Chapter 34

34

Lottie suspected Greg Plunkett was more than a photographer. McKeown had emailed her further information that he'd uncovered.

‘It seems to be a front for escorts,' she said.

Boyd said, ‘I figure the ladies working for Right One are not sex workers, but they still accept money to accompany a man on a date. Selling sex isn't illegal, only paying for it. Very grey area.'

‘Let's see what Mr Glamour Puss has to say.'

‘Who?'

‘Greg Plunkett.' She glanced at the image McKeown had forwarded. ‘His photo looks like it was cloned from a Hollywood A-lister website. Probably airbrushed.'

She turned her phone with the photo towards him before stopping at a door halfway down Barrack Lane, which was located at the back of the town. The office was huddled in between a bike shop and a gift shop.

‘You'd miss it if you weren't looking for it,' Boyd said.

She leaned on the brass doorbell and waited.

‘Might be no one here on a Saturday,' he added.

An intercom beeped and an echoey voice asked, ‘Have you an appointment?'

‘I'm Detective Inspector Parker. I'd like a word with Mr Plunkett.'

‘Sorry, but he only meets people by appointment.'

Lottie had had enough bullshit for one week. ‘You can let me in to see him now or I'll return with ten squad cars to arrest him, and I'll make sure everyone knows what your office stands for.'

Boyd was shaking his head, a warning to cool it, but she had a dead woman lying on a slab in the morgue whose family needed answers.

The door buzzed open and they entered. Directly in front of them was a wooden staircase with a red runner up the centre. The walls were painted black, for God's sake. Quelling the urge to raise an eyebrow, she climbed the stairs, followed closely by Boyd.

The corridor on the upstairs landing led to a glass door with a desk behind it, where a pretty young woman sat applying mascara to what Lottie could only describe as fake lashes.

Flashing her ID badge, she said, ‘Mr Plunkett? Is he here?'

‘We only work a half-day today. He said to give him a minute or two. Take a seat.'

‘I'll stand, thank you.' She would not be intimidated by Plunkett making her wait. Boyd sat in one of the faded navy velvet chairs. So much for a united front.

She paced the small space. The walls were bare, painted black like the hall, so there was nothing to look at, no reading material on the small glass table. Wouldn't a photographer have his photos on display?

‘How long have you been here?' she asked the young woman.

‘I start at nine, so not that long.'

‘I mean, in this job.'

‘Oh, sorry.' The woman zipped up her cosmetic bag and lifted a keyboard from her lap to the desk. ‘About a year. Greg is a fantastic photographer. The girls love working with him.'

‘I'm sure they do,' Lottie muttered, then smiled sweetly. ‘Do you find much work for them, once they have their photos taken?'

‘We help them compile a portfolio and provide work contacts. It's all very exciting.'

‘Have you modelled?'

The girl blushed beneath her make-up. ‘A bit. Nothing glamorous. But I love working for Greg.'

‘Inspector Parker?' Plunkett walked towards her, hand outstretched. At least he hadn't approached Boyd first, because if he'd made that mistake, her temper would have spiked. ‘You asked to see me?'

‘I did. Can we talk in your office?'

‘Of course. Cathy, pull up my diary. I need the list of locations for today's shoots.'

‘Certainly,' the girl said, fluttering her fake eyelashes. Help me, God, Lottie thought.

She studied Greg Plunkett. His clean-shaven jaw was as sharp as his grey suit, but she felt his affability was strained. Trying to be nice? Maybe. And she concluded that his photo had not been altered. He was a handsome man, short fair hair and startling blue eyes.

As they entered his office, she wasn't impressed by its ordinariness. A small desk with a laptop on top, a chair behind the desk with another two chairs in the corner beside a filing cabinet. No photos on these walls either. Nothing to entice a young woman into modelling. It had to be a front for something else.

‘What can I do for you?' He sat behind the desk, indicating the other two chairs. Boyd sat in the corner. Lottie remained standing.

‘Are you aware that the body of a young woman was found yesterday?'

‘I read about it online. Awful business.'

‘How does this modelling agency work?'

Confusion knitted his brows. ‘Why would you want to know that?'

She wasn't about to give him too much information. Laura's name had yet to be released to the media, but Twitter was at work. Anyhow, she wanted to see what he'd reveal first. ‘It's part of our investigation. That's all I can say for the moment.'

His eyes jumped from hers to Boyd's and back again. She waited him out. The silence in the small space bore down on her shoulders like a heatwave. She wished she'd taken off her coat.

‘Has this dead woman something to do with my agency?'

‘You tell me.'

‘I don't even know her name.'

Maybe he did or maybe he didn't, but she told him anyway. ‘Laura Nolan.'

He pursed his lips and ran a finger along his chin, face like chalk. ‘Name doesn't immediately mean anything.'

‘You took her photograph.'

‘Did I? I take a lot of photographs. I have over fifty young women and some young men registered with my agency. Let me check.' He fiddled with a laptop and eventually raised his head. ‘Sorry, but this Nolan woman is not registered here.'

‘Maybe you should check the names registered with your other agency?'

‘What do you mean?' His eyes had taken on a cold, piercing glare.

‘You also operate Right One Escorts.'

‘What?'

‘We found Laura's photo, taken by you, on that site.'

‘If she paid for a photo shoot, I have no control over where she posts the pictures.'

‘Come on, Greg. Quit the bullshit. Laura was brutally murdered. You took her photo. You run this modelling photography lark as a front.' She hoped he didn't ask her to prove it, because she didn't have the time for all that.

