The Beatrice Stubbs Series Boxset One

by JJ Marsh

  Yvonne blotted her face with a Wet Wipe and looked at Dawn, red-eyed and desperate. “We wanted to do it properly. We did try.”

  Gerry continued, with a nod. “She’s right. We’re not criminals, Detective. But I’m self-employed. The Greenery Guy. I provide and maintain plants in offices. Or I did. After the credit crunch, lots of companies dropped me and several major bills went unpaid. I filed for bankruptcy in 2009. So we gave up on any chance of an official adoption.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. So you felt you had no alternative but to adopt through other channels?”

  Yvonne’s voice was harsh. “There was no other way! You tell me what else we could have done?”

  Dawn shook her head. “I don’t know, Mrs Nicholls. But I’d like you to know that I am not here to judge you. I just want to understand the steps that brought you to this situation, and if possible, try to help. Can you tell me how you contacted the people who provided Liam?”

  “They contacted us!” Gerry’s voice was indignant. “They got in touch after our first cycle of IVF. This woman came round one day, explained their service and gave us her card. We said no thanks. We wanted to do it properly. I have the card here.”

  He pulled a dog-eared business card from his wallet.

  Dream-Makers: dreams can come true. Sienna Smith. Not even a website. Only a mobile number.

  “I see. So when you’d reached the end of your tether, you called Miss Smith.”

  Yvonne nodded. “Exactly. She told us about all these unwanted babies from Eastern Europe and how people put their kids in the orphanage if they can’t afford to keep them. And Gerry and me, well, we haven’t got much, but we’re getting back on our feet, and we’d love a child more than anything.”

  “I don’t imagine this service came cheap.”

  Yvonne glanced at her husband and looked down at the crumpled Wet Wipe in her hands.

  Gerry shrugged. “Fifteen grand. And he’s worth every penny.”

  “I have to ask, Mr Nicholls. How does a recently bankrupt, unemployed man gather fifteen thousand pounds?”

  “I’m not unemployed. I do two jobs. Deliveries for Waitrose and horticulture work for the Council.”

  “That still ...”

  Yvonne broke in. “We borrowed it. My parents and his brother gave us the money. We’ll pay them back.”

  Dawn nodded. “So you handed over the cash to Sienna Smith, and ...?”

  “No, we’re not that naïve. We only handed over the money when we received Liam. But we made an agreement, gave her a deposit and prepared for having a baby. We moved here, where no one knew us. Yvonne wore a pregnancy pad under her clothes for months. We put off any visitors and told the neighbours we preferred to stick with our family GP in Salisbury. All we had to do was to make sure she didn’t get ill. We couldn’t risk a trip to any doctor. Then we got the nod. Sienna told us where to go and when.”

  Dawn rested her chin on her clasped hands. “And yesterday morning, you got your little boy. Did you know the name of the woman who handed him over?”

  “No, we only knew her as Scarlett,” Yvonne said. “We were worried because Liam was crying so much. She was so rude, wasn’t she, Gerry?”

  “Downright unpleasant. Fortunately we had all the equipment with us. Dry nappy, baby food, Calpol. Poor little sod was in a right state. How could they treat a child like that? But they’ve got us over a barrel. Who’s going to report them?”

  “You are, I’m afraid. Mr and Mrs Nicholls, your child is a case of illegal adoption. Social Services are on their way and they will help you take this through the proper channels. Liam will have to be taken into care, pending an official investigation. If the parents of the child are willing and the authorities have no reason to refuse you, there’s every chance you can adopt baby Liam. The fact that you’ve taken good care of him will work in your favour. But the proper procedures must be observed. I promise to do everything in my power to help you.”

  Yvonne began to sob quietly, but Gerry narrowed his eyes. “Why would you do that? We’ve committed a crime.”

  “As a matter of fact, I see you as victims, not perpetrators. Not only that, but if you can assist me in catching these traffickers, it’ll make a positive impression on those who make the decisions. Listen, Gerry, Yvonne. You seem like good parents. Why would I want to destroy that? All we have to be sure is that the birth mother gave him up voluntarily, that there was no coercion, no rape, and no associated crimes such as blackmail involved.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Oh my God!” Yvonne’s sobs restarted. Gerry embraced his wife as Dawn got up to answer.

