SHADOW CRIMES a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  * * *

  Most of the pubs in Dorchester are bright, attractive places. Not so the Highlander. Its traditional coaching inn entrance leading to a yard at the rear showed that in times past it had probably been a building of historic importance. It had once had a bar or sitting room each side of the narrow alley with bedrooms above but, as George Warrander said, one half had been sold and converted into a hairdressing salon. With a lick of paint and a well-maintained flower display, the old inn could easily have been turned into a tourist trap, but now the building looked half derelict. Barry opened the door to the bar and led the way inside. The shoddy interior was little better than the outside.

  ‘Do we really want to get food in this place?’ he whispered.

  His question was resolved by the appearance of a heavily built man wearing a grubby T-shirt. ‘No food today. Kitchen’s out of order. Sorry. But can I get you some drinks?’

  Sophie looked at the beers on offer. ‘No cask ale?’

  The man shook his head. ‘Don’t get enough call for it, not in winter.’

  ‘Are you the landlord?’ she asked.

  He nodded.

  ‘Trade good?’

  ‘We get by.’ He yawned and rested his palms on the counter, showing the tattoos running up his arms.

  ‘I’m looking for somewhere to hold a regular monthly social group meeting. Do you have a room that would do?’

  ‘Yeah. The room at the back. It used to be a second lounge, but it’s empty most of the time. When would you want it?’

  ‘First Wednesday afternoon of each month?’

  He frowned. ‘It’s already taken on Wednesdays. Pretty well any other day’s okay though. Can you switch?’

  ‘Not really, no. Maybe we’ll look elsewhere. Thanks.’ Sophie made for the door, and the other two followed her out.

  ‘Eugh. What a tip. I wouldn’t want to eat in there or even have a drink. Let’s get some sandwiches and head back to the incident room.’

  Chapter 35: The Junk Shop

  Wednesday Afternoon

  Back in the incident room, Lydia went to join Jimmy and Rae, who were ploughing through a pile of documents relating to incidences of prison smuggling. Some, but not all, of the prison staff had made detailed records of the items they’d discovered during their snap searches: the serial numbers on the miniature mobile phones, barely legible, identifying marks on packets of “legal highs,” manufacturers’ batch numbers on small packets of razor blades. These were consistent across the whole region, giving weight to Lydia’s suggestion that a single gang was responsible. Why else would goods seized at Portland prison share batch numbers with items confiscated from Winchester and Devizes? The pattern was too obvious, clear evidence that a single gang was supplying much of this stuff. Who were these people?

  Rae had been contacting suppliers, starting with the mobile phones. It hadn’t been difficult, whereas trying to trace the supply chain for the drugs had been like attempting to pin jelly to the wall. The people involved were as slippery as eels. Nevertheless, some details had emerged, and the pieces of the jigsaw were beginning to form a picture. A Weymouth company called Dorset Service Supplies seemed to have been involved with many of the orders.

  ‘They’ve got a registered office that doesn’t exist,’ Rae told Lydia. ‘I think it’s just a convenient forwarding address. We’ve been trying to trace the company directors but we think they’re all aliases. They might have made one slip up, though. There used to be a company called Wessex Regional Supplies that’s been operating in the Weymouth area for ten years or more. I had a look at the description in the Companies House archives because they had a director called William Mapps. I think it’s written by the same person who did the entry for Dorset Trading Supplies. The text is almost identical, as if it’s been cut and pasted, then a few words altered. The line of business is the same in both cases — office supplies and general trading. I think it’s worth looking into.’

  Lydia was impressed. She thought back to the time when she’d served in Sophie’s Violent Crime Unit, trying to track down the rogue company behind the trafficking of young women into the country. It had taken her and Barry days of brain-numbing searching through a labyrinth of false trails. Pity they hadn’t had Rae on the team then.

  ‘That’s fantastic,’ she said. ‘We came across the name Bill Mapps just this morning. It helps to confirm things.’

  ‘Jimmy did most of the groundwork,’ Rae said. ‘I had a few spare hours late yesterday while I was at the safe house with the teenagers, so I did some extra checking.’

