Dead & Buried

by Adam Croft

  ‘Did he say what sort of work it was?’ Karim asked.

  Milan shook his head. ‘We asked, but he was…’ He looked at his solicitor.

  ‘Vague?’ Randall offered.

  ‘Yes. He said it was in hospitality. We thought maybe a hotel, or events or something. In Serbia, I have worked in restaurants.’

  ‘Do you know this man’s name?’ Karim asked.

  Milan shook his head again. ‘It seems silly, but we did not ask. We just wanted to get to the UK and he gave us this chance to work.

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘He had a beard. I think he was maybe Russian or something like this. A bald head. His jumper light brown, and was zipped up high around the neck. Jeans on his legs. That is all I can say.’

  ‘So he brought you to the UK on a boat? Can you describe it?’

  ‘Not very big, but bigger than I have been on before.’

  ‘Was it a ferry? A cargo ship?’

  ‘Small cargo ship.’

  ‘And who else was on this ship?’

  ‘Two other men. One was in charge, and the other was working there also.’

  Karim got the impression there was more that Milan wanted to say, so he kept quiet and let him continue.

  ‘When we got to the UK, there was a van waiting. They said they were going to take us to where the business was. We got in, and a couple of hours later we arrived. It was a building in this town.’

  ‘Mildenheath?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you describe where?’

  Milan shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. We were in the back of the van, so we could not see outside.’

  ‘What about from the park, where you were found? Could you trace your steps back to the building?’

  ‘I don’t think so. We ran a long way and different ways. I don’t even know which direction.’

  ‘Okay. Carry on.’

  Milan swallowed. ‘When we got there, they took our things and we went through into our bedroom. It was okay. Two beds, a wash basin and somewhere to eat. After a couple of hours, a man came in to tell us about the work they wanted us to do. He said they had some very important customers and we could not tell people about them. He said we would be paid very well. He said the customers came there because they wanted things.’

  ‘What things?’ Karim asked, sensing that Milan was drying up.

  Milan looked at his solicitor, who nodded gently to him.

  Milan took a deep breath before speaking. ‘Different things. But that night my first customer came in, and after a while he wanted me to…’ Milan made a gesture with his hand and mouth.

  Karim shuffled uncomfortably. ‘For the benefit of the recording, Mr Nikolic is making an oral sex gesture. He wanted you to perform oral sex on him?’

  ‘Yes,’ Milan said, almost on the verge of tears.

  ‘And did you?’

  Milan nodded.

  ‘You’re nodding. Is that a yes?’

  ‘Yes. I did not want to, but I had no choice. He said he would pay extra money because he liked me. And I thought, we have no money. We have nowhere to go. We do not know where we are. And the man who told us about the work… He seemed… I don’t know. I think if I said no, we would be hurt.’

  ‘Did you feel threatened into performing this sex act?’

  Milan nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And can you describe the customer who you had to perform the sex act on?’

  Karim could see that even bringing the man’s face back into his mind was troubling Milan. He recognised the pained look of anguish on his face, which he’d seen many times in victims of sexual assaults.

  ‘Tall. Thin. Grey hair. A moustache.’

  ‘How old would you say he was?’

  Milan shrugged. ‘Sixty, maybe.’

  ‘And what was he wearing?’

  ‘A suit. Grey suit.’

  ‘With a tie?’

  Milan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes. Red, I think.’

  ‘And did your friend see this man too?’

  Milan shrugged. ‘He told me he also had to do things. Not… Not the same, though.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘With his hands.’

  ‘What do you mean? The man wanted masturbation?’

  Milan nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Karim stayed silent for a few moments before speaking.

  ‘Do you think your friend will talk to us? Will he want to make a statement too?’

  Milan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. He is afraid of the police. In Serbia, the police can be bad people.’

  ‘Do you want to tell us your friend’s name? We might be able to help him, too, but he’ll need to cooperate.’

  Milan looked at his solicitor and took a deep breath before speaking.

  ‘His name is Zoran. Zoran Petrovic.’

  21

  PC Karim Rashid came out of the interview room feeling like someone had attached a thousand lead weights to him. He’d gone in to interview an unidentified male suspected of stealing food from a local shop, and had come out with an allegation of a major sex trafficking ring that was operating right on their doorstep.

  He knew this would likely be his last involvement with the case. Now, he had no choice but to refer it up to CID. It was just another thing which made him realise how much he wanted to work in CID himself, and to be the one to work on this sort of case. He could imagine the scale and intensity of the investigation now, and he salivated as he thought of it. It was the sort of case that could make an enormous difference to the fabric of local society.

  Institutionalised sexual abuse wreaked havoc for thousands of people and their families, and if his interview with Milan could possibly go some way to helping to lift the lid on a local sex trafficking ring, he’d be a very proud man. But he’d be even prouder to actively work on the case and help bring these people to justice.

  He steeled himself, remembering his training. At the moment, they were just allegations. Milan could be a fantasist, he could be making up the story in order to deflect from crimes he’d committed himself. Nothing would surprise him any more. But there was that look in Milan’s eyes… He’d seen it many times before, and he’d never known anyone to be able to convincingly fake it.