‘It's just a dating site. It's not illegal.'

‘I never said it was.'

He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose before saying, ‘What do you need?'

‘Any records you have to do with Laura Nolan. And your employee database.'

‘Cathy out there is the only staff I employ.'

‘Really? How do you pay your escorts? You must have a register or database.'

His mouth dropped open. ‘I… I… This is ludicrous.'

She tapped the floor with her toe and waited him out.

‘Okay, okay. I register the girls on a consultancy basis. No wages.'

Bingo, Lottie thought. ‘I see,' she said calmly. ‘But you must know who these "consultants" are?'

‘Look, they're not really consultants, just… companions, but I still can't give out their details without a warrant. GDPR and all that.'

‘And all that,' she scoffed. ‘What if it's one of your models who was brutally murdered?'

‘I still can't give you anything.'

She decided to change direction. ‘When did you set up your business?'

‘Must be a year ago.'

‘Why did you delve into the escort line of work?'

‘I told you, it's just dating, and it's more lucrative than trying to find jobs for models.'

‘More lucrative for you? Or the "companion"?'

‘For everyone. It's beneficial to those who don't like online or traditional dating and those who don't want to form a commitment. We match the client to an appropriate woman. And then they date. End of.'

‘Really? End of?'

‘Yes.'

‘That sounds like you are prostituting these women. You're nothing more than a modern-day pimp, Mr Plunkett.'

His face reddened so quickly she feared he was about to have a heart attack. It took a few moments before he calmed himself in the stuffy silence. ‘I've done nothing wrong. I'd like you both to leave. If you have any further questions, you may direct them to my solicitor.'

Lottie extracted a slim file from her bag and slid a photo across the table towards Plunkett. ‘Recognise her?'

He didn't look down. ‘I said, you need to go through my solicitor.'

‘Look at the photo, please.' It galled her to plead, but she couldn't leave empty-handed. And Boyd was as good as useless sitting mute in the corner. ‘You took that photo.'

Plunkett briefly looked at the image, then concentrated his eyes on his lap. He gulped, and she knew he recognised the woman in the photo.

‘Is that her?' His voice was devoid of its earlier swagger. ‘The woman who was found dead yesterday?'

‘Do you know her?'

‘I remember her now. I took her photo a few months back. She wasn't really interested in the work involved with modelling. She said she was hard up for money as she needed a deposit to apply for a mortgage, so I told her about other options available to her here.'

‘What else can you tell me about her?'

‘I already told you, I can't give out personal information.'

‘She's dead. I have to catch her murderer. I need your help.'

‘Okay, so. She went on a date. Two nights ago. It was her first time.'

‘Who was this date with?'

He scowled. ‘You know I can't share that without a warrant. If you give me a minute, I'll get Cathy to print off Laura's information for you.'

‘Ask her to email it to me too.' She passed over a card with her work details.

He went out to the reception area, card in hand.

Lottie turned to Boyd. ‘You're too quiet. Have you nothing to contribute?'

‘You're doing a good job getting under his skin. I didn't want to break the flow.'

‘You're just great.' Sarcasm laced her words and he caught it.

‘I was observing Plunkett. He's cagey as hell.'

Plunkett returned and handed a single typed page to Lottie. ‘That's all I have.'

‘I could have got that from her mother.'

‘Well, now you can compare this to what her mother tells you. I'm sure there will be discrepancies. Young women have been known to provide me with false details.'

‘I'd have thought you'd have to verify them?'

‘As much as I can, but I'm not running a detective agency.'

Lottie bit back her retort. ‘What can you tell me regarding Laura's date from two nights ago? Who was he and where did they meet?'

‘I'm repeating myself here, but I honestly can't say who she was matched with, sorry. And I've no idea where they went.'

‘How do you get paid?'

‘I get a retainer.' He paused, hand in the air. ‘You could check her bank account. See if any extra money was paid to her from the client. But I don't get involved in that sort of thing.'

‘What would this extra money be for?'

‘I'm sure you can use your imagination, Inspector.'

‘Is it a regular occurrence? These extras?' Her stomach roiled. If this was the case, it pointed towards the women being more than just escorts, and if so, Plunkett was in the shit.

‘Not that I know of.'

She glanced at the page with Laura's details and was unable to see anything she didn't already know. A wasted exercise. She really needed to know who Laura had been with the night she died. She'd have to get that warrant.

Boyd hung back while she went to the door. He picked up a business card from the desk. ‘How do you advertise your escort… I mean dating agency?'

‘My website has an enquiry tab. I also run a closed Facebook group. You send a message requesting to join.'

‘So when you accept someone onto this Facebook group, you allow them access to the site?'

‘No. The Facebook group informs them about the Right One website. There's criteria and an online application, which comes to me.'

‘I must give it a go. I've tried everything to meet a nice woman. I miss having someone to take out for a meal, to chat with, to share with. This is the first time I've come across Right One. The circumstances are tragic, but I'm glad to have met you, Mr Plunkett.'

Boyd held out his hand and Plunkett shook it warily.

Outside, Lottie jumped into the car and kept her head down. ‘That was priceless, Boyd. You were brilliant.'

‘You think I was joking? I can't get you to agree to go for a meal, so I thought, why not try?—'

‘Drive the bloody car, Boyd.'

He laughed as he set off, and despite the enormity of their investigation, she had to laugh too.