by Rob Ashman
‘We will see him tomorrow at 1.45pm. The auction starts at 2pm sharp.’
‘Thank you, Mr Marshall.’ The line goes dead.
Bloody hell. That went better than I anticipated.
I thank the woman behind reception as I leave the hotel and return to my car, sliding into the driver’s seat. The scan picture has fallen onto the floor. I pick it up and place it in the box. Scrawled across the top, in my dead wife’s handwriting, is the name, Jade.
Chapter 36
I arrive back at my flat, my head spinning with possibilities. Jade is curled up on the sofa, sulking.
‘Where have you been?’ she says.
‘Out for a drive.’
‘Did you stab him?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘I’m not the stupid one.’ She jumps up and is in my face again. ‘I’m not the one pussyfooting around. I’m not the one–’
‘Change the record, will you?’ I go through to the kitchen and switch on the kettle to make a brew. I can hear her muttering in the other room, letting her displeasure shine through.
Jade has been on the scene now for about thirteen years. She first showed up when I was in a drunken state on Christmas Eve. I was stumbling around trying to lock up for the night and heard a noise coming from the spare bedroom. I edged open the door to see a five-year-old girl dressed in Father Christmas pyjamas, getting into bed. A shock of black hair made her face appear translucent white in the semi-darkness.
‘Has he been yet?’ she asked, her brown eyes big and bright. She snuggled down under the duvet, pulling it tight under her chin.
The weird thing was, it was as though I had been expecting her.
‘No, but he’s on his way.’ I walked in and sat on the bed. Her smiling face lit up the room. ‘He won’t come if you’re not asleep.’
‘But I can’t sleep. I’m too excited.’
‘So am I.’
‘Have you put up decorations?’
‘I have a small tree with baubles and tinsel.’
‘Will that be enough? Will Santa come for that?’
‘Yeah, Santa comes for a lot less. He visits children who have nothing.’
‘That’s because he’s kind.’ I looked into her eyes, could see Blythe staring back at me. ‘I’d go to sleep faster if you stayed here with me.’
‘Budge up,’ I said. Jade moved over under the quilt. Only her face and fingers were visible. I lay next to her on top of the bedding and rested my head on the pillow. ‘Is that better?’
‘Yes.’
Within seconds she was drifting off to sleep, the sound of her breathing filling me with joy.
When I woke Christmas morning she was gone.
And so it continued. I wouldn’t see her for months and then something would happen and she’d be there; lively and chatty, sporting her new-found fashions and latest hairstyles. As the years went by she transitioned from a toddler to a teenager. The older she got, the darker her personality became. I know that’s supposed to be the way, but this was different. It was as though her temperament was in sync with mine. The deeper I plunged into my own personal hell, the more she reflected it back at me.
Now Jade is with me most of the time. The problem is, she’s constantly angry. She scolds me and goads me into doing something to avenge Blythe’s death. I don’t tend to think about it too much, but if I was a shrink I would say Jade is a manifestation of my grief and anger. She is the embodiment of my inner turmoil. But I’m not a shrink, so what do I know?
I drink my coffee, leaning against the kitchen worktop.
The options coalesce in my brain. Jade walks in.
‘Now, that’s what I call a plan.’
Kray was hunched over a speaker phone chairing a team conference call. She had just completed her account of the discussion with Ellwood.
‘What do you think, Roz? D’you believe him?’ asked Chapman.
‘I think he went through a series of traumatic events, culminating in the death of his wife. We need to remember that at the time there was not the safeguarding protocols in place for coppers who went undercover like there are today. He looked a shell of a man, still trying to come to terms with what happened.’
‘That’s strange though, that when they met up, his brother didn’t bring a phone for fear his movements would be tracked. It’s like they were expecting trouble,’ said Gill, his voice blasting from the speaker.
‘I have to say I can’t blame him, given what happened,’ Tavener added. ‘I would have thought paranoia was the least of his problems.’