  Lydia smiled. ‘Leave it with us. And thanks. How are you getting on with the boss, by the way? You’ve been with her a couple of years now, haven’t you?’

  ‘I can’t believe how things have worked out. Sometimes I have to pinch myself. It’s the little things that make the difference. She wrote to one of my neighbours a month or two ago. I’d let slip about an incident at home where this woman, who’s a bit transphobic, had totally misinterpreted something I’d done. She slapped me across the face and called me a pervert. The boss wrote a really nice letter explaining what had really happened. The woman was round like a shot to apologise.’

  ‘That’s her. She really looks after the people who work for her. I think that’s why she’s so upset about Andrea Ford’s death. It would never have happened under her watch. Kevin’s the same. Sometimes I feel he fusses a bit too much, but they’re two of a kind. They both take their responsibilities towards their staff very seriously.’

  ‘I get the impression that she always regrets you leaving.’ Rae said tentatively, her eyebrows raised.

  ‘That’s why I had to leave. Well, one of the reasons anyway. It was getting too claustrophobic.’

  Rae looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You haven’t guessed? Maybe it’s because of your transgender background, and the fact that you’re in a happy relationship with your boyfriend. You obviously haven’t spotted it.’

  ‘Spotted what?’

  Lydia sighed. ‘I’m a lesbian, Rae. I can pick up the signals from others, even if they don’t fully realise it themselves. Even if they think they’re totally straight. Enough said?’

  * * *

  Just as Rae had surmised, Dorset Trading Supplies wasn’t a real company. When Lydia and Jimmy arrived at the registered address, on a side street of terraced houses and the occasional run-down shop, they found a down-at-heel premises belonging to a company called Wyke Trading that offered all kinds of small-scale financial and administrative services: promotional printing, storage lockers for rent, used office equipment for sale, key cutting, and mail-forwarding. A slim, freckled young woman, whose badge proclaimed her to be Millie Prince, seemed to be in charge of the small shop, which was crammed with slightly shabby office equipment. She greeted the two detectives with a smile which turned wary when they introduced themselves as police officers. She confirmed that mail for the trading company was held there but not forwarded on. Someone from Dorset Trading Supplies collected it every week.

  ‘Do you know the person’s name?’ Lydia asked.

  Millie Prince shook her tight, carroty curls vigorously. Lydia noticed a small butterfly tattoo on her right shoulder. ‘No. My boss takes care of that. I’m only here part-time. Some of the mail-forwarding customers ask for extra security, and Dorset Trading is one of those.’

  ‘Can we see your boss, then?’ Lydia asked. ‘We need some information about the company.’

  Millie Prince shook those curls again. ‘He’s not here. Hang on a sec, I’ll phone him and see if he can pop across. He’ll be in one of his other places. You can ask him, but he’ll probably tell you that we offer all our clients total discretion, and we assure them that their details will be kept secure. He might not agree, not without a warrant.’

  Lydia was growing exasperated. ‘Look, I’m on a high-level investigation into organised crime. Just phone and tell him what I want and that I’m not happy with anyone who trie
s to hold up the case.’

  Millie held up her hands. ‘Okay, okay. I’ll do what I can.’

  She went into a small inner office and closed the door firmly behind her. Lydia indicated to Jimmy that he should move closer and try to catch some of what was being said, while she sidled across to a rickety table on which a pile of opened letters were balanced, some of the contents spilling out. She flipped through the pile, glancing at the names and addresses, until Jimmy signalled that the phone conversation was coming to an end. Millie came back into the room, smiling cheerfully.

  ‘Mr Brown should be here in about twenty minutes. He’s in Dorchester at the moment, just finishing off a meeting, so it shouldn’t take him long.’

  ‘You explained why we were here?’ Lydia said.

  ‘Oh yes. I thought I’d better, so he can try and remember the terms of the contract with Dorset Trading. It shouldn’t be a problem. If you don’t mind, I need to get back to work.’

