‘But your real name’s Rosemary?’
The smile disappeared as Rosemary dried her hands on a tea towel. She spoke slowly as she gazed Jessica up and down. ‘Who are you?’
‘Where’s Pavel?’
The woman’s eyes widened as she glanced towards the front door and then the back room, not that there was anywhere to go. ‘Who?’
‘You married him.’
Rosemary started working more quickly, bundling cakes into boxes. ‘I’m sorry, I really have to finish here. You’ll have to leave.’
Jessica held her ID out for Rosemary to see. ‘It’s not as simple as that. We’ve been looking for you for a little while. And him.’
As Rosemary glanced at the door again, Jessica realised it wasn’t because she had a desire to escape, it was because she was scared. Her hand was shaking.
‘Do you want me to lock it?’ Jessica asked, nodding at the door.
Rosemary caught Jessica’s eye, an understanding passing between them. She nodded slightly and then put the box down. Jessica pulled the latch across the front door and dropped the blind. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’
The other woman’s eyes had glazed over and it looked as if she had shrunk by an inch or two. ‘I live upstairs.’
Jessica nodded – that partly explained why they hadn’t been able to find her. Rosemary led the way into the kitchen, sliding a bolt across the back door, and then opening what at first looked like a cupboard and heading up a set of carpeted stairs.
The flat above was minimal but functional: sofa, armchair, coffee table, television and not much else. Rosemary picked up a notepad from a drawer underneath the television. ‘My recipe book,’ she said, sitting on the sofa and cradling it to her chest protectively, as if it was a first-born.
Jessica took the chair. ‘Who owns all of this?’
‘It’s on a mortgage. The shop’s doing all right and that pays the monthly amounts.’
‘Whose name is on the deeds?’
‘Mine.’
‘Which is . . . ?’
Rosemary sighed. She must have known that it wouldn’t take much for Jessica to check. ‘It’s under Rose Pooley. It was my original name from when I was a kid.’
‘Where does Dean come from?’
‘My mum got remarried when I was six or seven and I took my stepfather’s name. Most of my documents were still for Pooley though. My birth certificate has Pooley on it but my passport has Dean. When we . . . I . . . was sorting out the mortgage for here, I used my birth certificate.’
That explained an awful lot about why she’d been so hard to find. Few realised how easy it was to obtain official documents in a slightly different name based upon various marriages. Jessica had once arrested someone for shoplifting with seven different aliases, all of which the woman had justification to use because her mother had remarried four times and she’d been married twice herself. As well as using her mother’s original maiden name, she had a dozen credit cards with different combinations of name. As things went, it wasn’t too difficult to deal with – but when people started applying for passports and driving licences with different identities, that’s when the police could really have a job on their hands.
‘Where does Poppy come from?’
‘It was a nickname from when I was a kid. I liked spinach and some of the boys used to call me Popeye, then it sort of evolved. I thought it would be nice for the bakery.’
‘What about Adamek?’
Rosemary peered away from Jessica towards the window. ‘I’ve never used that name.’
There was ice in her voice. Not exactly hateful but certainly not the way most people who had been married for five months would talk about their other halves.
‘Where did you get the money for the deposit on this place?’
‘Do you already know?’
‘We can probably find out now that we know about the shop and the name on the deed.’
Rosemary stood and took her apron off. Underneath she was wearing loose dark trousers and a white smock. ‘How much do you know?’
‘Let’s assume nothing.’
The woman shrugged and took a deep breath. She seemed resigned to her fate: ‘Pavel needed a way to stay in the country and I wanted to do something with my life that wasn’t working in a supermarket. It worked out for each of us.’
‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘He’s wanted for a suspected murder. It happened a week or so after you got married.’
Rosemary peered away. ‘I’m not very good at keeping up with the news.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’
‘What do you want me to say?’
