Foxy Mysteries Complete Collection - Books 1-5: Foxy Mysteries

By Fiona Tarr

A high-class escort turns amateur detective to hunt down her friend's killer.

 

Liz Jeffreys went from runaway to Madam the hard way. She thought she had everything she ever wanted. Wealth. Power. Influence. But identifying her best friend's lifeless body makes her question everything – including lead detective Jack Cunningham.

 

When she intrudes on his investigation, Jack pushes back, leaving her wondering if it's her or her career choice causing the tension between them?

 

Liz digs deep, uncovering corruption and political turmoil far more dangerous than she could have imagined. Will this case be a catalyst - a chance to start over? Or is she operating out on a limb, walking a tight rope that could fall out from under her at any moment?

 

Will she be next on the hit list?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fiona Tarr
• Release date: Feb 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215603420

Book preview

Foxy Mysteries Book 1

Death

Beneath the Covers

1

Liz reached for the largest wine glass in her overhead cupboard and placed it on the glistening white stone bench with a sigh. She took a deep breath and poured the Pinot Grigio all the way to the rim. She knew there was no way she was going to be able to lift the stemless glass until she slurped at least an inch from the top, but she didn’t care. Here, there was no audience, no one to judge her, no one to impress.

Becca hadn’t called in yet, but it was not unheard of for one of her girls not to check in when she had finished with a client. But Becca was fastidious. She never missed texting Liz to let her know she was home safely.

Violent clients were rare, however, they did exist. Liz was always careful. She vetted all her clients thoroughly using a verification company. Most were wealthy, powerful men who were used to getting their own way. Still, the menu was set before the girls accepted the jobs and violating the terms would mean the client would end up on a ‘no-go’ list with her verification agency. Most weren’t willing to take that risk. They’d be banned from nearly every reputable establishment, even internationally.

Liz lifted the now less-than-full glass to her lips and took a long, slow sip. She opened the fridge and pulled out the left-over Thai from last night. Reheated leftovers never sat well with her stomach—and even less now that she was getting older—but she was hungry and she couldn’t be stuffed cooking or ordering more take away. Instead, she put the satay back in the fridge and grabbed some antipasto. Nothing like a platter of cured meats and olives with cheese to go with a glass of wine anyway.

She began cutting cheese on a wooden board, smiling to herself as she recalled the first time she ever heard the word antipasto. Where she came from a platter of cabana and cheese were nibbles and that was as fancy as it got—no stuffed olives, no sun-dried tomatoes, no pickled artichokes or cabanossi and definitely no pâté. Sunday night was snatch and grab night in her childhood household. Sometimes it was sardines and tomatoes on toast, soaked with white vinegar and others, it was nibbles. Liz still loved a plate of nibbles.

She took the prepared platter and her glass of wine out onto the balcony. The warm summer evening soothed her soul as she pulled out a chair from under her glass patio table and took in the spectacular view from her balcony. She wondered if her mother would be proud or appalled at her multi-million-dollar apartment. She could hear her rough northern suburbs pommy accent in her head. ‘You’re still a slut! Money don’t make you anymore proper.’

‘No mum, it doesn’t, but it sure as hell makes life a lot easier.’ Liz pulled out her phone and checked the screen. Her smart-watch hadn’t indicated she had a missed text, but the nervous feeling she had in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t go away, even with a very full glass of wine almost gone.

She tapped on the screen, ‘Call me when you’re done Becca.’ and hit the little arrow to send the message. She placed the phone on the table and took a handful of cheese from the white Versace platter. She sighed again as she took in the view, trying to focus her nerves on something more productive. Becca would call when she was ready. Her client must have just decided to go over time. That’s all. She reassured herself as she watched twilight settle over the River Torrens.

She loved her apartment. Fully restored in one of the oldest buildings in Adelaide, it held the charm of the city, known for its old churches and green parklands. Inside, the apartment was ultramodern and spacious, offering luxury and history in one package. From her penthouse, she could see the parklands, the botanical gardens, the river and the Festival Theatre. The Art Gallery and Adelaide Museum were only steps away. Being in the centre of the cultural hub of town was exciting, interesting and most of all—Liz knew it wasn’t exactly emotionally healthy—but living here made her feel somehow worthy.

Adelaide was her home. She’d grown up in the Northern Suburbs, taking the old red rattler train with the manual doors and windows to town to escape the housing-trust dwellings and vandalised streetscape any chance she got. She used to hang out in Rundle Mall and Hindley Street, stealing coins from the buskers and visiting Downtown to play arcade games with the spoils and if she was lucky, a huge burger at The Feedbag.

Liz popped an olive in her mouth and smiled as she recalled her infatuation with ballet. If it weren’t for her grandma’s annual gift, she’d never have been able to enjoy the many weekends she’d spent attending dance classes just over the river in North Adelaide.

She’d wanted to be a Prima Ballerina from an early age and thought making friends with other girls who shared her dream would be wonderful. But the girls had snubbed her, or maybe they’d snubbed her background. Most came from affluent families where their mummies drove BMW’s and their daddies worked late hours banging their secretary, but she didn’t know that then. Back then, she had been innocent of the world she now knew intimately.

Liz picked up her glass, telling herself that alcohol was not going to dull the pain, but she shrugged off the thought and gulped the last of her wine before walking to the fridge to get another.

She returned to the balcony and the balmy summer night and grabbed her phone from the table. Still no text. Staring at the screen, she decided to stop worrying and dialled Connie.

‘Hey sweetheart. How’s your night been?’

‘Good Liz. The Doctor was lovely and the exhibition was more interesting than I thought.’

‘That’s great Connie. Did you remember to make a few contacts? You never know when you might need a good word to get that transfer into med.’

‘Oh Liz. You worry too much. I’m enjoying the work. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.’ Connie paused and Liz cringed. She knew what was coming next and prayed Connie hadn’t succumbed to the same temptation so many of the girls did. ‘I’m thinking med school is over-rated. Why should I crank up a student debt when I can make a few thousand a week working part-time already?’