  Her work consisted of collecting up the letters and papers that Lydia had gone through and carrying them through into the tiny inner office. She came back out and closed the door firmly behind her, turning the key in the lock for good measure. She then proceeded to pick up a cloth and polish some of the items on display. Lydia and Jimmy sat down on a couple of old office chairs.

  ‘Have you worked here long?’ Lydia asked.

  ‘No. I’m only part-time, as I said. I do Monday and Wednesday afternoons, and Saturday mornings. I’m at college and Mr M . . . I mean, I chose the times that would fit with my timetable and he said he’d adapt to suit me.’

  ‘Who said, Millie?’ Lydia asked.

  ‘The owner, Mr Brown.’

  ‘What are you studying?’

  ‘Secretarial. I’ll see how I get on with the end of year exams, then decide what I’ll do next. Either look for a permanent job or, if I do well, try for a degree course in business studies.’

  ‘You wouldn’t want to work here permanently, then?’

  The look on Millie’s face was answer enough. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  She turned her back on them and energetically continued to wipe the dust from the old filing cabinets. They would probably never be sold. Who would want them?

  While they waited, a couple of people drifted in, looked around in a desultory way and left. No one else came in.

  ‘It seems quiet,’ Lydia said. ‘Is this normal?’

  ‘We sell most of the stuff via the web,’ Millie said. ‘We don’t get many sales from people popping in on the off-chance. It’s usually busier than this, though.’

  A few minutes later, a middle-aged, crop-haired man came into the shop. He approached the two detectives warily, folded his arms and stood facing them, feet apart. It was him — the man in the pub who’d been in the background when Lydia had her altercation with the racist gang, who’d sat by himself and left soon after the troublemakers. She decided to say nothing, but surely he’d recognise her?

  ‘What is it you want exactly?’ he asked.

  ‘Good morning, Mr, er, Brown? Is that right?’ Lydia showed him her warrant card. ‘I’m DS Lydia Pillay and this is my colleague, DC Jimmy Melsom. We’re on an investigation, and the name Dorset Trading Supplies has come up as being of interest. This is their registered address.’

  ‘Yes, but we act as a forwarding agency for lots of different people. It’s a common practice.’ He smiled condescendingly.

  His attitude caused Lydia’s hackles to rise. ‘I’m aware of that. Apparently mail comes here and you keep it until someone comes and collects it. I’d like the details of who collects it, and when. Apparently they have a special contract with you, and Millie doesn’t have the clearance to give us that information. But presumably you do.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m not going to. Not without a warrant. All our contracts would be worth shit if people found out I was giving out information. They’d take their business away and I’d go to the wall.’

  ‘I know how to run fraud cases, Mr Brown. We’re not some jumped-up street cops with big mouths. I control all the information, no one else. It stays with me. It’d save time and effort if you were just to tell us what we want to know now. Think of the benefits. You’d be in our good books.’

  ‘The answer’s still no. That’s it. I’ve got work to do, so good morning to you.’ He turned and marched into the tiny inner office.

  ‘Sorry,’ mouthed Millie, and returned to her cleaning.

  Lydia looked at Jimmy. ‘Okay, if that’s the way he wants it. Let’s head back and consult the boss.’

  * * *

  ‘So, you don’t think his name is Brown?’ Sophie asked, and leant back in her chair.

  ‘No. He made a couple of slips that gave it away. The main thing though, apart from the fact he was that guy in the CCTV footage, was the post I glanced through. It had a few items addressed to a Mr William Mapps. That’s when I thought, “Bingo! We’ve really got something here.”’ Sophie looked puzzled. ‘I’d better explain. William Mapps was a name that Rae dug up. Two of the companies that we might be interested in have him as director, and the young woman working there told us he had other premises. I wonder if he’s actually the top guy, the one we’re after.’

