Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller)

by Caroline Mitchell

  ‘Kinda goes against the whole idea of being undercover.’ Denny smiled.

  ‘What are you investigating him for?’ Donovan failed to see the humour in the situation.

  ‘Operation Turntable,’ Denny replied. ‘Child sex trafficking. You’ll hear about it soon enough.’

  ‘And you think Bicks was involved? Why didn’t you shut it down?’

  ‘The same reason I would have advised against DI Winter arresting Bicks so soon.’ Denny looked at Amy pointedly. ‘Evidence. We know Bicks has been manipulating the system for years, but human trafficking . . . that was a big step up for him. Things have come to a head now, so we’ll work with the evidence we have. We’ll be taking over the case from here.’

  Their heads swivelled towards the door as a uniformed officer walked in. Taking one look at their expressions, he froze, a wad of paperwork in his hand.

  ‘Can you give us five minutes?’ Amy said, her eyebrows raised.

  With a nod of the head, he left. The station had a weird vibe today; it was as if they were all bit players in another crime drama-documentary.

  Which led Amy to her next question. ‘Is Bicks the puppet-master? The one who’s been ferrying these kids from place to place?’

  ‘He’s got a few minions beneath him, but Bicks is running the show, yes.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Amy said. ‘Why didn’t he just move them along when things heated up?’

  Denny was ready with an answer. ‘Because everything runs to a tight schedule. Each hideout, each location, each list of clients. At least it did, until Carla got involved. She must have got wind of it.’ He looked from Amy to Donovan. ‘She died because she knew too much.’

  ‘And April? What about her?’

  ‘We think Bicks beat her up out of frustration after George Shaw died.’

  Amy grimaced at the thought. She had noticed reddening on Bicks’s knuckles after he was placed under arrest. It was hardly any wonder that her sex-worker informer Mama Danielle was spooked. How can you trust the police when they are the ones committing the crime? ‘So why did those men travel to seaside resorts? Couldn’t they have gone local?’

  Denny looked from Amy to Donovan. ‘You don’t shit on your own doorstep. They couldn’t risk it.’

  ‘Who’s murdering the punters?’ Donovan asked. ‘Bicks can’t be responsible for that.’

  ‘No,’ Denny replied. ‘It’s not good business either. We’ll question Sergeant Bickerstaff about it, but we don’t believe he’s involved.’

  ‘You should have been watching Carla,’ Donovan said solemnly. ‘She deserved better from us.’

  ‘We had no way of knowing she was involved.’ Denny gesticulated with his hands. ‘How could we?’

  Amy frowned as she recalled their dinner at Bicks’s home: the recent home renovations, the fashion label. Things a sergeant’s wage could not buy. ‘Did his wife know?’

  ‘Yes,’ Denny replied. ‘It looks that way.’ The room fell quiet for a few seconds as the implications hit home. ‘But we got to Matty on time. He was being groomed, forming bonds. But he hadn’t been sold for sex.’

  Amy smiled with relief. At least he was safe now. But they couldn’t say the same for April. There were so many other victims, and unanswered questions still remained. Who was killing the men paying for underage sex?

  ‘What about April and Tina . . . and the rest of the group?’ Donovan said. ‘April needs a doctor. Her mum’s staying in Clacton. I can give her a ring to update . . .’

  But his words were halted as Denny raised a hand. ‘We’ve got them.’ He rose to leave. ‘We’ll take it from here.’

  ‘I can’t get my head round it.’ Donovan stared at the doorway after Denny left. ‘We used to work in this office: me, Bicks and Carla. We were mates. How could he . . .’ His words faded as Amy placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She was used to betrayal. She grew up in a house of lies.

  ‘Sometimes the people you think have got your back are the ones waiting to push you off the edge,’ she said. The harsh sentiment made her feel cold inside, but it fitted this scenario to a T. ‘Where are you going?’ she said, as he moved to leave.

  Straightening his tie, Donovan cleared his throat. ‘You heard the man – it’s out of our hands. We need to write up our statements and leave.’

  ‘You’re quitting, just like that?’ Amy followed Donovan as he strode into the hall.

  ‘They’ve found the kids; our work here is done. At least you got to Bicks before he left.’

