For Richer, For Poorer

by Kerry Wilkinson

  A minute and a half later and it came: ‘Go.’

  Jessica turned to the biggest officer, who put his size elevens to good use with the crunching eloquence of splintering wood, and in they went.

  The officer with the big feet was a bit carried away, bellowing ‘Get down on the floor’ at the top of his voice as if they were ambushing terrorists intent on exploding a dirty bomb, rather than a young woman who was ‘def not a size 8’ and potentially a punter who would be more worried about finding his pants than anything else.

  ‘I’m not messing, get down on the ground!’

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Jessica entered behind the two larger, male officers. The front door led into a living room where the lights were on but there were no signs of life. The door directly ahead was closed but there was the sound of a woman’s voice and some frantic scrambling.

  Big Boot Bertie stormed forward, thrusting open the door and repeating himself. Jessica could see the lower half of a bed and a flash of flesh. She caught the eye of the second officer and pointed him towards the other door off to the right.

  Jessica followed the first officer into the bedroom, where the woman she assumed was Flora was screaming and punching the officer in the chest. He reeled back but Jessica got to him first, grabbing his wrist with one hand and Flora’s with the other. She tumbled forward onto the bed, letting go of the officer but hanging onto Flora for all she was worth. Somewhere in among trying to avoid being bitten, Jessica shouted at the dumbstruck big-booted officer to stop the man who was wearing only a pair of boxer shorts from escaping.

  As Big Boot Bertie lumbered towards him, the punter jumped onto the bed, leapt across the officer’s back and bolted out of the door. Flora was spitting, swearing, shouting foreign words, biting and scratching but, for the most part, Jessica was avoiding being hit. The officer righted himself and glanced towards Jessica.

  ‘Go!’

  As he ran out of the door, Jessica rolled sideways, keeping her grip on Flora but trying not to either hurt the other woman or get clattered herself. She slipped off the bed, avoided Flora’s flailing foot, wrenched up the bottom of the duvet – and then threw it forward until the thrashing woman was entirely covered. Then she sat on her.

  She took a breath and shouted: ‘Did you get him?’

  Jessica could hear scrambling from the other side of the door but didn’t want to risk moving in case Flora jumped out of the window or something equally stupid.

  ‘Mmmph.’

  ‘What sort of an answer is that? There are two of you and one of him.’

  The face of the second officer appeared in the doorway. ‘We got him.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  ‘He was a bit, er, excited when we caught him.’

  ‘I don’t want to know.’

  35

  Jessica didn’t need Pat to tell her that her first point of call the following morning would be DCI Topper’s office. He was on the phone as she reached the glass front of his office but waved her inside with a smile. An actual real, non-fake, non-just-for-her-benefit grin. He pointed at the spare seat, still talking into the phone. ‘Yes, Sir; thank you, Sir . . . Oh, I totally agree, Sir. I look forward to it . . . Yes, I’ll pass the message on.’

  He hung up, leant back in his seat and breathed out. This time his faintly Irish-Scottish-something-non-English-accent was lighter than his usual sharp tone: ‘That was a hero-gram from Assistant Chief Constable William Aylesbury on behalf of the entire command team. Over the course of the past two nights, we’ve nicked nine people for people trafficking, five for pimping, four for drugs offences because of what we found in their flats last night, eight for paying for sex with a prostitute under threat of violence. We’ve also got thirty girls at various stages of being returned home away from people exploiting them. The immigration lot are trying to keep it quiet that they let these girls across in the first place but sod them. That ITN piece is scheduled for tonight and the super says they had a massive result at the place they went to. Even Serious Crime are happy that we didn’t blow the cover at any of the other places they’re monitoring. This is about as joined-up as we ever get. Everyone’s bloody delighted. I even got the kids to school on time this morning.’

  ‘That’s good, Sir.’