  Sophie tapped the desktop. ‘Well, it’s worth considering. We know from Simon Osman’s abridged version of events that his contact’s name is Bill Mapps.’ She fell silent for a while. ‘We haven’t done anything with that phone number he gave us yet. He’ll be cleaning up the place as we speak, but that doesn’t matter too much, particularly since you had that rummage through his post. We’ll pay him another visit late afternoon with the warrant, and Barry can phone that number while we’re there. If we’re in luck, they’ll answer. If it’s him, we’ll have the connection we need. How does that sound?’

  Lydia smiled. ‘Killing two birds. I like it, ma’am.’

  ‘You don’t mind me tagging along? I promise I’ll stay in the background. We’ll take Jimmy and Rae, and I’ll rustle up a couple of forensic people.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  It took Sophie just an hour to organise the warrant, which Lydia thought must be a record. She’d had some misgivings about her former boss’s recent promotion, although she wasn’t sure why she felt that way. Well, this was one of the undoubted benefits, along with the speed with which Sophie could “borrow” two members of the county’s forensic team. That afternoon, the seven of them drove to the dingy shop.

  * * *

  Millie looked up, startled, as Lydia pushed open the door. ‘He’s not here at the moment. He went out just after you left. He said he’d be back in an hour or two. Can you wait while I phone him?’

  ‘Sorry, we can’t wait. I have the warrant here. You can check it if you want, but everything’s in order, I assure you.’ She handed it to Millie. ‘Feel free to phone your boss, but we’re taking over in here from now on.’

  When the other members of the team came in, Millie looked aghast. ‘He said you wouldn’t be back till tomorrow, and that’s one of my days off. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Just phone him,’ Lydia said. ‘There’s nothing else you can do. Then put the kettle on and make yourself a tea or coffee. We’ll have one too, if you’ve got enough cups. Find a quiet corner and sit down and relax. This doesn’t really involve you, not unless you know more than you’ve let on.’

  Millie shook her head vigorously. ‘No, honestly.’

  She tried to contact her boss but there was no reply, so she perched on a stool in the corner of the shop and watched the action unfold. As far as she could tell, the search team consisted of three groups of two. The two detectives who’d visited earlier, two grey-clad people who she guessed were forensic workers because they’d brought cases of technical equipment, and two other women who she thought might also be detectives. One of the forensic people asked to take her fingerprints. “For elimination purposes,” he explained.

  This could well mean the end of her part-time job here, Millie realised
. The place was conveniently close to her home and the hours were ideal. What would she do for money now? Mr Mapps, her boss, frightened her a bit, and now she wondered just what he was mixed up in. Why had he told her to lie about his name if any strangers came into the shop?

  She realised that the older woman detective was watching her.

  ‘Are you okay?’ the woman asked. ‘You don’t look very well.’

  Millie shook her head. ‘I don’t feel well. He’s bound to have a go at me, and I’ll probably lose my job. And it’s unfair because I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong.’ She began to cry.

  ‘Have you worked here long?’

  Millie shook her head. ‘Just since the summer. I started here at about the same time as I started at college. I live just around the corner so it’s really good. And I like organising the place. It’s the first time I’ve ever been in charge of anything. I’m here on my own quite a bit. It’ll be awful if I get the sack or it closes.’

  ‘Do you have to find your rent yourself, or do you share?’

  ‘I live with my mum, but she struggles a bit ’cause she’s disabled. She’s got a part-time job at the supermarket, and between us we just about get by. If he sacks me, I’ll have to find somewhere else pretty quick.’ She sniffed and blew her nose. ‘I s’pose I knew it was gonna happen. He’s been looking grim for the past week or so, muttering about closing up. Most of the stuff we have is junk, and we’re just not selling much. I wouldn’t buy it. I s’pose it’s his other businesses that keep him going. I can’t see how this place has ever made him any money, not while I’ve been here anyway.’ She looked at the woman. ‘But I never knew there was illegal stuff going on. It can’t be that bad, can it? It’s only old office equipment that’s worth nothing. Why are so many of you here for junk like this?’ She squinted at the woman’s neck badge. ‘I mean, you’re a superintendent. Isn’t that one of the high-ups? Why are you interested in total crap like this?’ She waved her arm at the collection of outdated printers, photocopiers and old laptops.