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19
MARK
It’s takenall day to track down anyone who even remotely knew last night’s victim, Tara Merc. I wasn’t overly surprised during the morning meeting when we still had nothing, because I know these things can take time. The address on her ID card turned out to be a private house she never actually lived in, and the owner had no idea who she was or how she was able to list it as her permanent residence.
Sojer had people searching for her all day finally got the call that they found where she’s been living about an hour after Eva and I returned to the office.
Eva was busy tracking down friends and acquaintances to learn more about the journalist, and I’m glad she didn’t insist on going back out into the cold with us.
Sojer and I are standing by the tall, double-sided doors of a decrepit three-story house just outside the city center and not far from the spot where Tara’s body was found. The house is right on the sidewalk of one of the main roads leading into the city center and near the tunnel under Castle Hill.
Purple, red and blue lights are on in several of the rooms and loud electronic music is blaring from more than one source. We’ve been ringing the single doorbell and knocking for a while now and no one’s answering.
“What is this place?” I ask Sojer.
“A dodgy place, that’s what,” he says and bangs on the doors again. “Most likely a whorehouse.”
So here we are again—squarely in the land of dead sex workers. There’s no doubt in my mind that this place is a brothel of some sort. And I don’t like this next level of alignment of Tara’s death with Eva and The Fairytale Killer.
“Stop making all that damn noise,” a man’s voice reaches us from one of the windows above our heads. “We’re trying to have some fun here.”
“And we’re investigating the murder of a woman who lived here,” Sojer counters, showing the man his badge. “Come down and let us in.”
The man forgets to close his mouth as he stares down at us.
“Now!” Sojer says. “We’re not leaving.”
I’m not convinced this harsh way of talking to this man is the best way to go, especially after he slams the window shut so hard the glass rattling can be heard over the music.
But a few minutes later, the door finally opens. The man from the window is standing in the gap. He’s short and slight, and has his thin black hair combed over the large bald spot on top of his head messily. Two larger men are standing behind him, both as tall as me, muscular and wearing all black.
“This is a private residence,” the man says. “You have no business being here. What do you want?”
Sojer searches for a photo of the victim on his phone and sticks it in his face. “Did this woman live here?”
The man doesn’t even blink. “She may have done. I don’t know. Lots of young women live here.”
“We’re not leaving until we speak to someone who can confirm this for us,” Sojer hisses. “I can make your life very difficult, and I will if you don’t cooperate.”
The man scoffs, but turns and instructs one of the bouncers behind him to get someone named Smila.
“We’ve done nothing wrong,” he says to us. “All the girls are happy here.”
I very much doubt that, and the sight of the tiny, red-haired woman who comes to the door a moment later confirms that. She’s wearing a skimpy silver dress and matching platform heels under a thick black parka a few sizes too large for her. The heavy makeup on her face does nothing to conceal the dark circles under her eyes. But the look in them is sharp and intelligent, meaning she’s probably not strung out on anything and might even give us some useful information. I was beginning to fear this visit was a waste of time—time we don’t have and could be better spent doing something else.
“They want to talk about Tara,” the bald man says as he grabs her arm and pulls her towards us. “Be quick about it. I need you upstairs.”
Then he leaves her there, telling the two gorillas to follow him.
Smila comes all the way outside and closes the door behind her.
“You’re here about Tara?” she asks in a voice that is deeper than I expected it to be.
“Were you two friends?” I ask and she nods.
“Let’s take a walk,” she says and sways along the sidewalk in the direction of the river and the city center without waiting for us.
“It’s not bad for us here,” she says. “And we’re all here voluntarily. Tara was too. She was down on her luck and had nowhere else to go.”
