had got a room she could be using an alias. ‘Did you see a girl walk through here about five minutes ago? In her early thirties, slim, short blonde hair, wearing a blue dress?’

  Kim didn’t even pretend to think about it. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t notice. We’ve been very busy.’

  Harry could tell she didn’t trust him. She probably had him down as a jealous boyfriend or something more sinister. ‘I thought I saw her but … it could have been someone else.’

  ‘You could always give her a call.’

  What was he supposed to say to that? It was at times like this that Harry sorely missed his warrant card: one flash of that magical ID and he could have all the answers he needed. Private detectives, no matter how well-dressed, didn’t have the power of the police. His reply sounded weak even to his own ears. ‘I can’t. I don’t have her number with me.’

  Kim gave a light shrug of her shoulders. Although her mouth smiled politely, her eyes were full of suspicion. ‘Would you like to leave your name?’ she asked. ‘Or a message?

  I could pass it on if she turns up later.’

  Harry shook his head. ‘It’s okay. Thanks anyway.’ He was aware of the girl’s ill-disguised glare as he walked off. So what now? He kept his eyes peeled for Ellen, but knew in his heart that it was a lost cause. If he was going to find her again then it wouldn’t be here. She had slipped through his fingers and there was nothing he could do about it. It briefly crossed his mind to keep watch – if she was at the hotel she might book out later in the night – but he couldn’t cover every exit on his own; she could easily leave through the back and he would be none the wiser.

  In the bar Harry was unsurprised to find that Danny Street had cleared off too. Still, that didn’t bother him; Street was the kind of man who was never hard to find. Getting him to reveal anything about his meeting with Ellen Shaw would be the real challenge. What were the chances? Pretty much zero. But that wouldn’t stop him from trying.

  Caroline Westwood had returned to her circle of girlfriends and was now talking to one of the flash City lads. Easy reading, it seemed, wasn’t completely off the agenda. Harry strolled over to the bar where Denis gave him a pitying look.

  ‘Wasn’t sure if you were coming back,’ he said, taking Harry’s half-drunk glass of whisky from under the counter and placing it in front of him. He nodded towards Caroline. ‘She got tired of waiting.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Harry said, taking a drink. ‘Win some, lose some, eh?’

  Denis smirked. ‘The ladies don’t like it when you run after some other piece of skirt. It offends their dignity.’

  ‘I’ll try to remember that.’ Harry stared over at Caroline. She turned her head, gave him a cold dismissive look and returned to her conversation. If he’d had any remaining hopes of resuming his attempts at seduction, they were instantly dashed. He’d messed up and there was no going back. It took some skill, he reckoned, to lose two women in the space of ten minutes.

  ‘So did you catch up with her, the girl?’

  ‘No,’ Harry said. ‘Do you know if she’s staying here?’

  Denis gave a shrug. ‘I couldn’t say.’

  Harry wondered if he couldn’t or just wouldn’t. Maybe he needed an incentive, a couple of crisp notes to oil the wheels of friendly co-operation. But was it worth the money? He decided, on balance, that it probably wasn’t. Even if Ellen had been booked in, she wouldn’t hang around now that Harry had spooked her. ‘Have you seen her in here before?’

  ‘She a friend of yours?’

  ‘She was, once, a few years ago.’

  ‘She didn’t look too pleased to see you.’

  ‘Seems to be the story of my life.’

  ‘I’ve not seen her before. Or the guy she was with.’ Denis leaned on the counter and lowered his voice. ‘I’ll tell you something for nothing, though.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘You’re one unlucky guy.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ Harry said. ‘You’ll never know how much it helps.’

  Denis grinned. ‘It’s a pleasure.’

  The receptionist appeared at the other end of the bar and beckoned Denis over. Harry watched as the two of them leaned in towards each other, Kim’s gaze flicking towards him so often that he was sure she was talking about him. A warning, probably. Watch out for that guy. He’s some kind of weirdo.

  ‘Problem?’ Harry asked when Denis came back.

  ‘No problem, ‘he said.

  Harry gave one last glance at Caroline Westwood before deciding to call it a night. He could try again, send a drink over, attempt to rekindle the spark, but he knew he’d be wasting his time. Anyway, he was no longer in the mood. Seeing Ellen Shaw had shaken him up. He wanted to head off home and sort through his thoughts.

  After emptying his glass, Harry placed it on the bar and gave Denis a nod. ‘That’s me done. Have a nice evening.’

  ‘Can’t be any worse than yours.’

  ‘I won’t argue with that.’

  Outside the air was cold and damp, a reminder that although it was March winter had not yet completely relinquished its hold. It was raining harder now and Harry hunched his shoulders as he walked along the street. It was only when he reached the corner that he remembered the recording device was still running. He reached into his pocket and switched it off, his face twisting as he thought of how Mac and Lorna would react to his failure to even finish the job properly.

