Sally Spencer - Blackstone and the New World

‘Name?’ Meade said.

‘Trixie,’ the girl supplied.

‘ Full name?’

‘I’d rather not say.’

‘Occupation?’

‘Entertainer.’

‘Address?’

The girl hesitated. ‘I’ll give my address, and I’ll give you all the information you want, but you have to keep my name out of it, because if Mad. . if my employer ever finds out I’ve been talking to you, I’ll be out on the street before I’ve had time to turn round.’

‘We’ll keep your name out of it,’ Meade promised.

The girl gave him the address.

‘And that’s a brothel, is it?’ Meade asked.

‘No, of course not!’

‘Then what is it?’

‘Well, I suppose you’d call it an exclusive club for discriminating gentlemen,’ Trixie said primly.

‘If you can’t be honest with me, then I’m not interested in talking to you,’ Meade said impatiently. ‘Is it a brothel or isn’t it?’

‘It’s sort of a brothel,’ Trixie said reluctantly.

‘So where exactly did you see Inspector O’Brien on Tuesday?’ the sergeant asked.

‘In the club,’ Trixie said. Then, when Meade glared at her, she looked down at the floor and murmured, ‘In the brothel.’

‘When?’

‘Around half past five on Tuesday afternoon.’

‘Describe him to me,’ Meade said.

Trixie shrugged. ‘What can I say? He looked exactly like the man in the picture.’

Meade shook his head. ‘That’s not good enough. You have to convince me that you really saw him.’

‘He was wearing a brown suit and a straw boater, but he took the boater off once he came through the door, which not every gentleman who visits us does.’ Trixie giggled. ‘Sometimes they even keep their hats on when they’ve taken everything else off.’

Meade laid down his pencil, and scrunched up the piece of paper he’d been writing on.

‘Thank you for your time,’ he said.

‘Don’t you want me to tell you what this inspector did?’

Meade shook his head again. ‘There’s no point in hearing any more, unless you convince me that it really was Inspector O’Brien you saw. And I really don’t think you can do that.’

‘But I still get the reward, don’t I?’ Trixie said anxiously.

‘I’m afraid not,’ Meade said. ‘Officer Turcotte will show you out.’

‘Hold your horses,’ Trixie told him, starting to sound desperate. She closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them again, she said, ‘I remember now — he was wearing a ring on his index finger.’

‘How did you happen to notice that?’

‘It was jewellery, wasn’t it?’

‘So?’

‘So I always notice jewellery.’

‘Describe the ring to me.’

‘The band was gold. .’

‘Yes?’

‘It had a red stone in it. I think that the stone might well have been a ruby.’

‘Go on,’ Meade said, both encouraged and encouraging.

‘And it had something carved into it.’

‘What kind of something?’

‘Some kind of animal.’

‘ What kind of animal?’ Meade asked sceptically. ‘An elephant? An elk? A duck-billed platypus?’

Trixie giggled. ‘I don’t even know what a duck-billed thingy looks like,’ she said. ‘But it wasn’t an elephant or an elk. It was some kind of big cat. I think it might have been a lion.’

Meade reached for a fresh sheet of paper, rapidly scribbled a few words on it, then slid it across to Blackstone.

Mary gave him that ring , Blackstone read. She said he had the heart of a lion .

Trixie had watched the whole thing, and now a smile came to her face. ‘I got it right, didn’t I?’ she asked. ‘It was him!’

‘Yes, it was,’ Meade agreed. ‘I want you to tell me exactly what happened, Trixie. Start at the beginning, and don’t leave anything out.’

‘Well, half past five is a very quiet time at the club,’ Trixie said. ‘You see, we get the gentlemen who like to visit us during their lunch hour, and we get the gentlemen who always come in the evening — either before or after dinner — but at that time of the afternoon. .’

‘I get the point,’ Meade said.

‘So since there’s not much business to be had, most of the girls are off-duty then. So there were only two of us there when Imre showed this particular gentleman into the parlour.’

‘Who’s Imre?’ Blackstone asked.

‘The doorman. Not that he’ll ever admit that’s what he is. He says that he’s Madam’s business manager, but you can take that with a pinch of salt, because he also says he’s a Hungerarian count.’

‘Do you mean Hungarian?’ Blackstone asked.

‘That’s right,’ Trixie agreed, as if, Hungarian or Hungerarian, it was all the same to her. ‘Anyway, Imre led the gentleman into the parlour. And do you know what he says then?’

‘No.’

‘He says to the inspector, “I’m sorry there’s not much choice, sir.” What a pig! As if me and Lucy weren’t enough choice for anybody !’

‘What did Inspector O’Brien say?’

‘He says that he’s not there to. . to. .’

‘To avail himself of the services that the house offered?’

‘That’s right, he’s not there for that, he’s just come to see Madam. Well, Imre tells him that Madam only ever sees very special clients who she’s known for a long time.’

‘What happened then?’

‘O’Brien keeps on saying it’s very important he sees her. And Imre keeps on saying he can’t and that if he wants to take one of us upstairs, he’s very welcome, but if he doesn’t, he has to leave. And let me tell you, when Imre orders somebody to leave, that’s just what they do, because he’s six feet four and built like a brick shithouse.’

‘So Inspector O’Brien left, did he?’ Meade asked, his disappointment very obvious.

‘No, he didn’t. That’s when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his detective shield. I don’t think he wanted to show it at all, you know — I think he’d just decided that if he didn’t, Imre would give him the five-second bounce and he’d end up lying in the street.’

‘What did Imre say when he saw the shield?’

‘He shrugs his shoulders, to show it doesn’t impress him. Well, he is a count , after all — though I can think of another word which sounds rather like “count” but would describe him much better, if you know what I mean.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Meade said.

And Blackstone was amused to note that the young sergeant had reddened slightly.

‘Anyway, Imre says it makes no difference whether O’Brien is a cop or not, because we pay our protection money directly to the local precinct captain. And that’s when this inspector suddenly loses his temper — but not for the reasons you might think.’

‘No?’

‘No. He isn’t exactly angry. He’s — what’s the word? — he’s outraged. He says it’s a disgrace that any policeman should take bribes from a whorehouse. But I don’t see what’s wrong with it myself. It’s the way it’s always been done.’

‘You see what a state we’re in?’ Meade asked Blackstone in a low whisper. ‘We’ve reached such a level of corruption that it doesn’t even seem like corruption any more.’

‘What was that?’ Trixie asked.

‘Nothing. Carry on with your story.’

‘Well, Imre starts to look worried, and he takes a step or two backwards, because now , if it comes to a fight, the inspector’s so full of rage that you can see Imre thinks he might just win.’

‘ Did it come to a fight?’

‘No, the inspector forces himself to calm down — you could see him do it — and when he is calm, he becomes all crisp and official. He says there are two choices. Either Imre takes him to see Madam or else he’ll be arrested on the spot for keeping a disorderly house.’