Never Seen Again by Paul Finch

Author:Paul Finch
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orion

29

When Anushka found a quiet side street, she parked her Fiat and sat nervously.

Now that she was here, the reality of what she’d done was kicking in. From the outset, she’d opted to ‘dress down’, donning jeans, trainers and a well-worn T-shirt. She also had a scruffy anorak and one of her older handbags, inside of which she stowed a small amount of money and her Essex Enquirer business card. None of this made her feel armour-plated. However, she commenced strolling, and at first Keppel Hall didn’t feel especially risky. The buildings around here were old and scabby, some disused, but mid-afternoon had felt as if it might be a relatively safe time.

‘Them jeans touch where they fit, don’t they, love?’ shouted a fat, bald-headed man, his unbuttoned shirt showing multiple neck chains, as he sat on the wall opposite. He had two equally disreputable-looking characters alongside him. All three were eating bags of chips.

Anushka strolled on, undeterred. She had to come back from here with something. Norm and David would have words to say as it was, but particularly if this trip proved fruitless.

The first person she approached was a shapely blonde, whom she’d glimpsed swaying down an alley wearing a short denim skirt, thigh boots and a strappy top. Anushka hurried to catch up, only for the girl to swing around. Up close, she wasn’t even glamour-girl sexy, with a thin, pinched face, too-heavy make-up and dry, bottle-bleached hair.

‘Sorry to scare you,’ Anushka said. ‘Can I talk to you for a minute?’

The girl regarded her suspiciously.

Anushka dug into her bag, realising that she should have had her ID in hand already.

‘I can jill you off,’ the girl said, her accent Geordie. ‘Cost you fifty.’

‘Oh, no …’ Anushka found herself blushing. ‘I’m not looking for sex …’

‘Don’t waste my fucking time, then. Bitch.’ The girl spun and strode away.

Anushka watched her go. The girl halted at the next street corner, where another similarly clad woman stepped out and spoke to her, the pair of them glancing back along the alley. Anushka headed the other way. When she looked back a half-minute later, one of them was on the phone.

The working girls would have learned that she was on the plot at some point, she supposed.

She wandered the maze of alleys, again spying women hanging around in ones or twos, but this time she avoided them, only finding what she was looking for when she spotted the neon glow of a gaudy shopfront.

As a junior on Crime Beat, she remembered hearing David comment how the sex-for-sale industry had changed beyond recognition since the advent of the internet. Porno cinemas, for example, no longer existed, while sex shops were often fronts for so-called ‘interactive services’. These would be organised operations, she reasoned, so, even though they wouldn’t necessarily be any more co-operative, they’d probably be safer for her to poke her nose into.

This first premises was every bit as seedy as she’d imagined, comprising a single garishly lit room, its floor made from grubby lino, its walls lined with shelves on which imported magazines were visible.

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