  Virginia, slightly bedraggled after summer rain, stood with a small bald man, who was wearing jeans and an anorak. “Mr Horniman, this is DI Whittaker. Dawn, this is Jason Horniman from Social Services, Adoption Advisor. Can we come in? It’s wet out here.”

  After leaving the Nicholls’s house, Dawn retreated into silence on the journey to Cardiff, but this time for less selfish reasons. Absorbed by thoughts of what that couple and poor little Liam had undergone, anger and sympathy filled her chest. She’d call them next week and offer her continued support. The thought of that tiny little person, carried across the sea, cold, wet and hungry when he should have been in an incubator. Whoever was responsible was going down for this.

  She felt Virginia glance at her as they sped down the M4. “Hey, the social worker will look after them. They might well get him back if the investigation doesn’t show up involvement in a paedophile ring or anything dodgy on their records.”

  “I know. I was just trying to imagine what they’ve been through. What the baby’s been through. No, I agree with you. They’re in capable hands and the social worker seemed like a decent guy. Even if he doesn’t live up to his name.”

  Virginia took her eyes off the motorway to shoot her a puzzled frown.

  Dawn deadpanned. “I could have sworn you introduced him as Horniman. Well, not in my book he ain’t.”

  Virginia laughed loudly and shook her head. “Nor mine.”

  And that would do as an olive branch for now. Time to get to business.

  “Right. Now for Ms Marie, or should I say Scarlett, Fisher. Do we head for Docklands Rentals or pick her up at her address?”

  Virginia’s eyes flicked to the clock. “The rental firm told Ranga the return was due between twelve and one. We could make that easily, with time for a sandwich stop. We’re going for an arrest, right?”

  “Too right. This is obviously one hard-nosed little bitch and we’ve got ample evidence. Take her in, lean on her and find out where they’ve taken Adrian Harvey.” Dawn yanked up her bag from the foot well. “I’m going to update Beatrice and then see how Heddlu de Cymru want to play it.”

  “And I’ll keep my eyes peeled for food and caffeine.”

  Docklands Rentals had a Portakabin as its office. Virginia pulled up onto the forecourt, positioning the vehicle parallel to the front fence, facing the line of returned cars and went in to announce their presence. Dawn finished her water, observing the traffic entering and leaving the superstore on the other side of Newport Road. She dialled the number again. He must be back by now.

  “Ah, hello. DI Whittaker again. Just wondering if your duty sergeant is back at his desk? Thank you. Hello, Detective Sergeant Harris, DI Whittaker here. I called before but you were out at lunch.”

  “Good afternoon to you, DI Whittaker. No, I’m afraid lunch is on hold. I’ve been talking to DI Rangarajan and DI Stubbs just now. We’re happy for you to take the lead on this arrest and I’ve already checked we have the necessary force to back you up, if you need us.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, that’s good of you, but we’re not expecting any trouble. So if it’s all right with you, we’ll make the arrest and bring her to Cardiff Bay. Would there be an interview room available?”

  “Not a problem. Like I say, give us a shout if you need any help.”

  “Thank you, DS Harris. And I think you’ll be
safe enough to have your lunch now.”

  “Kettle’s already boiled, DI Whittaker. Beef and tomato Pot Noodle today. See, I’m a traditionalist at heart. Look forward to meeting you later.”

  Dawn ended the call with a smile and was adjusting the radio to Cardiff Eastern frequency when Virginia returned.

  “Right, as I expected. The office is staffed by two adolescents who’ll keep their traps shut, but I think we should lift her as soon as she gets out of the car.”

  “I agree. The Cardiff force is ready with backup.”

  Virginia rested her head on the back of the seat. “I’m so tired, I daren’t close my eyes. Not even for a second. Did you say backup? Do you think that’s necessary?”

  “Can’t be too careful. Are you OK? Do you want my coffee?”

  Virginia yawned, stretching her long, lean arms over the steering wheel. “I need some kind of kick. Adrenalin, amphetamine, I’m not fussy. Don’t answer that. You know what?” She jerked her head at the Portakabin. “Behind the reception desk is one of those one-way mirrors and when I looked into it, you know what I saw? Bruce Forsyth in a Boden dress.”

