by Lisa Hartley
Catherine leaned forward, lifted her glass of lemonade and said, ‘You’re working on the Woffenden case?’
‘Have been for months now. We almost had them.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know. We knew they were using the house as a brothel, suspected that they were keeping the women there against their will. One night the surveillance was called off and the next thing we know, the house is empty, just when we were going to go in there.’
Catherine frowned. ‘Wait a minute. Your DI blamed us for that, said me and my colleague turning up at the house blew your cover.’
‘He would do, anything to cover his own arse. No, they knew they were being watched well before you got there, but we don’t know how.’
‘My boss said you’ve found Ron Woffenden though?’
Owen drank more beer. ‘Yeah, at least we thought we had. We know they’ll have set up somewhere else by now, they won’t want to miss out on the money.’
‘Any idea where?’
‘Ron’s back in Lincoln.’
Catherine coughed as her lemonade threatened to choke her. ‘Seriously?’
‘I know, last place you’d think of. That’s what he’ll be banking on.’
‘Have you brought him in?’
‘Not yet. Forensics ties him to the house that we know was being used as a brothel, but DI Foster wants to catch him in the act.’ Owen drank deeply, frustration clear on his face. ‘The DI won’t bring Woffenden in. We know where he is, we know what he was doing, what he’s still involved in. Foster says we don’t have enough to charge him with yet.’
‘He’s probably right.’ Catherine sighed. She nodded at Owen’s empty glass. ‘Can I get you another?’
‘Thank you.’ He pushed his glass across the table. Catherine approached the bar, where a woman sat flicking through a magazine.
‘Lemonade and a pint of whatever he’s drinking please.’ She jerked her head in Owen’s direction. The woman stood up, smiling. ‘Gorgeous, isn’t he? That accent … I keep pointing him out to my daughter but she doesn’t seem interested.’ Catherine smiled as the barmaid set a clean pint glass under the beer pump. ‘He’s never met a woman in here before.’
Her eyes were curious and Catherine felt compelled to admit, ‘We’re just colleagues.’
‘Oh right. So he’s single then?’
‘I’m not sure.’
Catherine took the drinks back to where Owen sat, now frowning at his phone.
‘Cheers,’ he said as she sat back down. ‘You know, it is strange that Woffenden and his gang knew we were watching. And why would he come back to Lincoln so soon after being found out?’
‘I don’t know. Is he still under surveillance?’
‘Yeah, but he’s keeping his nose clean, stays in all the time.’
‘He has a house?’
‘Renting a flat in the city centre. Short-term lease, one bedroom. No visitors, nothing dodgy going on.’
‘So either Woffenden’s turned over a new leaf - which doesn’t seem likely -, or …’
‘Or he’s lying low.’
‘There is another possibility.’ Catherine drank some lemonade, not wanting to put the words in Owen’s mouth.
‘That he knows he’s safe?’ he added at last.
‘It all comes back to how they knew you were going to raid the place.’
‘A tip-off?’
‘It’s possible, isn’t it?’ She watched his eyes darken as he thought about it.
‘Someone feeding Woffenden information?’ He hated the thought of it just as much as she did, she could see it in his face.
‘I don’t know, not necessarily. They could still have just seen you watching and cleared out as a precaution.’
‘Still means someone messed up though, and I don’t mean you.’ He drank a third of his bitter, then wiped a hand across his mouth.
‘Did you find any trace of the girls who were working in the brothel?’ Catherine asked. It was them she was most worried about. Who knew where they were now, or what they were suffering. Owen shook his head.
‘Nothing. We got loads of forensic evidence as you can imagine, but they’d done a pretty thorough job of cleaning up. They’d had a bonfire in the garden, burnt sheets and bed clothes, but the house was empty otherwise. I’m sorry I don’t have much to tell you, but I’ll keep you updated.’
‘Are you sure? Your DI won’t like it.’
Owen made a sound of disgust. ‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Anyway, after the way he spoke to you with the whole team listening, he deserves it.’ He drank again, then set the glass on the table. ‘You want to know the problem he really has with you?’