  ‘Or I botched up any chance they had of getting real evidence against him. Denny, wait,’ Amy called, catching up with him as he paused at the vending machine in the hall. ‘Have you interviewed Bicks’s wife yet? What’s she said?’

  ‘I can’t discuss details of the—’ Denny began to say.

  ‘Please,’ Amy interrupted.

  Denny’s expression softened. ‘She’s going “no comment” – but we’d expect her to have some trust issues with the police.’

  ‘Then let me talk to her,’ Amy replied. It was her last chance to put things right. ‘She’ll trust me. I’m an outsider, and she’s a huge fan of the show.’ They were words she never thought she would utter. Using the police documentary as leverage was her only bargaining tool.

  ‘She’s right,’ Donovan said, joining them. ‘Amy’s good. She’ll get through to her.’

  Denny retrieved his mobile phone from his trouser pocket. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he replied. ‘We might be able to offer her a deal if she gives evidence against her husband.’

  Amy gazed into Donovan’s face as Denny left to make the call. ‘I take no joy in this. I know Bicks was your friend.’

  ‘What he did sickens me,’ Donovan said. ‘But when you left to arrest him, you told me to watch the team. What was all that about?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Amy said, barely able to meet his gaze. She hadn’t told Donovan because she had yet to get to grips with herself. She’d had an email from Darren, her private investigator. Her suspicions had been correct. Bicks wasn’t the only rotten apple in the barrel, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words aloud.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Susi wore the stunned expression of a woman who was completely out of her depth.

  Her solicitor was Peter Sheffield, some young up-and-coming from a private law firm. He regarded Amy with a taut expression as she ran through the pro forma that preceded each interview. Judging by his demeanour, he was not a fan. But Susi was, and Amy intended to capitalise on that. Amy was equipped with a good background knowledge of the woman before her. Her father was a corporal in the army, her mother a retired teacher who went no further than the Women’s Institute once a week. With three big brothers who had each excelled in their chosen careers, Susi had grown up in a house filled with domineering men.

  After asking a standard number of questions, Amy pushed her paperwork to one side. ‘I take it your solicitor has advised you to answer “no comment”,’ she said, briefly gazing in the man’s direction.

  ‘No comment,’ Susi said, before faltering. ‘I mean . . .’ She looked at her solicitor for direction.

  ‘I can confirm my client is exercising her right to respond “no comment” for the duration of this interview,’ Sheffield said haughtily.

  ‘I’m talking to you, Susi, not your solicitor.’ Amy’s gaze rested on the young woman, who was visibly squirming in her hard plastic chair. ‘He can command you, the same as your husband has done throughout your marriage. But you don’t have to do as they say.’ A beat passed between them. ‘Look. I know it’s not easy, standing up for yourself in a world full of alpha males. People who think they know better. Who think you aren’t entitled to an opinion of your own. As for me, I . . .’

  ‘Officer Winter.’ His face pinched, Sheffield began to talk over her. ‘Let me explain how the legal process works. Mrs Bickerstaff is my client and I—’

  Amy smiled inwardly. Sheffield had acted exactly as she ha
d expected of him – like a condescending prat.

  ‘See that?’ Amy turned to Susi. ‘Mansplaining. But we don’t have to put up with it. Not any more.’ She watched Susi’s shoulders drop just a little as she began to relax. ‘Now, I know you’re not a bad person. You love your husband and you’ve tried to do your best by him. He’ll have told you that everything he did was for you and your son. The business, the house, the holidays abroad. But you know what that was? Hush money. His way of keeping you quiet. Of keeping you under control.’

  Amy waited a few seconds as her words sank in. ‘When we arrested him, he had a passport in his bag. He’d booked a one-way ticket to Mexico through an app on his phone.’ The frown growing on Susi’s face relayed that this was news to her. Thanks to the tech team, it was a much-welcomed piece of evidence Amy had been able to bring to the table during interview.

  ‘I’ve had no disclosure of this,’ Sheffield said. ‘I need to consult with my client.’

  ‘He was thinking of himself, Susi,’ Amy continued, as if she had not heard him. ‘Leaving you and your son to face the music alone. Is that how you want your little boy to grow up? Knowing his daddy sold children to paedophiles while his mummy stood by and watched?’

