‘Now you sound like Nasenby.’
He grinned. ‘Entirely intentional, I assure you.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re missing him?’
‘No, I’m seeing plenty of him.’ Penrith pulled on the jacket, straightened his tie. ‘Lucky me. Remember what I’ve said, Caelan. Leave the Rainey case to Achebe.’
She ignored him, took out her phone as Penrith lumbered past her and left the room, thumping the door closed behind him. She found Ewan’s number, and he answered on the second ring.
‘Caelan? How are you?’
She smiled. ‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’
8
Ryan knew that Mulligan carried a knife, because the first time he had come here, Mulligan had held it against his throat. He’d stumbled up the stairs, desperate, his mate Jonny telling him about this new dealer he’d found. Jonny had knocked on Mulligan’s door, and eventually the letter box had opened. Jonny had dropped to his knees, peering through, begging to do business.
Mulligan’s man had laughed, told him they’d have to come in and wait like everyone else. Then the door had opened. Ryan had never been in a crack house until then, and he remembered his first visit to this flat vividly. The smell – like… burning plastic? Not quite. The bare floorboards, the rubbish piled high in black bags in the corners. Empty plastic bottles, food wrappers.
Then the people, all demanding to know when Mulligan would be there. When their orders would arrive. Bad skin, bad teeth, and the stench of desperation. This was a while ago, when Mulligan was much further down the hierarchy than he was now. When he had one scrawny, strung-out assistant, not two full-time minders. When he lived in this shithole, as well as trading from it.
Mulligan had sauntered in forty minutes later, carrying a black sports bag. He made certain the door was locked and bolted behind him before he unzipped the bag. Ryan had hung back, still fooling himself he was in control of his drug habit, and not the other way around. Jonny made his purchases and scurried off to a corner like a kid leaving a sweetshop. All around, people were smoking, rolling, beginning to pace and circle. It was pitiful, but at the same time, exhilarating. Ryan became aware of Mulligan staring at him expectantly.
‘Do you want something, pal, or are you just here to see the sights? Fucking paradise, isn’t it?’
‘No, I want… I want…’
‘Spit it out then.’
‘A couple of rocks.’
Mulligan had raised his eyebrows. ‘And I’m supposed to hand them over? Who are you here with? How do you know who I am?’
Ryan turned to point to Jonny, but he had vanished. ‘I’m with Jonny. He says your stuff’s the best.’
Mulligan had stepped closer. Ryan smelt dope and sweat, unsure whether the odour was coming from Mulligan or from himself. ‘I don’t know anyone called Jonny.’ Mulligan’s voice was soft. ‘Let me look at you.’
Ryan waited, fear beginning to inch and crawl its way around him. Where the fuck was Jonny? Mulligan took another step nearer.
‘Who are you?’
Ryan’s mouth was dry. He whispered his name, and Mulligan lifted a hand to his ear as though he couldn’t hear.
‘Who? Tell me why I should sell to you. How do I know you’re not a cop?’
‘A… what?’ Ryan had almost laughed at the idea, but guessed Mulligan would take offence. ‘I’m not, I swear.’
‘Yeah, that’s what they all say.’ Mulligan’s mouth was right by his ear, and then Ryan felt a coldness against his skin. A pinprick, like an injection, then pressure. ‘Tell me the truth or I’ll rip your fucking throat out,’ Mulligan had hissed.
‘I’m not police, I swear. Swear on my mum’s life, on mine. I just want to buy, I promise.’ Ryan felt his bladder clench, heard the pleading in his voice.
Then, instantly, the blade was removed and Mulligan was smiling, holding out his hands. ‘Here you go, mate. Two rocks.’
Ryan had fumbled in his pocket, brought out two dirty and creased banknotes. Mulligan had taken them, his lips twitching at the state of them.
‘Had to work hard for these, I bet,’ he’d smirked. ‘Now get out. Next time, bring more money.’
Ryan had fled, running as fast he was able, not stopping until Mulligan’s building was out of sight. Then he’d found a doorway, and had his smoke. And Jonny had been right. Mulligan’s stuff knocked the shit out of anything he’d had before.