‘I’m gay? I’ve no doubt got a Welsh ancestor somewhere on my family tree?’’
He smiled. ‘Both of those, but the real reason is he fancied Claire himself.’
‘You’re kidding?’ Catherine shuddered.
‘No. He asked her out soon after she started and she turned him down. Then, when the news broke about her and what had happened, I think he felt a bit daft, so he’s taking it out on you.’
She drained the last of her lemonade. ‘Thanks for meeting me and telling me all this. Will you keep me informed? I want to know what happens to those girls.’
He nodded, raising his pint to her as she picked up her bag and got to her feet. ‘Hopefully we’ll soon have some news.’
At home, Catherine made a huge mug of tea, set her phone on the coffee table and threw herself onto the sofa. She rubbed her eyes, propped her head on her hand and listened to the silence. She’d lived alone for seven months now and had been surprised that she had enjoyed the experience. There was a freedom in knowing that there was no one waiting up for you, getting more and more annoyed as the meal they’d prepared congealed slowly in the oven. Louise had also been especially good at “tidying” items away and then having no idea where they were. It was just one of the details of her character that had driven Catherine to distraction. Still, Louise was part of her past, just as Claire was. She wished Thomas was around though; it had been a long day and although she couldn’t share any of the details of it with him, it would have been good to have had the company. She sighed, knowing she couldn’t begin to rely on him. That wouldn’t be fair. She had managed alone this far. When she and Louise had been together, they’dhad a group of friends that they went out with sometimes, but thanks to her job and the break-up with Louise she hadn’t stayed in touch with them. She picked up her phone again hesitantly. Ellie had said she didn’t have many friends in the area, and Chris Rogers had confirmed she didn’t mind Catherine having her number. There was no chance of a romance, Catherine knew that, but a friendship – why not?
First though, she should be a dutiful daughter. Listening to the phone at the other end, Catherine pictured her parents looking at each other in surprise as their evening television viewing schedule was interrupted. It rang a few more times and she knew they would be having a disagreement about who should pick it up.
‘Please answer before I die of old age,’ she muttered, stretching her legs out and resting her feet on the coffee table.
‘Hello?’ Her mum. That meant her dad would have shuffled off to put the kettle on.
‘You are in then?’
Her mum tutted. ‘Where do you think we’d be, Catherine?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. A nightclub? A swinger’s party?’
‘A what?’
‘Never mind. Are you okay?’
‘Of course we are. What have you been up to?’
Catherine screwed up her face. ‘You don’t want to know.’
Her mother sighed. ‘I was talking to Pat Goodwin today.’
‘Who?’
‘Her daughter was in your year at school.’
‘Gemma?’
‘She’s a solicitor now. You could have been a solicitor.’
Catherine rolled her eyes. ‘Not with my A levels, Mum.’
‘You’ve got a deg
ree.’
‘In English, not law.’
‘Then Pat told me her nephew’s in the police force as well, but he’s being fast-tracked. Are you being fast-tracked, Catherine?’
‘No, Mum.’
Her mother sighed. ‘They don’t appreciate you. I hear Thomas is staying with you?’
‘For now, yes.’
‘He’s another one. A qualified teacher who never teaches.’
‘I’d put him on for a chat but he’s not in.’
‘Out with some woman no doubt.’
‘I don’t know.’ She picked up her tea and took a swig.
‘What’s that you’re drinking? It’s not vodka is it?’
‘Vodka?’ Catherine laughed. ‘It’s tea, Mum.’
‘Your Auntie Sandra was telling me about a programme she watched. They said more than half of police officers have a drink problem.’
‘More than half? Doesn’t sound enough to me.’ She set her mug back on the table and waited.
‘You can laugh, just make sure you stick to the tea. Here’s your dad.’
There was a muffled fumbling noise as the handset was passed between them.
‘Catherine?’
‘Hello Dad. Move the phone away from your mouth, you’re heavy breathing again.’
He gave a few more pants and then asked, ‘Arrested anyone today?’
