Passion Killers

  Passion Killers

  Linda Regan

  Praise for Behind You! Linda Regan’s sizzling debut novel from Crème de la Crime:

  What a great writer Linda Regan is.

  (She) gets the atmosphere spot on – no doubt due to her own theatrical experience. The infighting and envy that erupt into violence and murder make a nailbiting mystery. I loved it. Don’t miss it.

  - Richard Briers CBE

  Linda Regan certainly knows her stuff about the clashes of theatrical egos, which can so easily lead to murder.

  - Simon Brett

  Linda Regan brings her characters to life and cunningly uses her personal experience to strip away the glamour and reveal the other side of show business.

  - Jimmy Perry - creator of Dads’ Army and Hi-de-Hi

  … the narrative (is) both readable and believable… For a first novel it is extremely well written.

  - Jim Kennedy, Encore magazine

  … diverting reading for a winter afternoon…

  - Sharon Wheeler, Reviewing the Evidence

  Linda shines an intrusive light into the dark nooks and crannies of provincial theatre… gives the reader a real insight into what really goes on behind the scenes…

  -Amazon

  … what will linger longest in my memory is the tentative relationship between Banham and Grainger, which is sensitively done. A sound debut; I look forward to Linda Regan’s next book.

  - Martin Edwards, Tangled Web

  Creme de la Crime… so far have not put a foot wrong.

  - Reviewing the Evidence

  First published in 2007

  by Crème de la Crime

  P O Box 523, Chesterfield, S40 9AT

  Copyright © 2007 Linda Regan

  The moral right of Linda Regan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Typesetting by Yvette Warren

  Cover design by Yvette Warren

  Front cover image by Peter Roman

  ISBN 978-0-9551589-8-8

  A CIP catalogue reference for this book is available from the British Library

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by

  Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berkshire

  www.cremedelacrime.com

  About the author:

  Linda Regan is a successful actress. She is married to the actor Brian Murphy, and they live in Kent with their dog Mildred.

  In no particular order, I am indebted to:

  My wonderful editor and fellow chocolate worshipper, Crème de la Crime’s very own Lynne Patrick, without who life and this book wouldn’t be as good.

  DC Paul Steed for all his advice with police procedure and protocol. I truly don’t know where I’d be without that help.

  Dr John Hunt, for medical advice, expertise and patience way beyond the call of duty.

  For the supply of artistic elastoplasts and endless pep talks, I thank my wonderful husband Brian Murphy.

  The talented and brilliant crime writer Lesley Horton, for invaluable advice and true friendship, and for dusting me down and helping me back on track.

  And finally, millions, billions, and trillions of thank you’s to everyone who read my last book Behind You! for all the uplifting letters you sent me – because without you, this book wouldn’t have been commissioned.

  I am lucky enough to have been blessed in life with a bunch of wild but wonderful girlfriends, who have stood by me through thick and thin. (And I don’t just mean my waistline.)

  Some of you I met through the Grand Order of Lady Ratlings, the showbusiness charity, who, besides helping anyone in need, stand by each other. Others I have known since our schooldays, and others I met on theatre engagements or television shows.

  You all know who you are; I call you my PinC friends (Partners in Chablis!). We have laughed, cried, eaten chocolate, and drunk our way through life – and this book is dedicated to you.

  It’s also for my wonderful husband Brian Murphy – not least because he looks better in a dress than any woman I know! And if that seems a bit of a puzzle in itself, check out his acting credits – I think he’s played more women’s parts than I have!

  Table of Contents

  July 1988

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  JULY 1988

  Shaheen lifted nervous fingers and touched the throbbing, delicate area under her left eye. The flesh was puffy, and its normal light brown colour had a mauve sheen. By tomorrow she’d have a whoppa. But this was nothing, she thought, glancing in the mirror at the other five girls who were happily dressing behind her. A much bigger problem faced them all, and it was because of her.

  She released the hook on the black and red lace suspender belt and peeled the sweaty black fishnet stockings down her shapely brown legs, leaving only the red satin g-string that was the uniform of the Scarlet Pussy Club strippers.

  She tossed the stockings toward the grubby white plastic washing basket that overflowed in the corner. They missed. Susan, who was standing stark naked by the basket, picked them up and threw them in.

  Shaheen smiled a thank-you. In the mirror she watched Olivia and Katie, sitting together as always, on a flimsy wooden bench. They were both tall, stunning blondes with perfect bodies and dynamic looks, alike enough to pass for twins. Shaheen could see why Ahmed had chosen to use them as a double lesbian act. As solo strippers they were naturally sexy and scintillating, and the punters loved them; but the money-grabbing, perverted bastard was shrewd enough to know that together they would pack his seedy club to capacity. Not that they were lesbians – not even close.

  Olivia’s enormous bosom welled over the edge of the strawberry pink boob tube she was now dressed in. Katie was wearing an almost identical top, in pastel blue, and although her boobs were not large, they were in proportion to her tiny little waist and snug bottom.