  Amy slid a photograph across the table. She had obtained the picture of Matty from children’s social care. ‘This is Matthew,’ she said. ‘He was being groomed for sex with paedophiles, just like the girls in the group. You were living off the money they earned for your husband.’ She leaned forward, her voice low. ‘I know what it’s like to have predators as parents and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.’

  ‘I’m not a predator,’ Susi blurted, tears welling in her eyes. ‘I didn’t have anywhere to turn!’

  ‘Mrs Bickerstaff,’ Sheffield’s voice rose. ‘I really must insist that you . . .’

  ‘And I don’t need to listen!’ Susi screamed. ‘Not to him and not to you. So go! I want to talk to Amy alone!’

  Sheffield’s nostrils flared in ill-concealed annoyance. ‘Your husband hired me to . . .’

  ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Susi’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood, pointing him in the direction of the door. ‘You’re fired!’

  Amy exhaled a sigh of relief as the solicitor gathered up his paperwork and left. There was no triumph in it. He was doing his job, the same as her. She handed Susi a tissue and watched her regain control.

  ‘I’ve always admired you.’ Susi offered a watery smile. ‘I said to myself, I bet Amy Winter wouldn’t end up in the mess I was in. You would have known what to do.’

  ‘Sometimes we can’t help the situations we find ourselves in, especially when the person we love is justifying them,’ Amy replied. She knew that PSD had offered Susi a deal. Perhaps she had been considering it all along.

  Susi took a deep breath before speaking, as if gathering up all her strength. ‘It starts off small, you know? Just a few extra quid here and there. You don’t ask because you know it’s not legit but at the same time . . . it’s not hurting anyone, right? Everyone gets thrown a bung now and then.’

  Amy delivered an encouraging nod of the head.

  Susi twisted her wedding ring, a tremble in her voice. ‘Then you get a new car. House renovations. A new business which is losing money hand over fist. But that doesn’t matter because there’s plenty more where that came from. Only now you know this is about more than bungs . . . because you’ve been snooping around.’ Susi pursed her lips. ‘First, I thought he was selling drugs to fund some bit of fluff on the side. But then there were men, people he’d talk to about times and places.’ Her eyes flicked upwards towards Amy. ‘He’d been on a lot of drug busts over the years. He was always creaming off the top.’

  Amy nodded in understanding. So Bicks was seizing drugs from dealers while keeping some back for himself. She remained silent as she contained her revulsion, accommodating Susi’s flow.

  ‘He never used, mind.’ Susi sniffed. ‘He’d throw parties, have people round. But I didn’t like the type of men he hung out with, and I told him I didn’t want them in my house. You just knew, you know? By the way they’d look at you. That they were up to no good.’ Susi sighed. ‘But then I found out he didn’t just use the drugs for the parties. He used them to control the girls too.’

  ‘Is this the group in Clacton?’ Amy said. She had a million questions but forced herself to be patient. So far, it was Susi’s word against Bicks’s. They needed solid proof.

  ‘Yeah.’ Susi cleared her throat. ‘But I didn’t know how young they were, not until Carla came to me.’

  ‘She came to you?’ Amy echoed her words. She had not expected that.

  Susi nodded. ‘The night before she died. When my husband was at work.’ She paused for thought. ‘She said that she could protect me if I helped her build a case. I thought about it. I wanted to but . . .’

  ‘But then she died,’ Amy replied. This was how Bicks kept people silent, when money wasn’t enough any more.

  Susi nodded, tightly winding her tissue between her fingers. ‘He saw her on CCTV. He had it installed years ago. When he asked what she wanted . . . I couldn’t lie. I said Carla was on to him. That he should hand himself in.’ Her chin wobbled as her emotions overcame her. ‘I never thought he’d kill her. I swear.’ Plump tears tumbled down her cheeks. Amy handed her another tissue from the box.

  ‘Carla’s death sent a message to everyone to keep their mouths shut. I was too scared to go to the police because I didn’t know who to trust. Bicks kept hinting that nobody was safe. I’ve got my boy to think about . . .’ A sob left her throat. ‘Please. Try to understand.’