She smiled. ‘Not today, no.’
‘Hit anyone with your baton?’
‘Going to have to disappoint you again, I’m afraid, Dad.’
He clicked his tongue. ‘I’m out going for a pint in a minute, thought you might have a new story for me.’
‘Sorry. I did fit a whole chocolate digestive in my mouth this morning.’
He laughed. ‘That’s hardly news, Catherine, you’ve been doing that since you were eight years old.’
21
The incident room the next morning was busy, filled with the energetic buzz of the first full day of an investigation. Presiding over the room was DS Robin Cuthbert - rotund, balding and better known as ‘Monk’. Catherine leant against a desk, hands in her trouser pockets, while Monk coaxed an electronic smart board into life.
‘It’s brilliant, it’s going to make a huge difference,’ Monk enthused. ‘I’ve been waiting for another major investigation, especially since the last one … Well, you know.’
Catherine tutted as he fiddled with his new toy. ‘Come on, I haven’t got all day.’
‘Stop whinging.’ The board flickered for a second before displaying a photograph of Moon Pond. ‘Right. So here’s where our victim was found.’ He pointed and Catherine shook her head.
‘Monk, I know where she was found, I saw her lying there. Have we heard anything from Mick Caffery this morning?’
Cuthbert leant over a computer keyboard. ‘Not yet, I said so in the briefing.’
‘That was an hour ago. Until we get an ID on the body, we’re stuck. We’ve got no witnesses, no properties near where the body was found, so we can’t do house to house. I’ve got people standing around with their hands in their pockets.’
Cuthbert looked at her. ‘People like you, you mean?’
Catherine glanced down at herself, then straightened up and pulled her hands free. ‘Ha ha. I’m going to give Mick a call.’
Cuthbert shrugged. ‘Do it, but I bet he tells you to sod off. Give them a chance.’
‘We need to get moving, we’ve a missing woman and her family to think about.’ She’d spoken to Mark Cook earlier, who had confirmed that his wife still hadn’t come home. Cuthbert gave her a pitying glance.
‘You mean you don’t think it’s her lying in a drawer in Jo Webber’s big fridge? Come on, Catherine. I’m surprised you’re not sniffing around Lauren Cook’s husband yet.’ When she didn’t answer, Cuthbert asked, ‘Where’s Inspector Wallpaper this morning?’
‘DI Knight? He was at the briefing.’
‘But where is he now?’ Cuthbert looked smug and Catherine narrowed her eyes. Monk was a good office manager, but he was also the most irritating officer in the place.
‘Does it matter?’ she asked.
‘He was dragged into the Super’s office again by that Inspector Shea and his glamourous assistant.’
‘“Glamourous assistant”? Monk, even for you …’
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.’ Monk actually winked. Catherine walked away before her irritation turned violent. Kicking Robin Cuthbert up the arse was a much more attractive prospect than talking to him for any length of time.
In a corner of the room, Keith Kendrick was standing over DCs Rogers and Sullivan, who were sitting at computer terminals. As Catherine approached, Chris Rogers made a “Help us!” face.
‘It seems Chris may have located Lauren Cook’s car,’ Kendrick said to Catherine.
‘Really? Where is it?’
Rogers turned to the screen on his monitor, which was displaying some CCTV footage.
‘Decent quality for a change,’ Catherine commented.
‘Yep.’ Chris pointed at the screen. ‘This is her car, heading into town. She turns left,’ he waited while the images caught up with his commentary, ‘and arrives at the multi-storey. We’ll need to request their footage next – I’ve already spoken to a PCSO who’s in the town centre and she’s confirmed that the car’s still there, she’s just been to have a look.’
‘Good stuff.’ Kendrick clapped a huge hand down on Sullivan’s shoulder, making him wince. ‘Right, Simon, you get onto that while Chris keeps trying to track Lauren in town.’
He turned away and started to walk away. Catherine scurried along with him, taking two steps to each one of the DCI’s.