  The other three girls were all naked and sharing the single towel Ahmed provided. They took turns to wipe the sweat from their overheated bodies before clambering into their street clothes. Shaheen knew they were all looking forward to being paid and having Sunday off before another week of hard work and degradation began.

  None of them had any idea.

  She dabbed brown powder over her bruised and aching eye, then reached for her short white rah-rah skirt and broderie anglaise top. She despised herself for what she was doing. She liked the girls, and they were kind to her and seemed to accept her. She didn’t think badly of them, but she’d had a different upbringing and she was still a virgin. Now Ahmed was going to take it out on them, and they didn’t deserve it. They needed their jobs here a lot more than she did.

  Shaheen’s parents had been good to her, put food in her mouth and given her a good education; they were even willing to pay for her to go
to college. So why had she been so stupid? They had shown her love, and she had repaid them by running from their suffocating ways to work in a Soho strip club? Three of these girls were students, trying to work their way through college. They needed their wages. They’d had to learn to strip in a way that turned the punters on, and made them pant all the way to the bar to purchase the over-priced drinks – and give in to Ahmed’s disgusting sexual demands. Shaheen was a virgin, and because he needed a brown-skinned girl, she had been excused the sex.

  Or so she thought. Now Ahmed had gone back on his word. He had told her the only pay she would get if he didn’t get his perks was another black eye, and this one really hurt. But worse still, he had said the other girls wouldn’t get their wages if she didn’t give in to him. The money wasn’t important to her; she could walk out and go home to her parents. But they had been kind to her, and she didn’t want to drop them in it like that. She just didn’t know what to do.

  “Thank the Lord it’s Saturday,” Theresa said in her soft Dublin accent, flinging her nun’s costume in the washing basket. “Money in my purse, and a day in bed.”

  Shaheen wanted to cry. How could she tell them it wasn’t going to happen?

  Kim was standing nude in the middle of the room, using the grubby towel to wipe the sweat that ran from the edge of her short brown hair down her long slender back.

  “It’s like an oven in here,” she said, fanning herself with the towel. “Shall I open the window and risk the stale curry from the gents’ urinal next door?”

  Theresa was now sitting on the floor, wearing nothing but her red uniform g-string and zipping scuffed red boots over her skinny, freckled legs. She tossed her mane of red hair out of her face. “Open the window, the smell of my feet is probably worse,” she joked.

  Susan bent forward, and her heavily peroxided, waist-length hair nearly touched the floor as she pulled a nylon brush through it. At twenty-one Susan was the oldest of the girls. She had been stripping all her working life, and had become a mother-figure to the others, guiding and protecting them. She lifted her head and grinned. “I thought I could smell cheese.”

  The other girls laughed, but Shaheen couldn’t.

  “What’s wrong, love?” Susan asked her. “You’re not yourself tonight.”

  She shook her head, but suddenly everything was too much. Covering her mouth with her hand, she burst into tears.

  Kim moved from the window and rubbed Shaheen gently on the back. “What is it?”

  “I didn’t do the sex bit for Ahmed,” Shaheen said. “He said as long as I stripped all the way and the punters liked me, he’d let me off because I’m a virgin.”

  “The punters love you,” Susan said, slipping an arm round her.

  Their concern made her feel worse. “Well, he’s gone back on his word. He hit me again when I pushed him away.” She gingerly stroked her swollen eye, and started to cry again. “I don’t know how to do a blow job, I’m a virgin,” she sobbed.

  “Perverted bastard,” Susan said. “I never fuckin’ gave him a blow job. That’s a wind-up.”

  The room went quiet.

  After a few seconds Katie said, “Olivia and I had to.”

  “He made us,” Olivia agreed.

  “I said I wanted to earn enough to go to drama school,” Katie told them, “and Olivia said she needed quick money to go to college too, to be a lawyer. Ahmed said it boiled down to the same thing – we both wanted to tell lies for a living. He said we’d be great as a double act. Then he said we had to prove ourselves and do the full lesbian job, as a sort of private audition, just for him.”

  Olivia giggled with embarrassment.

  “He knows we aren’t really lesbians,” Katie said. “He is a perve though. He was getting his rocks off while we did it.”

  Shaheen noticed Kim blush and look at the floor.

  Olivia nodded. “He was wanking while we were pretending to have it off. We couldn’t stop giggling. We only agreed because we needed the job so desperately.”

  “He shoved a big dildo up me,” Katie added. “It really hurt.”

  Olivia winced and nodded.

  The room fell silent again. Shaheen felt even worse.

  Kim said, “He wanted me to give him a blow job but I told him I was gay. I said I desperately needed money to go to ballet school and do a choreography course. So he made me masturbate to ballet music.” She shrugged. “I did it. I stripped off and spread my legs over a chair.” She flicked an embarrassed glance to Olivia and Katie. “I thought it was quite funny, till he stuck a rubber penis up my back passage and called me Dusty Springfield.”

  Shaheen was shocked. Suddenly she wanted to run home to her parents. But she was determined not to let these girls down.

