WHAT WE DO BEST

Phyl O'Regan

Inspector Sned scratched her head.

Gazed upon the tousled bed.

‘No doubt here. The woman’s dead.’

Her words were stern, yet quietly said.

She looked around at Sergeant Froome

whose eyes took in the perfumed room.

The red lamp with its stiffened pleats

cast darkened shadows on the sheets

where lay the woman, opened eyes,

as though aghast in shocked surprise.

‘Never had a death before.’ White faced and grave the Madam sighed;

‘I’ve always tried to be discreet—no noise—no fuss—I’ve even tried

to lead the way in price and style.’ She looked away and forced to smile.

‘Who was she?’ asked Inspector Sned.

She moved much closer to the bed.

‘Has she been long then, on the game?

She really seems not quite the same as

some who have for many years

lived a life with pimps and queers!’

The answer came, ‘T’was Maddy Price—so sedate and very nice—

Fairly new it’s truth to say—works a few hours every day.

Quiet really, I’d assume, because she chose a private room

to meet her clients and be discreet, as they wandered in from off the street.’

The lifeless form lay semi-prone, makeup marred and smudged away.

The tongue protruded from the mouth and from the lips came in to play

a frothy substance—clear to see,

‘It’s strangulation—Has to be.’

Sgt Froome alert at last, interest sparked by what he saw,

studied Maddy’s injured throat and as a student of the law,

narrowed eyes and felt the wound, spoke several words in dulcet tone;

‘And when they do a quick p.m. they’ll find a fractured hyoid bone.’

The SOCO team had all arrived. The premises were closed, of course.

The questioning would soon begin—by other members of the force—

Detective Black and P.C. Jones—the latter fairly new they said,

Yet one who seemed to know a lot, from TV shows or what she’d read.

‘The family now must be advised. Her papers please,’ spoke Dulcie Sned.

‘Who was the last client for her—describe him now. Who had her bed?

You say she met them in her room—She did not sit with others there

to greet her clients as they came, or view them as they climbed the stair!’

The closet held poor Maddy’s gear. Familiar labels bra and slip,

soft lingerie—some, lace embossed, a sleeveless frock with fancy clip.

A leather purse containing rings, a bunch of keys, a perfume spray.

The usual things a woman needs and carries with her every day.

‘Your wife is dead,’ blunt Dulcie spoke.

The husband stared in disbelief.

‘That could not be,’ he loudly said.

(Too early yet for signs of grief.)

‘My wife’s in town to shop today.’

He shifted in his city suit—

‘Your wife’s been killed, I’m sad to say.’

‘Where?’

‘In a house of ill-repute.’

He slumped then in a nearby chair, head lowered and with face in hands.

‘How could this be,’ he hoarsely cried. A query that such shock demands.

‘She is the mother of our son.’

‘Where is he now?’ asked Dulcie—Cool—

‘Thanks to his mother’s saving ways—away from here in boarding school.’

A big expense thought Dulcie then—I wonder where this fellow works—

Can he afford a boarding school? Does his job give him many perks?

‘What do you do? She plodded on. ‘Can you afford a school as such?’

‘My wife saved money carefully.’

I’ll bet thought Dulcie, but how much?

‘How did she die?’ His name was Russ.

‘A crime of passion one would say—

Strangulation happened there—The murderer was hardly gay.’

‘Did she suffer?’ Russell asked. ‘I’d hate to think that was the case—‘

‘Just a little,’ Dulcie cringed, judging by her “twisted” face.

‘Why are you home in working hours?’

‘Forgot my keys.—It made me late.’

‘Did you pass near Riley St?‘

‘Was that where she met her fate?

Is that where the Brothel stands? Why, oh why, I’ll never know.

I thought she loved me very much. But maybe that was long ago!

She didn’t need to do this thing. I’m quite disgusted I must say,

To think my wife brought money in from working there in such a way.

But why did someone do this act—to go for sex—and then to kill?’

‘Sometimes,’ Dulce said. ‘It’s all mixed up—It’s all part of a sexy thrill.’

She studied Russell as she spoke—dark curly hair just touched with gray.

Ice blue eyes—a trimmed moustache, great teeth—clear skin—he’d

need good pay.

He fitted well into his suit. She rather liked the sight of Russ.

Except when he pulled at his clothes. (Perhaps the fellow wore a truss!)

‘You’ll have to tell your son,’ Dulce said,

‘ Unfortunately though, it won’t be nice.

We’ll want to talk to you again—Don’t leave the district, Mr Price.’

Her mind strayed back to Riley St,

where Detective Black and Jones and others.

Were questioning an anxious staff.

Some were sisters, some were mothers.

How far had the team progressed? Were the morning clients new?

How had the murderer entered there? Had his entrance been on view? Fingerprints? They must exist. Had ‘transactions’ been exchanged?

Post mortem would soon tell all that. T’was action of a mind deranged.

Dulce drove back with Sgt Froome

Kept her mind in some small fashion

On the girls at Madam’s dwelling

How they lived in endless passion.

Just a fee--an introduction

A kiss and sex’s great reliefs.

Dulcie felt herself get hotter

Shifted quietly in her briefs.

The modern building—shut for business

had a cordon all around.

Questioning there still continued

Ears kept firmly to the ground.

Madam, pale from shock and worry

sat with worker—Lucy Lara.

