Resentments and Revenge

by Diane Ezzard

“It is obvious she is still traumatised by those events and what followed. She told her mother she was staying at a friend’s house. She had to wait for a car to turn up and take her to the home of a drug addict. She was given a phone and told to stand by for instructions. The poor girl delivered drugs and did as she was told. They kept her there for two weeks as a virtual prisoner. She didn’t even know where she was. All she knew was that it was somewhere in Prestatyn. She said another girl was there who worked in Rhyl. They both escaped but now, she lives in fear of the gang members returning. I’ve had to pass the details onto the police and social services as per our protocol.”

  “Good, any developments?”

  “No, I’ve heard nothing back, but I don’t think she’ll be prepared to give evidence. She’s too scared of the consequences.”

  “When we introduced these sessions for young girls, the centre thought they would be dealing with unwanted pregnancies and family concerns. I’m surprised by how busy we are with drug problems. It’s not good the way girls are coming to us with issues relating to dealing, and now this human trafficking. Will any of the other girls stand as witnesses against their perpetrators, do you know?”

  “I don’t think so. It has reached pandemic proportions and the girls are afraid, not just for themselves but these gangsters are threatening their family members as well.”

  “What a nightmare. Their poor families. Is there any more we can do as an organisation?”

  “I can’t think how. We’ll just have to keep referring them on to the necessary agencies.”

  What was happening was disturbing. This was a huge problem. The authorities should have taken it on, but no one seemed to do very much. None of the girls I had seen were prepared to talk to anyone outside of the confines of the counselling rooms. It was so frustrating. Later that night I saw Jack and gave him an update.

  “I hope you’re not expecting me to get involved, Sophie. I can’t even find Louie, so I’d have no chance with these wayward teenagers you are talking about.”

  “No, I realise that.” I looked down, my shoulders drooped. “Sometimes, my job seems such a waste of time and effort. I get so overwhelmed by everything that’s going on. When I face situations that there doesn’t appear to be any solution to, I think, what’s the point?”

  “I understand that, but you can’t fight a war single-handed, Sophie. Where would these girls be if they didn’t have you to help them? Remember, before the women’s centre offered this service, they had nowhere to go with their problems. That must stand for something.”

  “You’re right. It’s just depressing.” I sighed, and Jack nodded. I went to the kitchen to make a drink. Walking back in the lounge ten minutes later, Jack was watching the news. I didn’t disturb him. I drank my tea in silence.

  Jack turned and said, “Stop worrying about it. You are doing all you can.” I put my empty mug on the coffee table and sidled up to him, linking his arm and picking my feet up onto the sofa. I yawned.

  “Come on you, let’s get you to bed.” He took hold of my hand and we stood up together.

  “Oh, there is one thing. I almost forgot.”

  “Oh, yes and what’s that then?”

  “I know it’s confidential, but you ought to know.” His eyebrows were raised.

  “Know what?”

  “In the sessions that I’ve had with these girls and subsequent conversations, there’s a name that’s cropped up a few times.”

  “Oh, and who would that be then?” Jack asked, with a glint in his eye.

  “Your old friend, Dom Duggan.”

  “Really? Now, that is interesting.” He nodded. “He was no friend of mine.” Jack’s eyes narrowed.

  Chapter 5

  Sophie

  I opened a packet of salt and vinegar crisps and took one out. Turning it around, admiring the golden colouring, I bit it in two and crunched. I waved the packet at Jack. His large hand grabbed inside and pulled out half the crisps.

  “Hey, greedy,” I exclaimed.

  “You shouldn’t have offered if you didn’t want me to have any.” I pulled a face at him as he chomped.

  “Okay, okay, grumpy chops.” I put my hand up in the air and sat back leaning against the wall of the rundown property on Scobell Street. There was no furniture in the room. From the damp odour, it probably hadn’t been occupied in a long time. I watched Jack as he stood at the window, looking out. He could only peer through a small gap as the frame was boarded up from the outside. With his dark hair and eyes, he was more good-looking when he was moody. I just wished it wasn’t so often. I reached for the flask of coffee and poured out a drink.