Jessica realised that confessions about who knew what and when wouldn’t do much good, not yet anyway. Rosemary was happily living her life as Poppy, rarely needing to leave the sanctity of the place where she lived and worked. Of course she knew what Pavel was wanted for – and that she should have contacted the police. She’d almost certainly known this day was going to come at some point but figured she would ride it out for as long as she could. She’d not exactly gone into hiding, she had simply waited for someone to put the pieces together and find her.
‘This is what I’ve always wanted,’ Rosemary said quietly, peering at her notebook. ‘I started writing these recipes when I was a kid. We went on this trip to the lakes for a weekend and there was this little bakery in the middle of the village with all these amazing creations in the window. I’ve been fascinated ever since and always wanted my own place. When my mum split up with my actual dad, I went off the rails a bit and was a naughty kid. Eventually I grew up but I’d already messed around too much at school and then no one wants to give you a chance. I was at a supermarket and hated that. I went to a few banks about getting a loan but no one was interested. I had full business plans and everything – I knew I could make money – but they didn’t want to know. All I needed was a deposit and enough for the equipment.’
‘How did you end up meeting a Serbian gangster?’
Rosemary’s gaze flickered to Jessica and quickly away again. She didn’t want to think that was where the money had come from.
‘It sounds awful when you put it like that.’
‘I can’t stop something being true.’
Rosemary breathed deeply, blinking rapidly. ‘A friend of a school friend. That type of thing.’
‘What’s the friend’s name?’
‘Does it make much difference?’
‘That depends on how involved they are.’
For a few moments, Rosemary said nothing. She pulled off the hairnet and dropped it on the table, letting her long dark hair cascade around her shoulders. In a girl-next-door way, she was very pretty. ‘Is there anything wrong with wanting to turn your life around?’
Jessica thought of the young women who were on the brink of being sold to the highest bidder as Pavel watched from the shadows. Of the fear Ana must have had that she was willing to attack Jessica to help him get away. His money came off the back of slavery and desolation – and that was the stuff they knew about. Given he’d probably murdered a drug dealer, there was a strong likelihood he had fingers in other pies too.
‘I suppose that depends on how you do it,’ Jessica replied. ‘If you need money then it depends on whose lives are affected by where it comes from.’
Rosemary nodded but Jessica didn’t know if she really understood what Pavel was about. It was obvious she wasn’t going to give up her ‘friend’ without reason, if then.
Jessica continued: ‘How did your friend know Pavel?’
‘I’d gone to ask if I could borrow some money but it was quite a lot. They said they didn’t have it but that they might know someone who did. A few days later, I was given a phone number and it turned out to be Pavel’s. We met in this pub in the city centre. He said he needed a proper way to stay in the country and that he was looking to invest in something to make his life easier.’
That was one of the other thi
ngs Jessica hadn’t understood but now it made sense. If all Pavel needed was a game English girl, there were plenty he could have thrown a few hundred quid at to marry him. Spending tens of thousands on a business was unnecessary – except that it gave him a place to help launder his money. Books-wise, so what if a cooker needed repairing every other week? So what if a company was paid to do the cleaning even if Rosemary did it herself? So what if all of the ingredients she used cost a premium? Somehow, that money would find its way back to Pavel. It wasn’t simply a marriage he wanted, it was a way to keep his money.
No wonder Rosemary had remained quiet and kept her head down. Jessica had a flash of how disappointed Pat was going to be when this place ended up being closed down.
Rosemary tossed her notebook on the table and slumped back into her seat. ‘What happens now?’
‘I suppose that depends on a few things – largely on how much you’re able to help us.’
‘What do you want to know?’
Jessica started to ask something else about Pavel but stopped herself. There was something that had been eating at her for days and this was her best way of finding out for sure. ‘Father James.’
‘What about him?’
‘Did he know you were only getting married to keep Pavel here?’