‘Have you had any success retrieving the case files from West Mids and Nottingham?’ asked Kray.
‘I’m getting them in dribs and drabs, Roz,’ replied Tavener. ‘So far, the documentation confirms Ellwood’s account. I’m still going through it.’
‘Okay, and what about the hospital?’ she asked.
‘We have a screen grab from the CCTV of a man dressed in blue scrubs who entered the ward where the Asian woman was being treated. It’s being cross referenced with the database of employees. The picture is taken from above and shows him in semi-profile, so it’s not great.’
‘Okay, keep at it. Anything else?’
‘Nothing has come up on missing persons, so we’re no closer to being able to identify the woman.’
‘Tejinder, what do you have?’ asked Kray, searching for a scrap of good news.
‘A big fat nothing, Roz,’ his voice crackled. ‘Everyone at the Majestic casino has the same story; Marshall and the guys showed up here, partied for a while and left. I’m wasting my time and will be heading back to the station after the call.’
‘House-to-house? What do we have, Louise?’ asked Kray.
‘We’ve drawn a blank there too, Roz. No one recognised Weir’s picture or saw anything unusual that night. And the social media trawl came up blank. Forensics have come back with a possible ID on the type of knife used. The blade had a sharp, smooth cutting edge on one side and a serrated edge on the other. Like a diver’s knife.’
‘Okay, that’s something, I suppose.’
‘But that’s it, Roz.’
‘Bollocks. When are we going to get a break? I’m convinced all three deaths are linked but we can’t find the connection. Does anyone have anything to add before we end the call?’ General murmurings of ‘no’ came over the speaker. ‘Okay, I’ll catch up with you when you’re back at the station.’ Kray thumped her finger down on the disconnect button and threw herself back in her seat.
Her mobile rang on the desk.
‘Kray.’ She listened to the voice on the other end. ‘I’m on my way.’ She gathered her belongings and hurried from the station. This could be the break she’d been waiting for.
Chapter 37
Kray was standing in the incident room staring at Bagley. She had decided in advance this was not going to be a meeting where taking a seat was required.
Bagley was slouched in a chair, fiddling with his tie, trying to stop himself from bursting a blood vessel. Kray had contacted Quade on returning to the station and had requested an urgent meeting. Quade had suggested Bagley should also be in attendance. He was sulking that she had gone over his head, denying him the opportunity to cream off any good news and deliver it himself.
‘This is highly irregular, Roz.’ He flushed red.
‘ACC Quade said she would be here shortly.’
‘I have other more important things–’
ACC Quade waddled in and crushed her arse into a seat. ‘Afternoon both; I hope this is going to be worth my while because up to now it appears to be all downhill. The Chief is getting jumpy with the lack of progress and quite frankly, so am I.’
Glad we’re entering into this in the right frame of mind.
‘Hopefully, this will provide all of us with some much-needed good news, ma’am.’ Roz was keen to get things moving. ‘I’ll get to the punchline first: I want you to authorise a raid on the Paragon club because I’ve reason to believe the
y are harbouring women for the purposes of trafficking.’
‘Not this cock and bull story again?’ Bagley could contain himself no longer. ‘This is ridiculous, we don’t have the resources to charge around town conducting operations on the basis of a whim. We’ve had this discussion and you’re barking up the wrong tree. Will you stop this trafficking line of enquiry?’
‘Is that in the same way as I was barking up the wrong tree when I thought the Asian woman had been murdered?’ Kray was not going to be browbeaten.
‘I do hope you’re not wasting our time, Roz,’ Quade interjected. ‘Because I have not come here to listen to you two bickering. Sort it out, then get me involved, that’s the way it’s supposed to work.’
‘Sorry, ma’am. If you would just hear me out,’ Kray said.
‘I’m waiting…’ Quade replied. Bagley was fizzing.
‘I’ve just had a conversation with Billy Ellwood and he told me that three nights ago he broke into the Paragon club.’
