Sacrifice
Page 21
Scott picked up another piece of paper which had what appeared to be the remains of partial index numbers. Only one index number appeared to be intact. When Scott did a PNC check on it, it came back as a white Mercedes Sprinter van. He waved the sheet of paper in Abby’s direction. “And with this type of van, it’s not too difficult to put in a false floor or false walls to hide illegals.
“The vans came in through Dover. Mules were promised a better life with the backing of the local MP. Xabi not only arranged for the illegals to be brought in, but also collected the gold from the poor bastards.”
Abby continued his train of thought. “Which meant the bullion dealers could come and go without actually having to carry any of the gold. Clever.”
“Exactly. And with gold fetching more than a thousand pounds per ounce at the moment, it’s a lucrative business. Two years ago, it was running at around eight hundred and fifty pounds per ounce. Big risks, high return.”
“No wonder Woodman was keen to support the Home Office’s decision to deport the asylum seekers. He wanted to get rid of the evidence. They were his weak link, and Stephen’s just proven that.”
“Abby, contact all the airports and ports across the south-east. We need them to be on the lookout for Xabi. Supply them with his picture, his description, and the reasons we need to detain him. I can’t believe that despite all our efforts, we’ve not been able to find the slippery git.”
“Maybe he’s magicked himself away,” Abby replied making a ghostly woo noise.
“Magic my arse. He’s a murderer, plain and simple. He gets off on instilling fear in people, and he’s done so for many years. People back home believe he really does have some type of magical power. We need to find him. That’s our priority. Get Helen to help you.”
43
He made his way through the passenger terminal. Hordes of travellers rushed in all directions, excited about their forthcoming trips to the continent. Parents dragged children from one desk to another. The distant sound of a child crying in a pram echoed through the large building. A crescendo of spoken conversations added to the ambient sounds.
He could sense their curiosity. They nudged each other as he walked through, since he’d never hidden his appearance. To many, he might resemble the black version of Freddy Krueger. Frightened children gripped their parents’ legs as he walked by. He represented the real face of Halloween up close and personal. Parents did their hardest to divert their children’s eyes, as he strolled amongst them towards the entry point for the ferry.
The sound of cars rolling up the ramp and into the bowels of the ship came from beneath him. The slight rumble of the various engine and air conditioning systems signalled the ferry would soon depart.
He was next in line to be seen by the passenger service assistant at the doors to the ferry. He waited in line before stepping up to take his turn. The assistant smiled, but perhaps for a second too long, before nervously glancing back towards the ticket Xabi thrust in her direction.
She glanced through the details before smiling uncomfortably. He knew it was a false smile but reciprocated anyway.
“Welcome aboard Pastor Xabi for your journey from Dover to Calais. I hope you have a safe and pleasant trip.” She waved him through.
Within ten minutes, the White Cliffs of Dover inched away from him. He stood staring through the window towards the green-topped cliffs and the hive of activity beneath. Within ninety minutes, he would step on to French soil. From there, he would head south towards Spain, following the coast to Almeria before crossing over to Algeria. He had planned to cross eastward across the African continent passing through Congo, Tanzania, and Malawi before heading south to South Africa. He had planned his route carefully to avoid many of the well-trodden routes African migrants followed when chasing a better life in Europe.
Back home he could resume his work, knowing that no one would come looking for him.
Abby came rushing back to Scott. “He’s slipped the net, Guv. He boarded a ferry at Dover about thirty minutes ago.”
Scott shook his head in disbelief as he slumped back against his car. The possibility of detaining Xabi appeared to be slipping through Scott’s fingers. His mind raced as he thought about every option. He pulled up Google on his phone and looked into ferry timetables. He shot Abby a glance. “It’s a ninety-minute journey. Get the port authorities to inform security on the ferry that we’re searching for him. Then contact the French authorities. They can pick him up the minute he steps off.”
“Will do, Guv,” Abby replied as she bolted back indoors.
He shouted in her wake. “And tell them we want confirmation the minute they pick him up. We’re bringing that bastard back to Dover.”
