‘She didn’t even use her real name with me,’ said Leila bleakly, after glancing at the screen.
Banks turned to her. ‘Leila, you’ve been really helpful,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry the memories have caused you pain. But you don’t have to stay. We may need to talk to you again, but DI Cabbot can take you back to the Oak now, if you like?’
Leila shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’d like to walk, if that’s all right.’
‘Of course it is,’ said Annie.
Leila gave them her address then walked off down the street, shoulders slumped.
Banks could feel the excitement rising as he and Annie approached the house. There was no list of names, just doorbells marked with numbers, but as it happened, they didn’t have to ring Mariela’s, as the front door was on the latch.
Banks and Annie walked up the next well-carpeted flight of stairs and stood on the landing, listening. Banks thought he could hear faint music coming from inside the flat. He knocked and waited, Annie standing to one side. Slowly, the door opened a few inches on its chain. The face he saw in the gap resembled the one in the drawing, except that her hair was a little longer. Gone was the spiky shaggy student style people had described.
‘Yes?’ she said.
Banks showed his warrant card and said, ‘Police.’
Her door shut. For a moment Banks didn’t know whether she was going to lock it and try to escape through the window, but she was only taking it off the chain. Eventually, she opened it wide and invited them both inside.
14
Mariela Carney’s living room was spacious as a ballroom, well furnished and dimly lit by strategically placed shaded lamps. Mariela — or Mia, as she insisted they call her — seemed to have an eye for antiques, Banks noticed, as she busied herself making them tea: gilt-framed watercolours on the walls, a glass-fronted cabinet filled with vintage porcelain figurines, an ornate mirror, a fine-looking walnut escritoire — but the sofa and armchairs arranged around the low wooden table were contemporary in design, as was the bookcase filled with an interesting selection of literary classics and biographies. Piano music played softly from speakers Banks couldn’t pinpoint. Chopin, he thought.
Mia was, as everyone had said, a very attractive young woman with auburn tresses falling to her shoulders, olive skin and expensive clothes — a silky aubergine blouse and light blue designer jeans that showed off her shapely figure without a hint of vulgarity. He noticed the whiteness of her teeth contrasted with her loam-coloured eyes. She wore little make-up. She didn’t need to. Her skin was naturally smooth and flawless, her lips the right shade of coral. In a way, she reminded Banks of a young Joan Baez. She had clearly dressed down for her appearances in the university pubs and student bars, but even then she hadn’t seemed able to hide her natural beauty. Ray’s sketch was a good likeness, though the real thing was a far more classy version. She set the tray down on the table and smiled at Annie. The teapot and cups were Royal Doulton. Here was a woman who clearly liked the good things in life. Poise was the word that came to Banks’s mind as he watched her move.
‘Isn’t this what they always do on TV?’ she said. ‘Make tea when police come to call?’
‘That’s one thing they get right,’ said Banks. ‘Thanks. It’s most welcome.’
‘My pleasure.’
As they settled down around the table, Annie took out her notebook and set her phone to record.
‘Do you mind?’ Banks asked, indicating the mobile.
Mia shrugged. Her silk top shimmered in the shaded light. ‘Not at all. I’ve got nothing to hide.’
‘You do understand that we’re only here to talk to you, that you’re not under arrest or charged with anything?’
‘I’ve done nothing wrong,’ Mia said. ‘I’ll answer your questions as best I can.’ She rested her hands on the table, wrapping one around her tea as if she needed its warmth. She had thin wrists and pianist’s fingers, Banks noticed. She wasn’t wearing a watch but a loose gold chain instead hung around her left wrist.
‘Why didn’t you come forward?’ Banks asked.
‘About what?’
‘The suspicious deaths of Adrienne Munro and Laurence Hadfield and the murder of Sarah Chen. Your name’s come up quite a lot.’
‘Why would I come forward? I know nothing about them. I didn’t mean to be elusive, I assure you.’ As she spoke, she smiled, a teasing, flirtatious gesture. Banks sensed Annie bristle beside him. She hated it when women flirted with him. Or perhaps it was the way he always rose to the bait that annoyed her.
‘But you don’t deny that you knew Adrienne, Laurence and Sarah?’ he went on.
‘No, of course I don’t. Though perhaps it might be more true to say we were acquainted. I didn’t really know them.’
‘Then you surely must have known we’d be looking for any information we could find about them?’
‘In that case, I apologise for not realising and coming forward sooner. But I didn’t think I’d be able to help you then, and I don’t think I can now.’
‘Let us be the judge of that. Sometimes people aren’t always aware that they know something that could be vital to our investigations.’
‘I can see how that might happen.’
‘How did you come to know Adrienne and Sarah?’
‘I suppose you could say they were clients of mine.’
‘In what sense?’
‘I introduced them to men.’
‘Laurence Hadfield and Anthony Randall?’
‘Yes.’
‘So Adrienne became Laurence Hadfield’s mistress?’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite that way. A companion, perhaps.’
‘And Sarah Chen and Anthony Randall?’
‘The same.’
‘Are there others?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘It’s my living. I run an escort service. A rather specialised one, perhaps, but an escort service, nonetheless.’ She paused and leaned forward. ‘It’s what I do, bring people together. You could call me a matchmaker.’
‘Or a pimp,’ said Annie.
Mia raised an eyebrow and gave her a withering glance. ‘That’s not very nice at all. I agreed to talk to you voluntarily, without need of a solicitor, or so I thought, and you start insulting me.’ She looked to Banks. ‘Do I need a solicitor?’
‘Mr Liversedge?’
Mia snorted and leaned back in her chair, cradling her tea. ‘I think I could do better than him.’
‘Come off it, Mia, you must have known what those men were after,’ said Annie.
‘All men are after the same thing as far I’m concerned, my dear. But that’s beside the point. How could I know what would develop between two people I brought together? I simply made the introductions.’
‘Did the transactions you brokered involve sex?’
‘If they did, those were decisions agreed to by both parties later, consensually, at their own instigation. Not by me. And without my knowledge.’
‘How did you know Laurence Hadfield and Anthony Randall?’ Banks asked.
‘I meet a lot of men like them.’
‘Where?’
‘Here and there. Certain clubs they frequent, a couple of posh pubs. Places I’ve worked from time to time. Company dos.’ She gave another teasing smile. ‘I scrub up quite nicely, you know. I also have quite an attractive body, too, which, believe me, gets me into plenty of places where I can meet wealthy men. I could be a grid girl, or a darts girl, or one of those girls at the Presidents Club dinner.’ As she spoke, Banks took in her beautiful skin, full lips and dark brown eyes, as well as the hint of cleavage her blouse allowed. He couldn’t argue with her self-assessment.