Rosemary smiled sadly. ‘Pavel’s a Catholic and said that he wanted things to be done properly. I went along with him because I wanted a place like this. Father James was lovely. I suppose if ever I get a chance to have a proper wedding, it would be nice if it was via someone like him.’
So Jessica had been wrong.
She blinked, holding her eyes closed for a fraction of a second, knowing she needed to move on. She hated reading people incorrectly.
When Jessica opened them again, Rosemary was staring at her. ‘Do you know where Pavel is?’ Jessica asked.
‘I really don’t.’ Rosemary took a breath, making a decision that she hoped would help her out of the mess she’d got herself into. ‘But I know where he’s going to be.’
37
Jessica’s weekend off was going the way of so many of her other weekends off. It wasn’t the ‘weekend’ part that was the problem, it was more the ‘off’ bit that she seemed to have trouble with. She could have ignored the logo on Pat’s cake bag, coasted through the rest of Friday and then had a gentle two days off in the bath, reading, watching television, going out and doing something with Bex or any number of other activities that normal people got up to when they weren’t working. But oh no, she couldn’t leave Rosemary until Monday and, as such, her Saturday was already written off.
Greater Manchester Police had staked a few properties out over time, mainly clichéd places like pubs, potential drug dens and the like. No one Jessica could find had ever heard of them staking out a cake shop. Pat was distraught – the fact the bakery could be closed down for money-laundering made his face sink like he’d just been told he’d lost a child.
As Rosemary continued as if it was business as usual, Jessica sat in the flat upstairs watching what was going on below on a series of monitors. This time things had been properly thought out. Alongside Jessica were two members of the tactical firearms squad; waiting in the back yard, hidden in the shed, were two more; across the street in the back of a furniture removal van were another five. Two cameras had been placed in the shop; another was facing the back door; one more faced the front, plus there were three plain-clothed spotters doing laps of the area dressed as joggers and, apparently, a student. What exactly that involved, Jessica wasn’t quite sure – presumably looking hungover at this time on a Saturday morning.
Rosemary had told Jessica that Pavel always came around before lunch on Saturday – but that the time could vary. She would give him cash in an envelope, he’d never count it, and then he’d be gone until the next week. Rosemary had been perfectly compliant, allowing the teams to fit their cameras overnight and telling them everything she knew – which wasn’t much. They could have arrested her and kept her in the cells but there was little point, so two officers had been placed in her flat overnight and now they were waiting for Pavel to show up.
After opening at nine on the dot, Rosemary had already served a dozen customers ten minutes later. They streamed in to order their usual array of sausage rolls, breakfast barms, pasties or – in one man’s case – a dozen eclairs. Also to her credit, Rosemary had gone out of her way to accommodate the officers. On the coffee table in front of Jessica was a plate of chocolate-dipped shortbreads sandwiched together with buttercream, five eclairs and half a breakfast barm. The two tactical firearms officers had made short work of theirs but Jessica could only handle so much egg and bacon in a roll at this time of the morning. Well, that was a lie: she just didn’t want to fill up on bread when there were cakes on the go.
Assuming Pavel turned up as expected, Jessica was confident they’d get their man, her only worry being that any of the officers with a gun would be so engrossed by a cream cake that they’d slip and end up shooting themselves or one of their colleagues. Still, more cake for her if that happened.
Jessica guessed that Pavel wouldn’t make an appearance while the morning rush was on – it was hard to inconspicuously take an envelope stuffed with cash – so she relaxed onto the sofa, picking her way through the first eclair.
‘Big guy on his way.’
The single sentence from one of the spotters made Jessica sit up straight, eyes fixed on the monitor as a ‘big guy’ tinkled his way into the shop. Jessica leant forward – the man was certainly large but more wide than tall. He had a baseball cap pulled down over his face and a bag for life in each hand.
A tinny voice from the van across the street sounded across the radio: ‘Is it him?’
‘Wait.’