‘What! Why the hell would he tell us that?’ exploded Bagley.
‘He believes the people who run the club had a hand in his brother’s death. He broke in with the intention of gathering information. While he was there he discovered a woman was being held in a room in the cellar. She made a run for it and was knocked down by a taxi about two hundred yards from the club. I showed him a photograph of our murder victim and he confirmed it was the woman he saw that night.’
‘This is more like it,’ Quade said. ‘Is he credible?’
‘I believe so, ma’am.’
Bagley squirmed in his seat.
‘Billy Ellwood told me that a new consignment of women is due tonight and they are to be auctioned off at the club at 2pm tomorrow.’
‘How the hell does he know that?’ asked Bagley.
‘He wormed his way in and got an invitation.’
‘This is absurd!’ Bagley leapt to his feet. ‘This is the word of a professional liar, a man who’s spent his entire life concocting stories for a living. He’s making this up to save himself from a charge of breaking and entering.’
‘We haven’t charged him, he volunteered the information.’ Kray looked at Quade. ‘Ma’am, there’s more…’
Bagley was having none of it and marched up to the evidence boards. ‘Let’s get real here: we have Michael Ellwood who was shot through the head and washed up on a beach – no progress. Tommy Weir, murdered in an alleyway – no progress. An unidentified Asian woman killed at the hospital – some progress. I think we should stick to what we have in front of us, ma’am, rather than chase around in small circles because some ex-copper has an axe to grind.’
‘Sit down, Dan.’ Quade gave Bagley a sideways glance – he did as he was told.
‘Dan is right, ma’am, we’ve been unable to make significant progress with the murders because we’ve been investigating them as stand-alone cases. I believe they are linked. And I believe the link is Eddie Marshall and the Paragon.’
‘Who the hell is Eddie Marshall?’ asked Quade.
‘Marshall runs the club; he’s the head guy. We’ve interviewed him a couple of times and he is a slippery bastard. Marshall and his team were caught on ANPR on their way to Liverpool on the night Weir was killed. He said they were going to the Majestic Casino but I think they went to Mersey Docks to pick up a delivery of illegal immigrants instead. I believe they conducted an auction the next day, but one of them didn’t sell, and Billy Ellwood found her in the cellar when he broke in.
‘I also believe that to facilitate that deal Marshall dispatched Weir to collect a sum of money. When he failed to return Marshall tried to contact him several times. He stopped calling when he received a call from one of his guys – I think that during that call Marshall was informed that Weir was dead. He has been giving us a right song and dance routine about the movement of the vehicles to cover his tracks. I also believe he ordered the death of the Asian to prevent her from identifying the club. Or he killed her himself.’
‘Does Marshall have a link to Michael Ellwood?’ asked Quade.
‘In 2000, Billy Ellwood infiltrated a drugs gang called the Critchleys, who operated out of Nottingham. Eddie Marshall worked for them. On the basis of Ellwood’s testimony at the time, the gang was decimated and I believe Eddie Marshall ordered a hit on Michael Ellwood as revenge for what Billy did.’
‘Why did he wait eighteen years?’
‘I don’t know, ma’am, but I’m convinced Eddie Marshall is the key. He’s the connection to all three murders. And we have an opportunity tomorrow to bring the whole operation crashing down around his ears.’
‘It’s an interesting theory, Roz, but it is just that – a theory. You have no evidence to back it up.’ Bagley had his arms folded.
‘Why would Billy Ellwood be telling us this?’ asked Quade.
‘When the undercover operation was blown, the Critchleys sent a punishment squad to his house. They attacked him and ended up murdering his pregnant wife. During the post-mortem they found skin and cornea under her fingernails. Ellwood is convinced it came from the face of the man that attacked his wife and got away.’ Kray passed around the blown-up shot showing Marshall sitting at his dining room table, his ocular prosthesis in his hand. ‘Marshall has a glass eye. Ellwood thinks he murdered his wife, Blythe.’