‘Because this life doesn’t last forever Connie. You can still be a doctor in your seventies. The jet-setting and dinner parties get old after a while and the body can only take so much. How many girls in our game are still going at that age?’

‘You do alright Liz. I know you’re not seventy, but your story is inspiring.’

‘No sweetheart, my story is tragic.’

2

Liz flicked her thick fury tongue on the roof of her mouth and screwed up her nose as she stretched to greet another day. ‘Too much wine you stupid woman.’ Reaching for her phone, she tapped in the code to open the screen. Still no text from Becca. She flopped back into her soft pillow and sighed. There was no way she was getting back to sleep now.

She jumped out of bed, started the shower running and sent a quick text message to a friend in the police force to see if he knew anything. Ten minutes later, she flicked a group text to the girls, applied her tinted moisturiser and lippy and was out the door and on her way to Becca’s apartment. She left her heels at the door, instead, opting for her gym wear and running shoes to walk the four blocks to Becca’s.

She strapped her smartphone to her arm, put in the earbuds and zoned out, deciding to run the distance for fitness. Her thoughts drifted to the sound of eighties music, her favourite for workouts and running. Flock of Seagulls belted out I Ran and Liz smiled to herself. Seriously who names their band Flock of Seagulls! Another one-hit-wonder of the eighties, like Soft Cell with Tainted Love. A few blocks down and her brain switched to her missing friend.

Becca had been her friend for nearly twenty-five years. She was one of her first rescues—that’s what she called the girls who’d been saved from abusive relationships or pulled from the red-light district. She only wished she could save them all. The work she did wasn’t without danger and it wasn’t reputable in the eyes of society, but it was better and safer than being a housewife to an arsehole like Connie had been or working for a street pimp like Becca used to.

Recently, her girls were career women, more often than not, those who had boring office jobs making bugger all money. She chuckled to herself. Who would have thought being a high-class escort could be considered an empowering career path, but the numbers didn’t lie. More clients preferred to pay beautiful women to attend events, listen to their fears and basically counsel them through life than find long-term partners. Some were married. Some were very powerful politicians and CEO’s but a lot were just single men, high income earners who didn’t want the hassle of long-term relationships or fights over prenuptial agreements. The trend was growing. 

‘Hi Larry. Have you seen Becca?’ Liz smiled at the doorman as she approached the serviced apartment block and removed her earbuds, placing her phone in her backpack.

‘No Liz. Not this morning. I’ve only just come on at six though.’

‘Thanks Larry. I’m going to go up and check on her.’

‘Big night last night?’ Larry smiled as Liz scooted past him and up the two long stairs to the foyer entrance.

‘It wasn’t supposed to be Larry.’ Liz frowned and Larry’s brow furrowed in recognition. The doorman knew what Becca did for a living. Not all Liz’s girls lived in serviced apartments, but all the rescued ones did. Liz paid the doormen extra to keep an eye on them. It kept them safe and helped her sleep better at night. As Connie would say, she worries too much.

Liz took the elevator, swiping her card and tapping the tenth-floor button as the doors closed. ‘You had better be sleeping in girl.’ She spoke aloud to her reflection in the smoky grey glass mirrored walls and took a deep breath as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

The midnight blue carpet was beginning to show some wear. The little diamond pattern that was scattered all over it looked more like stars as the edges were worn from years of traffic. Liz remembered the day she and Becca had come to the open inspections, just after the building opened. Becca had been working for Liz’s agency for a few years. She’d been living with Liz for most of that time, as many of the new rescues did, but it had been time for her to get her own place.

Liz had done all she could to boost the girl’s confidence, provide her with the means to look after herself both emotionally and financially and Becca had finally been ready to jump at the chance.

Liz swiped the card at Becca’s door and opened it quietly, hoping beyond hope that her friend had just had a huge night and passed out, but the feeling in her stomach said that wasn’t likely.

‘Becca! You home?’ Liz walked through the living area and past the long kitchen bar. It was wiped spotless except for a brochure for some apartment building being erected a few streets away. She’d heard all the hype about it being the tallest building Adelaide had ever seen and how prestigious it was. It was well out of Becca’s price range though, making Liz wonder why she had the flyer at all. There was no handbag on the kitchen counter, where Becca always left it. At least there was nothing messed up or out of place. That was a good sign.

She carried on down the hallway past the guest bathroom. Liz didn’t need to open the bedroom door, it was wide open and the bed was still made. ‘No. Becca! Where are you?’ Liz pulled out her phone again. There was a text from Chris, the police officer. He hadn’t heard anything.

She dialled his number. ‘Chris.’

‘Yep.’ Chris answered in his usual casual manner.

‘I’m at Becca’s. She’s not been home. We need to file a report. Do you know who I should speak with?’ Liz made her way to the living area and tapped her fingers on the kitchen counter—right next to the apartment building brochure—as the silence grew.

‘How do you know she didn’t just stay overnight with her, you know, client?’ Chris had never been comfortable with what her girls did, but he knew she didn’t care about his discomfort. The brother of one of her graduates—those who had left the game and gone on to mainstream work—he knew how much the girls meant to her.

‘No Chris, not Becca. Besides, the girls don’t do sleepovers, you know that.’

‘What about a boyfriend?’ The sound of muffled voices disappeared as Chris must have put his hand over the receiver.

Liz took a deep breath, forcing her emotions down. Chris really knew how to piss her off at times, but he was her best connection to the Adelaide City Police. ‘Can we leave the interrogation to the detective I report this to Chris? I don’t need the third degree from you before we even get started.’

‘Yeah, okay. I’ll get the detective to give you a call.’ He sounded distracted and Liz fought to stay calm.

‘No. You know I don’t give out my personal number and I don’t want to give him my agency number. That will set the wrong tone for taking Becca’s disappearance seriously. I’ll call him. Who is it?’

‘How the hell should I know?’ Chris snapped. ‘I don’t work Missing Persons. I’ll have to look it up....’ Liz heard the police radio in the background and another voice. ‘Hang on a sec.’

‘What?’ Liz resisted the urge to bite her fingernails. There was no point. The damned acrylics were as hard as rocks and she wore them because her real nails were a mess.

