Cath Staincliffe - Hit and Run

‘Who killed her?’ Janine asked quietly.

Marta looked away, smoked her cigarette. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Who do you think killed her?’ Janine continued to watch her, forcing her to make eye contact. When Marta finally spoke Janine had to strain to hear.

‘I’m very afraid to tell you this.’ She rubbed at her upper arms, turned her head from side to side as though checking for eavesdroppers. ‘Very afraid.’

‘Please, Marta.’

She shuddered. ‘Sulikov, I think – his bully boys. Now no one else will think of trying to get away.’

Janine felt her pulse kick and quicken. Suspects, and a motive. Now they’d found the brothel, now they’d found Marta, things were opening up. Some cases were like this; you’d batter away for days, weeks even, and then the first crack would appear. It was always a liberating moment no matter how grim the circumstances.

‘What’s he like, Sulikov?’

‘I never met him.’

‘But you knew of him in Poland?’

‘Yes. He was the man, the boss. A very bad man.’

‘What about Harper?’ It would be useful to know what Marta thought about him before she and Richard interviewed him.

‘He let her dance at the club and Rosa thought he was a prince,’ she said bitterly. ‘He would never go against his boss. He’s not a brave man. He was using her. She loved him, he screwed her. Just like they all do,’ Marta paused. ‘She was thinking of names,’ she said, ‘of little clothes…’ Her eyes watered, she wiped at a tear smudging her make up. Her nose reddened. A tug of wind wrapped her blonde hair about her face.

‘Could he have killed her?’

‘Harper?’ Marta seemed sceptical.

‘When you said bully boys…’

‘Lee Stone,’ Marta suggested.

Not Harper then? What had his role been – just to keep quiet? Or had he told Sulikov Rosa was talking about leaving – had he set the wheels in motion and then walked away?

Janine watched a magpie land across the other side of the yard by the rubbish bins. It bounced a step or two and then began to stab at something on the ground. Its mate joined it. The harsh calls of the birds echoed round the concrete square. Two for joy, Janine thought. Hard to see from where she was standing. Did they have that rhyme in Poland? Did they have magpies?

‘You don’t know where Rosa was heading?’

‘I thought she was going into work. Well, that’s what she said but now, thinking of it, she was…’ Marta struggled to find an English word, ‘a little strange, like she was hiding something.’ She nodded. ‘She was running away.’

‘Since then – have you heard anything, from Lee Stone or Harper? Have they said anything at all that might help us?’

‘We’ve not seen them.’ Marta finished her cigarette, dropped it on the floor into a convenient puddle. It died with a little hiss.

Janine thought again of the bleak room that had been Rosa’s home, of the squalid life she’d led, servicing men at the brothel and then gyrating for them at the club. Putting her hopes in Harper. And it had all ended with one of the men, maybe Stone, strangling her.

The other two girls appeared, lighting up as soon as they emerged through the double doors. They both looked pale and tired.

‘The girls,’ Janine said, ‘some of them, they must know what they’re really going to end up doing. People must know it’s going on.’

‘Oh, you know do you? You have experience, yes?’ Marta said hotly. After a moment she added in a softer tone, ‘Maybe we know. But there’s always a chance, something better here. Back home, nothing.’ She shook her head very slowly. ‘No hope. Nothing.’

Harper’s solicitor, a bullish looking man with a bad complexion and an excellent tailor, had arrived and sat with his client facing Janine and Richard. Harper looked anxious, a frown lodged between his eyes, his fingers tangled together on the table in front of him. A small tic fretted at the left side of his jaw.

‘You’ve rather a lot of explaining to do,’ Janine told him. ‘Let’s start with Rosa Milicz, shall we?’

‘She danced at the club…’ he began, sounding weary at repeating the same information.

‘Don’t waste your breath,’ Janine interrupted him. ‘We know about your relationship. We know you were her pimp.’

His expression shifted, concern replacing the jaded look. ‘I…’ he faltered. ‘I liked her. We hit it off. She couldn’t settle, though. Some of them, they get used to being on the game but she hated it. So I let her work at the club, instead. But she still wasn’t happy.’

‘She was pregnant,’ Janine said.

Harper blinked. It backed up her hunch. ‘It was yours,’ she stated.

He looked a little uneasy. ‘She said it was.’

‘You thought she was lying?’

A moment then he swung his head, no. He pressed his palms against the table and ducked his head as if steeling himself. ‘She began to talk about going back. She had nothing over there.’ He implied her decision was ridiculous.

‘Family?’

Harper shrugged. Either he didn’t know what family Rosa had or he didn’t think it relevant. ‘I said I’d try and find a way, smooth things over. Then Sunday night, at work, she’s on about it again, getting in a state. I told her maybe I could persuade Sulikov to let her go – tell him she was seriously ill or something. But I needed some time.’ He spoke calmly, plenty of eye contact. ‘I told her to wait. I thought I’d got through to her.’ He shook his head.

Richard moved position. ‘Did you see Rosa on Monday?’

‘No,’ Harper said. ‘I told you.’

‘You were close to Rosa,’ said Janine, ‘but maybe a baby wasn’t part of the plan. Convenient for you – her disappearance.’

Harper’s face fell, his mouth opened as he reacted to the implication. ‘No, it wasn’t like that.’

‘You were sleeping with her, you were the father of her child and yet when she was murdered you said nothing.’ Janine challenged him to justify his actions.

‘I was scared,’ he protested.

‘She was dead.’

He flinched.

Janine carried on, hoping that more pressure would push him into talking. ‘Tell us, Mr Harper. What really happened? You killed her, didn’t you?’

‘No,’ a wobble of panic in his voice. ‘I didn’t touch her.’ He looked from Janine to Richard. His eyes shone with intensity. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’

‘The truth would be a start. How about something like this?’ In considering Harper as the killer, Janine had already formulated an account of events that didn’t stray too far from the few facts they had. ‘You did see her on Monday: she told her friend that she was going into work but she came to you and you had sex. She told you she was running away. You had to stop her leaving.’ Janine laid out each part of the scenario in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘You argued. You put your hand around her neck. How long did it take?’

In the pause she watched Harper’s Adam’s apple bob up and down, a bead of sweat break on his forehead and start to trace its path down his cheek.

‘And then you wrapped her in bin bags. Broke her face.’

‘Her face!’ He was appalled. ‘I didn’t kill her. I wouldn’t hurt her. It wasn’t me.’

‘Who was it then?’ Janine said sharply.

‘I can’t,’ Harper said fervently, shaking his head quickly. ‘It’s not safe. He…’

‘Who?’

The solicitor interrupted the exchange. ‘My client has answered your questions.’

‘He’s told me nothing,’ Janine retorted. ‘Who was it, Mr Harper?’

‘I can’t,’ he insisted. ‘Please, I can’t.’ His forehead was furrowed with lines, he grimaced, his lips pulled back, spittle at the corners of his lips. ‘I just can’t.’