by Tim Ellis
‘Where are they?’
‘Grange Farm on Church Lane in Carneles Green.’
‘What about Bronwyn?’
‘What about her? She’s in a ward on her own, she can’t use the stairs because the door is locked, she can’t use the lift because she hasn’t been given a key . . . Is she being held against her will?’
‘I didn’t get that impression.’
‘Are the doctors qualified to do plastic surgery?’
‘I guess so.’
‘So why is she in trouble?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘We’ll talk more when I get back and see what we can do.’ He kissed her on the forehead and made his way out.
She knew she wasn’t going to get anywhere with him, so she let him go. Were here fears unreasonable? She was in a London cosmetic surgery clinic. What could possibly go wrong? It was probably frequented by the rich and famous. It was more than likely full of some of the best doctors in the world. She’d give Bronwyn a call just to allay her fears. The call diverted to voicemail. She didn’t leave a message. She found the number of the clinic and rang it.
‘The Beautiful You Cosmetic Surgery Clinic. How can I be of service?’
‘Is it possible to speak to . . .’ She nearly said Bronwyn. ‘. . . Miss Jessie Gibbs, please?’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Gibbs discharged herself just over an hour ago.’
‘Discharged herself?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And she’s not in the clinic now?’
‘No, she discharged herself.’
‘I don’t understand. Did she say why?’
‘I didn’t speak to her personally, but I understand that she got cold feet.’
‘Okay, thank you for your time.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Discharged herself! Bronwyn wouldn’t have got cold feet. And even if she had, she’d have rung her and told her what she was doing. She tried Bronwyn’s number again – voicemail.
She called Shakin’.
‘Hi, Mrs K.’
‘I need you.’
‘I’m your man. I’ve had a couple of beers, but I don’t think it’ll affect my performance.’
‘Bring Joe with you.’
‘A threesome, huh! I can’t tell you how Joe will do under such pressure, but I do know he’ll try his best.’
‘Will you listen?’
‘I thought I was.’
‘Bronwyn’s in trouble.’
‘Ah!’
‘Can you and Joe meet me outside the clinic?’
‘What’s the plan?’
‘Well . . .’ She didn’t really have a plan. In fact, she had no idea what she would do when they reached the clinic. ‘Do I have to go on my own?’
‘You can count on me and Joe, Mrs K.’
‘Good. Meet me outside the clinic at eight-thirty.’ An hour and a half should give her enough time to get there.
‘Will do.’
‘Oh . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Have you got a crowbar?’
‘I don’t have one personally, but I’m sure someone here will have one here – it’s a cosmopolitan university after all.’
‘Bring one with you. We might have to force a door or two.’
‘You’re the man, Mrs K.’
She put on more appropriate clothing, left her mum and dad a note, and made her way out.
***
‘What’s going on, Blake?’ the Chief said when she climbed into the passenger seat of his Ford Mondeo.
He turned the engine and headlights off, but switched the courtesy light on.
Stick shuffled into the rear seat.
‘I’d keep the lights off if I were you, Sir,’ she said. ‘Is that two lots of fish and chips I can smell?’
The light went off.
‘You’re lucky. I happened to pass a chip shop on the way here.’
‘Thanks, Sir. You’re the best boss a girl ever had – isn’t he, Stick?’
‘Definitely.’
They both got stuck into their meals.
‘Flattery won’t stop me sacking you if you’ve fucked up again, Blake.’
Xena spoke as she was eating. ‘We were on stake-out up there.’ She pointed vaguely into the darkness. ‘On a dirt track two fields away.’
‘Let me stop you there, so that I’m clear about all the details. You were on stake-out two fields away?’
‘That’s right . . .’
‘And DCI Ridge ordered you to move in?’
‘Well, not exactly.’
‘Not exactly?’
‘No, Sir. But . . .’
‘So, DCI Ridge asked you and DS Gilbert to take a closer look at what was going on?’
Stick cleared his throat. ‘If I may, Sir?’
‘No you may not, Gilbert.’ He turned back to Xena. ‘So, you decided you were bored and thought you’d wander down here and do a bit of sightseeing?’
‘We thought we saw something, Sir,’ Stick pitched in again.
‘Didn’t I say zip it, Gilbert?’
‘Sorry, Chief.’
‘What did you think you saw?’
‘We don’t know,’ Stick answered. ‘That’s why we came down here.’
‘If you interrupt again, Gilbert . . .’
‘Sorry, Sir. I thought you were . . .’
‘Shut up and eat your fish and chips, Stick,’ Xena said.
‘Sorry.’
‘So, you thought you saw something?’ the Chief directed at her.
Xena nodded. ‘Yes. We reached the fence, but when we crossed the yard to take a closer look – we were caught in the open by a truck screeching round the corner.’
‘Jesus! What about DCI Ridge and the others on stake-out?’
‘I’ll get to that, Sir.’
‘And who was in the truck?’
‘Drug smugglers?’
The Chief shook his head.
‘We told them we were ramblers.’
‘And did they believe you?’