‘I’ve just seen a new report flash up on my car computer screen and the police radio is going nuts.’ Liz heard Chris’s partner get in the car and slam the door. ‘I’m gonna have to get back to you Liz. Let’s go Mick.’

‘No Chris, just give me the name of the detective...’ The receiver went dead before Liz could finish. She barely contained her anger, the temptation to throw her phone across the room was almost too much. Instead, she left Becca’s apartment and took the elevator back to street level. There was no point checking for a car, Becca didn’t use one. All her clients were seen in the five-star, swanky hotels of the CBD and she took a taxi, the tram or walked to each appointment.

‘Larry, let me know if Becca comes home.’ The doorman nodded as Liz handed him a fifty dollar note and rushed off. The police station in Hindley Street was her best bet. Someone there would be able to take her report. It was only a block away, so Liz walked through the alley onto Hindley Street and started down the road. Her mind raced as she tried to stay calm. Who was Becca’s client last night anyway?

She pulled her phone out of the front pocket of her backpack and slung it back over her shoulder before opening her diary. Each of the girls had a different colour on her day planner, Becca’s was purple. She had two appointments, one was a lunch date with a visiting executive. He had some fancy lunch he needed to bring a ‘date’ to.

Liz flicked past him, he was one of Becca’s regulars anyway and likely not a threat. He rarely slept with her, instead, he just liked to make a good impression and nothing said success like a beautiful woman on your arm.

The next appointment made Liz frown, but she put her phone away as she entered the police station. She felt like a fish in a bowl, with all the glass that surrounded her. She moved to the counter and jumped sideways as a tall guy with tattoos down his arm was escorted out of the front door by a uniformed officer.

Liz watched the guy leave, no cuffs to be removed, no rough handling by the officer. An informant or a sleep-it-off visit maybe? She couldn’t help but speculate. Understanding people, their body language, their facial expressions. It was all an intricate part of her work.

‘May we help you?’ a young female officer asked politely from behind the desk. Liz was dressed in the latest eco-friendly Nimble shelf bra-tank and three-quarter pants. She knew her casual clothes didn’t hide her affluence, even to those unaware of leading fashion. Her nails were impeccable, her hair style top-shelf and her leather backpack clearly labelled Prada. She couldn’t help but wonder if the officer was always so polite.

‘I want to report a missing person please. Do you have a detective I can speak with?’ The young officer smiled.

‘We take the reports Mrs...’

‘Ms, thanks.’ The officer nodded in that understanding kind of way all women did when you insisted on the Ms title. ‘I’d prefer to speak with a detective.’

‘Of course, Ms...’ She waited but Liz didn’t offer her name. ‘But the detectives don’t handle missing persons cases straight up. We report them, many are found to be just staying over with friends or something like that.’ The girl smiled, but Liz pursed her lips, causing the officer to rush on in explanation. ‘If the report is escalated, a case officer and detective will then be appointed.’

Liz fixed her gaze on the young girl before her. She was tempted to argue but the girl was just trying to do her job. As if reading her thoughts, the officer continued on in a rush. ‘It’s very worrying I’m sure. We’ll take the report seriously of course. I’m just trying to say, well, you know, don’t worry. Most missing person cases are often not missing at all.’ She forced a bright smile.

An older officer who had sat back listening to the conversation moved forward. I’ll take it from here thanks Kylie.’

The girl looked worried, like she’d done something wrong, but the officer smiled encouragingly. ‘I need you to help Jones finalise that last report. You know what he’s like with paperwork.’ The officer nodded to the back of the station and the girl brightened up before turning away.

‘Nicely done,’ Liz commented, looking the officer up and down. He wasn’t in uniform. ‘I’m here to report a missing person, but you already know that.’

‘Yes, what is the person’s name?’ The officer sat down behind the counter to start tapping on the computer. Liz had to stand on tip-toes to see him properly once seated. Not a tall woman, often referred to by those who really knew her as a pocket-rocket, Liz barely came up to the chest of most men.

‘Becca, sorry Rebecca Donaldson. She’s a work colleague and friend.’

‘What makes you think she’s missing?’ The officer tapped keys and flicked through screens as he began to fill in the online form.

‘Well,’ Liz hesitated. She hadn’t really considered how she was going to say that Becca should have called in after her client last night. ‘I usually hear from her every night, after she finishes work. Last night, no call or text.’ The officer nodded for her to continue as the keys tapped on the computer keyboard.

‘I went to her apartment this morning, she lives alone and I have a key.’ The officer nodded again but didn’t say anything. ‘She wasn’t home, she hasn’t been home and no, she doesn’t have a boyfriend. She doesn’t hook up with strangers and she always, absolutely always calls me every night.’

The officer looked at Liz, his expression blank. She must have sounded neurotic, making sure her friend called her every night, but he didn’t seem to be at all concerned.

‘Violent former partner?’ The question came from left field but it made sense. Why else would someone call her best friend absolutely every night.

Liz nodded. ‘But he’s been off the scene for nearly twenty-five years. I don’t think he has anything to do with Becca’s disappearance.’

‘We’ll just need to check. Routine. You understand. His full name?’

Jimmy was, in reality, Becca’s former pimp and she was sure the police would discover it soon enough, but there was no point holding back any information that might help. Liz finished the report, got the copy of the report number emailed to her personal email account and left the station feeling exhausted.

She checked her phone. It was full of messages back from the girls. Should we be worried? No haven’t heard from her. What’s up?

She sent another group text. I’ve reported Becca missing. She wasn’t home. Stay safe girls. I’ll keep you posted.

3

‘When did you find the body?’ Jack pulled his pen and paper out of his jacket and began scribbling. He was old school. He’d tried PDA’s back in the late 80’s. Lost the stupid stylus more often than not—couldn’t believe they were coming back—and his fingers were too big for even the biggest smartphone keyboard. Besides, he didn’t trust technology.

‘About seven a.m., when I started cleaning this level. Called the cops as soon as I checked her pulse, but that wasn’t really necessary, was it?’ The cleaner looked at the pale body, with the blood pool congealed under her head and dead eyes staring at the ceiling.