‘It all feels a bit pointless at the moment,’ he said, eventually coming to a halt with his back against the wall, gazing out at the activity in the room. ‘Until we have an ID on our dead woman … We’ve got Lauren Cook and three other women who it might be, according to our missing persons reports. Wherever Lauren went, she obviously didn’t go there in her own car.’
‘I was going to give Mick Caffery a ring, see where they’re at with the fingerprints.’
‘It can’t hurt.’ Kendrick nodded.
Rather than make the call in the hubbub of the incident room, Catherine went out and into the relative calm of the CID office. As she hurried across the room towards her desk in the corner, the door of the Superintendent’s office opened and DS Allan appeared. Catherine glanced at her but carried on walking.
‘Sergeant Bishop?’
Catherine stopped, annoyed. ‘Can I help you?’
Melissa Allan smiled, perfect white teeth gleaming under the fluorescent strip lights. Today’s outfit was a smart black dress with a bright red jacket. Catherine straightened her shirt. Allan was one of those people who would look perfect in a rainstorm.
‘Inspector Shea would like a word,’ Allan simpered.
‘I’m busy at the moment, I’m afraid.’
‘It won’t take long.’ It was a command. Catherine bristled, but knew she may as well get it over with. She took her time walking back towards Allan. The other woman looked her up and down with a hint of a sneer before opening the Super’s door fully.
‘Do come in.’
Catherine bit back a smart reply as she went inside.
‘So you’re DS Bishop?’ The man behind the desk sat back in his chair and smirked at her. ‘Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop.’ He rolled the name around his mouth as if tasting it.
Catherine watched him as Allan settled in the seat next to Shea’s. ‘That’s right. Do you want to see my warrant card, just to be sure?’
Shea gave a little titter, setting his jowls wobbling. ‘That won’t be necessary, thank you. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you, you’re quite famous in the force at the moment, aren’t you?’ She ignored Shea’s insinuation as he gave a condescending smile. ‘And you’re fully recovered from the injuries you sustained a few weeks ago?’
‘I wouldn’t be here
if I wasn’t.’
‘I suppose not. It must have been a difficult time for you.’
She said nothing, alarm bells not so much ringing as almost deafening her.
Allan cocked her head to the side, licked her lips and blinked. ‘You’re obviously dedicated to your job. We’re impressed.’
Again, Catherine kept quiet. What was going on? Was Allan actually trying to flirt with her? Shea cleared his throat and straightened his tie.
‘Superintendent Stringer is also impressed,’ he said. His fleshy cheeks looked slightly damp. Allan tapped red painted fingernails on the arms of her chair and treated Catherine to a beaming smile.
‘She is. How long have you been a sergeant now, DS Bishop?’
‘A couple of years.’ Which you no doubt know, she thought, bemused.
‘Hm,’ said Shea, pretending to think about it. ‘Any thoughts about taking the next step up the ladder? If a DI’s job were to become vacant, I mean. Inspector’s exam?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Catherine was determined to give them nothing.
‘What do you think of DI Knight?’ Allan asked, her tone friendly. ‘Capable, would you say? Trustworthy?’
‘Absolutely, yes. Look,’ Catherine said, not liking the way this was going. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I was just on my way to make an important phone call. Could we get to the point?’
Shea’s demeanour changed at once. He narrowed his pale, watery eyes and replied, ‘Certainly. Why don’t we discuss the Paul Hughes murder case?’
‘Why don’t we?’ Catherine folded her hands in her lap. ‘Though you understand I’ve not really been involved? I’ve just come back from three weeks’ sick leave.’
‘Ah yes.’ Shea raised his pale eyebrows and nudged Allan, who gave a nasty smile. ‘Your “sick leave.”’ He made quotation marks in the air with fingers - further proof in Catherine’s eyes that he was a complete dickhead. ‘Three whole weeks to get over a bit of a bump to the face, I’m told.’
‘Including a week in Egypt,’ Allan put in. ‘Lovely.’
‘Is that a crime now?’ Catherine asked mildly.
‘Not at all. An expensive way to run away and hide to get over your embarrassment though, eh, Sergeant?’