ONCE BITTEN

TWELVE: MARIE MASSOLI

Marie Massoli was a prostitute and dancer in an East End revue and brothel, she’d been reported missing at the end of August, some six weeks before her body had been finally discovered. Born in Acton, she moved down to the city proper shortly before her twentieth birthday and had now been in the city for three years. 

The report on her background listed her family as estranged, a common enough trait for working girls.  She had lived in a set of rooms south of London Bridge, and her landlady assumed that she’d skipped out on the rent.  It had been a colleague who had brought her absence to the police.

They, in turn, had assumed the same as the landlady, and gave her disappearance no furth thought.  But the assumptions had been proven incorrect and the girl’s body had been spotted that morning.  The corpse had triggered enough flags that it had been rushed to be rushed to Doctor Loup’s desk, despite her lengthy time missing.

The docklands as always appeared a desolate territory, out along the Thames.  Important and influential importers had their cargo delivered near to the city; the more distant your docks were, the less clout you possessed.

As the territory wandered outside of London’s official border, development became sparse and ugly.  The walk out there took a solid forty minutes, and when they eventually arrived it was to a walled-off stockyard.  A reasonably, cheaply built warehouse squatted at the back of the area, reminding Bitten of an old resentful road. 

Towering heaps of lumber were scattered around the yard, some of them tarped against the elements.  Others, for eventual use as firewood and other low-end uses, were uncovered.  Although the yard was paved, mud and muck had been tracked all over the area.

Outside the yard’s walls, the surrounding area was a mixture of scrubby wasteland and patched of waterlogged marsh.  The nearest unit remained a couple of hundred yards away, and appeared quite similar to the one they were at.

A wharf ran out into, and along, the river, a coarse wooden affair that provided space for cargo to be unloaded and brought in through a set of wide gates down the side of the yard.  A broad path of clear space ran directly from the side gates to the main front gate and the road beyond.

Something about the emptiness seemed unutterably depressing.  Bitten gave himself a stern shake, and set about getting down to business.

It did not appear as if the local constabulary had felt any need to leave anyone at the scene, but the file was clear that the corpse was inside the main warehouse.  He told Dr Loup to go and begin initial examinations, and gathered Wilk to accompany him on a proper survey of the yard.

The main gates they had entered through were tall, and a padlocked chain had been unfastened before their arrival to permit entry, but the wall surrounding the unit seemed to be only chest-height.

The brickwork appeared to be ageing and had already started crumbling in places.  It would have offered no barriers to any person or creature with all four limbs intact.  About twenty-five per cent of the yard’s capacity had been taken up by heaps of wood, of which around half were uncovered.

The covered stacks had their tarpaulins heavily lashed down with stout rope, but Bitten had Wilk make sure that there were no obviously loose corners where some evidence might have been stashed.

After the woodpiles had been checked over, they proceeded around the side of the unit.  The warehouse a simple brick structure with a row of small windows at the top of the walls tucked under a corrugated tin roof. 

The thing looked to have been built as cheaply as it possibly could have been whilst still providing some shelter for the damp riverside air.  From the outside at least, its construction deeply disinteresting.

The gates that led to the dock were very similar to the front gates, except that the chain holding them closed remained still locked on place.  A large shutter-door had been set into the warehouse wall opposite the gate, a sheet-metal affair painted in a colour that could once have been hunting green.

It too had been padlocked down, the lock fastened through a metal tang protruding from the concrete at the bottom of the door.  Round the back of the warehouse, the space opened up a little down towards the river.

It didn’t appear to be used for anything in particular, but Bitten supposed it might serve an extra storage if the main yard became crowded.  Beyond the boundary wall, a stretch of marshy scrub ran down to the river bank and a path that stretched off both up and down river.

It might have served as a means of egress to the unit, but then that could have been true of almost any direction.  He walked round the back of the building, and turned the corner to start heading back towards the front yard.

Immediately, an object became visible, lying on the ground, a short distance ahead.  It looked like a bag.  As he got closer, he realized that it was indeed a bag, a case of the sort doctors used to carry around their equipment. 

The handle had been broken, having coming away from the leather of the bag at one end.  It had been abandoned just in front of a door set into the warehouse wall.

