'His kids? How many are there?'
Mel sat back and frowned. 'I dunno. His girls usually have one or two before he moves on. So I guess there must be six or seven out there? I heard Mandy's pregnant?'
'Yes, we went round there. A couple of months to go.'
'There you are then. Another little Watts' baby soon.'
Emma sat back and frowned. The law and guidelines on situations like this were changing fast. She wasn't sure what exactly was going on except that she knew it felt wrong. 'So, how does he keep finding new girlfriends? If we've got a thirty-year-old man, how can he keep meeting teenagers? He must be grooming.'
'Yeah, but is he really?' This was Mel again. 'I mean, he won't entertain anyone who's under sixteen and he has no truck with booze or drugs. I know people who've had a relationship with him, get caught with a single spliff and he won't even answer the phone – just cuts them dead.'
'So, this is all hearsay. Do you actually know anyone?'
A girl with short dark hair spoke up quietly. 'My older sister used to hang around with him, over a year ago now. She was in the same year as Mandy Goode. A whole gang of them would go out at once and he'd buy proper food at McDonald's or Burger King, then they'd go on to the pictures, drinks and popcorn, everything paid for.'
'And the parents were happy with a man in his late twenties or early thirties taking their daughters out on a group date?' Emma could hardly believe what she was saying.
'Yeah, have you met him?' Emma nodded. 'He's a proper charmer. All the mums love him. Even the dads who can be a bit possessive, he wins them round in the end.'
Emma sighed deeply. 'Okay. So apart from the fact that he likes teenagers, this guy is a saint. This isn't really my job. What's wrong with him?'
'Yeah,' Mel said, 'you want to speak to Kelsey Teague. That was all over the estate, what, three maybe four years ago. She moved into his place, had his baby, all that.'
'What went wrong?'
'Well, he moved on, she moved out. All seemed fine and everything. Then she got a new boyfriend and it all went to shit. They were in and out of family court, social workers, all that stuff.'
Emma leaned forward. This was more like it. 'What happened after that?'
Mel shrugged, her shoulders making her earrings jingle. 'Dunno. Just vanished off the face of the earth. Her mum and family still live on the estate but they're not saying nothing. I guess she's run away from Watts.'
Back in her car, Emma reviewed what she had actually learnt. Gregory Watts was certainly creepy and overly interested in teenage girls. And the news that one woman involved with him had disappeared certainly caused alarm bells to go off. But, looked at through the objective eyes of the CPS it added up to a whole load of nothing much.
When she got back to the office, she ran a check on Kelsey Teague. She had to go through a few different spellings of her name, but in the end, she got one hit for a twenty-year-old who was arrested for drunk and disorderly about three and a half years ago. She dug around a bit and found out that at the time she was listed as being on the Seaview Estate bordering Coopers End. From what she had learned, Emma feared that it would be a dead end.
She went to the case notes and read over them really carefully. There was one name that kept on cropping up all through the notes – a social worker called Julie Walker. Following her hunch, she made a call to the council and was soon connected.
'I'm looking for a Kelsey Teague and your name came up?'
'Kelsey?' Julie sounded confused. 'Oh, that was a long time back. What's she done now?'
'Her? Nothing. I wondered what she'd be able to tell me about Gregory Watts.'
'Now that is one name that I do remember.'
'What's your initial impression of him?'
'It's more than initial – the whole case rumbled on for nearly a year. The guy's a lizard or a snake. He's beautiful, everything he does is calculated and looks brilliant on the surface. But I think he's just as dangerous as any reptile.' There was a long, telling pause. 'Are you really going after him?'
'Is there a reason I shouldn't?'
'It'll be tough. He's very clever and well embedded with the whole scene down there in Bradwick. He's a real man's man. No one in CID will lift a finger against him.'
'Well, maybe if I met with Kelsey, heard what she had to say?'
This time the pause was even longer and more charged than before. 'Leave it with me. I won't make any promises but I'll reach out. If I have any success, you'll hear from me.'
And if Kelsey won't see me, Emma thought, then I won't hear from you again.
Chapter Thirty
'Angel? Thank god you're back from lunch.'
'What's up, boss?'
'I know we usually use uniform but they're really stretched at the moment. I need you to go down to the motor pool, sign out a van and come to the address I'm about to send you.'
'Sure. What's going on?'
'We're at a farm outside Sutherton. Turns out the farmer has no documentation for the immigrant farm workers, not even his gangmaster's licence. On top of that Terry's been having a snoop around the tomato greenhouses and he thinks not all the plants are tomatoes. So we're going to need to collect all the workers plus a load of evidence. We've already got some uniforms here with one van but it won't be enough.'
'Okay then. I'll be with you as soon as I can.'
As she got ready and went down the stairs, she thought about all the trite things new recruits said about life in the police force. You never know what the job will bring. That morning she had been searching social media and debriefing her boss on various suspects in her case. She'd spent lunchtime sharing a McDonald's with a group of teenage girls, gathering information. Now she was on her way out to a farm with a van.
When she got to the motor pool, she was met by a surly sergeant, who was in charge of allocation.