‘At first – no, but then another truck came round the corner with the boss of the gang in it, or that’s what we think. He looked in Stick’s wallet and must have seen his warrant card, but he didn’t say anything.’
‘Didn’t say anything?’
‘No. He simply stuffed the wallet back inside Stick’s jacket and told the others to lock us up.’
‘And what time was this?’
‘Around lunchtime.’
‘So, you’ve been locked up in a room all afternoon?’
‘More or less.’
‘Do you know who this man was?’
‘We had an idea that he might be an undercover cop.’
‘A reasonable assumption. Go on?’
‘There was a sliding door on one wall into the next room, so naturally we tried to escape through that door. We managed to wrench the door off its runners and get through into that room . . . Oh, I didn’t say that the light wasn’t working in our room, but it was in the other room.’
‘And?’
‘There were three decomposing female corpses. We estimated the oldest had been left there about six weeks ago, the newest two weeks.’
‘That can’t have been pleasant.’
‘It stank and there were blow flies everywhere. Anyway, the door in that room was open, but we couldn’t get out because the drug smugglers were in the main unit unloading their drugs.’
‘Okay.’
‘Stick came back into the storeroom, we closed the sliding door again to keep the smell out and then sat down to wait for the smugglers to leave. One of them came in, threw us a small bottle of water, said he knew we were cops and that they were going to leave us in the room to die.’
‘So, the drugs had arrived?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘A lot of drugs?’
‘We estimate they’ll have a street value in excess of ten million pounds.’
‘Where was DCI Ridge and the stake-out team
at this stage?’
‘You ask some excellent questions, Chief.’
‘I see.’
‘Also, just when we thought it was safe to leave, someone came into the room next door . . .’
‘Someone? One of the drug smugglers?’
Xena shook her head. ‘We didn’t think so, did we, Stick?’
Stick shook his head as well, but kept his mouth firmly closed – apart from opening it to put fish and chips inside and washing the food down with ginger beer.
‘It was the killer. He was carrying another body that he dropped to the floor. And we don’t think he’s finished his work yet.’
‘And you didn’t arrest him because?’
‘We were weak through lack of food . . .’
‘You missed lunch.’
‘It was also dark. We had nothing, but he had a head-torch and a knife . . . and he was a big bloke as well. I decided that we’d be no good to those women if he killed us and left us in that room.’
‘That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say all night, Blake.’
‘Thanks, Sir.’
‘It wasn’t a compliment. I still don’t understand what happened to DCI Ridge and . . .’ He found the “Phonebook” on his mobile phone that was connected to the car’s Bluetooth system.
Xena put her hand over the phone to stop him making the call. ‘I wouldn’t do that, Sir.’
‘Credit me with some intelligence, Blake. I’m testing the waters.’
She removed her hand.
Kowalski found DCI Ridge’s number and called it.
‘Ridge?’
‘Hi, Alan – it’s Ray Kowalski. Sorry to ring you at this time of night.’
‘Long time, Ray.’
‘The overnight conference on inter-agency policing in Leeds – 2005 if memory serves.’
‘That long ago?’
‘Listen Alan, it’s just a quick call. I let you borrow two of my detectives . . .’
‘Blake and Gilbert?’
‘That’s right. How are they doing?’
‘No problem. We’ve been tracking a shipment of drugs from Serbia via Holland. They’re on stake-out at one of the locations.’
‘No luck yet?’
‘Not yet. In fact, I’ve got the eerie feeling that someone from the Dutch side has cocked up. We were expecting the drugs today, but they seem to have mysteriously disappeared.’
‘Sorry to hear that. Look, I’m not desperate, but when do you think I can have Blake and Gilbert back?’
‘Couple more days I’d say.’
‘That’s great. Nice talking to you, Alan.’
‘And you, Ray. You still married to that looker?’
‘Jerry – yes.’
‘Lucky dog.’
‘I sure am. Good luck with the operation.’
‘Thanks.’
The call ended.
Xena and Stick finished off their fish, chips and cans of ginger beer, and Stick stuffed the detritus into the plastic bag the meal had come in and tied the bag handles into a knot.
‘Are you thinking . . . ?’
‘Shut up, Blake.’
‘Yes, Chief.’
‘I don’t want to think that DCI Ridge has turned into a dirty copper, but he’s not leaving me much room for manoeuvre.’
‘No, Sir.’
‘How many other teams were on the stake-out?’
‘Three, but we didn’t see or hear any of them.’
‘They must have seen you traipsing across those fields, and they also must have seen the drugs arriving . . .’
‘I’d say so, Sir.’
‘Then why are the drugs sitting in that unit, and the smugglers in the pub getting pissed and having a good laugh at our expense?’
‘I can’t believe they left me and Stick here,’ Xena said. ‘And there was that phone call the undercover cop made – who did he ring? I wouldn’t be surprised to discover it was DCI Ridge.’
‘We have a dilemma now, Blake.’
‘My thoughts exactly, Chief.’