Jessica peered from one camera to the other, trying to get a clear view. He wasn’t taking an envelope, instead he was pointing towards the window. Rosemary picked up a cardboard box and placed two strawberry tarts in it alongside a pair of Easter biscuits.
One of the two tactical firearms officers was waiting by the door to the stairs as the other gazed over Jessica’s shoulder. ‘What’s he doing?’
‘It looks like he’s stocking up . . . hang on a minute . . .’ Jessica leant in just as the man swivelled to point towards a large chocolate cornflake cake on the main counter. ‘It’s Fat Pat! He knows we’re going to shut the place down so he’s buying two of everything.’
She told everyone to rest and then, sure enough, Pat jabbed a flabby finger at pretty much every creation on display, put all of the boxes in his bags for life, paid in cash, and then tugged his baseball cap down before waddling back the way he’d come. Jessica was in half a mind to tell the team in the van outside to snatch him anyway just to teach him a lesson but she figured Topper or the superintendent would have a word instead. Either that or they’d be around his house pronto to help him eat everything before it went off.
An hour passed and everyone’s interest started to dip. The two firearms officers were chatting about how United had been ‘robbed’ by the referee during the week and one of the five officers cooped up in the back of the van was whingeing that his bladder wasn’t going to last much longer. Meanwhile, one of the spotters dressed as a jogger was moaning that his legs had gone and that he needed a sit-down. Jessica was having visions of Pavel escaping while one officer was peeing in a bush, hastily trying to pick his gun up, with another dressed as a jogger bent over double saying that he’d already done too much running. Considering the eclairs she’d polished off, Jessica didn’t think she’d be doing too much sprinting any time soon either.
‘Something’s happening.’
The two words were barely a whisper but came from the pair of officers crammed into the rickety wooden shed in the yard at the back of the shop.
Jessica turned to the camera showing the rear, where a figure in a large heavy coat was standing hood up, with his hands in his pockets. From his size, it could easily be Pavel but he was facing aw
ay, peering towards the shed. Had he heard the whisper?
The two officers in the room with her stepped towards the door but Jessica hissed at them to wait. If it was Pavel, he had somehow stridden past the people supposedly keeping an eye out for him and was only a few metres from the gate at the back. Any loud noise could send him scarpering again.
The figure continued to stare towards the shed in a bizarre stand-off between man and slightly rotting wood. After a couple of seconds, he reached into the pocket of his coat and took the two steps towards it. He could have a gun, a knife, anything. Jessica held the radio close to her mouth, waiting . . . hoping a late call didn’t lead to a situation where someone was harmed, praying that the armed officers didn’t get twitchy and shoot him for being too close.
At the last moment, the figure moved to the right of the shed where he lifted the lid of a wheelie bin and dropped a host of food wrappers inside. If it was Pavel, he might be a people trafficker, pimp, thief, murderer and any number of other things – but apparently he wasn’t a litter bug.
He opened the back door without knocking and then headed through the kitchen into the main part of the shop, pulling his hood down and ruffling his hair.
Pavel.
‘Team one go.’
Jessica heard the opening of van doors and nodded to the armed officers. ‘Don’t sodding shoot him,’ then into the radio: ‘Team two go.’
Crash, bang, thump, thump, thump. ‘Get on the floor’, shouty-shout-shout.
Jessica watched on the monitor as Pavel turned a full circle, definitely not getting on the floor, despite the armed officers in front of and behind him.
More shouting.
Jessica headed carefully down the stairs, pressing between the four officers in the doorway of the kitchen, guns at the ready.
Pavel grinned as he saw her, recognition in his face. ‘You no shoot?’
He took a step towards the counter. Jessica could see Rosemary on the other side, lying on the floor, hands on her head, body shaking.
‘Get on the floor, Pavel,’ Jessica said.
Another step until he was resting against the glass of the counter. The coat made him look even bigger than he actually was. His forearms were like joints of gammon. He smiled even wider: ‘You shoot?’
For Richer, For Poorer Page 23