'DC Angel, huh?' He held her warrant card under the light, as if he thought it might be fake. 'Emma Angel from CID upstairs? Well I've not had an official requisition form in for a van.'
'It's an operational issue. We attended a scene and couldn't anticipate what we'd find.' He looked sceptical so she continued. 'I can always phone DCI Haines and ask if he has time to explain it to you.'
The dropping of the rank into the conversation seemed to have the right effect. 'No, no, won't be necessary. We're used to being flexible for operational reasons.' He reached for a clipboard and started scanning through it. Under his breath he muttered, 'A van for Emma Angel.' His finger stopped halfway down and a smile spread across his face. 'Yes, that'll do fine.' He turned and unlocked a cabinet full of keys. He selected one, checked what was written on the yellow tag and slapped them down on the desk. 'Far corner of the yard. LDV van.' With that he turned away and busied himself with paperwork in the back of his office.
Wondering if she'd imagined the weird atmosphere, DC Angel took the keys and went out into the yard. There at the far end, was an old, slightly battered LDV minibus. It was parked hard up against a wall, with very little space front and back. She looked at the route she'd have to take out. Some of the gaps looked tight for a big van like that.
'You'll be all right with that, won't you?' The sergeant had materialised behind her. 'I mean, you've done the driving course and all?' He ran his eyes up and down her body. His meaning was obvious – you're too short and weak to drive a van like that.
'It'll be fine,' DC Angel said with resolve.
The van was parked so close to the wall that she had to slide across from the passenger side. Then she found that the seat wouldn't adjust forward at all. She had to perch on the edge of the seat and twist to engage the heavy clutch.
By the time she had the van pointing towards the exit two things had happened. Her arms and shoulders were aching from the steering wheel and her entire left side from below her knee to above her hip was on fire from her repeated efforts to depress the clutch. Secondly, the desk sergeant had been joined by three other officers.
She might be the entertainment for the day, but she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. Gingerly, with eyes on both mirrors, she edged the van forward. It might hurt, but she had a position now where she could control the clutch, so she could leave the car park at walking pace.
Once she was on the road and away from the eyes of Traffic, she could relax a little. One big advantage of driving a marked vehicle was that no one complained when she drove most of the way in third gear, even if it meant grinding painfully slowly away from roundabouts and junctions.
At the farm, she took a moment to compose herself before sliding gracefully down from the seat. The effort of rounding up farm workers and supervising the removal of cannabis plants meant that she didn't have time to worry about her aches or driving the van round.
After a couple of hours they were ready to leave. She was assigned with DC Mitchell as an escort to take the prisoners back to the station. DC Angel had an unguarded moment as she prepared to get back into the van and DC Mitchell picked up on it.
'They gave you this beast to drive? What did you do to piss them off?'
'Nothing really. This was just the last van left.' Her lie was effortless and she hoped, undetected. She had an uncomfortable moment where she actually considered patching things up with Dave Parks just to get good treatment from Traffic.
'Well do you want me to drive it back?' When he saw her look, he hastily added, 'It's not that you're a woman. If you were a short bloke I'd offer too. Unless, that is, they've fixed that seat?'
'They haven't fixed the seat yet. Thanks for the offer but I'd never hear the end of it if I let a man bring it back to the pool.'
DC Mitchell stopped to think. 'I'll run you back to the middle of Bradwick, then we'll swap over and you can drop me off at the station before going on to the pool.'
DC Angel gave this suggestion some thought. On the one hand it was tempting to let someone else drive the van back to Bradwick. The last two hours meant that her sharp pains had faded into dull aches. She didn't know what another drive would do and didn't much care to find out. But, would accepting a favour from DC Mitchell put her in his debt? Her whole life she had preferred to rely on herself and her own abilities. It didn't seem fair to involve the rest of CID in her own personal squabbles.
On the other hand, he had offered. And he knew that it would avoid getting her involved in an us vs them situation between CID and Traffic. Which in turn meant that she was becoming part of the team – they were looking out for her.
'Yeah, go on then,' she said, throwing him the keys. She decided being part of the team was worth owing someone a favour.
As good as his word, Ed Mitchell stopped on Bradwick High Street and let them swap seats. She left the van in the easiest space she could find and pretty much threw the keys back at the smirking sergeant.
Chapter Thirty-One
The next morning, DC Angel woke up early in agony. She had taken Ibuprofen before going to sleep but it had worn off now. She took two before crawling out of bed and making it to the shower. She set it as hot as possible and when she was finished, she felt at least halfway human.
With a mixture of painkillers she managed to get into work without raising too many eyebrows. DCI Haines was holed up in his office, talking on the phone.
When she was sure her boss wasn't looking, she levered herself out of her chair. She took a moment to steady herself on the table before limping over to fetch herself some coffee.
Unseen by her, DC Mitchell saw the way she moved and frowned slightly.
In his office, her boss picked up the phone as it rang. 'Haines.'
'Rob, it's Terry. I'm repaying the favour over those numbers you sent over last week. We've got one active right in your backyard.'