He couldn’t take his eyes from the victim. It wasn’t unusual. People reacted differently to homicide victims. Jack cleared his throat and the cleaner looked up, an embarrassed look on his face.

‘How does someone get in here after hours?’ Jack shook his pen and scribbled on his paper to get it working, the one disadvantage to not using the latest technology.

‘They don’t, not without a key.’ The cleaner jingled his key ring with five different coloured keys on it.

‘Who has keys then?’ Jack nodded to the bundle still hanging in the air.  

‘Cleaning staff, security.’ The man shrugged as if to say don’t ask me I’m just the cleaner and put the keys back in his right-hand pocket. Jack nodded his understanding.

‘Coroner’s here.’ Jack’s partner Max walked into the bathroom and held the inside door open for the gurney to be wheeled in. The space was limited, with only four cubicles, a long double vanity and an ‘L’ shaped entrance requiring tight manoeuvring.

‘Let’s continue this outside.’ Jack ushered the cleaner out with a wave of his hand and they both shuffled past the gurney with only inches to spare.  Jack took one final look at the dead woman on the floor as a forensic photographer started snapping shots. She was Caucasian maybe mid to late forties, well-dressed and attractive, even in death.

The questions continued for a few more minutes while the Coroner’s staff and ambulance officers cleared the body from the scene.

‘I suppose I’ll have to clean that mess up then?’ The cleaner frowned as the body was wheeled toward the lift.

‘That’s up to you and your boss to figure out, but our forensic team still have to go over the scene. It will be a few more hours before anyone can get in there. I wouldn’t be putting my hand up though, there are specialist clean-up companies for this. I don’t think your job description covers murder scenes,’ Jack suggested and the cleaner nodded agreement, visibly reassured.

Jack finished up with the cleaner and made his way to the security office. A few minutes later he was viewing footage of the Sir Samuel Way Magistrate building corridors—one of Adelaide’s most iconic structures, with its grand staircase and domed roof. The fact that someone could be murdered here was both ironic and disturbing.

The bathrooms were located close to the stairs and the lifts. Jack requested footage of both from the night before and sat down to watch it while Max interviewed the security guard. There wasn’t much point, he had only just come on duty around six and early estimates on time of death were around midnight. They were going to have to follow up with last night’s guard in any case.

Jack used the mouse to skip through the footage, finding no activity on the second floor between ten and twelve forty-eight. Strange that security didn’t do rounds. Something to take up with the guard.

He rewound the footage a few seconds and watched the screen as the stair-well door opened and a tall woman with auburn hair was pushed out into the hallway. The person kept themselves hidden behind her body as he guided her to the toilets.

She struggled, but less than you’d expect from someone fearing for her life. Jack suspected she’d likely been drugged as she seemed to move slowly and staggered, grabbing the door frame as she moved into the toilet.

‘Max, take a look at this.’ Max stopped his questioning and moved quickly over to join Jack. The security room was small and dark, the smell of sweat hung in the air and as much as Jack liked a good workout, he didn’t relish the male body odour. As Max moved closer, it became obvious who the culprit was. His partner was a little on the tubby side, with an expanding waist-line to match his greying temples.

‘Bastard. He knows where the camera is,’ Max grumbled. ‘We’ll need a copy of this sent to the station,’ he told the security guard without looking away from the screen.

‘No. I’ll take a copy with me thanks.’ Jack held up a USB stick and Max took it, handing it back over his shoulder to the security guard but not before shaking his head at his partner.

‘What? I’m old school. I’m not trusting the internet or the security company to send this through. I want to leave with it in my hot little hand and examine it as soon as we get back to the station. Maybe the tech team can do something with it?’

‘Look, he’s coming out on his own. That’s our guy for sure.’ Max tapped the screen vigorously, it wobbled and Jack steadied it with his hand. ‘Bastard!’

‘Yep and he’s still keeping his face away from the camera. Smart son of a bitch.’ Jack pushed his chair back and Max moved backward, out of the way to give him room.

‘Let’s call by the security guard’s place on the way. Any ID on the woman?’

‘Nope, no hand bag, no licence, nothing.’

‘I’ll run her through missing persons when we get back.’ Jack took the USB from the security guard and put it into his pants pocket. He didn’t want to lose the evidence. He knew he’d take his jacket off as soon as they left the air-conditioned building. Damn suits were too hot for Adelaide summers.

He patted his pocket and nodded to the guard as he left the security office. Jack took the grand staircase to the lower level. The place never got old. He’d appeared here many times over his policing career and every time, he took these stairs. As they exited the building, they were swarmed by reporters pushing hard against the police tape, but being held in check by the uniform branch.

‘How the hell did they find out so fast? Like bloody crows, waiting to feast on the carcass,’ Max grumbled as he pushed his way past the crowd, ignoring the questions as Jack followed. Max was a big bloke. He could cut a path through any crowd.

‘Do you have a name yet? Is it true the victim was a prostitute?’

Jack stopped and turned to the reporter, a young guy with short cropped hair, trying desperately to hide his already receding hairline. ‘I’d like to speak to you.’ Jack made eye contact with a uniformed officer and nodded at the reporter. The officer grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him under the police crime scene tape.

Jack took him roughly by the arm and dragged him away from prying ears. The last thing they needed was for more reporters to be sprouting bullshit they didn’t have a clue about. ‘Where the hell did you hear she’s a pro? Seriously!’ Jack poked an accusatory figure in the reporter’s chest. ‘We have no ID yet. Do I arrest you on suspicion?’

The reporter’s eyes opened wide. ‘No way mate, honestly. I just overheard a few boys in blue talking earlier. No idea if it’s true or not. I was just fishing.’

‘Which boys in blue?’

Jack saw the reporter look past him, over his shoulder and he turned to see what he was looking at. The whole of Victoria Square was covered in news vans and police cars, an ambulance and the Coroner’s car, although why the lazy bugger needed to take a car was beyond him, his office was just across the square from the Magistrate’s Court.  

‘Them,’ the reporter nodded and Jack followed his line of sight, his eyes landing on a police car and two officers managing traffic.