Two hours later, he went back.
9
The car was a new Mercedes, silver, smart enough to impress, bland enough to be inconspicuous. Caelan watched it stop on double red lines, and hurried over. The driver wound down his window as she approached. He was in his thirties, blonde-haired and handsome.
‘Kay?’ he said.
‘That’s me.’
‘Thought you might want to check my warrant card before you got in.’ He smiled, and Caelan realised he was nervous. She opened the passenger door, picked up the warrant card. DC Liam Bailey.
‘Looks good to me.’
Caelan slid into the passenger seat, put his warrant card in the glove box. The interior was immaculate, smelling of leather and lemon air freshener. She kicked off her heels, pulled down her skirt so it covered more of her thighs.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I hate these clothes.’ A blush rose in Bailey’s cheeks, and Caelan smiled, looking at his profile. ‘Never picked up a prostitute before?’
His Adam’s apple jumped. ‘No. Not even a pretend one.’
‘Do you want to tell me what to expect tonight?’
He nodded, his eyes on the road. ‘The hotel is called the Palace. I think the name’s ironic – the Shithole would be more appropriate.’
‘My boss did mention it was a dump.’
‘I’ve been in the bar next door a few times, seen geezers coming and going with young girls.’
‘What’s the bar like?’
‘Pretty much what you’d expect for a place next door to a brothel. Always feel I need five showers when I’ve been in there.’
‘What’s the plan?’
Bailey braked, stopped at a red light. ‘We’ll need to rent a room. I assume they charge by the hour.’
Caelan grinned. ‘I know I do.’
He laughed, his cheeks reddening again. ‘I’m guessing the girls negotiate the price, and the men pay. I don’t know.’
‘All right, so we get a room, go upstairs. Then what?’
‘Well, I have a look around.’
Caelan looked at him. ‘Really? You’re going to wander off? You don’t think you’ll be noticed?’
‘I’ll have help. There’s a man who works there…’
‘Okay, and what will I be doing?’
He glanced at her as the lights changed, and slid the car into gear. ‘You’ll… just be waiting.’
‘I’m your excuse to get into the building, and nothing more?’
‘That’s right.’
She puffed out her cheeks. ‘How about if I try to talk to some of the girls?’
He shot her another glance. ‘I’m not sure…’
‘They’d probably rather talk to me than you.’
‘Well, I—’
‘Shall we see how it goes?’
His jaw tightened. ‘That’s not what we agreed.’
‘I wasn’t aware I’d agreed to anything.’ Caelan turned her head to look out of the window. She knew she was being unfair, but Bailey’s vagueness was infuriating. She had been on operations before with no clear goal, no expected outcome, and they were always more nerve-racking than those planned to precision. Bailey was here to do some fishing, nothing more, and he could have asked any female colleague to accompany him. She wasn’t needed for this assignment. They could have sent someone in posing as a plumber or electrician to poke around, although a tradesman turning up at night might have raised some eyebrows. She turned back, folded her arms.
‘Okay, we’ll do it your way.’
Bailey let out a breath, clearly rel
ieved. ‘Great.’
‘Will we have backup?’
‘A couple of guys in the bar.’
‘Have to hope nothing kicks off then.’
‘It won’t.’ Bailey sounded as though he was trying hard to convince himself. ‘We’re about five minutes away. I’m going to find somewhere to park.’
* * *
As they walked away from the car, Caelan slid her arm through Bailey’s. She felt him tense.
‘Why are you…?’
‘We have to look like we’re together. If we’re going to pull this off, you need to relax,’ Caelan told him in an undertone. ‘I’m not going in there until you do.’
‘I’m sure loads of men who pay for sex are nervous.’
‘But you can’t be. The whole operation’s at risk if you don’t calm down. The women will be moved out of here, and any chance we have of rescuing them will be gone.’
‘All right, I get it.’ He exhaled. ‘Let’s go.’
Caelan’s gut was telling her to run for the nearest Tube station. She could – but the idea of turning her back on the women being forced to work in the brothel was unthinkable. She kept walking.
