Country Lines (A DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thriller Book 8)

by Oliver Davies

  Stepping down onto the platform, she kept her head angled down as she glanced both ways up and down. She couldn’t see any cops, and she blew out a breath of relief as she followed the crowd towards the exit. All the people around her were making her want to run, but she forced herself to move as they did, purposeful but not panicked. She almost wanted to shout out ‘fire’ or ‘bomb’ just to make them all feel the same absolute fear that she was feeling right now and so that she could race out of here amidst the chaos and get lost in the city.

  But it was only a dark, passing thought, and she dismissed the idea of calling attention to herself like that. Much better to just pass under the radar.

  Lucy was so lost in her thoughts that a hand seizing her shoulder took her completely by surprise. She flinched violently, twisting around to find two cops looking sternly at her, one grim-faced woman and a bored-looking man who was a good foot taller than she was.

  Run, she thought, her heart beating so fiercely that she half thought she was having a heart attack or that she’d at least pass out. But she stayed on her feet, and those feet stayed glued to the station.

  “Come with me, miss,” the woman said, taking hold of Lucy’s arm. She looked desperately around for a way out of here, but there was only one exit, and she knew she couldn’t get there before the police caught up with her. They knew her face now, and the giant of a policeman now standing on her right had legs long enough to take strides twice as long as hers. She’d never get away.

  Resignation seemed to calm the fluttering panic in her chest, and her knees faltered under her as the adrenaline abandoned her.

  “Woah, easy there,” the male police officer said, grasping her other arm.

  Together, the officer both led and supported her over to a bench and sat her down. She slid off the backpack without protest when they asked, feeling numb and exhausted beyond reason. They raised their eyebrows when they saw what was inside, and Lucy watched them talk into their radios without feeling much about it.

  She was done. She’d tried and failed, and there was nothing to be done about it now. Her heart only hurt because of Eva. She’d failed her sister, and that stung even through her numbness. Her sister would be alone now, cast adrift in the UK care system, and it was all Lucy’s fault.

  Fourteen

  Friday morning saw me at Hewford bright and early, fresh from a good long run and a solid night of sleep. A man could conquer the world with eight hours of sleep. Stephen arrived a little later, bags under his eyes, and I gave him a frown of concern.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Gee, thanks.” He tossed down his things and dropped into his chair. I pushed over the cup of tea I’d made him. “Ta, Mitch. The kids were playing up last night, God only knows why. We couldn’t get them to bed till past midnight. Annie blamed it on the full moon, but I reckon it was all that sugary birthday cake they had at after-school club.”

  “Someone’s birthday, was it?”

  “Yeah, something like that. They both came back all sticky with icing.” He blew out an annoyed breath before waving his hand. “Enough whining from me. What’ve we got on today?”

  We got started on the jobs I’d outlined yesterday, and I sent an email out to Rashford and the DCs, checking in with them. We’d not had much use for them in the last couple of days, so Rashford had assigned them back to their usual hotch-potch of jobs. I knew what it was like at that age; they’d be at the beck and call of more senior officers and moved around the office like they were playing musical chairs.

  My office phone rang around eleven, and I picked up, clearing my throat before I answered.

  “DCI Mitchell here.”

  “DI Pond. We’ve got a situation down in Scarborough, and I was told you’re the man who needs to know,” a gruff voice told me.

  “Right.” I blinked, taking that in. “What’s the situation?”

  “We’ve got a girl with a bag full of Lord knows what come down on the train from York.”

  “She got a name?”

  “Lucy Page. You know her?”

  The name ‘Lucy’ kicked around my head for a moment before I remembered. “I might. Can you get her over here to Hewford, or should I come up there?”

  “We can shift her down. I know you city folks are rushed off your feet.” DI Pond’s voice was so flat that I couldn’t tell whether he was snarky or not, so I didn’t comment on it.

  “Thanks, we’d appreciate it.”

  He grunted an acknowledgement and hung up on me. I set the down phone before turning to fill Stephen in since he was looking at me expectantly.

  “You think this could be the same Lucy?” he wondered, having made the same connection I had.

  “The one that was in the picture on Jackson’s social media? I really hope so, mate. We could do with another breakthrough right about now.”

  Stephen gave a dry chuckle. “We sure could.”

  With an hour or more to wait before Lucy Page would arrive here at Hewford, I did some research, trying to find out more about her now that we had a surname. Unfortunately, it was a common enough name that I struggled to find much of anything on her, especially since she seemed to have no social media, no profile on LinkedIn, and no record on our system either.

  “She’s a ruddy ghost,” I complained to Stephen as he brought back fresh drinks for us. He dropped a packet of peanuts down in front of me, and I sent him a sideways look at his nannying. Still, seeing the food made me hungry, and I munched away.

  “Think she’s deliberately hiding?” he wondered, biting into his Crunchie bar.

  “She’s not really got reason to, according to our system at least. She’s not got any misdemeanours on record. Her nose is clean.”

  “Weird, then.”

  “Aye. I guess being associated with someone like Jackson would make her want to keep her head down, though.”

  “Until now,” Stephen pointed out.

  “Until now.” I nodded.

