Page 78 of Savage Justice

We drop the latch on the outer door to prevent anyone else coming in and discovering the body. We prefer to clean up our own mess and not involve the authorities. Then we arm ourselves with all the keys taken from the hooks and climb the stairs to the first floor.

All three rooms here are empty and locked. We knock on each then let ourselves in. They look to be undisturbed since the last housekeeping visit. The beds are neatly made up, and stocks of toiletries, including generous supplies of condoms, are laid out in the bathrooms.

We move up to the next floor and find much the same result.

“This is weird. It’s like the Marie Celeste,” I whisper as we start on the third staircase to the top floor.

Scowling, Tony follows me.

“Where the fuck is Mulligan? He should be here by now.”

I nod. I’d have expected him to rock up and find the outer door locked, but he’d spot our vehicle and know we were here. He should be hammering on the door. The fact that he isn’t suggests he knew something we didn’t and is giving the place a wide berth.

I try the first door on this landing, and I’m not surprised to find it locked. I try one of the remaining keys, but it won’t turn. I try the other two. Neither works. I go through the rigmarole again before I finally conclude that it’s locked from the inside.

I peer at the door. “Does that look right to you?” I point to the outer casing of the cylinder lock.

H squints at it over my shoulder. “It’s been bent. Damaged. Maybe someone forced it…”

“Whatever. Right, then. We do it the old-fashioned way.” I line up my boot and deliver a sharp blow just below the handle. The timber surround shatters, and the door flies open.

“Holy fuck.”

The first thing to hit me is the stench. A decaying corpse is not exactly subtle. The scene is not one of quite so much carnage as the ground floor flat, but it’s grisly, nonetheless. The girl is dead, and not recent, I’d day. At least a day or two, going buy the smell. My guess would be she’s been beaten then strangled, and whoever did it has dropped the latch on their way out, somehow sabotaged the mechanism so it couldn’t be unlocked again, and returned the key to the cubicle downstairs.

She’s naked, so I drop a blanket over her. It seems the least I can do for her now.

There’s no question of leaving the room undisturbed for the scenes of crime guys. We won’t be involving the police in our business, but that doesn’t mean we’ll do nothing.

Tony checks the other rooms but finds them empty, while I get started on the phone calls. I begin with Ethan, who will instigate the inquiry. By the time I hang up he’ll have Frankie and Casey digging through CCTV, bank records, phone and text logs to establish exactly who’s been through here in the last few days, and more particularly, earlier today. We’ll have men interviewing all the girls who use this place regularly, and of course, Albert Mulligan.

Tracking that weasel down will be our next job.

I place a call to the clean-up team, too. They’ll take pictures before removing any and all trace of the violence done here. We’ll want this place up and running again within the day.

I clatter back down the stairs and force the half-door on the cubicle. Inside, I find the rickety old laptop which Mrs Ellison used to record day-to-day business. She had the sense to password protect it, so I tuck it under my arm to take it to Frankie to hack into.

We check for any other paperwork but find nothing.

“The cameras look to be working okay,” Tony observes, peering up into the corner of the cubicle. The small, winking red light indicates a functional device. “Should be something on there. Where’s the monitoring station?”

“Could be on this.” I tap the laptop, “or more likely in her flat.”

“I’ll check.” He leaves me to do a final scan of the tiny office.

I hear his footsteps coming back.

“Find anything?” I exit the cubicle. “We should wait for the cleaners to get here—”

“Let’s make the trip worth their while, then.”

I whirl at the unfamiliar voice, but not fast enough. I let out a sharp cry when white heat explodes between my ribs.

My last thought as I crumple. I’ve been stabbed.

CHAPTER 20

Molly