Working Girls Read Online Free PDF Page B

tea.”
    Good start, thought Bev.
    The girl pointed a finger with a badly-bitten nail. “I’m not talking to no one in this place. I’ve come to pick up Shell.” She looked at Vince. “When can I see
her?”
    Vince shrugged, nodded towards Bev. She jerked her head, signalling the girl to follow her. “We need to talk.”
    Something in Bev’s voice pre-empted another verbal attack. Vicki stared, nodded, said: “Okay.”
    “We’ll be in number three, Vince.”
    “Hey! I ain’t done nuffin’.”
    Bev smiled reassurance, at the same time registering the fact that Miss Flinn clearly knew her way around Highgate nick. “I know that, Victoria. But we need somewhere private.”
    The girl nodded again, gave what Bev suspected was a smile. Bev had to stifle a grin as the girl reached up to plant a kiss on Vince’s cheek. “Ta, Vinnie. And I will have that cup of
char. Four sugars. And a couple of Hob Nobs.”
    Bev noted the relief on Vince’s face. He was back on an even keel. Tea was no problem. Sympathy for a sexy slip of a girl floundering in his arms and playing havoc with his equilibrium was
something else.
    Bev had reckoned on a bit of ranting and raving, a few screams maybe. But not this. Vicki was silent, still, as motionless as her best mate in the morgue. Perched on the edge
of the desk, Bev watched a solitary tear slide past the girl’s nose and drop from the bottom of her chin. It was the only discernible movement. She was seventeen, going on seven. A kid who
wanted to go home to mum. That’s if she had a mum – or a home. Bev would give her right arm to know what was going on behind those huge blue eyes.
    “When did you last see Michelle, love?”
    Vicki was staring into space. Had she heard? Was she in shock?
    “D’you want a doctor, Vicki?” Bev stroked the bony shoulder. “Is there anyone I can call?”
    Another tear. Another damp trail.
    Bev knelt in front of Vicki, took her hands. They were cold and could be cleaner. She cupped them in the warmth of her own. No reaction. Bev might have been invisible. She rose, gently helped
the girl to her feet. They were much the same height. It was probably the only thing they had in common. Bev searched her face, looking for answers to a million questions. It was blank. A plain
cover for the hurt and pain Bev knew were there. She drew her close and stroked her hair, spoke the only words she could think of. “I’m so sorry, Vicki. So very sorry.”
    It was like the snap of a hypnotist’s fingers. The girl circled her arms round Bev’s waist and cried like a baby. “Why Shell? Why little Shell? She was only a kid.”
    The words came between shuddering breaths and pitiful sobs. Bev held her tightly, waiting until she was calmer.
    “That’s what we have to find out, Vicki. Then we can nick the bastard who did it. Get him behind bars where he belongs. But we’re going to need your help.”
    Bev held her breath. It could go either way. Asking a girl to grass on a pimp was tantamount to putting her neck on the block. Bev counted silently to ten, then twenty. She hit twenty-nine
before Vicki pulled away. Bev saw the fear in the girl’s eyes, and she saw the grief, and she saw something else: fury.
    “You’ve got it.” Vicki brushed away a tear with the heel of her hand. “And then you can throw away the fucking key.”
    “Call for you, guv. Some git with a shoulder on his chip.”
     
    DC Darren Newman? Sounding tetchy? Rare as a clockwork CD was that. Byford snatched up his extension, wondering who’d managed to wind up the famously phlegmatic Dazza.
“Superintendent Byford.”
    “Listen up. And listen good. You’ve had enough warnings.”
    Byford ran a finger along his eyebrow. He didn’t know the voice but the drift was all too familiar. “Who is this?”
    “It doesn’t matter who I am. Just hear this.” That wouldn’t be difficult. A megaphone was quieter, even without the loud Birmingham accent. “The tarts. In Thread
Street.