  “Here, get this down you.”

  “Thanks.” He gave me a half nod as he took the cup and drank it in one gulp. I poured one for myself. What a way to spend a Saturday evening. I agreed to come over to give Jack a break. At least this wasn’t my permanent job like his. Surveillance work wasn’t my cup of tea. I found it boring, watching and waiting. Nothing ever happened. Jack had been here for a week. It was different for him. It was his bread and butter. This was my night out if I wanted to be in his company. Sometimes, when he got grouchy, I questioned that.

  We agreed I would take over from him at the window for a brief period. Jack gave me my instructions. I had to keep my beady eyes on the house opposite and watch and photograph anyone going in or out. Was it a crack den or cuckooing at work? I was ignorant of these terms before I went into rehab. None of my friends were into drugs but now I had mates like Aaron and Liam, ex-addicts, who I’d known since my first stint in the recovery facility. They were pussycats compared to the guys across the road. I walked over to the window. Since I’d been with Jack, I found out more about the underworld than I would have liked.

  The most notorious drug dealers in the area frequented the house opposite. Jack had been in touch with the community police team because he suspected cuckooing. That was a new word on me, but now I knew what it was. He thought the property was rented to a vulnerable adult and the drug gang had moved themselves in and taken over the place.

  “Whoops, wait a minute, change of plan.” Jack didn’t take his eyes off the house as he spoke. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and studied the scene.

  “We’ve got movement.” I took a peep outside and spotted a car pulling up. It was a clapped-out red Vauxhall Corsa. Two figures climbed out of the vehicle. Both small in stature and muscly with dark hair, even I recognised it was the Duggan brothers. One of them wore a baseball cap, and the other slipped his hoodie over his head to hide his face but there was no mistaking who they were. Jack’s camera clicked away. I watched as they sauntered up to the front door. They could have passed as twins their appearance was so similar but Dirk, the taller of the pair was two years older than Dom.

  The door opened and a tall, well built, dark-haired guy wearing a sweatshirt two sizes too small stood there. His belly hung out of the bottom of his top to reveal a hairy and less than flattering torso. He had a moustache and stubble on his face. He looked foreign, possibly eastern European. His bulging arms were covered in tattoos. He clasped hands together with the pair and followed with a half hug. I watched as one of the Duggan’s beckoned someone forward from the parked car. A younger boy with blond hair, aged about fourteen climbed out and strode up to the front door with a swagger. Jack clicked away as the group went inside the house. The curtains were drawn so we couldn’t see any more.

  “What shall I do, Jack?” I asked.

  “Just keep your eye on the car and the house and give me a shout if anyone comes out. If there’s any movement, get your phone out and start snapping. I’m just going for a number two.”

  “Oh, gross. Too much information, thanks.” I shook my head as Jack toddled off to use the loo. I stood at the window for ten minutes before Jack walked back into the room.

  “At least the water is still on. It’d pong in here if they’d turned it off.” He laughed. I pulled a face.

  “Yuck, you know how to charm a
girl. You’re so eloquent and say the nicest things.” I smiled.

  “That’s right, and I bring you to all the best places,” he laughed. “Any movement?”

  “No, all quiet on the western front.” My eyes followed Jack as he rummaged in his rucksack. He pulled out the tin-foiled parcel I’d prepared earlier.

  “Want a butty?” he asked.

  “I’d have worn my best dress if I’d known we were eating out,” I laughed. “It’s okay, you can have them.” I knew how to look after my man. Food was the way to his heart. He had a great appetite for someone so slim and he always ate everything I made for him. I watched him devour the ham sandwiches.

  Keeping Jack company wasn’t my only motivation for being here. I decided to help because of what happened to Christine. No mother should have to suffer what she was going through. So, now I was here with him, keeping watch over the local drug dealers when I could be at home with my feet up watching telly.

  “Oh, wait a minute, we’ve got movement.” Jack came over to the window and stood next to me.

  “They’re off. Do you want to stay here or come with me?” he asked, zipping up his leather jacket. I wasn’t in the mood for a car chase. The thought of a luxury bath in my nice warm flat sounded much more appealing.

