Strange Affair

“If it’s any consolation,” A

Dr. Lukas laughed. “Yes,” she said. “Ru

“Roy Banks was his name. What about Carmen Petri?”

Dr. Lukas gave A

“What do you mean?”

“Until Carmen, I could turn a blind eye, could even believe that what I was doing was good and that the girls had better lives as prostitutes here than they would in their war-torn villages and towns back home. I didn’t know the truth. Like everyone, I thought they chose to do what they did, that there must be something wrong with them to start with, something bad about them. I was naive.”

“How did Carmen change this?”

“The girls wouldn’t talk. I asked them about their lives but they refused to tell me anything. They were too scared. Carmen… she was a bit more confident, more intelligent… I don’t know. Perhaps it was even Je

“What was that?”

“She told me that one of the new girls had been locked in a small room and beaten because she refused to perform some vile sex act. She also told me that the girl had been on her way home from school in a small village in Bosnia when two men abducted her by knifepoint and forced her into prostitution. She was fifteen. That was the first time I realized that these girls didn’t start out one step from prostitution in the first place, that there was nothing ‘bad’ about them. They were normal girls, like you and me, and they were forced to do what they do. Like me, they fear for their families back home. Those who have families. These poor girls… He has them smuggled from Bosnia, Moldavia, Romania and Kosovo. Many are orphans because of the wars. When they have to leave the orphanages at sixteen, they often have no money and nowhere to go. His men are waiting for them on the doorstep. The girls are terrified of him. They won’t talk about what happens, but I’ve seen bruises, cuts sometimes. I didn’t ask questions, and I am not proud of that, but I saw. Then Carmen… she spoke out.”

“When was this?”

“A week ago last Monday.”

“What happened to her?”

“Nothing, as far as I know.”

“She’s not dead?”

“I don’t think so. I can’t see why she would be.”

“But if they thought she told you and Je

“I don’t think they knew what she told us, and she’s too valuable to them.”

“But they must have found out something.” A

“Perhaps I am wrong then. I don’t know. All I know about Carmen is what she told me. She got pregnant, so he sent her to me. I suppose the only unusual thing is that Carmen has decided to have the baby. She’s a devout Catholic and she refused to have a termination.”

“That’s permitted?”

“In some circumstances,” said Dr. Lukas. “It would depend on the loss of income. Carmen is one of the special girls, blessed with good looks and a fine figure. She is also a very intelligent girl and she speaks English very well. She was never a street prostitute, more what you would term a call girl.”

“So how is he going to make for his loss of income?”

“I can only guess,” said Dr. Lukas. “There are some men who like to have sex with pregnant women and are willing to pay extra for it. That way she would have fewer customers but make as much, or more, money.”

A

“Adoption. She spoke about the way they were taking care of her and feeding her well for a Mr. Garrett, who I assume is paying good money for Carmen’s baby.”

“Will you tell me the pimp’s name?”

“His real name is Hadeon Mazuryk. He calls himself Harry. His nickname is ‘Happy Harry’ because he looks eternally sad. He is not, of course, it’s just a freak of physiognomy.”

“Do you know where he keeps the girls?”

Dr. Lukas nodded. “There’s a house near King’s Cross. I went there once. An emergency. You must be careful, though.”

“Why?”

“He has a gun. I’ve seen it.”

Banks had raided Roy’s wardrobe again for suitable attire. He didn’t think he would get far in the Albion Club wearing jeans and a casual shirt. Trousers were a problem. Roy’s didn’t fit him and he had brought only one pair of trousers, which didn’t match any of Roy’s jackets. In the end he just had to hope the place was poorly lit so that black and navy blue didn’t look too bad together.

The man on the door, looking rather like a cross between a butler and a bouncer, asked him for his membership. Banks flashed his warrant card.

“Police? I hope there’s no trouble, sir?” he said.

“None at all,” said Banks. “Just a few questions and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Questions?”

“Yes. Were you on duty here last Friday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you remember Roy Banks arriving with Gareth Lambert?”

“Such a tragedy about Mr. Banks. The perfect gentleman. Who could do such a thing?”

“Who indeed? But did you see them arrive?”

“Yes. It would have been about ten o’clock.”

“And were you here when they left?”

“They didn’t leave together. Mr. Banks left first, at about twelve-thirty, and Mr. Lambert stayed much later. Perhaps three o’clock, something like that.”

So Lambert was telling the truth about that much, at least. “Did they leave alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know where Mr. Banks went after he left?”

“Mr. Banks didn’t say. He just bade me good night as usual.”

“You didn’t call a minicab for him?”

“There are always plenty of taxis on The Strand, and there’s a taxi rank at Charing Cross.”

“Right,” said Banks. “Okay to go inside?”

“Please try not to upset the members.”

“I only want to talk to the staff.”

“Very well.”

Banks was surprised when he got inside the club. The door opened into a spacious low-ceilinged bar, and where he had been expecting dark wainscoting, chandeliers and waiters in burgundy bum-freezers, he found tubular fittings, halogen lighting and waitresses in pinstripe suits, with trousers rather than skirts. Fan-shaped splashes of color from well-hidden lights decorated the walls in shades of blue, pink, green, red and orange. The chrome tables were high, with matching leather-topped stools. This definitely wasn’t one of those old gentlemen’s clubs where the right sort of people stay over when they are down in the city for the weekend; it was primarily an up-market casino with bar and restaurant facilities, the sort of place where you might have found James Bond fifty years ago. Now it played host to a hip young crowd of stockbrokers, investment bankers and the occasional old smuggler like Gareth Lambert.

As it turned out, the dress code was also a lot more relaxed than Banks had expected – he had never been to a club before and he still thought in terms of Lord Peter Wimsey and Bertie Wooster – and he was surprised to see that not everyone was wearing a tie or a suit. Business casual was in. The place wasn’t very busy, but a few people sat around drinking and chatting, and a group of Japanese businessmen had the one large table by the far wall, where they were entertaining some expensive-looking women. Most of the people in the place seemed to be in their thirties, which made Roy and Lambert slightly older than the average member. Nobody paid Banks any undue attention. There was no music.