  Jessica waited for the ‘. . . but where the hell’s Pavel’ but it never came. Topper was still beaming. He turned around and scrubbed three cases off the whiteboard, meaning it was only two-thirds full of things they hadn’t solved. Underneath the board, a canvas bag for life sat with trainers and shorts resting on top. As he spun around, he noticed her watching and patted his belly. ‘Got to keep yourself in shape nowadays.’

  Jessica couldn’t believe she said it but somehow the words popped out anyway. ‘We’re still looking for Pavel.’

  He nodded, although a hint of the grin still remained. ‘We’re still interviewing our way through everyone from the past two nights. One can only be hopeful. Even if none of them talk, then he’s lost many of his lieutenants. We’ll get him.’

  The fact Topper was sounding so enthusiastic was disconcerting considering Jessica only needed one hand to count the number of positive things he had previously said to her. ‘Should I get back to work?’

  She motioned towards the door but Topper waved his hand animatedly. ‘No, I suppose I owe you something of an apology.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You’re the one here.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘When I was brought into the job, I was introduced to a lot of new people in a very short period. You were obviously off work following what happened to you but I heard certain things and I suppose that coloured my impression of what you were about. I should have relied on my own opinions instead of listening to others.’ He held out his hand for Jessica to shake. ‘Can we start again?’

  Jessica peered at his face but there was no hint of something deeper going on. His eyes were twinkling, his hair recently washed, the gentle wrinkles making him seem rugged rather than old. She reached forward and shook his hand, then put her arms back by her side, feeling a little silly.

  ‘Can I ask you something, Sir?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said that other people had told you things about me – but who?’

  He studied her, puffing out his cheeks. ‘I probably shouldn’t say.’ Jessica assumed he was talking about Chief Constable Graham Pomeroy but had no real way of knowing. ‘Did you do something to upset the command team?’ he asked.

  Jessica shook her head. ‘I know Assistant Chief Constable Aylesbury fairly well – he used to do your job.’

  Topper’s eyes flashed away, indicating that it wasn’t Aylesbury he meant. ‘Never mind – you’ve done well these past days. If we can kick on and find Pavel, we might be able to put together the final pieces of this and the robbery case. Now wouldn’t that be nice?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  After a bit more praise, Jessica finally managed to extricate herself and headed down the stairs. Pat had sugar around his mouth and was busy swallowing something as she passed. He held out an arm to get her attention and then treated her to an expert, though rather rancid, display of masticating.

  ‘Sorry,’ he eventually said, not sounding it, ‘I’ve got a note from someone called Esther for you – she said to call her. Apparently your phone’s off.’

  ‘I was in a meeting.’

  ‘I’m still not your answering service.’

  ‘Judging by the number of messages you take, it seems like you’re everyone’s answering service.’

  Esther had been so worried about security that she refused either to email or text Jessica the address, instead telling her over the phone. Jessica had no clue where she was going but followed Esther’s vague instructions about turning right by a petrol station, second left after a pub, going straight on for three-quarters of a mile and then turning left-right-left and looking for number thirty-five.

  Except that there wasn’t a
thirty-five.

  Not wanting to call Esther and admit defeat, Jessica retraced her steps, tried right-left-right, and still couldn’t find the house. She vaguely remembered this was what things used to be like before satnavs and mobile phones and then finally gave in, calling Esther and realising it was second right after the pub, not left.

  The house in which Ana had been put into protective custody was a cosy two-bedroom semi-detached close to a newish housing estate. Esther had been clear that Jessica couldn’t bring a marked car and couldn’t wear anything that looked vaguely ‘policey’. When members of the public thought of ‘protective custody’, the idea of huge gated houses and patrolling trigger-happy guards came to mind but the truth was generally that it was a normal house in a normal area. Hiding in plain sight was by far the safest policy in almost all cases.

  Jessica parked a street away and walked to the address. She knocked on the white uPVC front door and had barely taken her hand away when it was yanked open. A hand reached out, dragged her inside and shut it behind her. Barely a second had passed.