  “No, you go. Do you want me to wait here?”

  “You don’t have to. It’s up to you.” Jack gathered up his equipment and put the items in his rucksack.

  “Okay, I’ll give it an hour,” I said looking at my watch, “If you’re not back, I’ll make my way home.”

  He gave me a quick kiss and grabbed his bag. He stood in the doorway and turned to speak to me.

  “Let me know if anything happens.”

  “I will. I’ll text you. Take care.” I blew him a kiss. The door closed, and I heard him bounding down the stairs. My heart pounded. I didn’t like chasing after dangerous criminals. This wasn’t the sort of work Jack liked either. I hoped he could keep a clear head and his obsession with Dom Duggan wouldn’t hinder any investigation.

  Chapter 6

  Jack

  Being an ex-copper, I was used to tailing vehicles. It wasn’t hard. I was sure neither the brothers nor the young kid knew I was behind them. From the information I had, the Duggan boys ruled the roost in this part of Manchester. There was a lot I didn’t know about their operation, but I had more than a hunch they had something to do with Louie’s disappearance.

  The red Corsa spluttered along, two cars in front of me. Dirk drove, and Dom was in the back with the young teenager. They headed east on the M67 towards Oldham and Ashton. This was interesting, leaving their patch. They travelled at speed, but I had no problem keeping up in my more powerful silver Ford Focus. It wasn’t the newest of models, but it was reliable and with its two-litre engine, I had no problems when I had to put my foot down.

  Dirk indicated to come off at Chadderton. I didn’t have a clue where we were going. Visibility wasn’t the best and in the dark, I couldn’t even hazard a guess around these parts. It was unfamiliar territory to me. I knew little about this side of town, so I stayed as close behind as I could. They veered off the main road and weaved left and right through cobbled streets of terraced houses. The darkness made the scene look like an old-fashioned photograph with varying shades of grey.

  They pulled up outside one of the two-up two-downs. I parked some way behind. I needed to lie low. Dom got out of the car and opened the boot. He grabbed a bulky carrier bag and walked up to the front door of the property. He used a key to get in. I took a few snaps.

  I sat there for fifteen minutes with my muscles getting cramped before Dom returned empty-handed. He got back in the car and they sped off. I wasn’t going anywhere. I locked up my vehicle and eyed up the property. There were no lights on. I couldn’t see any movement. There was a chill in the air, so I zipped my jacket up. I grabbed my bob hat out of my pocket and put it on, then popped on my leather gloves and hunched my rucksack onto my back. The moon was blanketed by clouds, so a sheet of blackness descended.

  Walking towards the front door, I kept my eyes on the windows. No tell-tale twitching. There were cigarette butts accumulating in the tiny front garden, together with an empty bottle of cider. The surrounding wall had bricks missing. The wayward bricks sat on the edge of the path alongside screwed up sweet wrappers where flowers should have been.

  I rang the doorbell and waited. No one came. With some force, I knocked against the wooden frame and put my ear in closer. I couldn’t make out any sounds. I looked up and down the street. It was deserted. It was the second house along the terraced block, so I walked through the ginnel to the back gate. I tried the handle, but it was locked.

  Checking the area first, I grabbed the top of the gate and pulled myself up. Wriggling my body, I heaved my legs over and jumped down the other side. There was a small backyard where two broken plant pots had soil spewing out onto the concrete. I walked up to the back door and knocked. I waited. No sounds.

  Still looking around, I took a large screwdriver out of my bag. I wedged it into the door where the lock was. Using brute force, I had the door open in no time. As I stepped inside, I glanced around. Visibility had improved as the clouds dispersed, leaving a full moon in view. The smell of damp hit me. Even in the dim light, I could see patches of it climbing up the walls. It looked like the residents had been partying with empty beer cans and cigarette ends everywhere. Pizza boxes littering the floor. Work surfaces were cluttered with more empty takeaway cartons. I continued to check the area. Searching through the cupboards, I found nothing. I advanced through the kitchen into the back room, careful not to make a sound as my trainers hit the laminate flooring. The scene was much the same here. Debris and leftovers lay on the coffee table. I checked the cupboard under the stairs — a few tools and a box of discarded newspapers.