  Dawn laughed and was about to make a complimentary comment on chins when an SUV drove past, curved around and parked in an empty space, a hundred yards in front. The driver’s door opened and a slight, dark-haired woman slid out.

  As Dawn put on her sunglasses, she noted Virginia doing the same. “Come on then, Brucie. Let’s take her.”

  They opened their doors in unison and the Fisher woman’s head whipped around. Her eyes moved from one to another as they approached. Calmly and with no sudden movements, Marie Fisher turned and got back into the car. Dawn stopped and looked at Virginia.

  “She’s not ...”

  An engine roared and gravel spat from beneath the wheels.

  “She fucking is. In the car!”

  The SUV had already shot out of the entrance by the time Dawn buckled her belt and started the siren. She grabbed the radio and alerted Cardiff HQ as to Marie Fisher’s vehicle description, plates and direction as Virginia hurled the Volvo into traffic. Poor Sergeant Harris and his Pot Noodle.

  “Taking a left, and again, no indication, stupid bitch, thinks she can throw me ...” Virginia kept up a muttered monologue as she threw the vehicle after their target. Marie knew where she was going, that much was clear. Racing to a junction, cutting up other vehicles, hacking left or right without warning, she certainly gave the impression of trying to outrun her pursuers.

  Dawn clenched her handset, tensing herself against the seat as if it would offer protection, and relayed as much information as she could to the operator.

  “Broadway, headed south west, past The Royal Oak pub.”

  Cars, buses, lorries, even bikes slowed and made room for the siren, which unfortunately aided Marie Fisher in weaving a determined path down the back streets. The red light of a pelican crossing indicated pedestrian priority and a mother stepped out with a pushchair. Both Dawn’s feet hit the carpet but Virginia slammed her hand to the horn, causing the startled woman to leap backwards.

  Passing Cyril Street on the right, another siren joined them. A patrol car pulled in behind and Virginia’s momentary glance away from the road meant she didn’t see Fisher’s handbrake turn.

  “Left! Left here! Now!” Dawn shrieked.

  Virginia hit the brakes, ramming the gearstick upwards and swinging the wheel a full circle, before changing into second and accelerating once more. Flung against the door, Dawn felt sick but kept up her continual commentary.

  “We’ve taken a left, don’t know the name but we’re passing Sapphire Street, Emerald Street, Copper Street ... is this some sort of joke? Taking a left. Next is ... oh shit!”

  Passengers leaving a bus had just finished crossing the road as it pulled out of the stop. Marie overtook, bouncing up on the pavement, perilously close to a pair of elderly ladies, but just made it past. Virginia swung left into the bus bay, hit the accelerator, climbed the kerb and overtook the bus on the inside. The bus driver braked and honked his horn, but the Volvo was already swinging back into position, closing on Marie Fisher. Dawn’s buttocks were clenched so hard, her bum took up half its usual space.

  Virginia changed down a gear and the engine whined as she gained on Fisher’s rear. She leant forward, neck muscles taut, forearms tensed and eyes scanning the scene ahead. Dawn compared her own stance: hands gripping the radio, whole body clenched and thrust as far back as physically possible. She realised the radio was squeaking at her and resumed her relay.

  “Sorry, lost it for a moment there. Now on Splott Road, heading south. She’s doing fifty, fifty-five on a residential street.”

  “More backup on its way.”

  “Suspect on South Park Road, no, taken a right, Seawall Road, heading south-east. We’re on an industrial estate, and she’s picking up speed. Reading sixty-five. She’s keen to get away. Is there another way into this place? We might be able to ...”

  The black vehicle lost it on the bend, swerving madly from one side to the next, but Marie managed to hold it and sped on. Virginia handled the curve far better, braking, turning and picking up speed all at the perfect moment. They gained several seconds and could almost see the outline of Fisher’s head. Virginia flashed her lights and motioned to pull over. Marie indicated, braked and slowed and Dawn inhaled a deep breath of relief. Then the SUV took off again at speed, spitting back stones and dust. Virginia roared with rage, changed into second and Dawn’s head bounced off the back of the seat.