  ‘Well, Caroline,’ he said. ‘Looks like you got away with it this time.’ He was pretty sure that what had gone on between them was more than just harmless flirting. Or was that his male ego talking? Maybe she’d have given him the brush-off if he’d hung around long enough to find out. Now he’d never know one way or the other – and nor would the suspicious Mr Westwood.

  As usual there was never a free black cab when you needed one. He stood for a while, watching out for a taxi with a light on. A few minutes had passed when a smart white Daimler with tinted glass drew up at a bus stop a few yards beyond him. The window slid down and a voice with a strong Cockney accent came from the interior. ‘Hey, you! Lind! Over ‘ere.’

  Harry approached the passenger side of the car with caution, already knowing who’d boomed out the summons. He stared down at the man, not even trying to hide the contempt in his eyes. ‘What do you want?’

  Danny Street’s thin, foxy face leered up at him. ‘You can tell that bitch that I’m not happy. Next time she brings along some brainless muscle, she’ll be paying for his fuckin’ hospital bills.’

  ‘I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Nah, I’m sure you don’t.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d
like to enlighten me.’

  Danny Street’s mouth twisted into a snarl. ‘Just pass the message on, right? I don’t like being fucked about.’

  ‘Tell her yourself. I’m not your messenger boy.’

  ‘You weren’t invited, mate. Just stay away in future.’

  ‘I think that’s up to her, isn’t it?’ Harry was in the dark about what was going on between Street and Ellen, but was doing his best to alter that. ‘Maybe she’s not so keen on your terms.’

  ‘I don’t do business with amateurs.’

  ‘Come off it, Danny. You’ll do business with anyone who pays.’

  Street looked him up and down, his face growing tight and angry. ‘Just keep your fuckin’ nose out of it.’

  ‘Bit late for that.’

  Street gave a sneer and closed the window. The car immediately moved off. As the white Daimler accelerated and disappeared into the distance, Harry felt a cold finger of dread run down his spine. He had to find Ellen Shaw, and fast. But he didn’t even know where to start.

  5

  Jess was sitting talking to Sylvie Durand in a quiet corner of the Fox. It was midday on Saturday and slowly the place was beginning to fill up. The French girl was smart and funny and the epitome of chic; even in her faded blue jeans and plain white T-shirt she still managed to look infinitely more elegant than any other woman in the pub. It was something to do with the way she held herself, a kind of poise.

  ‘So do you have a technique?’ Jess asked. ‘A method of approach?’

  Sylvie gave a light shrug. ‘I keep it simple. Find something flattering to say, get into conversation and focus all my attention on them. Guys enjoy this – to feel like the centre of things, to feel important. But I never stay too long. Always I tell them I have somewhere else to go, somewhere I must be. I give them my number and leave it up to them.’

  ‘And what happens if they call?’

  ‘The number goes straight through to the office and all they get is voicemail. My voice, of course, but the target’s message is recorded for the client. Sometimes they suggest meeting up, sometimes not. Then it’s down to the client as to what they want to do next. Usually, it’s enough that the man has actually called, but some women want more. The office may have to send a text, pretending to be me, and see what happens next.’

  ‘So what’s the percentage?’ Jess asked. ‘I mean, out of a hundred how many men try to make contact with you again?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure. Once I’ve done what I have to do …’ Sylvie gave another of her shrugs. ‘You will have to ask Harry.’

  Jess suspected that the answer was most of them. She doubted there were many men who wouldn’t chance their hand. Sylvie was attractive, charming and good company. She thought of her own boyfriend, Neil, and briefly wondered whether he’d give in to temptation. It didn’t help that he was currently working up in Liverpool. Not wanting to dwell on this, she quickly moved on. ‘So have you ever been attracted to someone you’ve met?’

  Sylvie shook her head. ‘This is work, not my personal life. The two are separate.’

  ‘But sometimes these things can happen by chance.’

  ‘Non,’ Sylvie insisted. ‘Never. The man is already with someone else. I know this, yes? So I could never be interested. If he cheats on the woman he’s with, he’ll cheat on me too.’

  ‘Do you ever feel bad about what you do?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Jess tried to rephrase it. ‘I mean, do you ever feel guilty that you could be responsible for splitting up a couple?’

  ‘Of course not. Why should I feel bad? It’s the man who has the responsibility, not me. If he makes a move, it’s down to him. Nobody is twisting his arm.’

  ‘But you’re putting temptation in his path.’

  ‘There’s temptation everywhere,’ Sylvie replied, ‘at work or a party or a bar or a restaurant. You can’t ever escape it. If he’s the type that can’t say no, then … Well, that’s just how it is.’

  Jess noticed Sylvie glancing at her watch and knew that her time was almost up. They’d been talking for half an hour. ‘I won’t keep you much longer, I promise. I just wondered, finally, whether you actually enjoy what you do.’