‘Alright. Take your hearsay and rack off with it. You can quote me on that.’ The reporter smiled and moved away quickly as Jack gently pushed him back to the waiting crowd.

The detective made his way down the stairs and into the roadway, blocked off to traffic for the time being. ‘You!’ Jack pointed at the two officers standing by their car which was parked in the middle of traffic lanes.

‘Yes Sir.’ They both spoke in unison and drew themselves up from their casual stance.

‘Who told the reporter our victim was a pro?’ Jack fixed them with a stare and looked from one to the other expectantly.

Chris sighed. ‘Shit, I’m sorry. He must have overhead me talking to Mick.’

‘When were you going to tell me who she was?’ Jack pointed his finger at Chris’s chest this time.

‘I can’t be sure it’s her Sir. I only met her a few times.’ Jack waited as Chris tried to get his thoughts together. ‘I got a call from someone I know, wanting to report her friend missing. She called me just as we got the call out to the murder scene.’

‘So, you were first on scene?’

‘Yes Sir. The cleaner met me in the reception area. The security guard secured the room until we got there. I took one look at her and I’m pretty sure it’s her.’

‘Who is this friend?’

‘Liz, Liz Jeffreys. Well technically her working name is Lillian, but don’t tell her I told you who she is, she’ll kill me.’ The officer fidgeted as Jack pulled his notepad out and started writing, but a scoff from Max made him stop.

‘What?’ he asked, his pen poised to write more.

‘Liz and I go way back, although I don’t think she’s gonna like seeing me again.’

4

Liz went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Verdello, but stopped herself opening the screw top. ‘Too early Liz, way too early.’ She knew she’d been using alcohol as a crutch lately, but she had no reason to. She was wealthy beyond what anyone would want or need in a lifetime. She worked her own hours and rarely saw clients herself, although part of her missed it. Dealing with clients directly was what made her as successful as she was.

She flicked the on button on her cappuccino machine and pulled her phone out of her bag, desperate for news from Becca. While she waited for it to warm up, she opened Becca’s calendar once more.

T.S. Who was T.S? She always used coded initials for clients. Not their real initials, that would be too obvious if anyone ever found the list, or got access to the diaries. Liz had a system she used. The girls knew the system, but only had access to their own online calendar.

The initials on the diary were followed by the menu selection. Liz checked, no BDSM, so unlikely anything went wrong during the session. Occasionally BDSM clients got a little carried away, but there was always a safe word and if the clients didn’t pull themselves together and cooperate, then they were struck off the list. This client ordered the standard staples, nothing out of the ordinary, but who was T.S?

Liz placed a fine bone-china mug under the coffee machine spout before opening the fridge and pulling out the lactose free milk—another sign of age, no regular milk anymore—and poured it into the frothing dispenser. ‘T.S, T.S.’ she said aloud as she pushed the milk dispenser into the machine and pressed the preprogramed cappuccino button that would deliver her own perfect blend of coffee. She preferred a manual machine, but the apartment had come with the Miele automatic coffee centre and she’d gotten used to not frothing her own milk. She’d never mastered the fern leaf or love heart pattern in any case.

She took a sip and placed the cup on the kitchen counter, pulling her laptop over as she sat on the plush, leather upholstered bar stool. The fancy in-counter charger lowered down automatically after she unplugged the device. She opened the screen and tapped in her password, smiling at the wonders of modern technology. She didn’t have to wait for the system to boot up, it was just on, 24/7, ready to do her bidding. Her ex-husband had never been so accommodating, she laughed as she opened her client list.

‘T.S.’ She said aloud again as she scanned the names and codes. The code was pretty simple. She switched out the letter in the last name with the opposite in the alphabet. So Z became A and A became Z, but she used the last name first and the middle name last, so T.S should really be someone whose last name started with G and whose middle name started with S.

She listed her clients by surname for this reason. She flicked down the line of G surnames. Goldsmith, Gregory, as the list went on Liz’s expression grew darker. She couldn’t locate T.S. Anywhere. She searched her agency email account for any emails from clients with surnames beginning with G. No such luck.

‘Becca. Why? Why freelance?’ Some of her girls freelanced. It wasn’t an issue, but Becca had never done it. Well, she didn’t think she had. She began searching Becca’s diary. She pulled up Google Calendars and searched Becca’s Calendar for the initials T.S. Six entries. ‘Damn.’

Liz grabbed her mobile and texted the girls. If Becca, was freelancing, T.S. could be her client’s real initials. Another group text. Anyone know who Becca’s client T.S. might be? She clicked send and jumped as her phone rang.

Liz looked at the screen for caller ID. She ran a software app on her phone allowing her to answer the work number from anywhere, at any time. The app was buzzing an unlisted number. ‘Good Afternoon, Foxy Escort Agencies.’

It wasn’t uncommon for unlisted numbers to call the agency. Clearing her search on Becca’s calendar, Liz waited.

‘Liz Jeffreys?’ Liz froze. She never got calls on her agency number for her personally. Clients weren’t supposed to know her real name.

‘Who’s calling?’ Liz tried to keep the tone casual.

‘Detective Jack Cunningham Ms Jeffreys. In relation to your missing person report.’ Liz’s mind was racing. Was he legitimate? How did he connect her report with this number?

‘Excuse me for being cautious detective but I didn’t give this number in my report. I gave my email only.’

‘You’d have to admit that’s unconventional,’ the man proceeded.

‘Possibly, but a friend going missing puts one on alert, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘In your line of work, probably more than most, yes.’ Liz didn’t like the tone but if the caller really was a detective, then she wanted to know what he knew.

‘You’ll have to excuse my suspicion, but how did you get this number? I didn’t put my occupation in the report, nor this number.’

‘Your friend Chris said he couldn’t give out your personal number and I don’t do these types of conversations by email, so the agency number was my only choice. Can I come to your residence? I have news in relation to your report.’

There was silence as Liz thought. There was no doubt the detective—if that’s what he was—would be able to find her address. She wasn’t going to keep it secret, but she had no intentions of inviting him into her sanctuary.