  DI Pond hadn’t given us many details, or really any at all, in his brief phone call, but it was clearly serious enough that the Scarborough police were willing to cart her all the way over to us to be dealt with. That probably meant that there was going to be plenty of paperwork involved, too, the bulk of which they’d get out of by handing her off to us. I sighed.

  Still, if the young woman was the same Lucy we thought she was, she could be a goldmine of information, and that was worth all the damn form-filling by itself.

  By the time it was ticking around towards lunchtime, I was nearly jittery with anticipation of her arrival. I headed down to the foyer five minutes before they were due to pull up to meet them, and Stephen indulged my impatience by joining me.

  “It might not be the same Lucy.”

  “I know.” I scratched at an itchy patch on my jaw and sent him a look. “You think it is, though, right?”

  “Yeah, I think it’ll be an unfortunate coincidence if it wasn’t, but we’ll see in a minute, anyway.”

  I’d looked at the pictures we had of Lucy on Jackson’s social media a dozen times over the last hour and had her face imprinted in my mind. She was young, round-cheeked, and a honey-blond, her eyes large but nervous in the scant online photographs. I stuck my hands into my pockets to stop myself from fidgeting too much and waited for the Scarborough police car to roll up.

  They didn’t keep us waiting long so that before five minutes was out, a blond woman was being walked into Hewford with an officer on either side. Stephen and I shared a triumphant look as soon as we caught sight of her face. It was the same Lucy, the one who had known Jackson and could hopefully fill us in on everything we needed to know.

  She was wearing handcuffs but walked in on her own, appearing unresistant and resigned, though there was a wild edge to her wide eyes. She looked even younger in person than she did in the pictures, and my private opinion of Jackson sunk even further if he had been dating Lucy and if she was as young as she looked.

  “C’mon through
to the interview room,” I said, speaking to both Lucy and the Scarborough officers.

  “Thanks for coming over here,” Stephen said to the officers, and they nodded.

  “No problem. It’s nice to have a trip out, right?”

  “Are you guys busy this time of year?” Stephen asked, and they fell into small talk as I walked Lucy over to the interview rooms and settled in one of them.

  “Do you want some water? Tea or coffee?” I asked, leaning down slightly, so I didn’t tower over her so much. She was only a small thing.

  “Water, please,” she said weakly, licking her cracked lips. I could see that she was shaking slightly, her face and hairline damp with sweat, and I thought it was probably more than nerves. If she had been living with Jackson like we suspected, he could’ve been giving her some of the goods, in which case she’d be in withdrawal right now.

  I left her with Stephen and the other two officers as I went to fetch her water. The Scarborough officers were heading out as I got back, and I thanked them before they left.

  “Alright?” I asked Stephen. He gave a nod, glancing over at Lucy like he didn’t want to talk in front of her. She looked back at us with doe-like eyes. I set the plastic cup of water down on the table in front of her and gave her a faint smile. “We’ll be back in a minute. Wait here, please.”

  We stepped out of the interview room, staying right in front of the door, and I waited for Stephen to fill me in.

  “They were just telling me how they found her and that she’s claiming she was forced into it.”

  “How?”

  “They didn’t know. She wouldn’t elaborate. Hopefully, she will for us.”

  “What d’you think of her?”

  “I think she looked like butter wouldn’t melt, and I don’t know if I trust it,” he said.

  “Aye.” I hummed in agreement. “My instinct is to feel sorry for her, but I don’t know if that’s right or not yet.”

  “What’s your gut saying?” Stephen asked, only half-serious.

  “She looks painfully young. My gut says that she deserves help,” I admitted after a pause before giving an equanimous shrug. “But my view might change. Let’s see what she has to say for herself, eh?”

  “Yeah. Oh, they gave us her backpack, too. Loaded with drugs. It’s been handed over to evidence for now.”

  “We’ll look over that after.”

  We stepped back into the interview room, and Lucy looked up with a wary expression on her face. Again, I felt a drive to reassure her. Instead, I focused on setting up the interview according to regulations for the recording and sat myself down in the chair opposite Lucy.

  “Please state your full name,” I asked her, flicking open my notebook and clicking my pen.

  “Um, Lucy Francesca Page.”

  “Okay, tell me what happened, Ms Page.”

  I had a feeling that Lucy might do better with specific questions, but I tried a broad-ended one first. If I could get an interviewee talking without too much prompting, they tended to give us more information than if we had to squeeze yes or no answers out of them one at a time.

  “What do you mean?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Don’t pretend not to understand, please. We’re talking about the backpack full of Class A substances you were carrying on you, Ms Page,” Stephen said, using his unimpressed dad voice. It was clearly effective on Lucy because she visibly withered under his disapproval.

  “I had to take it. I didn’t want to, but I had to.” She nervously pushed a wayward lock of hair behind her small ear, her handcuffs chinking. They looked too big on her wrists, but I could see that they were already on the smallest setting.

  “Why did you have to?” I pressed.

  She looked away towards the door and then up at the camera in the corner before dropping her gaze.

  “I just did. He was going to hurt me and-” She broke off.

  Stephen and I shared a glance.

