Hanging Hill - Mo Hayder [51]
‘She was upset. But it’s what happens all the time, girls coming in here all hopeful, going away completely miserable, rejected.’
‘What about Mrs Wood? What was her reaction?’
‘Oh, relief. You’d be surprised – I get that reaction more than anything else. Mothers just humouring their daughters, but they’re over the moon when someone else points out what they’ve secretly thought all along and just can’t bring themselves to say. The girls, though …’ She gave a small shake of her head. ‘Even when you’ve said it over and over some of the girls still won’t listen to you. For some of them it’s like a hunger – eats away at them. They won’t take no for an answer. All they care about is seeing themselves staring up out of some glossy page somewhere. Those are the ones I worry about. Those are the ones that’ll end up places they really don’t want to be.’
‘Places they don’t want to be?’
The manager wrinkled her brow. ‘Yes – you know what I mean.’
Zoë held her eyes. For a moment she’d thought the emphasis in that sentence had been on ‘you’. As in You, DI Benedict, know exactly what I’m talking about. So don’t pretend you don’t. She found herself wanting an explanation – wanting to say, ‘What the hell do you mean?’, but then she caught herself. This girl was twenty if she was a day. There was no way she knew anything about what had happened all those years ago.
‘So,’ she said levelly, ‘what do you do if you get a girl like that who won’t be put off?’
The agency manager picked up a little pile of business cards in a plastic holder on one of the tables. She pulled one out and passed it to Zoë. ‘We tell them they’re better off doing glamour and give them one of these. Want one?’
Zoë took the card. Studied it. It was shaped like a pair of lips. It read: ‘Holden’s Agency. Where dreams come true’. ‘Did you give one to Lorne?’
The manager ran a finger inside her polo-neck, thinking about this. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, after a while. ‘Probably not, because her mum was here. I can’t recall exactly.’
‘She didn’t take one anyway?’
‘Maybe. I honestly couldn’t say.’
Zoë tucked the card into her wallet. She sipped her drink thoughtfully, her eyes on the windows in the department store opposite. Something was niggling at her, something she’d seen, or something the manager had said in the last ten minutes. It wouldn’t come to her. She put her glass on the table. ‘Lorne didn’t mention a boyfriend, did she? At any point when she was here did she mention any names?’
‘No. Not that I can recall.’
‘Do you have a catalogue? Of your models?’
‘Sure.’ She opened a drawer to show Zoë a stack of pink-bound notebooks and a box of pink memory sticks. All with the name ‘Zebedee Juice’ emblazoned in lime green. ‘Hard copy or a stick?’
‘One of these’ll do.’ She took a book. ‘I want to check if you’ve got any models with the initials “RH”.’
‘RH?’ While Zoë flicked through the catalogue the manager sat with her thumb in her mouth, her eyes to the ceiling, mentally running a tally of her clients. By the time Zoë got to the end she was shaking her head. ‘No. And not even with their real names.’
‘Staff?’
‘No. There’s only me, and Moonshine who comes in in the afternoon. Her real name is Sarah Brown.’
‘Nothing else you can remember that sticks in your mind about Lorne? Anything that you think could be important? Anyone she spoke about?’
‘No. I’ve been thinking about it. Ever since I saw the news and put two and two together about it being the same girl who was here, I’ve been going through it. And I honestly can’t remember anything about the meeting that was odd.’
‘OK. Can I keep this book?’
‘Of course – please. Be my guest.’
‘One last thing, and then I’ll go. What do you think about Lorne? Do you think she was one of the ones who’d end up in those places you were were talking about? Did she have the hunger?’
The manager gave a short laugh. ‘Did she have the hunger? My God. I don’t think there’s a girl who walked through that door in the last two years who had it any worse.’
25
David Goldrab spoke into the intercom, released