Free The City Trap by John Dalton Page A

everyday punters. Des propped up the bar and smiled at Eileen.
    ‘Here’s to foot and mouth and mad, mad cows!’
    ‘Scrapie with pork scratchings!’
    ‘Love it – here’s a battery chicken in your eye!’
    ‘And a crate of veal to go with it!’
    ‘The way it goes, eh Eileen, down the tubes.’
    ‘Yep, and all you can try to do is go happy. Speaking of which, you almost seem happy yourself.’
    ‘Don’t be conned; a temporary aberration I’m sure.’
    ‘But that Miranda’s finally gone where all the mad cows go?’
    ‘Well, I dunno. Can you believe what the authorities say?’
    ‘That sandwich you’re eating is not mad, Des!’
    He grinned at Eileen. He’d forgotten how well they got on. But then that was the nature of her job and nothing special.
    ‘So tell me, what’s your view on Claudette’s death?’
    ‘Jesus, Des, I don’t know.’
    ‘What did you make of her, though? She was in here quite a bit.’
    ‘Well, she spread herself around, you know, liked chatting. She’d rub shoulders with anyone at the bar.’
    ‘What, for any purposes?’
    ‘Oh yes, she was always on the lookout, you could tell. Who’s who and what they’ve got to offer.’
    ‘Anyone in particular?’
    ‘I wouldn’t have noticed. It gets too busy in here, but it makes you think.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You know, the creep who killed her. He could be a customer. I could be serving the bastard beer!’
    The first name on Des’s list was Sharon Mason. He found her at her home in the red-light district and she was happy to talk. With Bertha’s recommendation behind
him, Des walked into a kitchen with shopping on the table and toys on the floor. Sharon was a slim young woman with mousy hair. She had cute, youthful looks that Des guessed might help with her
work. But Sharon was clocked off and determined to be her normal self.
    ‘Yeh, I was pretty friendly with her. You know, we hung around the same pitch at night, had a laugh, looked out for each other.’
    ‘You got any idea about her death? See anything funny?’
    ‘Nothing really. We’d come across some weird johns and piss-taking kids and stuff, but that’s kind of normal. There was nothing scary that I remember, nothing we had really bad
feelings about.’
    ‘You don’t think it was a lone nutcase?’
    ‘I doubt it, she wasn’t even on the game that night.’
    ‘So what do you think?
    ‘I dunno. You know, you think about it because it could’ve been me, but . . .’
    Sharon began to sort out the shopping. She did it in a very ordered and meticulous way and Des wondered if she was like that with her punters. The thought made him shudder.
    ‘What’s the talk among the girls?’
    ‘Well, there’s a feeling she was up to something, like she was doing something on the side and it blew up in her face.’
    ‘No ideas?’
    ‘Money, it had to do with making money. That’s all she ever talked about, making money and getting away.’
    ‘With Vin?’
    Sharon made a face. ‘Vin was in the doghouse,’ she said.
    ‘So who?’
    ‘Sod knows. You’re gonna have to talk to Pauline about that.’
    Nothing much there. Des left Sharon to her domesticity. House to clean, meals to prepare and kids to organize.
    Pauline lived two streets down. Des took the opportunity for a short stroll in the sunshine and the rare chance to indulge in feeling good. A lover and a job all in one day.
Can’t be bad . The feeling didn’t last. Pauline wasn’t at home. A chunky guy with a huge black moustache was. Des should’ve seen the potential for trouble, the way the
guy squared up to him and glared, but Des was in the pink and slack because of it.
    ‘Hi there,’ Des said with a smirk. ‘I’m McGinlay, a private investigator, and I want to speak to Pauline.’
    The man in the door didn’t reply, merely intensified his glare and somehow filled out the doorway more.
    ‘You get me, yeh? Pauline? I mean, that moustache, there is a mouth under it, isn’t there?’
    ‘Huh,