  Amy sensed that her acceptance was more important to Susi than anything. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘The most important thing is that you’re putting it right now. What about the drownings? What do you know about them?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Susi said. ‘Bicks kept moving the group on, but it happened everywhere they went. Then George Shaw turned up dead. He was furious.’ Susi focused her gaze on Amy. ‘I invited you to dinner because I wanted to ask for help. But my darling husband wouldn’t let me out of his sight for a minute.’

  ‘He’s been manipulating you. But what he’s been doing to those kids is far worse.’ Amy followed her gaze to the picture of a young Matty.

  Susi pushed the image away. ‘I don’t want to hear it. I can’t.’

  ‘Then help us. We’ll need a full statement to begin with . . .’

  ‘I can do better than that,’ Susi replied. ‘My husband isn’t the only one with CCTV. I hid a camera in his study last month. But after Carla died, I got scared and took it out.’

  Amy clasped her hands tightly together. This was the proof they were waiting for. ‘Where is it now?’

  ‘Safe.’ Susi straightened in her chair. ‘I’ve got recordings of him talking about the girls, of all his dodgy deals. It made me sick to my stomach.’

  Not sick enough to go to the police, Amy thought. She had underestimated Susi. It seemed she wasn’t as harmless as she portrayed herself to be. The recordings were her insurance and now she was ready to play ball.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Amy had been the subject of much back-patting after her interview with Susi. She had laid the groundwork for the Professional Standards Department to tease out enough information for Bickerstaff to be charged. Now the ground had crumbled beneath him, PSD were confident he would plead guilty, perhaps even name the people who helped him commit his heinous crimes. April had been treated in hospital. Her fractured nose would heal quicker than her internal scars but at least she was reunited with her mother now. Donovan had personally overseen the reunion and said many tears had been shed. The rest of the group were in the hands of social care.

  Amy did not have far to go to update the wife of Chesney, victim number one. Sharon was still in Clacton, ringing her team for regular updates on the case. Amy rapped her knuckles against her hotel room door. She was in for a hell of an update now.

  Sharon rubbed
her eyes as she answered. Her skin was blotchy, her tracksuit stretched to its limits over her chest. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said, with some surprise, smoothing back her hair.

  ‘I’ve got an update,’ Amy said, as the woman stepped back to allow her inside.

  Blinking, Amy removed her sunglasses, adjusting her vision to the gloomy hotel room. The curtains were half-closed, the chill of the air conditioner raising goose bumps on her skin. A rerun of EastEnders blared from the flat-screen TV on the wall.

  ‘Mind if I turn this down?’ Amy scouted the room for the TV remote, finding it under a mascara-stained pillow. It was a relief to silence the particularly vocal argument taking place as the on-screen landlady shouted at someone to ‘Get outta my pub!’

  Sharon dragged her feet, grabbing a wad of tissues from a box next to her bed. ‘Sorry about the mess,’ she said, before blowing her nose. The hotel room was functional, with a bed, table and TV. But the table was taken up with empty takeaway boxes, dirty clothes and magazines. Sharon cleared a space on the bed. ‘I thought if I hung around . . . I thought . . .’ She plopped down on the mattress, heaving a weary sigh. ‘I don’t know what I thought. Why are you here, anyway?’ She spoke with no malice, just curiosity.

  ‘I’ve got an update on the case,’ Amy repeated, unsure if she had heard her the first time around. ‘We’ve made an arrest.’

  The mention of this news brought Sharon’s head sharply up. ‘You have? Who?’

  ‘I can’t say, but it’s in connection with a child sex ring operating in the UK.’ Amy paused as she delivered the bombshell. ‘It’s possible Chesney was paying for sex with one of the girls.’

  ‘Right.’ Sharon cleared her throat, the colour draining from her face. The bed wobbled as she got off it, her bare feet thumping against the carpet as she ran to the en-suite and slammed the door. Violent retching followed, in between gasps for breath.

  ‘You OK in there?’ Amy picked up her phone from where it had fallen on to the floor. Sharon’s home screen featured a picture of her children, their ice cream-stained faces wearing broad grins. Now they would grow up without a father. The devastation was hitting so many young lives.