The rest of the day passed in a blur of frantic activity. Much to Kray’s surprise Quade was willing to take a punt on her analysis and proposition. Bagley remained unconvinced and angry as hell. The fact that they were going to launch an operation against the Paragon club meant Bagley had his nose well and truly out of joint. Something she would, no doubt, regret at a later date.
Kray was feeling really proud of the way she had presented the case and had won Quade over with her weight of reasoning. This optimism was somewhat dashed when she overheard Quade saying to Bagley, ‘Put it this way, whatever the rationale, if we don’t do it and the press find out that someone had told us about the auction, we are in deep shit.’ Which kind of took the shine off the afternoon. She tried to shove tomorrow to the back of her mind, but it wasn’t working.
Kray arrived home to find the place filled with the classic aroma of Italian cuisine. How could Millican make the humblest of spaghetti bologneses seem like restaurant food?
‘You don’t seem yourself. Is everything okay?’ he asked, as he put a handful of pasta into the boiling water.
‘I’ve got a lot on at the moment,’ she said, sipping her wine. ‘Sorry if I’m a little preoccupied.’
‘No, I don’t mean now. I mean in general, you’ve been… I don’t know… different.’
‘I’m probably run down, I had that bloody water infection and I’m under the cosh at work. It’s nothing to worry about.’ She slipped her arms around his waist and hugged his back as he stirred the sauce.
Millican had called earlier in the day and asked her to come over to his place for dinner. She’d declined, saying that she had a big day tomorrow and needed a good night’s sleep in her own bed – alone. But she was well up for him driving to her place to cook dinner, which for Millican meant a trip to the supermarket first.
He turned and pulled her close, kissing her on the neck. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Yeah, I’m sure.’ She kissed him on the mouth. ‘I’m fine.’
The pains in her belly had gone and the bleeding had stopped, however, the prospect of telling him about the baby was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment. She broke free from his embrace to set bowls and knives and forks on the worktop.
‘You are a peasant,’ he said, taking a spoon from the drawer and replacing one of the knives.
‘I can’t help it if I wasn’t brought up posh and, anyway, I’ll get that beautiful sauce down my front if I try to do the “wrap it in a spoon” malarkey.’
His phone rang.
‘Here, stir this and don’t let it stick to the bottom of the pan.’
‘Whoo-hoo! Look at me cooking.’
‘That’s a shame. What am I going to do with all this?’ She waved the spoon at the cooker.
‘Eat it, I guess.’ He hugged and kissed her. ‘Sorry, I have to go.’
‘I know – call you tomorrow, but it will be late in the evening.’
‘Okay.’ He gathered up his jacket and left, closing the front door behind him. Kray turned off the rings on the cooker and heaped herself some pasta and sauce into a bowl. The clock on the mantelpiece said 8pm. In twelve hours’ time she would be organising a room full of coppers, explaining why they had to smash the front door of the Paragon club and what they could expect to find when they did.
The spag-bol tasted delicious, but it did nothing to quell the nervous tension raging inside her. Whichever way Kray looked at it, tomorrow was a big day.
Chapter 38
Kray was sitting in her car, parked in a side street one hundred yards from the Paragon. Earlier, she had been on her feet in front of fifteen officers delivering one of the most important briefings of her career. After all, with three, possibly four murders hanging in the balance, not to mention the fate of goodness knows how many illegal immigrants, the stakes could not have been higher. She stared out of the windscreen, her palms sweaty, her stomach in knots.
Despite her best intentions she hadn’t slept a wink. The details of each case swirled around her, keeping sleep well and truly at bay. She had spent the time gazing at the ceiling while rubbing her tummy.
The sun streamed into the car, heating up the interior. Tavener cracked a window down.
‘Nice day for it,’ he said.
‘If it was pissing down with rain it would be a nice day for it. We need to nail this bastard. I want to look Marshall in the eye when we lock the cuffs on him – that’s eye, singular.’