Scott paced nervously around Abby’s desk to the extent that she ordered him to sit down. If his anxious movements continued, he’d trigger a bout of motion sickness and the resulting nausea. Security personnel on the ship had confirmed with port authorities that they had located Xabi, but had not approached him. That news encouraged Scott. A mixture of elation and anxiety coursed through his body. He couldn’t rest until he had that phone call.
A little over an hour later, Abby’s phone rang to confirm that Pastor Xabi had been detained and arrested on suspicion of murder. Scott squeezed Abby’s shoulder in recognition of her hard work and their result.
The journey time took them a little over two hours. For most of the journey, they remained silent. Scott made his way along the coast road, and Abby looked out to sea, lost in her thoughts.
Occasionally, they spoke about the case, but in the back of their minds, their thoughts were consumed with the trail of destruction that had been left by this one man and a greedy politician. They had affected so many lives and taken so many lives. Young children who hadn’t experienced the world had their lives extinguished in the most brutal and sadistic of ways.
The repercussions of this case would have a wide-ranging impact in political circles and amongst the local community. The media storm that would follow would soon swallow up the real victims and their plight. That saddened Scott.
Xabi sat handcuffed in an interview suite with Dover police, emotionless. Scott itched to grab him and throw him across the room. He’d expected remorse. Maybe even regret at his capture. Anger. Instead, his expression remained veiled in nothingness. He stared ahead as Scott and Abby faced him. Having spent almost two weeks on this case, it felt like a bittersweet moment for Scott. He had the main perpetrator in front of him, but the man showed no signs of guilt. He chose instead to speak in his preferred dialect, muttering things that neither officer nor their French counterparts could understand.
The words that Scott thought he’d never get the opportunity to say slipped from his mouth. “Pastor Xabi, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the abduction and murder of Michael Chauke. I’m also arresting you on suspicion of assisting unlawful immigration under Section 25 and facilitating entry by asylum seekers to the UK for gain under Section 25A of the Immigration Act.” He thought of Stephen as he delivered his final statement. “I’m also arresting you on suspicion of arranging to facilitate travel of another person with a view to exploitation, under the Modern Slavery Act 2015.”
Zulu Translations
Amandla avela empilweni entsha - Power comes from new life
Kwangathi lo mnikelo uletha ingcebo nenhlanhla - May this offering bring wealth and luck
Ukuphila kwakho sekuphelile - Your life is over
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Acknowledgments
There are a number of people without whom this book would not have been written and I want to thank them whilst I have the chance. Without their input, advice and support, I would have not got this far.
First, my thanks to Detective Inspector Andy Wolstenholme of Sussex Police, based in Brighton, whose invaluable advice on technical and local policing has proved invaluable. The tour of Brighton police station helped immensely. Thanks Andy.
To Detective Sergeant Sara Yems of the Metropolitan Police for her ongoing support and advice on police procedural issues which allowed me to focus on my writing.
To Kelly Lowe of the Queen’s Hospital mortuary whose invaluable and detailed insight into the work of the mortuary team and the guided tour allowed me to develop a deeper understanding of post-mortems.
I’d also like to thank some very special beta readers who helped me to stay focused by writing compelling stories. I’ll never forget their support, advice, feedback and encouragement. Thank you Clare Doughty, Jay Rughani and Paul Henderson.
Finally, my heartfelt gratitude to Joanna Walker my cover designer, and Tami Stark my editor and David Davison, my fantastic and very talented proofreader.
About the Author
I’ve always had a strong passion for whodunnits, crime series and books. The more I immersed myself in it, the stronger the fascination grew.
I live on my own by the forest, but have the pleasure of my two lovely daughters aged 18 and 13 coming to stay with me a few days each week. In my spare time you’ll find me in the gym, reading books from authors in my genre or enjoying walks in the forest…it’s amazing what you think of when you give yourself some space.
Oh, and I’m an avid people-watcher. I just love to watch the interaction between people, their mannerisms, their way of expressing their thoughts…weird I know, but I could spend hours engrossed in it.
I adore Brighton having spent a lot of my life here, the diversity of people, the relaxed and vibrant atmosphere never dulls my enthusiasm for this beautiful and special city.
I hope you enjoy the stories that I craft for you.
www.jaynadal.com
jay@jaynadal.com