  “Filthy fucker,” Susan spat.

  Theresa’s pale, freckled face suddenly turned pink. Against the red of her hair, Shaheen thought she looked like a Belisha beacon. “I did the full works,” she admitted in a whisper. “The electric bill was way overdue, and me mam’s off licence was refusing to give us any more on tick. Life with me mam without gin is unthinkable, so I just did it. Then the next night he made me give him a blow job. It was stinky and floppy and I’d rather not remember it, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Theresa slipped a cotton dress over her thin, freckled body, bare apart from the red satin g-string. As she reached behind her to pull the zip up, she said quietly, “If you don’t know how to do one, wait till someone you love shows you, that’s my advice.”

  Olivia smiled. “You’ve met that someone now.”

  “Good for you,” Katie added.

  Theresa blushed scarlet again, looking at Olivia. “You don’t mind me having him, do you?”

  Olivia shook her head. “If he makes you happy I’m delighted. It’s the least you deserve.”

  “He’s great,” Theresa said dreamily. “I’m really glad you ditched him for fat Kenneth.”

  Olivia pulled a white blouse around her shoulders and over the pink boob tube. “Brian’s too nice for me,” she said.

  “That’s not true,” Katie protested. “You deserve someone nice too.”

  “I can’t cope with nice people,” Olivia said. “Anyway, fat Kenneth is quite nice really.” She leaned in to the mirror to check the mascara around her wide violet eyes wasn’t smudged, then gave Shaheen a saucy smile. “He’s also stinking filthy rich. That’s a big turn-on for me. So you’re very welcome to nice Brian, Theresa.”

  “Sensible girl,” Susan said.

  “I’m going to make my own money,” Katie said. “That’s the only reason I’m doing this crap. I’m going to be a famous film star. Then I’ll love ’em and leave ’em, until I meet Mr Right. Then I’ll marry for love.”

  The atmosphere had lightened again, and Shaheen felt another surge of guilt. “Ahmed’s making threats,” she blurted out.

  “He’s always making threats.” Kim had been tying the strings of Shaheen’s wrap-around bodice; she stopped as she caught the other girl’s eye. “What do you mean?” she asked warily.

  “Money threats,” Shaheen said weakly.

  The girls exchanged glances. “Why didn’t you say so before?” Susan said, an edge creeping into her voice.

  “What threats, exactly?” Kim asked.

  “He says if I don’t let him have my virginity, he… he won’t pay any of you either. I… I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make trouble.”

  Five sets of eyes burned into her. Theresa shouted, “I’ve got to have that money tonight. Mam owes over two hundred pounds to different off-licences, and we’ve no food for the weekend, and…”

  “Oh, ’e’ll fucking pay us.” Susan’s tone was steely. “We’ve earned it, and we ain’t going to beg that fucker for nothing.”

  At first Shaheen had been shocked by Susan’s constant use of the f-word; before coming to the club she had barely heard it twice in her life, but now she heard it a few dozen times every night. It had taken some getting used to, but she had gro
wn to like Susan, and trust her as they all did.

  Katie looked up from her seat on the bench. “I’ll remember this,” she said. “When I’m a famous actress, I’ll use it for my motivation. How it felt to be afraid and desperate for the money I worked all week for in a ponky Soho strip club.”

  Olivia looked surprised. “I don’t think you should ever admit you did it. This is the pits.”

  “I’m not ashamed,” Kim said. “It’s all a form of art.”

  Susan’s dirty laugh was famous. “A blow job on Ahmed Abdullah ain’t fucking art!”

  “Don’t remind me,” Theresa said with a giggle. “It was like a mouldy chipolata sausage, and I thought he’d never come.”

  “We’ve all more than earned our wages,” Susan declared. “’E ain’t pulling that one.”

  “Didn’t you have to do anything for him?” Shaheen asked.

  Susan picked up the g-strings and oddments of clothing that littered the floor and threw them into the wash basket. “I used to be ’is bit on the side. I used to lie there and think of the money. I’m too old for ’im now, but that suits me fine.” She turned back to face them, looking first at Olivia, then at Theresa. “You don’t think this has got anything to do with Theresa and Brian, do you?”

  Theresa frowned. “Why should it have? He didn’t say anything when Olivia was with Brian.”

  Shaheen shook her head vehemently. “No, it’s all because of me. He said he’d withhold all our money until I did it with him.” Her hand went back to her cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s it, then.” Katie picked up her satchel bag. “I’m going to confront him. Who’s coming?”

  “Me.” Olivia grabbed her small holdall.

  Susan raised a hand. “Let’s all go. There’s just one of him and six of us. Brian, too, if we have to.”

  Theresa nodded. “I’ve got to have my money tonight. If he refuses, we’ll take him hostage and just grab it. He keeps it in his top drawer. It’s ours, we’ve earned it – it wouldn’t be stealing.” She looked at Shaheen and shook her head sadly. “I don’t know why you don’t just go home to your parents. We all need our wages; you don’t.”