His heart sank.  Waving a hand at Wilk to stop the had from walking on, Bitten approached the discarded bag.  There were several clear footsteps in the muck, leading from the door and directly to the wall ten feet away.  He stopped short by a good six feet, and looked back at the constable.

“Find me a branch or a thin length of lumber, Wilk.  A foot lone, at least.  Don’t come past me.  Double back round to the front if you have to.”

The constable nodded and hopped to it.  While he waited, the Inspector examined the scene.  The wooden door and looked sturdy, with a large lock under the iron-door handle, and heavy, weatherproofed hinges.

The bag sat on its end, just a couple of inches in front of the door, in line with its centre.  The top looked unfastened, but it appeared to be impossible to see inside without closer examination.

A short while later, Wilk huffed back round the corner carrying a length of wooden trimming, and offered it up.

“Thank you.”

Bitten said.

“Best take a few steps back round the corner.  I doubt that our lad’s left any deadly surprise waiting in that bag, but best be safe.”

“You don’t think he just dropped it, sir?”

Wilk asked.

“No, lad.  This little scene is entirely fake, put on for our personal benefit.”

“Why, sir?”

“The door’s hinges are visible, so it opens outwards.  The bag is directly in front of where the door would have to swing open, so it is has been placed there after the door had been last opened and closed.  Despite being on its end, there’s no way the bag just fell there naturally.”

ii

Wilk nodded and retreated around the corner.  Holding the length of wood like a poker, Bitten backed up as much as possible and pushed the bag’s top properly open.  Nothing happened.

            Squinting against the dull sunlight, he attempted to see inside the bag.  There didn’t appear to be anything in there.  He got a little closer and pushed the bag over onto its side.  When there appeared to be no reaction again, he dropped the wood, called Wilk back, and went up for a proper look.

            The bag had been well-made, the fine calf’s leather with attractive bronze fittings, and completely empty.  Apart from the broken handle it appeared to be in good condition.  A look at the breaks suggestion that the leather had been cut rather than fraying naturally.  If there had been any maker’s mark or label, it had been nearly excised without leaving any obvious trace.

            There would be no question of getting reliable evidence from a staged space, but nevertheless Bitten had Wilk make a careful trace of each individual boot-print, as well as a sketch of their location on the ground.  While the Constable did as he had been told, the Inspector examined the wall where the steps ran to, both sides, as well as the ground beyond.

            Ten fruitless minutes later, Bitten told the Constable to stash the broken bag, away as evidence, and made his way to the front of the building.  There seemed little doubt that the scene had been the work of the Ripper-Werewolf, playing his games. 

            The manager of the Institute had mentioned a Doctor’s bag.  It seemed likely to be the same item.  Sighing, the Inspector went to the front door of the warehouse, a plain, metal affair set within a much movable door for permitting loads. It was ajar.  He pulled it open, went inside and froze.

            For a moment, Bitten thought that perhaps he had been transported to some infernal cathedral.

            The centre of the warehouse floor had been cleared of stock.  Beams of wood were arranged around the central space, carefully overlapping to form a circle twenty feet across.  Behind the rear half of this circle, walls of wooden beam rose up in an embrace, forming something like a cloak.

            It occurred to the Inspector crazily that it must have taken hours to clear the space and prepare it.  The floor of the cleared circle was covered with dead eels of all things, and above this hung the murdered woman.

            She was naked but transformed, every inch of her impossibly white skin worked with designs and symbols and flourishes.  A few patches had been completely flayed down to the flesh, her hands, her feet, the tips of her breasts, but otherwise, the mutilation had been all cut into the surface of her body.  She looked extremely thin, almost skeletal, although it appeared heard to tell behind the imagery carved into her.

            The corpse hung five feet off the floor, supported by ropes tied around her shoulders which ran up to pulleys set into the ceiling.  The light from the windows set high in the walls shone through the dusty atmosphere of the warehouse, beams lighting up the dead women.

            It seemed impossibly obscene, even after everything that had gone before.

            Bitten swallowed and forced himself to try to make sense of it all.  There appeared to be something almost Celtic about the tracery or perhaps Norse. It was grotesque.  Then he realized that across the stomach the swirls came together to form letters.  It took a few moments for them to swim together into words that could actually be discerned:

BEST REGARD

Not ‘regards’, Bitten noted absently, but ‘regard’ in the singular.  A command?

