Fragile Minds Page 0,54

right idiot.’

‘Why?’

‘All those quotes I gave the papers, about her being an inspiration. And she’d been lying the whole time. I mean, why would you?’

‘Yes, well. That’s why I’m here actually.’

‘Oh?’

I had her attention now.

‘I’m trying to understand why she lied. I found this photo.’ I dug it out of my bag. ‘It belonged to her. Look.’ I pointed at the blue biro circles around her and the other girls’ faces. ‘Do you know what this means?’

‘Oh my God.’ Lucie wrinkled up her little nose. ‘That’s really creepy. Why the fuck was she doing that?’

‘I don’t know. I kind of hoped you might. Do you know who the Queen of Hearts is?’

Lucie shoved the photo back at me. ‘Haven’t got a clue. And I don’t want one either. I’m really pissed off with her, silly cow. I mean, I know she’s dead, but honestly.’ The lift doors slid open and Lucie practically jumped inside. ‘I trusted her. I told her things—’ She broke off.

‘What kind of things?’ I prompted.

‘Just things. Never mind.’

‘Have you got Sadie or Manda’s numbers?’ I asked, slightly desperately, placing my arm against the door to stop the lift leaving.

‘Manda’s round the corner at the Coliseum. And Sadie—’ she stooped to press the button inside, ‘Sadie’s missing, poor thing.’

‘Missing?’ I gaped at her. And then I had a flash of the television in the restaurant last night with Rafe. I hadn’t absorbed it properly.

‘Sorry, but I’m in a rush. Are you all right by the way?’ she smirked. ‘You look a bit – mad.’

The door slid shut in my face. I couldn’t help feeling, as I walked away, that the last look on Lucie’s face had been one of victory.

FRIDAY 21ST JULY SILVER

They went via the Royal Opera House to see Lucie Duffy, who wasn’t answering her phone. Kenton stayed in the car to take a call from the Yorkshire police about the Malverns, whilst Silver asked Reception to call the young dancer down this time. He didn’t fancy watching her contort that lithe little body this morning. Standing in the huge foyer, Silver flicked through leaflets about dancers digging graves on stage, and a performance from Japan featuring nuns, nudity and soft porn. Bizarre, what they called art.

Lucie appeared five minutes later, as pink-cheeked as yesterday but wrapped in a long, blue cardigan today.

‘Any news?’

‘Nope,’ she shook her head, lowering her lashes so he couldn’t see her eyes, wispy tendrils of damp hair curling into her slender neck. ‘I tried the most recent idiot last night. Roberto. Hasn’t seen her for weeks, he said. There was another one, Mikey. I only met him once. I left him a message but he hasn’t called back yet. There was an older guy I met once – but—’

‘But what?’

‘I can’t remember his name. A one-night stand, I think. He was foreign I think.’

Silver wasn’t surprised; he’d had no joy with the boyfriends either.

‘But I think she’d lost interest in men recently,’ Lucie said, looking faintly appalled.

‘Really? Are you worried, Lucie, about your friend?’ Silver was genuinely curious. This girl was difficult to read: both hard and soft; not necessarily in the right places.

She pouted. ‘Of course I am. What do you take me for?’ She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes now. ‘I’m not heartless, DI Silver.’

‘DCI Silver,’ he corrected automatically.

‘Ooh, very important.’ She tapped his chest with a dainty forefinger. ‘Do you have a uniform?’

‘Only for special occasions.’ He sighed internally. Men were meant to be the uncomplicated creatures sexually, but actually, in his experience, women weren’t so far behind. It was just what happened the morning after that they seemed to differ on. ‘I think we have to assume your friend Sadie might be in trouble. I’m on my way to speak to the manager of the club she danced at. It was Sugar and Spice, was it?’

‘There were a few actually. But yeah, it was mainly the big one at London Bridge, I think. Sugar and Spice.’

Every copper in London knew the huge lap-dancing club, which was fast becoming renowned globally. Started in Moscow by a Russian oligarch with mafia connections, the London venue had opened five years ago and had cultivated a celebrity clientele and much media furore – until a gangland shooting behind the building two years ago had threatened the club with closure. Everyone used it: bankers, politicians, barrow-boys and aristocrats; footballers and female journalists who considered themselves cool because they wrote clever articles proclaiming their support. They boasted of tucking tenners