Page 106 of Convict's Game

He regarded Kane who gave a single and frustrated shake of his head.

Cassie inclined hers. “Then that’s our objective. Mila, are ye ready?”

I recoiled. “You want me to help with an interrogation?”

“Don’t you? We aren’t going to beat her up. Only persuade her to give us the information we need. Think of it as a business meeting. You’re dressed for it.”

I swallowed bile. In my preparation for the auction, I’d considered how far I was willing to go to protect what I cared for. I’d spent the year going into new situations with new people, many of them viewing me with hostility as a managementplant they didn’t trust. I’d grown thick skin, but extracting information from prisoners pushed my limits.

Then Convict’s touch on my spine grounded me.

I flashed a look at him. “Will you come?”

“I’ll be right there with you.”

Strangely, that was all I needed. “Let’s do this thing.”

The three of us journeyed to the basement, and to a hall of rooms outside of the main floor where Convict and I had sealed our fate just a couple of weeks ago.

In a small, locked room, Tracey Eavis, Esther’s mother, rose from her bed. Her hands were cuffed together and linked to a chain on the wall. It rattled when she moved, giving a macabre addition to the stench of vomit and sweat. “It’s about time. I’ve been calling and calling and nobody—” She spotted me, and her complaint shifted to a snarl. “You.”

I held up the vodka bottle we’d taken from the nightclub’s stockroom. “My arm is feeling fine, thanks for asking. We have some questions for you.”

Her gaze followed the bottle. She lurched for me, the chains holding her back. “Give that to me, you stupid bitch.”

Cassie tutted and extended a hand. I passed her the bottle, and she stepped over to the corner where a bucket sat next to a drain. Then she unscrewed the lid and upended the bottle so the clear liquid poured out.

That wail we’d heard over the CCTV filled our ears.

“What did Jan Salter promise Esther for selling me out?” I shouted over the noise.

Tracey spluttered. “Don’t do it. Don’t do it!”

Cassie righted the bottle, and I repeated the question, gaining Tracey’s attention this time.

She blinked with reddened eyes. “Why the fuck should I tell you anything? You’re the reason she’s dead.”

Cassie tipped the bottle again, the alcohol glugging away down the pipes.

“Stop. I’m begging you. Just give it over.”

“Then answer me.”

“He offered her a job,” she spluttered. “A good one. Decent, honest work in managing the girls at the auction.”

That’s what she meant by me being a golden ticket. “Girls they were selling?”

She gave a shaky nod.

“Why did he want Rhys Jacobs?”

“Who?”

Damn. I tried another approach.

“Did Salter come to your flat?”

She kept her gaze glued to the vodka. “Esther always went to his place.”