“Incredible, isn’t it?”

Loup said beside him.

Fighting the urge to jump out of his own skin, Bitten turned.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The Doctor continued.  He sounded in awe.

“The vision to bring such artistry into the world.  She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

“Howling, lunatic.”

The Inspector was surprised by how ragged his voice was.

“Not at all.”

The Doctor said, fortunately misunderstanding.

“Evil, yes, most certainly.  Look at the tone of the skin, the degree to which it sags beneath the arms.  She has been starved for weeks before this had been done to her.  But executing this design required incredible will.  Precision. It is the work of a master, not a tuppenny madman.  He does share the sanity we do perhaps, but no lunatic could have done this.”

He paused thoughtfully for a moment.

“Few people on Earth have ever seen any sight like this, Inspector.  We are favoured beyond any elite by the regard of our quarry.”

Bitten croaked something that even he couldn’t interpret, and spun away from Loup’s hatefully beatific expression.

“Yes, Indeed.  They’re almost hidden up by the windows, but they’re there.  Well spotted, man.  He must have spent a long while angling them correctly to bounce the light on to her at a time when he expected we would arrive.  It’s amazing attention to detail.”

Rather than answer the Inspector took several deep breaths.  The air musty with the scent of wood, the blood a sharp but muted note beneath that, too faint for the murder to have occurred in the warehouse.  Not recently, at any rate.  From the warehouse door, he heard Wilk gasp, and them moments later the lad stumbled away retching.

Much as he sympathized, Bitten forced his face into a stone mask, when he spoke, he kept his voice absolutely matter of fact.

“Pull yourself together, Constable.  This was a complex display to set up, and our quarry was here less than twelve hours ago.  Smart as he is, that’s an opportunity for mistakes.  We need to get to work.”

“Why do you think the killer was here less than twelve hours ago, sir?”

Constable Wilk asked, after regaining his composure.

“The warehouse smells of dust and blood, Constable.  Fish starts to stink within twelve hours of being left out, and even if the eels were well-chilled before they were arranged, the lack of stench indicates that they had to be placed recently.”

iii

When necessary, the SID was able to call on certain carefully vetted specialists provided by the Home Office.  Given the complexity of  Marie Massoli’s murder, Bitten quickly decided that extra hands would be of significant benefit.  This freed him up to continue investigations into other areas, ones where a lower profile was advisable.

            Miss Massoli had worked primarily at an establishment named October Entertainments, located not far from Old Street.  The fellow on the door admitted Bitten and Wilk, but asked if they would object waiting in the entrance lobby while he fetched the manager. 

The Inspector agreed that such action would be suitable, and off the chap scurried.  Less then ninety seconds later he returned, introduced Graham Anderson to Inspector, and resumed his post outside the door.

            Mr Anderson seemed a pleasant-looking fellow in his fifties.  His greying hair still held hints of reddish colour, and it remained thick and bushy.  Likewise, his moustache and small beard, which came to a sharply trimmed point a few inches beneath his chin.  Immaculately dressed in a dark-grey suit and gleaming shoes, he also had a muted yellow handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket to provide a small splash of colour.

            He smiled in a welcoming manner.

            “Good evening, Detective Inspector.”

            His voice deep and mellifluous, with the rolling vowels of Wales adding a pleasant timbre.

            “It’s a delight, a true delight.  How may I be of service?”

            The polished bonhomie he exuded seemed spoiled only by the sharp glitter in his eyes.

            “Marie Massoli was an employee of yours, I believe.”

            The smile faded into an expression of soft regret.

            “Yes.  She left us in the middle of August, I’m sad to say.  We never found out why.”

            Bitten felt his eyebrow twitch.

            “She had been abducted, treated abominably, and then murder no later than two days ago.”

            The man’s face went grey, and his mask slipped away entirely, replaced by genuine shock.

            “I…”

            “At this time, I do not suspect of being involved, and I have no interest in the operation you run here, provided that you treat your ladies well.  I am trying to identify the evil bastard who killed your employee.  May I presume upon your co-operation.”

            Anderson nodded.  He looked ghastly all of a sudden, ten years older.

            “Of course.”

            He finally, managed.

            “I’ll tell you whatever I can, but you’ll want to talk to Steph.  She was Marie’s best friend, the one who claimed she wouldn’t have just skipped out.”

