eyes as they escaped to the outside world. A woman’s face appeared at the back doorway, then another.
“What’s going on, Ricky?”
The young man shook his head at them, then met Siobhan’s gaze. “I might have seen him,” he admitted. “But that could just be because his face was in the paper.”
“It was,” Siobhan agreed, nodding.
“I mean, we get a lot of faces in here.”
“And you take down their details?” Siobhan was looking at the ledger.
“Just the first name, plus the girl’s.”
“How does it work, Ricky? Punters sit in here, choose a girl . . . ?”
Ricky nodded. “What goes on once they’re in a suite is their business. Maybe they just want a back rub and a bit of chat.”
“How often did he come in?” Siobhan was still holding up the photograph.
“Couldn’t tell you.”
“More than once?”
The doorbell rang. Ricky ignored it. He’d missed his morning shave, started rubbing the back of his hand against his chin. More men, carrying their jackets, shoes not quite laced, were making to exit. As they pulled open the door, the clients outside — a couple of drunken businessmen — stumbled in.
“Laura on tonight?” one of them asked. He noticed Siobhan and proffered a smile, his eyes running the length of her. The phone started ringing.
“Ricky will be with you in a minute, gentlemen,” Siobhan said coldly, “as soon as he’s finished helping me with my inquiries.”
“Christ,” the man hissed. His friend had flopped into a chair, was asking where “the burdz” were. The first man hauled him back to his feet.
“Polis, Charlie,” was the explanation.
“Come back in ten minutes!” Ricky called out, but Siobhan doubted the men would be back, not for a while.
“I seem to be bad for business,” Siobhan said with a smile.
Hynds appeared at the inner doorway. “It’s a bloody maze back there. Stairs and doors and I don’t know what. There’s even a sauna, would you believe. How are we doing?”
“Ricky here was just about to tell me if Mr. Marber was a regular.”
Hynds nodded, reached over and picked up the still-ringing phone. “Sauna Paradiso, DC Hynds speaking.” He waited, then looked at the receiver. “Hung up,” he said with a shrug.
“Look, he came in a few times,” Ricky burst out. “I’m not always on shift, you know.”
“Daytime or evenings?”
“Evenings, I think.”
“What did he call himself?”
Ricky shook his head. “Eddie, maybe.”
Hynds had a question. “Did he take a shine to any one girl in particular?”
Ricky shook his head again. Another phone was sounding: the theme to Mission: Impossible. It was Ricky’s mobile. He unclipped it from his trouser belt, held it to his ear.
“Hello?” He listened for a few moments, his back straightening. “It’s under control,” he said. Then he looked up at Siobhan. “Still here, yes.”
Siobhan knew: it was the owner of the sauna. Maybe one of the girls had called him. She held out a hand.
“She wants to talk to you,” Ricky said, then he listened again and shook his head, eyes still on Siobhan. “Do I need to show them the books?” He blurted this out, as Hynds started prizing a hand beneath the ledger. Ricky’s free hand came down and stopped him.
“I said I can handle it,” Ricky said more firmly, before terminating the call. His face had hardened.
“I’ve told you what I know,” he said, clipping the phone back on his belt, his free hand still resting on the closed ledger.
“Mind if I talk to the girls?” Siobhan asked.
“Be my guest,” Ricky said, his face breaking into a smile.
When Siobhan stepped over the threshold, she knew the place was empty. She saw shower cubicles, lockers, a wooden coffin of a sauna. Stairs down to the rooms where the girls worked. No windows: the downstairs was below ground level. She peered into one room. It smelled perfumed. There was a deep bath in one corner, lots of mirrors. The lighting was almost nonexistent.
“What’s going on, Ricky?”
The young man shook his head at them, then met Siobhan’s gaze. “I might have seen him,” he admitted. “But that could just be because his face was in the paper.”
“It was,” Siobhan agreed, nodding.
“I mean, we get a lot of faces in here.”
“And you take down their details?” Siobhan was looking at the ledger.
“Just the first name, plus the girl’s.”
“How does it work, Ricky? Punters sit in here, choose a girl . . . ?”
Ricky nodded. “What goes on once they’re in a suite is their business. Maybe they just want a back rub and a bit of chat.”
“How often did he come in?” Siobhan was still holding up the photograph.
“Couldn’t tell you.”
“More than once?”
The doorbell rang. Ricky ignored it. He’d missed his morning shave, started rubbing the back of his hand against his chin. More men, carrying their jackets, shoes not quite laced, were making to exit. As they pulled open the door, the clients outside — a couple of drunken businessmen — stumbled in.
“Laura on tonight?” one of them asked. He noticed Siobhan and proffered a smile, his eyes running the length of her. The phone started ringing.
“Ricky will be with you in a minute, gentlemen,” Siobhan said coldly, “as soon as he’s finished helping me with my inquiries.”
“Christ,” the man hissed. His friend had flopped into a chair, was asking where “the burdz” were. The first man hauled him back to his feet.
“Polis, Charlie,” was the explanation.
“Come back in ten minutes!” Ricky called out, but Siobhan doubted the men would be back, not for a while.
“I seem to be bad for business,” Siobhan said with a smile.
Hynds appeared at the inner doorway. “It’s a bloody maze back there. Stairs and doors and I don’t know what. There’s even a sauna, would you believe. How are we doing?”
“Ricky here was just about to tell me if Mr. Marber was a regular.”
Hynds nodded, reached over and picked up the still-ringing phone. “Sauna Paradiso, DC Hynds speaking.” He waited, then looked at the receiver. “Hung up,” he said with a shrug.
“Look, he came in a few times,” Ricky burst out. “I’m not always on shift, you know.”
“Daytime or evenings?”
“Evenings, I think.”
“What did he call himself?”
Ricky shook his head. “Eddie, maybe.”
Hynds had a question. “Did he take a shine to any one girl in particular?”
Ricky shook his head again. Another phone was sounding: the theme to Mission: Impossible. It was Ricky’s mobile. He unclipped it from his trouser belt, held it to his ear.
“Hello?” He listened for a few moments, his back straightening. “It’s under control,” he said. Then he looked up at Siobhan. “Still here, yes.”
Siobhan knew: it was the owner of the sauna. Maybe one of the girls had called him. She held out a hand.
“She wants to talk to you,” Ricky said, then he listened again and shook his head, eyes still on Siobhan. “Do I need to show them the books?” He blurted this out, as Hynds started prizing a hand beneath the ledger. Ricky’s free hand came down and stopped him.
“I said I can handle it,” Ricky said more firmly, before terminating the call. His face had hardened.
“I’ve told you what I know,” he said, clipping the phone back on his belt, his free hand still resting on the closed ledger.
“Mind if I talk to the girls?” Siobhan asked.
“Be my guest,” Ricky said, his face breaking into a smile.
When Siobhan stepped over the threshold, she knew the place was empty. She saw shower cubicles, lockers, a wooden coffin of a sauna. Stairs down to the rooms where the girls worked. No windows: the downstairs was below ground level. She peered into one room. It smelled perfumed. There was a deep bath in one corner, lots of mirrors. The lighting was almost nonexistent.
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