‘If we tell people the drugs have arrived, they’ll descend on this place like a plague of locusts. We’ll probably never know whether DCI Ridge is a dirty copper or not, and the killer will no doubt be scared off by the horde of police officers, news crews, forensics, and Uncle Tom Cobley and all. On the other hand, we have four dead women in there.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘The other problem is that you’re out here and not in there.’
‘What do you mean, Sir?’
‘If the drug smugglers come back for the drugs, they’ll find you’re not where you’re meant to be, conclude that they’ve been rumbled and make alternative plans.’
‘I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, Sir?’
‘It’s the only way, Blake.’
‘What are you suggesting, Chief?’ Stick said from the back seat.
Kowalski ignored him. ‘You’ll still be on stake-out, but inside that room.’
‘He’s not suggesting that we go back in that storeroom, is he?’ Stick aimed at Xena. ‘I don’t think I want to go back in there.’
‘It’s the only way, Gilbert.’
‘Crap, Sir!’ Xena said, but she knew he was right.
‘I’ll speak to the Chief Constable. We’ll arrange for some more people to surround the place, and if the drug smugglers come back you’ll have back-up. If the killer returns, you’ll have back-up.’
Xena had nearly resigned herself to sitting in that room again. ‘How long are we talking about, Sir?’
‘Let’s review it again in twenty-four hours.’
‘I want a handgun just in case?’
‘I can arrange that. Anything else?’
‘A torch, chargers for the phones, a couple of large bottles of water, a couple of beers, pizzas . . .’
‘You always have to go too far, don’t you, Blake?’
‘Well, maybe just a large bag of crisps then. What about you, Stick?’
‘No, just the water.’
‘You’d better get back in there then,’ the Chief said. ‘Meet me back here at midnight, and I’ll let you have the things you’ve asked for.’
Xena and Stick climbed out of the car and began trudging back to the industrial unit.
‘I blame you for this, numpty.’
‘I know. I take full responsibility for our current situation.’
‘And so you should.’
***
Jerry arrived in good time. On the way, she’d called in at a petrol station and bought three small hand torches with batteries. She had a feeling they were going to need them.
Shakin’ and Joe were loitering on the other side of Lower Wimpole Street looking like criminals waiting to break into a bank, which they nearly were.
‘Hello, boys.’
‘Hi, Mrs K,’ Shakin’ said.
‘Are you up for it?’
‘We were just thinking . . .’
‘Thinking or talking?’
‘Well, talking I suppose.’
‘Yes?’
‘We were wondering what would happen to us if we got caught.’
‘Caught doing what?’
‘You know, breaking in.’
‘We’re not breaking in anywhere at the moment. Although, you’re giving people the impression you’ve stolen the crown jewels.’
‘Yeah. We’re lovers not fighters.’
‘And we’re not fighting anyone either. I’ll go on my own then, shall I?’
‘You will not. If Bronwyn needs our help then that’s exactly what we’re here to do. We were just wondering about the university and our degrees.’
‘Yeah,’ Joe piped up. ‘Our degrees. If we get caught, they’ll throw us off our degrees. A person with a criminal record can’t get a law degree.’
She smiled like a mother and put her arms around their shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take full responsibility. If we break in anywhere, which I’m not saying we will, I�
��ll tell everyone it was me that done it, m’lud.’
Shakin’ grinned. ‘We’re not saying we want you take all the blame, but we’re still young . . .’
‘And I’m not, you mean?’
‘That didn’t come out right, did it?’
‘Not really. Look, if Bronwyn is in there, then she’s being held against her will. They told me she’d discharged herself. I don’t believe she’d do something like that. Also, if she had signed herself out, I’d be able to get hold of her, but I can’t. If we have to jimmy a few doors, nobody in there is going to call the police – believe me. So, are you with me one hundred percent, or am I on my own?’
‘All for one, and one for all,’ Joe said. ‘Right, Shakin’?’
‘Right, Joe.’
‘You did bring a crowbar, didn’t you?’ Jerry said as they walked across the road to the entrance.
‘In my coat.’
‘Good.’
Jerry pressed the buzzer on the intercom system.
‘Hello?’
‘Here to see Jessie Gibbs.’
‘She’s not a patient at the clinic anymore.’
‘Oh?’
‘She discharged herself earlier this evening.’
‘Are you sure, because I can’t seem to get hold of her?’
‘I’m sure. I have the paperwork with her signature on it in front of me.’
‘Couldn’t we just check her room?’
‘What for? Have I not made myself clear? She’s not here anymore.’
‘Thanks anyway.’
‘You’re welcome. Have a good evening.’
Jerry guided Shakin’ and Joe along the street. ‘See what I mean?’
‘Yeah,’ Joe said. ‘She sounded a bit shifty to me.’
‘So, what’s the plan?’ Shakin’ said.
‘Well, we find a way inside.’
‘Okay.’
They walked down to the end of Lower Wimpole Street, but the clinic was part of a much larger building that included shops and apartments. There were locked windows, but no doors. And there was no back to the building, or at least none that they could find. They went back up Lower Wimpole Street and rounded the corner along Henrietta Plaza – the story was the same.
‘What’s the plan now, Mrs K?’
‘I’m thinking.’
‘Okay.’