Leaving Holloway prison was far less painful than entering it. I signed for my possessions, which weren’t worth claiming, and was taken through to a waiting room to meet my probation officer. Jack Taylor was a lot younger than I expected, which brightened my day even further.
“Hi Beth,” he said approaching me, while holding his hand out to me. “I’m Jack Taylor.”
I stepped forward tentatively, feeling self-conscious about being dressed in a set of really tatty clothes and very little make-up. I was wary of the man who was about to control my life for five months, but I took his hand and shook it gently.
“You can call me Jack, everyone does,” he said with a natural friendliness in his voice.
Jack, who stood about 6’0″ tall had bright brown eyes, a well-tanned face and tidy, short dark hair. He was slim, broad shouldered and I thought, probably in his late twenties. I found his heavy eyebrows, manly nose and sexy, almost feminine lips quite appealing.
Fuck, the man was attractive and I immediately started to fantasize about having sex with him.
“Okay Jack, where are we going?” I asked.
“Islington. The flat’s in Copenhagen Avenue.” He replied. “I’ll carry your bag,” he offered.
“Nah, I can manage.” The small holdall held all of my possessions, apart from the stuff I had at Dennis’s flat.
I followed him out to his car, which was an old ford. I immediately thought to myself that they didn’t pay probation officers enough. We jumped in and Jack steered the car into traffic, heading south toward the centre of London. The weather was cool for mid-July, but dry so the washed blue jeans and red blouse I was wearing, was appropriate for the day. But, I was desperate to buy some new rags, or go to Dennis’s flat and retrieve a few of my old frocks from him.
I did some calculations in my head, and reckoned that King Cross might be within the two mile radius of my tag. Dennis’s flat was in Kings Cross, which was also the happy hunting ground for prostitutes. I wanted to avoid going back on the game, but if push came to shove, and I couldn’t find a job, then I reasoned I could always do the odd trick or two.
The truth was that I’d entered Holloway as a scared 20 year-old with just a few weeks experience of selling my body, and immerged with a lot more knowledge and guile of how the game worked. Mixing with other prostitutes and hearing their experiences, coupled with 10 weeks of slavery to the black dyke had broadened my horizons in more ways than one!
“You’ll be sharing a flat with another girl,” Jack explained. “Her name is Mary. You’ve got a lot in common, so you should get along well.”
This was the last thing I wanted to hear, for I hated being pressurised into living with someone. I’d had enough of my prison cellmate, so I had been looking forward to living alone until the five months were up.
“I hope so,” I said.
My earlier excitement was dampened somewhat.
“Cheer up Beth, you and Mary are from similar backgrounds. You’ve both been street workers for a start.”
“You can say whores, I don’t mind. It’s what I used to do.” I said sarcastically.
“Never mind. I know you’ll like her,” he replied cheerily, clearly trying to keep me sweet.
I kept quiet until we arrived in the parking area below a tall block of modern flats. The lift wasn’t working, so we had to walk up four flight of stairs to the fifth floor. This is a good start, I thought, as we trudged up the concrete steps. Jack knocked on number 55 and a young blonde haired woman opened the door and stood aside, allowing us to enter.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Mary and you must be Beth. Come on in and we’ll have a chat.”
I followed them down the hall and into the living room. It was tastefully furnished with a modern lounge suite at one end and a pine dining table at the other. I dumped my bag on the sofa and sat down beside it. Three folders were laying on the coffee table, which was positioned right in front of me.
Jack and Mary, who seated themselves in easy chairs opposite the table each picked up a folder. I’d expected to be allowed to settle in before being given the lecture on behaviour and guidelines, but bloody social workers were all the same when it came to issuing rules!
Mary, like Jack was probably in her late 20’s, medium height and well-built; and I could imagine her working on the streets. She looked as though she’d been round the block a few times, like a lot of the older girls on the game. She had a long face and narrow nose, which had been broken at some point in time. I knew that one of the risks I was taking, working the streets, was that I’d lose my good looks just as Mary had done.
The sadistic German and his cohorts had damaged my face, but mine had mended, whereas Mary’s was misshapen, giving her a slightly masculine appearance. She did however have lively green eyes and full, softly defined lips, which brightened her face when she smiled. I would feel a lot safer with her by my side, I decided, if I was ever out on the street again.
“Beth, sit back and listen to what we have to say, before flying off the handle.” Jack said. “Firstly, I’m not a probation officer, I’m a police officer with the International Serious Crime Division, ISCD, and so is Mary.”
The blonde woman smiled at me in a friendly manner. What the fuck, did they want with me? I wondered and why all the subterfuge? They began explaining.
“We’re investigating a series of murders across Europe,” Mary explained. “And we think that the man who assaulted and nearly murdered you, may be responsible.” I sat bolt upright.
“So you believe what I was saying?” I cried, moving forward onto the edge of the seat.
“Calm down Beth,” interjected Jack, holding his hand to silence me. “Listen to what I have to say. Interpol have finally got a DNA sample from a dead body, found in Germany. The body was discovered three days ago and is probably the latest victim of a serial killer on the loose.”
“I don’t understand how that involves me.”