‘I’d prefer to meet at your station or somewhere public. Your choice.’

‘Probably a good idea. I’m located in the Angus Street Police Headquarters. Third floor. Ask for Detective Cunningham. Can you be here within the hour?’

‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’ Liz hung up, flipped the lid on the laptop down and grabbed her bag off the counter.

5

‘Did you mention I’d be here?’ Max grinned as he handed a coffee over to his partner and took a seat at his desk.

‘I thought best not to get her offside before we even meet. Sounds like she isn’t going to like seeing you again.’

‘Oh, I heard what you said. I don’t think you need to worry about me getting her offside. That comment about her occupation,’ Max chuckled. ‘You did a great job of pissing her off all by yourself.’

Jack frowned as he took a sip of his coffee. Drinking through disposable cup lids drove him nuts. He pulled the lid off and threw it in the bin, flicking coffee onto the rim of the blue plastic in the process. The cleaners will love that he thought and considered mopping it up, but Max nodding over his shoulder stopped him.

He turned around, putting his cappuccino onto his desk as he swivelled in his chair. He wasn’t exactly sure when he got to his feet and less sure when he reached Ms Elisabeth Jeffreys’ side, but he took her offered hand and shook it.

She smiled as he tried to gain at least a little composure. She was dressed in top shelf active-wear with a Prada backpack that probably cost more than a week’s salary, slung over her shoulder. But it was her eyes that took the words out of his mouth, hazel with a hint of green or was it blue? He couldn’t be sure.

‘Detective Cunningham I’m guessing?’ Jack smiled as Max cleared his throat. He was about to answer when Liz caught sight of his partner.

‘Max. It’s been a while.’ Liz walked over to the two desks butted together so the detectives could talk face to face. ‘How have you been?’ Her tone was calm, neutral even.

Max chuckled. ‘Good Liz, but you’ve certainly done well for yourself. Who would have known sex work could pay so well?’

‘Oh Max, you always did have short arms and long pockets.’ Jack coughed and moved between the two of them to break the tension.

‘You got here quickly Ms Jeffreys. Max was just leaving to get coffee.’ His partner tried to complain but Jack’s scowl made him think twice. ‘Would you like a coffee Ms Jeffreys?’ Jack offered as he invited Liz into the office area with a hand placed gently on the small of her back.

‘No thank you. I just had one.’ Liz looked at the nearly full coffee on the detective’s desk and smiled as Max pushed past her, mumbling under his breath.

Liz watched the detective grab a manila folder from his desk and grinned as his hand hovered over his coffee. She could see it took a lot of self-control to leave it as he steered her to the rear of the office and a glass walled cubicle, or was it an interview room?

‘You said you had news.’ Liz turned as the detective closed the door and drew the blinds for privacy. ‘Is this an interrogation detective?’ Liz pulled her shoulders back and summoned her most confident expression.

Jack saw the posture change. Reading people was his job and the last thing he wanted was for Liz to be defensive. ‘No. Of course not. This can be an interview room, but I only drew the blinds for your privacy.’ Jack pulled out a chair and nodded, offering her a seat.

‘Yes, your news. Have you found Becca?’ Liz had seen the signs in the foyer. She had read what divisions were on the third floor. She hadn’t missed the fact that this was the Major Crimes office, not Missing Persons.

‘I’m sorry but you’ve likely guessed the news isn’t good, hence the privacy.’

Liz took a long deep breath and nodded. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she...’ It wasn’t a question and Jack fiddled with the edges of the manila folder wondering just how much he could share with her. He didn’t know anything about her relationship with the victim yet.

‘Why don’t you take a seat?’ Jack gestured to the low-backed vinyl chair that had seen better days and Liz sat.

Jack pulled out a chair opposite, the legs scraping on the commercial vinyl flooring. ‘I’m afraid your friend is dead. Her body was found in the first-floor toilets at the Magistrates Court. Do you know where she was last night?’

‘Since Chris gave you my number and I expect Max didn’t hold back with our history, you know who I am and what Becca was doing I’m guessing.’

‘Actually, Max tried to share your history, but I don’t need Max’s take on this. Your friend is dead, murdered. I need to know what you were to her, not what you were in the past to Max.’

Liz inhaled through her nose, her nostrils flaring as she nodded to the detective. ‘I run Foxy Escort Agencies, you know that from your call earlier. Becca was a friend and one of my girls. I’ve known her since the beginning.’

‘You’re her Madam then.’ Liz nodded at the matter-of-fact manner the detective used and raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly as he pulled out his notepad and pen. ‘I’m old school.’ He shrugged non-apologetically. ‘Never trusted technology.’

‘That’s funny. Technology has freed me up to work from home. All my clients find me on the Internet. I do social profile background checks with the Internet and use an online agency to vet them. I use web-based booking systems and the phone even comes to my mobile. Technology has saved me a bundle in office rental.’

Jack pursed his lip and nodded. ‘Good for you. I hope you have really good firewalls or that information you keep about your clients could be hacked by an expert.’

‘I do. I also still use a bit of ‘old school’ coding system to protect everyone.’ Liz grinned but the smile fell away as she saw the detective move the manila folder on his desk. He rotated it around slowly to face her and made to open the cover, but stopped, the corner hovering in his fingertips.

‘I hate to ask you, but rather than drag you down to the morgue, I’d like you to formally ID your friend from a photo. It’s a crime scene photo.’ He let the idea sink in as he watched Liz’s hazel eyes open and close slowly. She nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘We haven’t had time to do a morgue photo yet and time is of the essence in catching this bastard.’ He waited for her permission.

Liz nodded. ‘I want to catch whoever did this.’ Liz stifled a gasp with a quick intake of breath as the detective opened the front of the folder. The dark red blood all over the tiled floor was all she could see. The glossy tiles and almost claret red blood pooled around Becca’s long matted auburn hair drew her attention and it was all she could focus on.

She took a moment, and the detective didn’t rush her. She pushed her emotions down, like she had taught herself all those years ago when her mother’s boyfriend used to come and visit her after her mum had fallen asleep. She knew how to put on a show, to hide her feelings and to let people see what they needed to see.