  He picked up the phone and called through to CID.

  22

  The coffee machine in the major incident room’s kitchenette was seeing plenty of action that morning, the veneer cupboard fronts coated with a layer of moisture from the machine’s expelled steam. Wendy was trying to insert a capsule into the machine without success when Culverhouse approached her.

  ‘Load of shit, these new ones. All cost-cutting, I suppose. You’d think they could buy pods that actually fit into the machine, though, wouldn’t you?’ he said, taking a dessert spoon from the cutlery drawer and stabbing at the capsule until it had been forced far enough into the machine to allow Culverhouse to close the lid.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘Might taste a bit plasticky now, but it’ll be an improvement on the coffee.’

  ‘Are you having one?’ she asked, opening the box of capsules.

  ‘No chance. I’m sticking to tea until they go back to the old brand. Listen. I wanted to have a word with you, actually. I know last time we spoke you were still a bit unsure about going for the exams again. I just wondered if you’d had any more thoughts about it.’

  Wendy took a deep breath before speaking.

  ‘Some.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I dunno. At some point, perhaps, yeah. But I don’t think the time’s right at at the moment. I’ve got a lot going on.’

  ‘Don’t tell those bastards in there, but I failed mine first time. Knocks your confidence. Must be similar for you, I suppose?’

  ‘No, I just don’t think the time’s right. That’s all.’

  Culverhouse cocked his head slightly. ‘You weren’t upset that you didn’t get to take the exam?’

  ‘Well, obviously I wasn’t best p
leased. I’d put in a lot of effort studying and revising. Wasn’t nice to feel like that time was all wasted, but life’s a bitch.’

  ‘It wasn’t wasted. You would’ve passed with flying colours if you’d been able to do it. And that groundwork should be enough to easily get you over the line next time.’

  Wendy shook her head. Right now, she didn’t want there to be a next time.

  ‘At the moment I just want to focus on where I am. I’m happy. I do a good job as a DS. At least I hope I do.’

  ‘You know you do,’ Culverhouse said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘You do a bloody good job. More than the rest of them put together some days. And that’s why you’d be invaluable in a management position. I mean, look at the dross that’s there at the moment. You’ve got bellends like Malcolm Pope running the show because no-one else wants to put their head above the parapet and go for it. Then there’s me. And I won’t be here forever.’

  Although Wendy knew Culverhouse wasn’t getting any younger, it shocked her to hear him talking like this. He’d never once mentioned retirement or leaving the police force. Indeed, most of the time he acted like he was still twenty-one years old and working in the early 1980s.

  ‘You’re not thinking of retiring, are you?’ she asked him. Although deep down she wouldn’t mind one day moving up a rank or two, she really wasn’t keen on the idea of being groomed to run Mildenheath CID’s major crimes unit. That was a poisoned chalice if ever she saw one.

  ‘Fuck off, of course I’m not,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘But the fact is I’ll have to one day. Whether it’s by my choosing or otherwise. And the last thing I want is for this department to go to pot when I’m gone. That was old Jack Taylor’s philosophy, too,’ he said, referring to the Detective Inspector who’d been in charge when he was in Wendy’s shoes, and before. ‘“Don’t let the bastards get their foot in the door,” he used to say. Served him well, too.’

  Wendy didn’t want to point out that Taylor was around during the 1980s and that sort of behaviour didn’t go down too well nowadays. However, she knew that enough of the old guard were still in the ranks at Mildenheath for it to be a very real possibility that Culverhouse would ultimately end up choosing his successor — if the unit hadn’t been subsumed into county headquarters by then.

  ‘And I’ll admit,’ Culverhouse continued, ‘I wasn’t sure about you at first. You seemed a bit wishy-washy. Clueless, perhaps. And sticking your head down the bog God knows how many times on the first day of your first case didn’t help much. But we all have our off days.’

  ‘I suppose now you’re going to tell me you were a nervous wreck on your first day in CID, are you?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Me? No chance. Alpha from the start, me. The culture was different back then. You didn’t stand a chance if you came in all keen and nervous. They knew what I was about from day one. I made sure of that.’

  Wendy knew her boss well enough to know when he was masking the truth, but she was also wise enough not to say anything.

  ‘Why not just put your name forward?’ he said. ‘You don’t even need to actually take the exam. You can say you’re ill or something when it comes down to it, but at least it’ll give you something to aim for if you want it. Just put your name down, so you’ve got a slot if you want it. You’ve got months then to worry about it and prepare for it.’

  ‘I dunno. I’ll think about it, maybe,’ Wendy said, taking her mug of coffee from under the machine and making to walk off.

  Culverhouse stepped towards her and spoke almost in a whisper.

  ‘Listen, you don’t need convincing to go for it. You’ve already gone for it once, so the drive and desire is obviously already there. Something’s knocked that back. I can see that. I don’t know what it is, but I know you’re strong enough to overcome it and get back on the horse. Alright?’

  With another reassuring pat on the shoulder, Culverhouse was gone, and Wendy was left even more confused and lost in her own mind.

