Read Online I Came to Find a Girl by Jaq Hazell - Free Book Online Page A

dead on Forest Road East had been named as Loretta Peters. She was pretty with a tanned, smiling holiday face shown in an old snap from years before, and she was a mother of two, as well as someone’s ‘lovely, bubbly’ daughter until a boyfriend introduced her to drugs.
    Since Loretta’s murder, there had been no further squabbles about watching the news. Kelly shushed us so she could hear. “They’ve found another body,” she said.
    “It must be a serial killer.” Spencer sat forward.
    As did Slug. “Loretta – she’s not bad. You wouldn’t think she’s a prostitute.”
    “I don’t recognise her,” I said.
    “Is there something you need to tell us, Mia?” Slug said.
    “Have you not noticed them outside our front door, Slug? We do pass them every day. You must recognise some of them?”
    “I don’t care what they look like as long as they’re kneeling.”
    “Slug!” Kelly threw a magazine at him.
    “Are you working tonight?” Kelly asked.
    “I’m not going,” I said.
    “That’s not like you.”
    “I’m phoning in sick.”
    “Yeah, I would,” Tamzin said. “Say you’ve got a migraine.”

    It was a Friday, which meant Neon. Every day of the week had its associated club nights. Friday was Neon, the Forum or Lost & Found and my housemates favoured Neon. I didn’t like it but as I usually worked that night the choice wasn’t mine.
    There was the usual shouting, drunken queue for admittance.
    “Go on, Mia, get in there,” Spencer said, as the doorman lowered the rope for the next batch of club-goers. We were in, and immediately I joined another queue for the ladies, as we’d already been drinking heavily at Ruby’s. The toilets were packed: girls in skimpy tops, with competing perfumes, vied for cubicles and mirror-space, reapplying lipstick that didn’t need to be reapplied. It wasn’t easy to gain the space to wash my hands and I was glad to get out, back to the bar area, where Kelly had bought me a vodka.
    “Come on, let’s go upstairs to the balcony,” she said. It was a good place to go to look around and check out who was there. But it was just as busy as downstairs. We walked around and stopped briefly, holding on to the chrome railings, as we looked down below. There was no one I liked, though I could see Spencer at the bar below ordering drinks, while Tamzin was up against a pillar kissing some rugby-type, the size of a small wardrobe.
    The music changed tempo. “Bee Gees!” Kelly pulled at my arm, but I hated the Seventies slot – so predictable. Tamzin turned up (minus wardrobe-man), and they rushed to the dance-floor, doing exaggerated disco moves to Staying Alive.
    Bored, I looked around even though I didn’t expect to see anyone I’d like. Hold on... There was a guy with jet-black hair and heavy-hooded eyes, like a Raphael self-portrait, updated and come back to life. He was too beautiful but even so... “Are you French?” I said.
    The heavy-hooded eyes looked my way. “’ow did you know?”
    “I’ve seen you before.” It was true. He’d been in Saviour’s but he didn’t ask where I’d seen him. He must have been accustomed to being admired from afar.
    “What’s your name?” I asked, taking in the fine features and olive skin.
    “Bert.”
    “That doesn’t sound very French.”
    “It’s Bertrand.” He then asked my name.
    “Do you like it here?” I asked, glancing around at the tired chrome fittings and royal blue carpet.
    “The whisky is very cheap.”
    “But it’s a bit crap, isn’t it?”
    “The music’s not so good.”
    Our small talk continued until someone distracted him.
    “He was nice.” Kelly had returned from the dance-floor. “Where’s he gone?”
    “His friend dragged him off somewhere.”
    “He’ll be back,” Kelly said, but I wasn’t so sure.
    “I need another drink; do you want one?” I went to the bar, knocking back more vodka, then a few minutes later Kelly nudged me. Bert was there, sitting on some steps at