  “Who was going to hurt you?” I asked. She pressed her lips together and didn’t respond. “We can’t help protect you if you won’t talk to us. We can be on your side if you help you, Ms Page. How old are you?”

  She looked up in confusion at the change. “Nineteen.”

  I struggled to keep my face blank. She was slightly older than I’d guessed but still so damn young to be caught up in a mess like this. No doubt Jackson had dragged her into it, just as he’d pulled Max into his downward spiral too. It wasn’t professional to dislike a dead victim as much as I did, but I couldn’t help it. The bloke had not only ruined countless lives with the drugs he’d been dealing, but he’d screwed up the lives of the people close to him, too.

  “You’ve got so much time ahead of you, but not if you end up in prison for this, do you understand me? Talk to me. Who’s forcing you into this?”

  She chewed on her lip. “I can’t go to prison.”

  “Okay, so give us a reason not to send you there,” I challenged. I still couldn’t quite tell whether we were dealing with a victim here or someone complicit in her own downfall.

  “My sister,” she said weakly. I blinked at the unexpected answer.

  “Your sister? How old is she?” Stephen asked when I stayed quiet.

  “Six.”

  “Where’s she now?” Stephen’s voice held a touch of urgency now, clearly worried for the little girl.

  Lucy must have read the concern on his face because her eyes widened. “She’s fine! She’s at school. I’d never put her in danger, I swear. I was only ever trying to keep her safe.”

  “Where are your parents?” I asked carefully.

  Lucy looked away, shrugging silently. I made a short note to look into it. It sounded to me as if Lucy was her sister’s sole carer, and that would put a strain on any nineteen-year-old.

  “Why do you think you have to keep her safe?” Stephen asked, picking up on what Lucy had said previously. “Do you think she’s in danger?”

  There was a long pause before Lucy gave a shallow nod. I leaned forwards.

  “Danger from who?” I demanded. When she dithered, I added, “We can protect her if you just tell us who she needs protecting from.”

  “He’ll kill me if he knows I snitched.” Lucy took a breath. Before I could try to reassure her again, she spoke, seeming to have made up her mind. “His name is Pete. I don’t know his last name.”

  I turned that name over in my head but couldn’t remember it having come up before. There had been no Petes mentioned when we were talking to Jackson’s friends. Still, I had to think that the two were linked through their dealing.

  “Does Pete have anything to do with Jackson Lowe?” I asked.

  “Yeah. They were… friends.” She squeezed her hands together on the table, taking a sip of water from the plastic cup. Her hands were trembling.

  “Are you aware that Jackson passed away last Friday night?” I said, trying to be gentle. She’d used the past tense, but I couldn’t be sure that she knew.

  She looked at me for a long second as if she was considering lying, but she gave a short nod.

  “I saw it in the paper.”

  “Do you know how he died?”

  “An overdose.”

  “Right. And where did he get those drugs from, Ms Page?”

  “Pete,” she said quietly.

  “That’s who gave you the drugs you were carrying too, huh?”

  “Yeah. He said he’d hurt Eva if I didn’t.” She put her elbows on the table and looked at me beseechingly. “Look, I’ll talk to you, okay? But you need to keep Eva safe. She’s only a little kid. She needs picking up from school at three, or else she’ll be all on her own. Please.”

  “Yes,” I said immediately. I could’ve bargained over it, but that would’ve been too cruel. “We won’t let her get hurt. Steph, can you get one of the DCs to go over now? Let the school know.”

  He was already standing up, giving me a nod before he left, and the interview door closed loudly behind him. Lucy jumped sl
ightly in her seat. I stated aloud that Stephen had left the room for the benefit of the recording. Lucy met my gaze for a second before glancing away again.

  “Thank you.” Her eyes were glassy with tears, and she looked obviously relieved.

  “Your sister will be fine. Tell me about Jackson, please. He was your boyfriend, right? How did you meet him?”

  She opened up to me slowly, her words coming faster and more easily as the minutes ticked on like the tidal gates had finally been opened. She struck me as someone who’d found herself all alone, with no parents, no friends, and now no boyfriend either. The way she was talking to me now didn’t lead me to think that she had anyone to talk to before it all went down.

  Stephen returned to the interview room before too long, carrying cups of coffee for him and me. I sent him a grateful look.

  “Would it be fair to say that Jackson was bringing in the income for the household, Ms Page?” I asked. I tried to be sensitive because money could be a sensitive subject for some.

  She stiffened slightly before nodding. “I tried to get jobs, I honestly did, but I didn’t finish high school. No one wanted me.”

  “Okay, thanks for telling us. Did Pete offer you payment for delivering the drugs to Scarborough?”

  “No, no, it wasn’t like that. He was threatening me and Eva. I didn’t do it for money.”

  “He didn’t offer you anything else, either?” I pressed. She looked at me blankly. “Some of the drugs you were delivering, maybe?”

  She flushed red to her hair and ducked her head. “No,” she said firmly, despite the fact that she couldn’t meet our eyes. “Jackson gave me some sometimes, alright? But I wasn’t doing that delivery- I didn’t get anything from it. I just wanted to keep Eva safe, that’s all it was.”