Wages of Sin by J. M. Gregson

other employer has threatened to take over your services.’
    He had hesitated fractionally over the word ‘employer’; Katie gave an involuntary, bitter smile. ‘And you’ve had no reason to complain about your takings from me.’
    Johnson grinned back at her. He liked a feisty woman. It made a change from the defeated demeanour of most of the women he used: like flattened grass, they were. A bit of spirit was all right in a woman. Especially when you held all the trump cards in your hand. He nodded at her. ‘You’re doing all right, Cleggy.’ He lifted the hundred and fifty pounds she had just given him upon the palm of his hand and nodded his satisfaction. ‘Might be time to think of a little expansion.’
    Kate’s face clouded. This was why she feared this man’s visits more than anything in her life; more even than police exposure and disgrace; far more than the men to whom she sold herself, who were mostly pathetic creatures. She said dully, ‘I’m doing all I want to do. All I can do. Four nights is enough and more than enough. I’ve two children to look after.’
    He smiled up at her, taking his time, taking care to drop his threat so that it would make maximum impact. ‘Two children who might end up in care if anyone chose to give the authorities the details of how you support them, Katie. Let’s not forget that.’
    She found herself holding on to the back of an upright chair for support as her head swam. Someone should kill this man: he was vermin. But no one would. Life didn’t work like that. She wanted to pick up a knife from the kitchen and fly at him, but she knew she could not do that. Those round-faced, innocent children in the new school uniforms she had bought for them would be lost without her to look out for them. ‘I’m only doing this as long as I have to, you know that.’
    He allowed himself a broad smile this time, looking up into the white, oval face, mocking her naivety. ‘You might have to do it a bit longer than you think, Kate. It might not be you who makes the decision about hanging up your knickers and suspenders.’
    â€˜I’ll go whenever I can. I don’t intend living like this for a second longer than I have to!’ She spoke the words slowly and through clenched teeth, looking not at Johnson but through the window at the dank and dripping garden.
    He waited until she glanced down at him, as he knew that she eventually must. ‘All I’m saying is that you could earn yourself a little more, Katie Clegg. Maybe even keep the extra completely for yourself, as a generous bonus from a grateful employer. I might be prepared to take my extra commission in bed, from a looker like you.’
    She clenched the back of the chair with both hands, feeling sick as the full implications of his words sunk in. She said as carefully as she could, ‘I’m not available, Mr Johnson.’
    He laughed, then stood up unhurriedly. ‘Funny attitude for a tom to take, that. Just trying to put a little more cash in your pocket, young Katie. I’m sure you could use it.’
    â€˜I can manage. Maybe I’ll get some maintenance, next month.’
    â€˜And maybe you’ll see a herd of flying pigs. But I wouldn’t rely on it.’
    He took his leave of her on that. Little pep talk would keep her up to scratch. And he wasn’t joking: he wouldn’t mind an hour or two in the sack with the delectable and feisty Katie Clegg.
    It was the uniformed police, pursuing the dull but necessary routine of house-to-house enquiries, who came up with a possible identification for the dead girl.
    The information shot quickly up to the top-storey office of Chief Superintendent Tucker and straight down again to the desk of DCI Peach. The information was dodgy, and it would need an identification of the body to confirm it, but the age and the initial description of the girl who had gone