She studied the scene from the photograph. The stall door was open. Becca was half in, half out of the cubicle, like she had tried to run inside and lock herself behind the door for protection. Her patent leather stilettos were no longer on her feet, but her dress was intact and Liz let out the breath she had been holding. This wasn’t sexually motivated. That would have made this even harder to deal with. No one took sexual assault on a call girl seriously. She knew Max wouldn’t.

‘Is it your friend?’ the detective finally asked.

‘It’s Becca.’ Liz didn’t take her eyes from the photo. ‘I want to help you find the person who did this.’

‘That’s my job Ms Jeffreys. For all we know, you could be a target. You need to stay away from this investigation—for your own safety.’ Jack closed the folder and pulled it back across the table. ‘All I need to know is if you know where your friend was last night?’

‘I’ve been working on who Becca was seeing. One of her clients was a regular, harmless, but the second is a mystery. I still haven’t worked out who he was.’

The detective sat back and scratched his neck. He could see by the woman’s expression and posture she wasn’t giving up easily. Her eyes were fixed on him, unwaveringly. Obviously, her friend meant a lot to her. He tried another tack.

‘You said you’ve known the victim...’

‘Becca,’ Liz interrupted, offering her friend’s name to the detective to ram home the fact she was a real person, not a stat on his to-do list.

‘Becca, for a long time. How did you meet?’ Jack wasn’t sure it was relevant, but digging a little deeper couldn’t hurt and he hoped it would side-track Ms Jeffreys from shoving her foot in the door of his investigation.

‘I’ve known Becca for over twenty-five years. I was just setting up my own agency when I found her, on the west end of Hindley Street in the district, with a typical pimp, slapping her around, raping her when he chose to, pumping her full of drugs to keep her on his payroll. Bastard. I helped clean her up. Trained her for higher end work. She finished her education and even considered leaving the game, but the money was too good and the power, well, that’s pretty addictive for girls like...’ Liz trailed off, not wanting to say me, because let’s face it, she’d stayed in the game for the power too.

The lavish lifestyle, the five-star hotels, lobster dinners, top shelf champagne, gifts, even trips overseas. She’d been to Paris, Venice, Monte Carlo to watch the Grand Prix, all on rich men’s credit cards. She’d sailed the Med on mega yachts and most of the time, she’d just had to look great and have awesome sex with some very wealthy and often attractive men. What wasn’t to like?

‘Is there any chance Becca’s former pimp did this?’ The detective drew her from her stupor.

‘Not likely. I had it out with him all those years ago. Sent a few friends around to help him see reason. He just moved on to the next poor girl. For all I know he’s overdosed himself by now. He was a full-on coke head.’

Jack nodded and pulled a cigarette packed out of his jacket. ‘I’m heading outside.’ Jack lifted the packet up. ‘Do you want to join me? I think we are done here, for now.’

‘I don’t smoke, but thanks.’ Liz pushed her chair back from the table and stood. The detective joined her and opened the interview room door. They both walked out into the main office as Max came back in with a cardboard tray full of coffee cups.

‘Let me know if you work out who your friend saw last night. Also, if any of the other girls have had issues with clients.’

‘Over already?’ Max put the coffees down on his desk as Liz and Jack reached him. ‘I might have had a few questions of my own.’

‘We’re done Max. Ms Jeffreys was just leaving.’ Jack placed his hand on Liz’s back to guide her out. The warmth from his touch was somehow comforting and the look on Max’s face was priceless. She wondered if Max would tell Detective Cunningham the whole story. Deep down she knew it was only a matter of time before he did.

6

Liz could have walked straight home, but she needed to clear her head. Instead, she headed to the Central Market to grab some fresh vegetables and top up her antipasto. A few minutes walking and she was strolling past fresh flowers and food stalls. The buzz of noise was just the distraction she needed, but it didn’t stop her mind from racing.

The more she thought about it, the more she realised she hadn’t seen much of Becca outside work lately. She had seemed preoccupied and every time Liz had invited her over for a drink or to catch up at the movies, she had said she had other plans.

Liz grabbed a pack of smoked oysters and some fresh lemons before making her way past the native flower stall. Water ran over the concrete path from where buckets of flowers had been filled up and were on display. She wandered through the large white buckets and past even more flowers up on tiered steel racks.

She hadn’t brought her bags with her, so she was going to have to keep the shopping to a minimum, but the Banksia flowers were gorgeous and they were just the colour she needed to brighten up the apartment. Liz selected a bunch of Geraldton wax flowers from the top row and four large red banksia stems.

The market stall holder wrapped them in tissue paper and handed them over. As Liz pulled her back pack over her shoulder, she noticed a broad-shouldered man looking at her, but he averted his gaze quickly and she shrugged off the attention. She was short, but she knew she was attractive. Being stared at wasn’t a new experience, but the shiver down her spine at his penetrating gaze was a little unnerving.

‘Thanks Con.’ She smiled to the stall holder and readjusted her backpack. She’d managed to squeeze most of her shopping, except the flowers into the bag, but it was now carrying more than the Prada weight limit. The straps were digging into her shoulders a little.

Liz left the markets and began walking down King William Street. There was no hurry, so no need to take a taxi. It was well after lunch and the weather was getting hotter, but she needed the exercise.

She wanted to find out who Becca could have been seeing. Was it a client or a friend? It wasn’t uncommon for the girls to block out time in their calendars for personal reasons, but Becca didn’t have a boyfriend and no family locally to speak of.  T.S could be anybody, so Liz headed back to Becca’s apartment to see if she could find more info.

‘Any news Liz?’ Larry asked as she took the steps to the entrance of Becca’s apartment building.

‘Nothing yet Larry.’ Liz started to walk past then stopped. ‘Has Becca had any new visitors, anyone you don’t know from work?’

Larry frowned as he considered the question. ‘Not that I’ve seen, but I asked her if she had a new man in her life the other day.’ Larry smiled. ‘Maybe she has eloped.’

Liz turned to give the doorman her full attention. ‘What made you say that?’