  Mere moments later, Culverhouse was approached by Steve Wing.

  ‘I’ve just taken a phone call from downstairs,’ Steve said. ‘You might want to sit down.’

  23

  ‘Right. Gather round, everyone,’ Culverhouse said, having organised an immediate extraordinary team briefing. ‘We’ve had some news which could completely change the direction of Operation Counterflow. Two uniformed officers were called out to the park on Meadow Hill Lane late last night after a theft was reported from a local shop. Two men were arrested on suspicion of theft and brought in for questioning. After the usual fun and games, one of them made a statement claiming they had escaped from what appears to be a local brothel of some sort. He claimed he and his friend were picked up in Holland and brought to the UK for employment, which turned out to be sex work. He says they managed to escape from the building where they were kept.

  ‘He gave a description of the man who’d brought them over from Holland, and also descriptions of a man working in the brothel and a client who he was asked to perform an oral sex act on. Now, the second boy was less willing to talk, but he opened up after the interviewing officer made it clear she knew what had been going on. He volunteered many of the same details himself — the man in Holland, the guy working in the brothel. He also says he was asked to perform a sex act on the same client, who both boys named as “the judge”, but his description was completely different. Our first man described the judge as being tall, with grey hair and a moustache. The second man described him as having short dark hair, of medium height and clean shaven. They’re also about fifteen years apart in their estimates of his age.’

  ‘What’s the connection with Operation Counterflow?’ Wendy Knight asked.

  ‘Well this is where it gets interesting. Both boys are from Serbia.’ Culverhouse watched as an audible gasp ran through the room. ‘As you might recall, one of our victims on Operation Counterflow had a tattoo in Serbian, and both had signs of anal trauma. Once we’ve got an ID on the bodies, if we can confirm they’re both Serbian too, we might have a link.’

  Frank Vine shook his head and spoke. ‘So what, some gay prison stroke brothel has been operating on our doorstep for God knows how long, and not only have we never heard hide nor hair of it, but within hours of each other we have two bodies in a ditch and a couple of lads turning up at the station claiming to have been sex trafficked? Isn’t that a bit far-fetched?’

  ‘Too early to say,’ Culverhouse said, having already considered that point and not dismissed it. ‘I’ve got a few theories. It could all be made up, it could be a coincidence and unrelated to the dead bodies we’re investigating. But how many Serbians do we come across locally? Not many. I’m keeping an open mind for now.’ As he spoke, he knew how strong his own doubts were, but this wasn’t the sort of thing he could afford to be casual about. It would be far worse for him and the whole force if they failed to act on an allegation such as this.

  ‘What about their descriptions of the other men?’ Wendy asked. ‘You mentioned the guy in Holland and the person working in the brothel.’

  ‘Well, on the face of it they seem to match,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘But they essentially boil down to “short dark hair and dark clothes” for the guy in Holland. Their descriptions of the guy in the brothel are that he was a big bloke with a shaved head and tattoos. Hardly takes a lot of invention to describe a security guy like that, though.’

  ‘You think they’re making it up?’ Steve Wing asked.

  ‘I think we have to accept it’s a possibility. At the very least, a defence lawyer would tear us apart on the different descriptions of the guy known as “the judge”. And the descriptions of the runner and the security guy are so vague and stereotypical they’re almost laughable. I know we’re not supposed to do hunches,’ he said, shooting a look at Wendy and Ryan Mackenzie, ‘but it wouldn’t surprise me if these boys were just looking for protection before they get found out for being in the country illegally. They’d need a visa to be here abov
e-board from Serbia, and it looks like neither of them has one. They could easily put things off for a few days by having to take part in a few interviews with us. A full police investigation would take, what, weeks — if not months. That’d mean us having to defer their deportation until we were done. Then if they’re wanted in the witness box a few months or a year later… Well, you can see where I’m going with this.’

  Wendy certainly could, although she was reluctant to agree. Their job was not to make assumptions about what had happened, but to investigate the allegations that had been made and to uncover and interpret evidence as to the truth of the matter. Immigration issues weren’t a matter for the police to be concerned about.

  The alternative, however — that they were telling the truth about an illegal sex trafficking ring in Mildenheath — was a possibility that just could not be ignored.

  24

  Jack Culverhouse’s car rolled slowly down Parsons Close as he looked at the house numbers. Number 19 was in the corner, nicely tucked away. A burglar’s dream, he thought.

  He turned his car around and parked it across the end of the driveway, facing the way he just came. He wasn’t sure why — maybe it was a subconscious preparation in case he needed to make a quick exit.

  He walked up the gravel path and knocked twice on the door, clutching the bottle of wine he’d bought from the off-licence on his way over. He didn’t know a thing about wine, but he remembered the online shopping order story and guessed Chrissie liked white. Although he didn’t know anything about any of the wines on offer, they seemed to have a handy indication of niceness on labels below the bottles, denoted in Pounds Sterling. The one he chose was £15.99 — an obscene amount of money for a bottle of wine, he thought, especially as he was only going to get to drink one small glass before driving home.