Both had lost their strong composure

as well as lots of fresh mascara.

‘Well’, said our Inspector Dulcie,

‘What’s the story up to date?

Many of the girls been questioned?

Let’s not keep this show too late.’

They all sat around with Madam, drinking boring cups of tea.

Holding friends in shock and wonder, fearful in adversity.

Fingerprints had all been tested carefully as that demands

but a set was hard to fathom, due to many groping hands.

‘I’m the Hostess for the morning.’

Buxom Betty answered then.

‘I take cash from those who enter.

This bloke said his name was Glen.’

‘And Glen what?’ quiet Froome demanded,

Creased his forehead in a frown—

‘I suppose you’ll tell me next,

that his name was Jones or Brown?’

Buxom Betty ate her orange—separating fruit from pith.

‘No,’ she answered through a mouthful.

‘Actually his name was Smith.’

Madam allowed herself a giggle,

‘You’ll find these fellows all the same.

Never let you know who they are

when they’re looking for a dame.

We don’t care if they are lying

to tell the truth t’would be too hard—

as long as they come up with money,

Be it, really—cash or card.’

‘He was dressed in fancy joggers.’

Buxom Betty carried on.—

‘Silken shirt and well-pressed trousers.’

Remembing him when he was gone.

‘Though he had his head averted,

graying in the hair was seen.

Clipped moustache and nicely perfumed

Fairly tall and fairly lean.’

‘What time was this?’ asked careful Dulcie.

‘Does your diary tell me, when?’

‘You don’t need to check,’ said Betty.

‘The time was almost nearly ten.’

Dulcie sat and quietly pondered;

How could one here recognize

a stranger in a city brothel

by moustache or clothes or size?

‘Anybody ever seen him?

Has he booked in here before?’

Never to expect an answer

Dulcie looked down at the floor.

‘Was there any real commotion coming from poor Maddy’s room?’

Another question put in motion, by Det. Alex Froome.

‘Nothing special,’ assured Betty—who’d worked ‘round for many

nights.

‘Just the gasps and heavy breathing someone finds in new delights.’

Softly spoken, sexy Susan

stood aside from all the rest.

Gazed at our Inspector Dulcie

trying hard to do her best.

Raised her heavy painted eyelids,

Blew an expert cloud of smoke.

‘Guess I ought to speak up quickly.

Think I know this nasty bloke.

It’s quite some time now

Since I’ve seen him

I don’t want to cast the blame

but I caught a glimpse this morning

Yes—I think this chap’s the same.’

Dulcie gently steered the answers.

Sat the girl down on a stool.

‘How then do you think you know him?’

‘His son went to a boarding school.’

Det. Froome and Dulce together

cast a glance at Sexy Sue.

How would she be mixed with learning?

Surely not a thing she’d do.

Suzy caught their stares and meaning.

Recognized their disbelief.

Thought she’d tell another story

Causing Dulce and Froome relief.

‘Well,’ she said ‘this job I’m doing

Isn’t one I’ve always had

And I know some think this naughty

Even think it’s very bad.

But hours are good and Madam’s easy

The pay is great in many ways.

It’s higher than the average income

Even better than D.J.’s’

‘A boarding school? I can’t believe it!’

Something tweaked in Dulcie’s brain.

She had heard those words this morning,

Had she heard them once again?

‘Tell me Susie, please’ said Dulcie.

‘Tell me how this had begun—‘

‘I’d seen the boy!’ said Sexy Susie

………………..‘When I was a MERCY NUN.’

Silence reigned in Madam’s boudoir.

First time for the golden rule.

Buxom Betty dropped her fag-end,

Froome slipped off the plastic stool.

Lucy Lara fluttered eyelids,

Should she question? Should she cheer?

Thought she’d celebrate for Susie—

Got herself a Toohey’s beer.

Inspector Dulcie gazed at Susie

exercising Civil Rights.

Standing there in sparkling spangles,

poured into her orange tights.

Dulcie shook her head in wonder

Lots of things she’d like to ask.

But questions first and answers later

was the most important task.

‘Get to Price’s house’ snapped Dulcie,

‘Take the fellow by surprise,

Check his job and time of starting—

Disregard his bloody lies.

Then we’ll have to get our Susie

To identify this crook.

Looks like early gaol for Russell—

Think they’ll throw at him ……. the book.’

Russell’s hours of work were queried.

Management was shocked to find

that instead of Russell’s sickie

he’d been of another mind.

Sexy Susan went with Alex

Answered questions—they were rife.

Was this the man she’d seen this morning?

If so—Russ had killed his wife.

Russell sat red-eyed, unshaven,

shrouded in a cloak of gloom.

Making frank and true confessions

in the police procedural room.

‘Yes,’ said Russell, ‘God, I killed her

Sudden anger made it so—

Because I heard from trusty workmates—

That she’d turned into a Pro.’

Detective Froome received promotion.

Sexy Susan proves her worth.

Tries her best to keep receiving

that bit of heaven here on earth.

Inspector Dulcie’s left the Police Force

said at last she saw the light—

You’ll find her working now at Madam’s

Booking clients-----in at night.

Please note that permission to publish stories from the Scarlet Stiletto Awards 2002 online has been expressly granted to Sisters in Crime Australia Inc. You may not republish, reproduce electronically or in paper form, or otherwise make use of these stories without the permission of the author.

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