  Esther was wearing a pair of jeans and a loose thin top. Her hair was wet and down. The first time Jessica had met her, she’d been staying with a mother who’d lost her child and the casual clothes made Jessica flash back.

  ‘Found it then?’ Esther said.

  ‘No thanks to you. How hard is it to figure out which way’s left and which is right?’

  ‘I gave you the correct directions – you’re the one who can’t follow instructions.’

  Jessica leant forward and gave her a quick hug. ‘Who’s here?’

  ‘Ana, Katerina and me. They wanted to leave an officer but it would’ve drawn more attention because they’d have to swap shifts. We’ve got panic buttons all over the place plus there are only four people who know for sure that Ana’s here – and we’re all here now. Plus you’ll forget where the house is as soon as you’ve pulled away, so it’s only really three.’

  ‘How’s she doing?’

  ‘Good. We sorted out a passport with the Ukrainian Embassy, even though they wanted her to go down to London originally. We talked them out of it when we pointed out she could be in danger but the real reason is that Ana didn’t trust any of them. There are a few more bits of paperwork to sort out and then she’s flying home on Tuesday or Wednesday next week.’

  ‘Has she been going out?’

  ‘Only into the garden. I’ve been to get milk and stuff, and Katerina brought some pizza over last night. I heard you had an eventful one.’

  ‘I sat on a prostitute while one of the uniforms I was with had an unfortunate eye-poking incident.’

  ‘Sounds like a normal day then!’

  Jessica smiled. ‘Can I say hello?’

  ‘That’s why you’re here – I think Ana’s got something to say to you, too.’

  Esther led Jessica into the living room where Ana was curled up on the sofa cuddling a cushion while Katerina read a book in an armchair. The television was on quietly: some daytime quiz show with a cheap-looking set and buffoonish contestants.

  Ana slipped her bare feet onto the floor as Jessica entered and dropped the cushion. She stood and offered her hand for Jessica to shake, bowing her head. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Er, okay . . .’

  ‘I speak to my sister at home and she’s safe.’

  Ana sat again and Jessica took a seat next to her. ‘That’s great. We talked to the police there and they were really accommodating. Well, I say “we”, one of our translators did.’

  ‘They’re going to help move us when I get back. It’s all arranged.’

  ‘Perfect.’ Jessica glanced across to Katerina. ‘Is it right you’re escorting her?’

  Katerina looked up from her book, smiling gently. She’d had her hair done since Jessica last saw her, the blonde strands lighter and shorter than they were.

  ‘I couldn’t resist the free flight.’ She grinned. ‘Are you staying? I was about to go out for a run and then I’ll pick up something to eat on the way back.’

  ‘No, I’ve still got work to do.’

  Katerina closed her book and pushed herself up from the chair. ‘All right – if I don’t see you before then thanks for sorting all of this. Good luck finding Pavel.’

  She left the room, leaving Jessica and Ana alone. At the mention of Pavel’s name, Ana had pulled her legs back up.

  ‘Do you have any idea where he is?’ Jessica asked.

  Ana shook her head.

  ‘He’s not going to get you here. You’re perfectly safe and it’ll all be over in a few days.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What for?’

  Ana held her hands up, showing what was left of her nails. Jessica was suddenly aware of the dull ache at the bottom of her neck from where she had fought with Ana in the flat when Pavel had got away.

  Jessica waved her hand: ‘It’s fine. I know you thought I was coming to hurt you. If my Ukrainian was good enough I’d tell you a story about someone getting poked in the eye by something that wasn’t a finger.’

  Ana squinted at her, confused, but Jessica shook her head, standing and offering her hand to Ana one final time. ‘I’d say it’s been good meeting you but . . . well – it’ll be nice when you’re safe.’

  They shook hands again, even though Jessica wasn’t entirely convinced Ana knew what she was talking about. She found Esther in the kitchen, said goodbye to her, and then walked back through the streets, Pavel on her mind. Where the hell was he?