Haines took down the details of where and when the phone had been located. Even better news was that the phone hadn't moved for a day. This meant that the technical teams had a precise address, presumably where a dealer was staying. He made one further phone call before going through to the open-plan office and saw his quarry. 'Mitchell. We've got a job. A live one. I'll get Laurel and Hardy and meet you in the car park in five.'
'Right you are, boss.'
DC Angel looked round with an unspoken question on her face. Haines considered the situation carefully. He gave a slight inclination of his head and moved towards the stairs. DC Angel fell in beside him trying hard not to limp.
'Right, Angel. This isn't strictly on the book. You can come along to observe, but that will be all. You will not comment and if you see something you don't like you'll just put it out of your mind.'
'Yes, boss. What's the situation?' DC Angel was excited partly from picking up on Haines' emotions and partly because she might get a chance to do something to get DPS off her back.
'We've got a cuckoo; a county line being set up in my town.' He almost growled this sentence. 'It's on Walker Avenue so it'll be some sad case who's an addict, being given a rock a day while they take over his house. It's up to us to put a stop to it and send them back where they came from.'
DC Angel didn't want to think either about where the information came from or what would happen next. By now they had reached the lower floor, where they found two officers having a break.
One was tall and thin, Laurel, and the other was short and squat, but more like a rugby player than Oliver Hardy. But they were fast friends, so in the way of the station they were nicknamed after the two legends of black and white comedy films.
Haines barked quick orders that they were to meet up in plain clothes with stab vests and plenty of equipment as soon as possible.
They travelled through the town and DC Angel wondered about the feel of the place. It was overcast and muggy weather which seemed to reflect the mood of the town. Whether it was teenagers worrying about the dead girls, or the ripples through the drug scene, or even her own misgivings about Professional Standards, there seemed to be a disturbance. And that feeling was mirrored in the oppressive weather – not too hot and not sunny, just close and overcast.
Soon all five of them, Mitchell, Haines, Angel, and Laurel and Hardy were around the corner from number thirty-seven. Cars had been parked sensibly out of sight. Laurel and Hardy went forward on their knees and crouched below the front windows of the terraced house. Angel, Mitchell, and Haines waited further back. DC Angel shifted her weight awkwardly – her leg and hip were still not right after her journey in the van yesterday. Unknown to her, Haines had been watching the way she moved, noted the painkillers she was swallowing. When this was wrapped up, he resolved to turn his detective skills on his own force to get to the bottom of the problem.
'Right, Angel.' Haines spoke in a low voice, not quite a whisper. 'You won't see this on your Methods of Entry course. Our tame drug user will be along any minute. You'll be last in. Shut and lock the door behind you.' DC Angel looked at Haines. Lock themselves in with an unknown number of dealers, possibly with weapons. 'We've all got three sets of cuffs and batons. You see someone, you cuff them. No one is point scoring over collars – if you see someone in trouble, wade in and cuff their suspect. Between us we can immobilise fifteen people, should be enough.'
Right on cue, a scruffy young man approached the house. He looked both young and old at the same time – typical drug user. He knocked on the door and everyone held their breath. There was a long pause. Angel wondered if they could see anything in the reflections from the windows opposite. Or did they have contacts in the bank of terraces on the other side of the street.
Finally, bolts were drawn and the door opened to admit the user. Like sprinters out of the blocks, the two constables stormed the door, pushing everyone back inside. This was the signal and the other three piled in as well.
With a slight misgiving Angel slammed the front door and flicked the latch so it locked. The hall was empty and dingy. There were none of the shouts that usually accompanied an operation like this.
She moved to the lounge where three people were sat on the couch
, hands cuffed behind them. Laurel was manhandling another one out of the kitchen. This one was dumped onto an armchair next to his friends.
'You two,' Haines pointed at Mitchell and Angel, 'secure the upstairs.' He indicated Hardy. 'Let's have one last sweep down here, make sure we're alone.'
DCs Angel and Mitchell quickly checked the upstairs. It was a thoroughly depressing, untidy two bed terrace. In the front bedroom, they found a stick thin woman in an old iron bed. Without a word, Mitchell whipped the old eiderdown off, like a magician performing a trick. Before Angel saw what was happening, her mobile was slapped out of her hand, rattling across the floor. Mitchell had her over on her front and handcuffed before Angel had retrieved the phone.
'Text written, not sent,' she reported as she held the mobile carefully by the edges. She didn't want it to screen lock, so she pressed the back key to make sure the message didn't get out.
Soon, Haines was regarding his four captives, all lined up in the lounge. The coffee table, a survivor from the seventies, had been re-righted. It now contained piles of evidence – wraps of drugs, a pile of cash, various weapons, and a pile of mobile phones.
In a similar fashion, the occupants of the house had been sorted. Four youths sat awkwardly on the sofa and armchair with their hands cuffed behind their backs. The man who knocked on the door and the woman from the bed stood behind them, not cuffed but unsure of their status. Both were twitchy and staring at the pile of wraps hungrily.
DC Angel focused on the woman – there was something vacant about her look but it was impossible to tell if she was disabled or just stoned. She wondered if there was a social worker involved. And, more interesting, why did her DCI have a local drug user on speed dial?
'Right, you guys,' Haines said to the incomers. 'Where are you from?'
The Retirement Party Page 16