  Seawall Road straightened and as they tore past the school, Dawn gave thanks it was a Sunday. At the end of the road was a roundabout, with two possible exits. Virginia was closing the gap and Marie’s choices were decreasing. Another siren joined the cacophony. A second patrol car approached from the right exit, lights flashing. Marie didn’t hesitate, taking a screeching left.

  “Left. Repeat. Suspect took a left off roundabout at end of Seawall Road. Second police vehicle in support.”

  Virginia tore the wheel to the left and Dawn’s head hit the window again, before she was thrown forward into her seatbelt as Virginia slammed on the anchors. Marie’s SUV was stationary, brake lights on. The road was nothing more than a track to an industrial wasteland. Ahead: a dead end. Marie Fisher had run out of choices.

  They waited for several seconds. Virginia tensed as the reverse lights came on, but Fisher killed the engine. South Wales police officers fanned out around them as Dawn and Virginia stepped out of the car. Dawn’s legs were unreliable, so she leant, nonchalantly, on the bonnet.

  The door of the SUV opened and Virginia stepped forward to make the arrest. Marie gave no reaction. Dawn watched as two officers clipped on cuffs and guided her into the patrol car.

  Virginia strode back towards Dawn with a broad grin. “Well, that woke me up. To the station for a light bout of interrogation?”

  Dawn shook her head and sighed. “To think I could be watching Eastenders.”

  Chapter 41

  Beatrice and Inspector Crean sheltered from the shower under the eaves of the Cork Airport terminal until Grant ended his call and came across the tarmac to join them.

  His face looked dreadful; there were dark shadows under his eyes and he clearly bore bad news.

  “Dyfed-Powys police found Adrian Harvey’s wallet near Porthgain harbour. They’ve searched the whole area, a disused industrial site, but found nothing else.”

  Beatrice’s last vestige of hope died: that Adrian had got lost, met someone else, fallen asleep or anything other than being taken by suspected child-traffickers.

  “I see. Inspector Crean, let me introduce DS Ty Grant. The Inspector’s going to escort us to the farm. A team’s already there, conducting a search.”

  “How are you, Ty?” Inspector Crean offered a large hand and generous smile. “It’ll take us around forty minutes to get there, so I can give you all the background along the way.”

  Beatrice nodded, hiding her impatience. S
he had a feeling this gentle, slow-moving man would drive like a grandma. While Adrian lay in the hands of human traffickers who treat people like animals, using them for what they can get.

  Thankfully, Crean had a police driver, who was efficient and fast, albeit monosyllabic. The inspector sat in the passenger seat, twisting round to address herself and Grant.

  “Now then, Lannagh Farm. Well, first thing you should know is that it’s not really a farm. It’s a rendering facility.”

  Beatrice gave Grant an enquiring glance, but he shook his head.

  “I always assumed rendering was something you did to walls,” she said.

  The inspector had turned his attention to the road. Banners, bikes and significant numbers of spectators announced a cycle race. Beatrice dug her nails into her upper arms, noting the time on the dashboard as twelve-fifteen. The inspector finished advising the driver as to an alternative route and turned back to them.

  “So, rendering. Not one of the most pleasant jobs you can do. That’s why the farm is so remote. Terrible stink. They take waste products from slaughterhouses and farms; diseased animals, or the bits not fit for human consumption and so on. A rendering plant divides it into stuff that must be disposed of safely, and the rest it processes.”

  Beatrice clenched her jaw. “Processes into what?”

  “Fertiliser, soap, animal food, that sort of thing.”

  Grant met her eyes and Beatrice closed hers.

  The smell grew as they bumped their way up the long rough track which led to Lannagh Farm. The Inspector wasn’t exaggerating; that reek was repulsive. A young sergeant waited outside the farm buildings and an ambulance stood with its doors open on the opposite side of the yard.

  Beatrice’s heart pulsed with fear. She released her seatbelt and opened her door before the car had come to a halt, hurrying over to the young officer.

  “DI Stubbs of the Met. Is the emergency vehicle for Mr Harvey?”

  “Sergeant Sullivan. No, ma’am. We’ve not yet located Mr Harvey. My colleagues are still searching. It’s a big place, unfortunately. We’ve taken Brigid Connor, her family and three employees to the station. That includes Eoin Connor, your man with the ponytail from your pictures.”