‘Well, she didn’t say she had a new man, but when I asked her, she blushed and went all coy and Becca never goes coy.’

Liz frowned. Damn right Becca never went coy. She was tall, beautiful and very confident these days. ‘Thanks Larry. I just need to check on something. Maybe I missed a note.’ She knew she hadn’t, but she wasn’t yet ready to tell Larry Becca wasn’t coming home.

Liz entered the apartment and went to the top drawer of the side-table in the entrance. She rummaged through the bills and papers that Becca left in there. Totally disorganised when it came to finances, Becca stored everything haphazardly with no filing system in that one top drawer, at least until the bill was paid, or the letter dealt with. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

She turned to go into Becca’s bedroom and noticed the brochure from this morning was gone. She stopped and turned back toward the kitchen counter, looking to see if she had possibly knocked it on the floor but it was nowhere in sight. It had vanished and that was just plain weird. She wondered who else had a key to Becca’s apartment. Then it suddenly came to her. Did the detective find her bag, her wallet? She didn’t recall seeing them in the photos.

She pulled out her phone and dialled Chris’s number. The last thing she wanted to do was go through the police call centre. There was no way they were going to put her through to the detective. Damn the man, he hadn’t even bothered to give her his mobile. How was she supposed to keep him up to date?

‘Liz, heard about Becca. Sorry.’ Chris offered his condolences before Liz uttered a word.

‘Thanks Chris, but Becca is why I’m calling. I need Detective Cunningham’s direct number. The office, or his mobile.’

‘Liz. If he didn’t give it to you, then I can’t really just hand it out.’

Damn, she thought. He must know it too. He didn’t say he didn’t know it, just that she couldn’t have it. ‘Chris. I’m at Becca’s and I think I found something the lead detective should know about. You wouldn’t want him to find out you held up his investigation because he forgot to give me his card, would you?’

‘No. He’s already pissed with me for leaking to the press that Becca was a working girl.’

‘You what?’ Liz yelled. She knew she shouldn’t have but she did. ‘Why the hell did you do that?’

‘It wasn’t on purpose Liz.’ Chris sounded honestly sorry, but it was the opening Liz needed.

‘His number, now Chris.’ She changed her tone to Ms assertive and Chris caved. A few seconds later she was dialling Detective Cunningham’s number. She blocked her number but she hoped he would take the call.

‘Detective Cunningham, Major Crimes.’ Liz cringed at the division name but took a breath and fired away.

‘Detective, it’s Liz Jeffreys. I’m at Becca’s and I noticed something that might help with your investigation.’

‘I have a team on their way there already. You shouldn’t be contaminating the scene Ms Jeffreys.’

‘I’m not contaminating the scene Detective. When I came in to check on Becca this morning, before I talked to you, there was a brochure on the kitchen bench. It’s not there now. I find that strange, don’t you?’

‘You could be mistaken.’ The detective’s tone said he didn’t believe it, but just had to say it anyway.

‘Or I could be right and your killer has visited Becca’s apartment, using her key. I’m guessing her key wasn’t found with her. Am I right detective? There could be evidence here. Finger prints.’

‘Don’t get carried away Liz. This isn’t some crime drama on TV.’ Liz smiled. He called her by her first name. That was a start.

‘I won’t get carried away Jack’, she wasn’t about to let it slide either. ‘I just think it’s pertinent. Don’t you?’

There were a few seconds of silence as Liz waited. She heard the detective take a deep breath and slowly release it. ‘I’ll call the team now and brief them.’

‘Will you be coming here?’

‘Yes. I’ll grab Max and head right over. You need to wait for the forensic unit. They’ll need to take your prints for elimination. Then you best leave Ms Jeffreys. If my boss finds out you’ve been digging around one of our crime scenes, he’ll be ropable.’

‘It isn’t a crime scene Detective. There was no tape up to say so.’

‘Well things move a little slowly in the real world Ms Jeffreys. We’ve not had the time to tape it off as yet.’

Liz chewed her lip. The smart-arse comment that was on her lips stayed put, thankfully. She knew the detective was holding back. She knew he really wanted her to mind her own business and leave the investigation to him, but he was polite enough to not say it.

‘I’ll leave as soon as they get here.’

‘After the prints.’

‘After the prints,’ Liz repeated.

7

Jack made his way past the doorman, who was sitting with a uniformed officer, his head in his hands. He made a mental note to come back and question the man.

Max stood in the foyer with his arms crossed, his finger tapping at his elbow impatiently.

‘Tenth floor. Forensics are on scene,’ Jack barked as he moved past Max, ignoring his partner’s stupid grin.

They entered the elevator, another officer pushed the tenth-floor button and scanned the card he must have obtained from the apartment security team. Jack leant back against the smoked glass walls and frowned. He could see Max’s reflection, staring at him. ‘Liz does that you know,’ Max offered.

‘Does what?’ Jack tried not to sound defensive. Max knew they were there because of Liz’s call. ‘And how the hell do you know what Liz does?’

‘I offered to share before, but you didn’t want to know. Looks like you’ll have to find out the hard way.’

‘Max. I’m not in the mood.’ Jack looked at his partner directly as the doors to the elevator opened.

‘Beer after we finish here then. I’ll give you the story. You make your own decision.’ Max moved out into the hallway which was teeming with people. The smoked glass carried on down the hall, covering the top half and the ceiling no less. Every time a camera flashed, it reflected across a dozen surfaces at once.

‘Time for a little redecorating I’d say,’ Max offered and he waited at Becca’s apartment door for Jack to take the lead.

‘Ms Jeffreys said there had been an apartment building brochure here when she came this morning and it was gone when she came back.’

‘Well you’ve seen the décor, maybe her friend was just planning a move.’

‘Then who took the brochure?’

‘That’s assuming Liz didn’t recall the brochure from another day and then get mixed up. She might be playing it cool, but she can get pretty frazzled at times.’

‘Nevertheless, I’ll need to find out which apartment building she thought it was.’ Max shrugged and Jack turned to speak with the forensic supervisor.

‘The place is clean, totally clean.’ Fernando spoke with a European accent. The tall, lean