‘There it is,’ said Bailey.
The ground floor of the hotel had obviously once been a shop, with three large windows. Lurid pink metal shutters covered two of them, while the third had a grubby white metal blind hanging in it. The sign above was purple, with the hotel’s name in thick black lettering. On the two floors above, the same violent shade of purple had been used to paint the window frames. Next door, people were smoking on the pavement outside the bar Bailey had mentioned.
‘Okay?’ Caelan spoke as quietly as she could.
‘Fine,’ Bailey replied. His voice was steady, and Caelan felt reassured. Perhaps he wasn’t the amateur he had appeared to be.
She pushed open the hotel door and stepped inside. Dirty laminate on the floor, a stale smell in the air. Bailey followed so closely he bumped into her as she stopped at the reception desk. Behind it sat a man whose grey polo shirt strained over his belly. He was eating a takeaway pizza from the box, staring at his phone. On the desk, a battered TV displayed CCTV images of the outside of the hotel, and a short corridor. Behind him, a wooden board held keys hanging on hooks, room numbers scrawled in black marker pen above each one. Classy. Caelan cleared her throat, and the man looked up with a knowing smile.
‘Want a room?’ His accent was hard to place. Caelan dropped into her best London.
‘Yeah, mate. How much?’
He waited, his eyes travelling over her body. Caelan stared back, unfazed. Let him look. He’d have plenty of time to fantasise when he was in prison.
‘For the night?’ he said. Caelan began to protest, but he held up a hand, made them wait while he chewed through another mouthful of pizza. ‘I don’t know you. You pay for the night, no matter,’ he winked, ‘how many hours you stay.’
Bailey stepped forward. ‘Fine.’
‘One hundred pounds.’
Caelan was going to argue, but Bailey laid a hand on her arm as he handed over some banknotes. The man took them without a word, tucked them into his trouser pocket. He turned, unhooked a key from the board behind him.
‘Room Three. One of our best. The bed is… very comfortable.’ He held out the key to Caelan, who forced a smile.
‘Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be just what we need.’
The man laughed unpleasantly and waved towards the staircase at the back of the room. ‘Go up. Enjoy.’
Caelan took Bailey’s hand, put it on the small of her back. ‘Oh, we will.’
The stairs were grimy, and each step creaked. There was silence as they reached the first landing. They passed two doors, found the one with a white plastic ‘3’. Bailey unlocked it, poked his head inside.
‘Brace yourself,’ he said.
Caelan stepped inside and turned on the light. The room was small, just big enough for the double bed with a faded blue floral cover. The carpet was pink, dirty. In one corner was a shower cubicle, but there was no sink or toilet. Two pillows on the bed still had the indents caused by the previous occupants’ heads. The room smelt musty and damp. Caelan moved round the bed.
‘I don’t even want to sit on it,’ she said. Bailey came into the room, closed the door behind him.
‘Do you think they bother to change the sheets between guests?’
‘I think they should burn them.’ Caelan looked up at him. ‘What now?’
Bailey shrugged. ‘We’ll give it five minutes, and then I’ll go and have a nosy.’
‘You don’t think it’s weird there’s no one around?’
‘Maybe we’re too early.’
Caelan heard feet on the stairs, voices. She held up a hand. ‘Perhaps we should be making some noise?’
Bailey looked horrified. ‘You mean…?’
The door to the room next door slammed, and a woman began to giggle. Then a man’s voice, low and urgent. A pause, then a bed creaking.
‘I can’t stay and listen to them… I’ll see you soon.’ Bailey slipped out of the door, leaving Caelan staring after him. In the next room, the man began to moan. She made up her mind. Easing the door open a fraction, she listened, wondering where Bailey had gone. She’d give him a count of a hundred, then do some sniffing around of her own.
Downstairs, the man on the reception desk had finished his pizza. He looked up as Caelan clattered down the stairs in her heels, then leant back in his chair and laughed at her.
‘Did you frighten him?’
‘Has he gone?’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘He owes me.’
