Behind Dead Eyes (DC Ian Bradshaw #2) - Howard Linskey Page 0,97

alarm, since he didn’t have a copy. The other doorman remained, towering over Tom, who took a long drink from his expensive bottle of beer. He had a feeling that, either way, he wouldn’t be standing with it there for much longer.

Moments later Tom was in a first-floor office with his arms outstretched while one of the doormen ran his hands briskly up and down his body. ‘First time I’ve been patted down before an interview,’ said Tom, ‘but I suppose you can’t be too careful.’

‘You claim you’re a journalist,’ answered Andre Devine from behind his desk, ‘but I cannot afford to believe everyone I meet.’

‘It’s still dangerous to own a club in Soho? Well I’m not carrying a weapon, only a pen.’

Devine was a big man with silver hair, which made it difficult to age him. He spoke with a slight accent; he could have been German or Swiss but his English was perfect. ‘The pen is mightier than the sword,’ he said, ‘but not as dangerous as a gun. Sit down, Mr Carney, and explain to me what a journalist is doing in my establishment. This is no brothel. My competitors are the Windmill Club and Paul Raymond, not some low-grade titty bar or coin-in-the-slot peep show. We are high end. I run a respectable place with very lovely girls. There’s full nudity, sure, but absolutely no sex on the premises and no soliciting from the ladies off-premises either. Go back out there,’ he urged Tom, ‘try and get one girl, any of them, to come back to your hotel room tonight for money and see how far you get.’

‘I don’t doubt it – but I’m not writing a story on prostitution in Soho, or anywhere else. I’m not actually writing a story at all in fact.’

‘A journalist who does not write stories?’ Devine raised his eyebrows.

Tom explained how he had travelled from the north-east to investigate Sandra Jarvis’s disappearance and her link with Diane, though he did not admit he was working with the police. He was a private contractor, hired by concerned relatives in Newcastle. Tom realised the bouncer had given Devine the photograph, which was face up on the man’s desk. ‘I’m trying to find the girl on the right.’

Andre Devine surveyed the photograph then said, ‘I do not recognise her,’ and he frowned. ‘This girl is far too young in any case.’

‘Even with false documents?’

‘You think a fake ID will get her through this door? They would send her away. Nobody works here who is under twenty-one. If you want a teenager to dance for you, we send you a girl who is older but looks younger – and there are plenty of girls to choose from because the money is very good. We have too much to lose using underage girls. They would close me down. Tell me why I would do it? For one punter maybe who likes them very young? No, not here.’

‘Then why would she have your business card in her jacket pocket?’ asked Tom.

‘I don’t know,’ Devine said. He thought for a moment. ‘Maybe someone gave her the card and she tried for a job but was turned away?’ He handed the photograph back to Tom. ‘Or …’

‘Or?’

‘Someone wants to make trouble for me. Isn’t that the most obvious possibility?’

Tom didn’t make a habit of betraying his inner thoughts but for once he felt there was no harm in it for he was angry now about his wasted trip. Devine wasn’t acting like a man with something to hide. ‘I’m beginning to think that it is,’ he said. ‘Thanks for seeing me. Please call me if she does turn up here.’

Tom knew that Devine could have been lying to him and that Diane might be hiding out back somewhere or just enjoying a night off. She could even be held in the building against her will, but he seriously doubted that. Devine sounded credible and his logic was irrefutable. He was making shedloads of money operating legitimately. Why would he jeopardise all of that to accommodate a teenage runaway?

‘Mr Carney,’ he said as Tom was making to leave, ‘it’s still no deal.’ When Tom narrowed his eyes at that, confused, Devine said, ‘When you are back in Newcastle, tell Mr McCree it’s no deal.’

‘What?’ asked Tom. ‘Is Jimmy McCree trying to buy you out? You’re a long way from his usual stomping ground.’

‘Forget it,’ Devine said and he spread his palms as if it was all a misunderstanding. ‘My