Cath Staincliffe - Hit and Run

The music was loud and the decor shiny. Glittery pink stripes ran through the wallpaper, glossy brown fake leather covered the booths and seats. The platforms where the girls danced were lit from above and below by pink spotlights. The girls looked very young and wholesome in spite of all the flesh on display. There wasn’t much of an erotic charge to the dancing as far as she could see; repetitious and detached, curiously passionless.

She could see Richard and Shap at tall stools near the bar. Apparently enjoying the floor show. Neither of them saw her approaching.

‘Interview concluded already, then?’

Richard jumped at her voice. ‘Thought we’d wait for you, boss.’ He smiled sheepishly and slid off the stool. ‘This way.’

She followed him along a corridor; plush red carpet and silver flock wallpaper. ‘We’ve got a name.’ Richard told her. ‘Rosa Milicz, Polish.’

They reached a small office, the door ajar. Richard stepped inside and she followed. ‘Mr Harper,’ he introduced the man seated at the cluttered desk. ‘DCI Lewis – she’s heading the enquiry’

Harper was about Janine’s age, late thirties, maybe early forties if he’d weathered well, tousled light brown hair, longish at the back, clean-shaven. He had an aquiline nose, high sculptured cheekbones, a cleft in his chin. He stood and shook her hand; he was slightly stooped and his suit was rumpled. He wore a collarless shirt beneath it. Janine noticed photos on the wall, names beside them: Suzy, Fleur, Carmen.

‘Rosa.’ Harper passed Janine a head and shoulders photo. Janine studied it. She looked young, younger than Janine had imagined, vivacious. Someone had strangled her, Janine thought, squeezed the life from her then ruined that lovely face.

‘She didn’t turn up for work yesterday. The description – it could be her. I missed the news but Andrea, one of our dancers, she rang in.’

‘Was Rosa married?’ Janine asked him.

‘No. Over here on her own.’

She turned to Richard. ‘Put in a request to Poland for dental records asap.’

He nodded.

‘Can we see her employment file?’ Janine asked.

Harper coloured slightly, rubbed at the bridge on his nose. ‘Ah, well, the girls are freelancers, you see. They sort out their own tax and national insurance. Of course we pay public liability for the premises.’

‘Wages?’ Richard said.

‘Cheque or cash. I think…’ He stood and crossed to a filing cabinet, rummaged through and pulled out a file, riffled through it. ‘Yes, Rosa was paid in cash.’

‘Rosa’s address?’ Richard said.

‘No, we don’t seem… no, sorry.’

‘That usual?’ Janine regarded him carefully. She noticed one of his eyes was more open than the other, one eyelid drooping, though she couldn’t read the expression in them. ‘Employing someone and not even having their address?’

Harper looked a little uneasy but said nothing.

‘Surely you’d have taken her details when you hired her?’

‘The girls get a form to fill in – all those details – we just don’t seem to have one for Rosa. I’ve no idea what’s happened to it.’ He slid the drawer shut.

‘You don’t own the business?’ Janine clarified.

‘No, I’m just the manager. The owner’s abroad.’

‘That’s Mr Sulikov?’ Richard said. ‘His first name?’

‘Konrad.’

‘What can you tell us about Rosa?’ Janine asked him.

‘Nice girl. Reliable, turned up for her shifts on time. Never any problem. That’s why it’s so hard to understand.’

‘How do you mean?’ Janine asked.

‘Some of them – they get in a mess: drink, drugs, boyfriends. Or they’re breaking the rules, putting themselves at risk. Topcat’s for dancing.’

‘Strictly ballroom,’ Richard said.

‘We keep it clean. No touching, no tango. Some girls push it, or they make private arrangements with the punter outside these walls. We can’t protect them then.’

‘Anything make you think a punter’s involved?’ Richard asked him.

‘I don’t know what to think. All I’m saying is Rosa did her job, no fuss, no bother.’

‘Did you know she was pregnant?’ Janine wondered if Rosa had known herself. It had been early days. And if she had known had it been welcome news or not?

‘No,’ Harper looked surprised, ‘she never said anything.’

Janine didn’t like her cases colliding like this. It sparked her sense of mistrust. ‘Your car was stolen last night?’ She let the words hang in the air.

‘That’s right.’

‘It was involved in a hit and run accident this morning. The little girl’s died.’ She felt Richard’s eyes on her. ‘Now Rosa.’

Harper looked puzzled. Janine waited it out, watching him. Wondering if he would volunteer any more information, try and explain the sequence of events, the glaring coincidence. Harper said nothing.

‘Mr Harper,’ she said, ‘I’m going to have a look around, talk to people. Please give DI Mayne all the details you have about Rosa. Last time you saw her, the names of any regulars she danced for, friends she had.’ Janine paused in the doorway. ‘Death seems to be following you around. I’d try to think of anything that might help us.’ No harm in shaking his cage a little, letting him know that she didn’t buy the little-white-hen-who-never-laid-an-egg routine.

Andrea, the girl who had rung in, agreed to talk to Janine but in spite of her cooperation there was a distrustful edge to her manner. A lot of people acted like that with the police. Sometimes they had reason to.

Andrea had creamy brown skin, short curly hair. Young again, and wary. She toyed with the ashtray, played with cigarettes and the bangles on her wrist, avoiding eye contact for much of their conversation.

‘Did Rosa have any distinguishing features?’ Janine began.

‘A tattoo, on her leg, a rose. Her right leg – that’s why I rang. It all seemed to fit. Is it her?’ She glanced at Janine.

‘We think so.’

Andrea compressed her lips, looked back at the table. ‘Who do you think did it?’ she said fiercely. ‘Who’d do a thing like that? Why?’

Janine shook her head.

Andrea tilted her head back, blinked hard at the spotlights on the ceiling.

‘What was she like?’ Janine asked.

‘Pretty quiet, really. Not shy, didn’t let people push her around or anything. Just never said much about herself.’

‘Any problems with the clients? Or anyone else?’

Andrea shook her head.

‘You were both here Sunday?’

‘Yes.’

‘Finish at the same time?’

She nodded. She rooted in her handbag, pulled out a packet of baby wipes and Janine glimpsed the snapshot of a toddler. Andrea found the cigarettes she was looking for. She slid one from the packet.

‘Who left first?’

‘I did.’

‘And you didn’t see her again? Was there a boyfriend?’

Andrea shook her head, lit her cigarette.

‘Do you know where she lived?’

‘No.’

Was the denial a little too fast? Janine looked steadily at the girl.

‘Look, we worked together, that’s all.’ Andrea said defensively. ‘She was a nice kid but I don’t socialise with people from here. None of us do. It’s just a job. She had a room somewhere, that’s all I remember her saying.’

‘Is there anything else you can think of that might help us?’

‘No.’ She took a drag on her cigarette.

Was the girl keeping something back? Or were her guarded replies her natural reaction to police questioning? ‘We might need to talk to you again.’

Andrea nodded, blew out smoke and rose. Janine watched her walk across the club to leave her cigarettes at the bar. Moving away, already back on the job, smiling at clients, laughing at a remark one of them made, taking her place on a low podium.