He pointed upstairs. ‘Second floor.’
‘What’s up there?’
A chuckle. ‘More rooms.’
Caelan flicked her hair.
‘If he doesn’t want me, there’s plenty of men out there who will. I’ve a living to make.’
He yawned. ‘Maybe he found someone he liked better.’
‘Do you have girls up there, is that it?’
‘Why don’t you leave? I think you’ve lost your client.’ He was laughing at her again. ‘Go on, get out.’
Caelan was torn. She shouldn’t leave Bailey alone here, but coming downstairs had been a mistake.
‘I’ll go back and wait for him.’
He pushed back his chair, heaved himself out of it. ‘Leave, now. Otherwise…’
‘Yeah?’
At the bottom of the stairs, he bellowed, ‘Piotr!’
Caelan waited. Was Piotr the man who had raised concerns about the place?
There was no reply. Should she intervene? If Bailey was talking to Piotr, the receptionist’s suspicions might be aroused if he didn’t appear. She sidled over to him.
‘Listen, the room’s paid for, isn’t it?’
He glared at her. ‘So?’
‘So why don’t you and I go up there?’ Caelan had no time to think about what she was saying.
‘I’m working.’ He was tempted, though, she could see it in his eyes.
‘Your loss.’ She smiled and turned away.
‘What’s the problem?’ A shout from the floor above.
‘Got a girl here who needs to leave.’
Another man appeared, six feet tall, broad and toned. Caelan grinned at him.
‘Hello. If you’re the muscle, is this joker the brains?’
They both stared at her. ‘Bitch,’ spat the receptionist. ‘Get her out of here.’
Piotr strode across the room, seized Caelan’s arm. ‘Come on.’
She allowed him to march her towards the door. As he opened it and propelled her onto the street, she said, ‘What about my client?’
Piotr frowned at her. ‘Forget him. He’s having some fun.’
‘But he owes me…’
He lowered his voice, gave her a gentle push. ‘Back door.’
Caelan nodded her thanks, but he was already closing the door behind her. Wishing she could step out of her heels, she made her way around
the side of the building, hoping she wasn’t walking into a trap.
There was a black-painted door set into the wall. It stood ajar, and Caelan stepped closer, attempting to see through the gap.
‘Here.’ It was a female voice, no more than a whisper.
‘Who are you?’
‘Please.’
Caelan eased the door open, revealing a paved yard about fifteen feet square, three overflowing dustbins polluting a corner. A girl stood there, thin and pale, wrapping her arms around her body as she shivered. She wore a tight lacy top and a short skirt, her feet bare despite the chill of the evening. Caelan fought the urge to grab her and run. She stepped closer.
‘Can you tell me your name?’ She spoke softly. The girl lifted her eyes and Caelan flinched at the bleakness in them, the desolation. ‘I can help you. Do you understand?’
No reaction. The girl began to shiver, and Caelan tried to slide an arm around her shoulders. She froze, let out a cry of distress, and Caelan held up her hands, attempting to show she wasn’t a threat.
‘Okay, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.’
‘You’ve seen her then?’ It was Piotr, his arms folded, his expression grim. ‘There are five more girls up there. Can you get someone to come for them? They’ve been here two weeks. They’ll be swapped any time.’
‘Swapped?’ Again Caelan glanced at the girl. She stood silent, as though waiting to see what was going to happen to her next.
‘They bring different girls, swap them around. Stops the customers becoming bored.’ Piotr’s mouth twisted. ‘It will be tomorrow, in the morning. Always the same.’
‘Who brings them?’ Caelan’s mind raced ahead. Officers would be waiting. No way was she going to let these bastards get away with what they were doing.
‘No one. They arrive alone, a group of four or five girls.’
‘But someone must come with them, watch them. They could go to the police.’
He shook his head. ‘With no papers, no passports? No. The girls know what will happen to them, to their families back home, if they dare to try and escape.’
Caelan clenched her fists. She had expected as much. ‘Where’s… the man I came in with?’ she asked. Piotr nodded.
Tell No Lies Page 8