  Back at the station and things were beginning to wind down for the week. Given his good mood, Jessica had convinced DCI Topper to use his influence to rearrange her rota, giving her the full weekend off. Considering the number of days in a row she’d done something work-related, she was looking forward to being at home. Perhaps she’d put her feet up and spend two days eating pizza and watching some rubbish television? Or perhaps she’d find out if Bex wanted to go somewhere and do something that didn’t involve her reading textbooks, cleaning up or baking for a weekend? Perhaps she’d get lucky by going shopping and finding Pavel in the women’s section of Selfridges?

  As she walked into reception, Pat was bent over the counter breathing deeply.

  ‘Please tell me you’re not having a heart attack?’ Jessica said.

  He heaved himself up. ‘Too much custard.’

  ‘I think you’re the first person in human history who’s ever uttered that sentence.’

  Pat picked up a paper bag from under the desk and pushed it towards Jessica. ‘You take it. Three-for-two custard doughnuts – they’ve nearly bloody killed me.’

  ‘How many did you buy?’

  ‘Six.’

  ‘How many did you eat?’

  ‘Five. They’re too nice. It’s manna from heaven.’ He groaned again. ‘They’re from that bakery down by the Aquatics Centre I told you about.’

  Jessica picked up the cake bag and slid the doughnut out. She’d never known Pat willingly give away food before. This was truly a first. She was about to take a bite when she noticed the writing on the bag. Doughnut still in her mouth, she rotated the paper around until the circular logo was facing her. Slowly, she removed the cake from her mouth and put it back on the counter.

  ‘Aren’t you going to eat that?’ he said.

  ‘Pat, how long ago did this bakery open?’

  ‘I’m not sure, I saw the forum post recommending it a few months ago. It had only just opened then.’

  ‘How many months ago?’

  ‘Three or four?’

  ‘So this bakery opened around four months ago?’

  ‘I suppose. Why?’

  Jessica held up the bag: ‘Because the person who runs it is called Poppy.’

  36

  When the priest had first mentioned the name ‘Poppy’, Jessica knew she’d seen it before somewhere – and there it had been: staring out at her from a crumpled paper bag every time she passed Pat’s desk.

  With the afternoon wearing on,
there was no time to waste. Most similar shops would close at three or four o’clock and likely not reopen until Monday. It was a little after half past two and Jessica had twenty-five minutes to make what was technically a five-minute journey along Stockport Road. In Manchester traffic, especially on a Friday, it could take anything up to an hour.

  Jessica dashed outside and raced out of the car park, making the journey in a surprising five minutes. She parked half on the pavement outside the shop next door and took a moment or two to survey the shop front.

  Poppy’s Bakery had a greengrocer on one side and a pub on the other. It had a white and red awning and the window frames had been painted a bright white some time recently. The shop was narrow with a single window displaying a few leftover cakes and breads. A metal shutter was at the top, ready to be pulled down. There was no sign, simply an A-frame sandwich board on the pavement with the same circular logo that was on the paper bag.

  Jessica approached the window and peered inside. The glare meant she could see little more than what was immediately in front of her but that was enough to notice that Pat had good reason to keep coming back. Eclairs, chocolate-dipped shortbreads, strawberry tarts, pink fondant fancies, mini Victoria sponges, chocolate brownies, fruity iced buns . . . Jessica was practically drooling against the window when she remembered what she was supposed to be doing.

  The door opened with a satisfying tinkle. Ahead were two small circular tables surrounded by chairs and a room at the back with a cooker visible. To her left, a woman was clearing the cakes and biscuits out of the glass cabinet. She had dark hair hidden underneath a blue hair net, deep brown eyes and freckles. It was Rosemary Dean, Pavel’s wife, the woman for whom they’d been searching.

  ‘I’m packing up for the day,’ Rosemary said, looking up and smiling prettily. ‘Anything in the window is two-for-one if you want it.’

  ‘Are you Poppy?’

  The woman stood up straighter, her smile shrinking slightly. ‘That’s what some people call me.’