  Sylvie took a moment to think before giving a small smile. ‘It’s easy money, and mostly I work in the evenings. It fits in with my college course. There are worse jobs. I don’t mind it.’ She stood up and put on her jacket. ‘Sorry, but I have to go. Actually, I have a job booked in for tonight. Why don’t you come with me? I usually take someone, a girlfriend, but you could come instead. What do you think? It’s only round the corner. A bar called Wilder’s. You can see for yourself how it works.’

  Jess jumped at the opportunity. ‘Yes, that would be great. Thanks. Where shall we meet?’

  ‘I’ll see you in here at about half seven.’

  ‘Okay, and thanks for talking to me.’

  ‘No problem.’ Sylvie gave her a wave and left. ‘See you later.’

  Jess watched her walk towards the door, noting how the crowd of men at the bar separated to let her through. No one could deny that Sylvia Durand had presence. It would be fascinating to see her in action tonight.

  Once she was out of sight, Jess reached out and turned off the recording machine. While she waited for Harry, she jotted down some impressions of Sylvie in her notebook. There was another question she had wanted to ask, like how her partner felt about the job she did – you would have to be a confident man to be comfortable with it – but she could pursue that subject this evening.

  It was another half hour before Harry showed up. He seemed jumpy and agitated and there were bags under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept. She stared at him across the table.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong.’

  ‘So why do you look like you’ve been up all night? Come on, this is me you’re talking to. Something’s up. You’re as white as a sheet and—’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he interrupted. ‘I’m absolutely fine.’

  Jess folded her arms and fixed him with a steely gaze. ‘I’ll just keep asking until you come clean.’

  There was a short silence while Harry stared back at her. ‘All right,’ he said finally, ‘but you’re not going to like it.’

  ‘Ah, I see. You’ve changed your mind, right, about me doing the interviews? Well you could have told me sooner. I’ve just been chatting to Sylvie.’

  Harry shook his head. ‘It isn’t that.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  ‘I saw someone last night, someone I never expected to see again. It’s … I don’t know … I think she’s in trouble. No, I’m sure she is.’

  ‘Who exactly are we talking about here?’

  Harry hesitated before telling her. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked around the pub before finally meeting her eyes again. ‘It was Ellen Shaw.’

  Jess’s intake of breath was clearly audible. She had hoped to never hear that name again. ‘What? What’s she doing back in London?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but I saw her last night. I didn’t get the chance to speak to her, though. She did a runner, took off as soon as she spotted me.’

  ‘That tells you something,’ Jess said coldly.

  ‘It tells me she’s in trouble. Look, I know you never liked her but—’

  ‘It’s not to do with liking or not liking. If it hadn’t been for her, Len would still be alive today.’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ Harry snapped back. ‘Len would have drunk himself to death years ago.’ Immediately, he rubbed at his face, his mouth twisting down at the corners. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It was wrong. But you can’t blame Ellen for what happened.’

  Jess, however, could and did blame her. She still felt the loss of her old colleague, her mentor back in the days when she was working for the Hackney Herald. ‘If you’ve got any sense you’ll stay away from that woman. She lied to Len and she lied to you. She’s bad news and you know it
.’

  ‘She was the victim, Jess. None of it was her fault. She only lied because she was scared.’ Ellen had been the missing child, the eight-year-old girl that everyone had thought was dead and buried until Len Curzon had discovered the truth. It was a long and twisted story that Jess had later unravelled in an article called The Lost. Suffice to say that Ellen had been betrayed by the people closest to her.

  Jess gave a small shake of her head. ‘God, you’re going to try and find her, aren’t you?’

  ‘I have to.’ Harry rose to his feet. ‘Would you mind if we took a rain check on lunch?’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll give you a call.’

  Jess watched him leave with a feeling of foreboding. If Harry got involved with Ellen Shaw again, it wasn’t going to end well. That woman always left a trail of misery in her wake. But what could she do? The answer was pretty much nothing.

  6

  Wilder’s was one of those laid-back bars full of comfortable sofas and fashionable people. The lighting was subtle, the décor a combination of chrome, pale wood and a large dose of nostalgia. Covering the walls were black-and-white pictures of old movie stars – Bogart and Bacall, Audrey Hepburn, Clark Gable and Marilyn Monroe – a homage to times past. Jess looked around her, taking it all in. The reception was, as far as she could gather, some kind of fundraiser for an independent film company.

  Sylvie was already on the job, having homed in on Joshua Keynes only minutes after they’d arrived. She was currently working her magic while Jess stood to one side, pretending to be studying a glossy brochure while sipping on a Virgin Mary and surreptitiously observing the honeytrap in action. The French girl was tactile and flirtatious without being brazen; she exuded a mixture of innocence and sophistication, a kind of oozing sensuality that made other women seem bland.

  The target, on the other hand, was more style over substance. He was a well-dressed man in his early forties with a receding hairline and lecherous eyes. His chat-up lines seemed to consist mainly of bragging about how rich and important he was, and his arrogance was matched only by an utter lack of charm. Jess wondered what his girlfriend saw in him, other than the size of his wallet.