            “Stephanie Clifford?”

            “Yes.  She reported Marie’s absence to you, I believe.  You have to understand, Inspector, women and leave this line of work all the time.  Often, they do so abruptly.  I don’t mind.  The game is not gentle, and despite its nickname it has no winners.  You grow a thick skin, or don’t last in the business.  How can I help?”

            “Is Miss Clifford here this evening.”

            She is.  Please, follow me.”

            Anderson led Bitten and Wilk past a cloakroom and into a pleasant bar area.  It had a tall oak-wood stage at one end, complete with a piano, and the rest of the floor, taken up with nicely varnished tables surrounded by comfortable-looking wing-backed chairs. 

A long bar lined with stools ran along one wall.  Between the bar and the end of the stage, a pair of velveted red double-doors stood open.

They went through into a softly-lit corridor, carpeted and wallpapered in deep reds and gentle purples.  Doors ran along one side, each decorated slightly differently with painted silver stars, glittering hearts, and such.

Floor-to-ceiling mirrors stood opposite each door, perhaps to provide the illusion of a greater number of rooms.  There was a small desk set into the nook about halfway along, with a big, muscular fellow sat at it.  He looked up as they approached, and immediately looked down again.

Anderson took them to the last door, rapped sharply and pushed it open.  Rather than a bedroom, it opened on to a long dressing room.  A mirror ran the length of one wall, with a plain white work-surface below it, and frequent bright lights.

Racks of show clothing ran along the other wall.  Several young women were at sear along the room, in various states of dress, all frozen into absolute stillness at the sight of Bitten and Constable Wilk.

“There is no cause for concern, ladies.”

Anderson said at speed.  His face had recovered slightly, but still looked haggard.

“I promise.  Steph, these gentlemen would like a word.  It’s about Marie.”

Several quiet sighs signalled a release of tension.  One of the women stood up, a statuesque redhead clad in underwear.  Her face covered with foundation, but her worry seemed sincere and clear.

“Is there somewhere we could talk?”

Bitten asked.

Anderson nodded.

“In here.”

He turned to a second door, set near the entry to the dressing room, which opened up into a basic kitchen.  Bitten went in, with Stephanie a few steps behind Wilk.  There was no one else there, and Anderson closed the door, remaining outside.

“I’m sad to inform you that Marie Massoli has been found dead today.”

The Inspector told her plainly.

The woman inhaled sharply, and tears started running down her cheeks, but she kept her voice almost steady.

“I knew it.  God help me, I knew it.  How long?”

“Two days, we think.”

“But…”

“We are still looking into the details, but we believe her disappearance to be linked to her murder.”

“Oh. Oh, God above.”

She started sobbing in earnest.

“I’m sorry.  I have to ask did anything unusual happen before her disappearance?  Was she having any problems?”

Stephanie shook her head, tried to rein in her grief.

“No, no, nothing.  She was doing all right.  Happy even, sometimes.  We were close.  I knew she wouldn’t just leave me.  No one would listen.”

She glared at them, visibly angry beneath her distress.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

The Inspector said.

“All our bloody loss.”

She snapped. The tears paused.

“There was a note.  The last time I saw her, she got a note.”

“A note?”

“We were in make-up, up the far end, just delaying the inevitable a bit really.  We’d had a fair few drinks, and we were in no real hurry to get out there.  Rodney, he’s one of the bouncers, came to the door with a letter for her.  She opened it up, and it made her grin, I remember that.  She waved down the room me, said she’d be back in a couple of hours, popped on a long coat over her frock, and left. Looked like she met up with another, similarly, dressed girl in the hallway, and they headed off.  I didn’t pay it no mind.  Why would I?  The wine had me a bit confused if I’m honest.  Oh, God.  Why didn’t I stop her?”

She collapsed onto a chair by the kitchen table, weeping.

Wilk looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

“At least we’ve got a lead, Inspector.”

He said.

“The other woman?  I doubt it, Constable.”

Bitten said.

“Why is that sir?”

“Because, Constable, there’s a bloody great mirror outside the door, and the woman was at the other end of the room, not paying attention, and sozzled besides.  We can check, but I’ll wager it was her reflection she met, and her friend isn’t thinking clearly, either then or now.”