There were few personal possessions: make-up and hair dressing items on the unit, an old magazine, a tatty pocket dictionary.
‘How long had Rosa lived here?’
‘About six months,’ Marta rubbed at her upper arms.
‘And was she working here?’
‘In the beginning. Then just the dancing.’
Janine looked round the room again, imagined the girl dividing her time between the Topcat Club and this place. No life of glamour. She moved to look out of the window. It overlooked the flat roof of an extension at the back and an unkempt patch of garden, a row of houses beyond.
‘When did you last see Rosa?’ Richard asked.
‘Monday. She went out about four.’
‘Where?’
‘She said she was going to work.’
‘She never showed up.’
Janine picked up the dictionary.
‘She thought maybe one day, to teach,’ Marta said, then bit her lip.
‘We’d like to talk to everyone who works here – down in the front room,’ Janine said.
There were just three of them, dressed similarly in sheer tops and short skirts. The youngest looking, who gave her name as Zofia, had a pair of pink, fluffy mules on her feet, the sort of thing Eleanor would wear. Petra wore shoddy gold sandals. Shap stood by the door, Richard near the window while Janine took one of the red velvet chairs that the girls were also sitting on. Janine established that they were all Polish and had no official papers. She explained why the police were there and that they would be asking them some initial questions about Rosa. After that they would be taking them to the police station where they would be interviewed by immigration authorities.
The girls were quiet and morose.
‘Has there been any trouble? Anyone bothering Rosa? Perhaps someone with a score to settle?’
Marta shook her head. None of the others moved.
‘Do you know this man?’ She held up a photograph of Lee Stone. She saw recognition in their expressions.
‘He brought us here. He drives the van,’ Marta told her.
‘From Poland?’
‘No, here. In UK.’
‘For Mr Sulikov?’ The name provoked a ripple of reaction. Zofia shifted her position, crossing her arms and legs. Petra flashed Marta a warning look. Marta didn’t say anything.
‘Konrad Sulikov?’
No one answered. They sat unmoving except for Petra who was swinging one foot to and fro, the sandal dangling and slapping against her sole.
‘Marta?’ Janine said.
Marta gave a reluctant, almost imperceptible dip of the head.
There was a noise outside and Richard drew back the corner of the net curtains. ‘Transport’s here,’ he said. ‘And scene of crime are on their way.’