  My police training came in useful sometimes as I continued to search through the house, being painstakingly careful not to miss anything. Occasionally, I had regrets about messing up my career because of my heavy drinking, but I enjoyed the freedom that my role as a private investigator gave me. I couldn’t go back to working for someone else now. I liked to do things my way. Sophie didn’t always agree with that, but it was her choice to stay with me. She could either like it or lump it.

  I checked out the window. I didn’t want any gang members returning while I searched the place. That would be curtains. My hearing was good. At this time of night, I should hear any vehicles approaching. I couldn’t afford the luxury of putting lights on, so I looked over the rooms in torchlight.

  The floorboards groaned as I slinked through towards the front room. I waited and listened. The door creaked as I opened it, so I pushed it a fraction at a time. Once inside, I noticed a thick coating of dust on the surfaces. Empty bottles, cartons and the wooden flooring peppered with cigarette ash were all I could see. I shone my torch around, listening for sounds then I brushed my hand against the wall and caught the remnants of a cobweb. I worked through the downstairs room, turning over cushions, checking in drawers. They were bare.

  My senses were heightened as I prowled about. I knew some of the more obvious places for hiding drugs, but these guys were always coming up with new ingenious ways to stash their booty. I had checked out each room methodically. There were a few porn magazines in the bottom of a cupboard but nothing more incriminating than that.

  I was about to ascend the stairs when I heard a vehicle outside. I rushed to the window. My heart beat fast. It was a taxi. I watched as it pulled up halfway down the street and I strained my eyes to see a guy half cut stumble out. He took one step forward, two steps back then circled around. Those were the days. He fumbled with keys at his front door for some time. I waited until he found his way in and my rapid breathing resumed its normal pace.

  The steep staircase was carpeted. The smell of mildew followed me. Now wouldn’t be a good time to get caught. I said a quick prayer and made my way to the top of the stairs. I opened the gap in the
front bedroom door. There was a bed with a grey-coloured duvet cover on and a cheap white MDF wardrobe and chest of drawers. A blanket was pinned up at the window, blacking it out. Some badly spelt graffiti was written on the walls.

  The floorboards creaked incessantly. If anyone was here, they must have heard me. Was anyone hiding out, waiting? I gulped. Moving over to the second bedroom, the door was closed. I tried the handle. It was locked. I listened but heard nothing. Carrying on walking I made my way through to the bathroom and scanned the small area. There was an opened cabinet containing a toothbrush and paste and some men’s deodorant. Nothing else. I checked behind the toilet cistern, but there was little to interest me there. I was surprised. My hunch of finding something looked like it was wrong. It was a windowless room. I turned the light on and off. It worked.

  I walked back to the locked bedroom. This time I heard a sound coming from inside. A groan. My breathing was shallow, and I caught a breath in my chest. At that moment, my mobile pinged. Oh no! Why didn’t I turn it off? Frowning I looked at the screen and saw it was Sophie.

  Hi babe, nothing doing here. How’re things with u? X.

  I shook my head. What timing. Sometimes, her eagerness to please was so annoying. I silenced the phone and put it back in my pocket. Popping my bag down, I took out the screwdriver again. I wedged it between the bottom knuckle of the hinge and the pin. Then, taking a hammer out of my rucksack, I tapped on it until the hinge came loose. It didn’t take much force. My fingers and toes tingled, and I wiped the perspiration off my forehead. I was going into the unknown. What would greet me behind that door? My pulse raced.

  With heightened awareness, I prepared myself for an attack, but nothing happened. A small olive-skinned teenage boy of about thirteen lay either sleeping or unconscious on the bed. A young girl of about sixteen was huddled in the corner. She was skeletal. Her blonde hair looked bedraggled. She wore light-blue pyjamas. The bones on her tiny frame jutted out through the material. Her face looked gaunt. I watched her as her eyelids drooped. Her head bobbled about on her shoulders. Her pupils were like saucers. She was stoned.