No Way Home

by Jack Slater

  Duggan nodded. ‘No links there as I know of. Far as I’ve heard, it’s coming in from out of town since that foreign bunch got closed down. Bristol. Southampton. Bit from Brum, or so they reckon. Lot of Indians up there.’

  ‘Yes. And a lot of them involved in the drug trade. Thanks, Mick.’ Pete drew his hand from his pocket and held out a folded note to Duggan. ‘Spend it on solids, eh?’

  Duggan gave a grunt that might have been laughter. ‘Why change the habits of a lifetime?’

  Pete clapped him on the shoulder with one hand as he stuffed the note into his coat pocket with the other. ‘It’s called survival, mate.’

  ‘Yeah, and look where that gets you.’ Duggan held out his hands to their surroundings.

  ‘Fair enough.’ Pete paused. ‘So, what did you do, other than the music? Before this?’

  ‘I was a bus driver for a bit. A postie before that.’

  ‘And you couldn’t get back into either of those? Or something else?’

  ‘See me in an interview, can you?’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll stick to the music career, thanks.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘At least it keeps the wolf from the tent flap.’

  Pete nodded. Duggan was a busker – and a good one – playing a mix of country and blues wherever he could find a place on the city’s streets. ‘Well, take care, eh? Wouldn’t want a talent like yours to go to waste. I’ll see you around.’

  ‘Heard they found your boy. Look after him, yeah?’

  ‘I intend to.’ Pete raised his hand in a wave as he headed back towards the fence at the front of the site.

  It never ceased to amaze him how someone like Duggan could get to hear of all sorts of things, many that didn’t concern him in the least. But it could sometimes prove useful.

  If there was gear coming down from the Midlands, that could be the link he was looking for. It was certainly something to look into, come the morning.

  But in the meantime, what was he going to do about Tommy? As Duggan had said, he had to be there for the boy. To look after him. But, how could he? He was both a suspect and a witness in a case Pete had worked, which was going to court in a few weeks. Even if the knife thing got set aside – which was unlikely – they wouldn’t be allowed to share a roof until after the trial, even if Tommy himself wasn’t charged, which was still a possibility. And yet… Tommy was his son. He had to do something.

  He slipped through the hoarding and started up the road towards his car. He was still struggling with the question when he unlocked the car and climbed in. Shutting the door, he took out his phone and hit a speed-dial number.

  The call was answered with a dull, sleepy ‘Hello?’

  ‘Sorry, Jane. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  ‘Boss? What’s up?’ She sounded a little more awake now.

  ‘I was going to ask you a favour. I didn’t realise what time it was until you answered.’

  ‘Well, I’m awake now. What do you need?’

  ‘It’s…’ He grimaced, suddenly less sure that he wanted to ask her. ‘It’s a personal thing. I wouldn’t ask, but I don’t know who else would be better able.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘It’s Tommy. Louise and Annie went to see him this afternoon. He’s… well, he needs to talk to someone. A friendly face. I know they’ve got professionals at Archways, but there’s no way he’d open up to anyone there. I thought maybe you might be able to… you know…’

  ‘Spit it out, will you? Jesus! Men! What’s the matter with you? It’s like trying to have a conversation with a different species sometimes.’

  ‘Steady on. I was only asking a favour.’

  ‘For a clever bloke, you’re amazingly dense sometimes, Pete Gayle. Now, bugger off and let me sleep.’

  There was a click and Pete was left holding a dead phone.

  What the hell?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Louise was curled up in her usual spot on the sofa, watching a late-night rerun of an American cop show about a mystery writer who’d hooked up with a police unit.

  She looked up as he came in. ‘You were a long time. How’d it go?’

  ‘Well, the crime scene doesn’t look like it’s going to give us anything, but I’ve spoken to a couple of contacts and I might have developed a starting point.’ He grinned. ‘We might even be able to blame Fast-track for it, indirectly.’

  She laughed. ‘Now, that would be a turn-up for the books! How come?’

  ‘Operation Natterjack. He killed off the drug trade in the city. At least, the supply side of it. So, the demand needs filling from elsewhere. Places like Bristol and Birmingham, where a good part of it’s controlled by the Indian and Pakistani communities. And our new victim has previous for drugs.’

  ‘Mmm.’ She was nodding slowly. ‘Works for me. I don’t think it’ll be enough to get rid of him, though.’

  ‘Huh. No, but it’s another nail to save up for his coffin. I see there’s been no new activity out the front here.’

  ‘Good. Maybe whoever it is has made their point or got bored and given up.’

  ‘Yeah. We can but hope.’

  She looked across at him, her expression serious.

  ‘You don’t believe it, though, do you?’

  Pete grimaced.

  Louise shifted around in her seat to face him. ‘So, what are we going to do about it? Who do you reckon it is?’

  Pete grimaced. ‘My first thought was the Armenian – or someone on his behalf, at least. But it seems too petty for them. They’re some serious players. And I can’t see it being connected to Frank Benton. The most likely suspects seem to be Malcolm Burton and Neil Sanderson, as far as I can see. Or again, someone acting for them or in support of them.’

  ‘Paedophiles.’

  He paused. That aspect of it hadn’t occurred to him, but she was right. That’s what the two men were and that’s why anyone else might be acting on their behalf. He had potentially brought paedophiles to their door. To Annie’s door. Shit. If anything happened to her… ‘There’s no way Annie’s walking to or from school on her own until we’ve got whoever it was.’

  ‘That poor kid’s life is being ruined.’

  ‘We’ll catch them – whoever they are,’ he said firmly. His mind threw up an image of the two security cameras mounted, for now, in the bottom corners of two of the front windows of the house. With no way of knowing who was targeting them or when they might be watching, he’d decided that the weekend would be the best time to put them up on the house. He would make it look like part of his normal maintenance of the property. Maybe clean the gutters or something and screw them into place while he was up there. Or, better yet, as tiny as they were, maybe he could put them up with superglue. That would make it a lot easier to hide what he was doing.

  ‘Mmm.’ He nodded to himself.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just thinking. Planning. If they come back, I’ve got a way of identifying them.’

  ‘What – those cameras?’

  ‘Partly. For confirmation, though, I’m going to need to get a couple of things from the DIY shop, then have a word with young Ben, see if he can do a bit of jiggery-pokery for me.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’

  He winked. ‘Nothing illegal, but it should act as a deterrent and a confirmation at the same time, if it works as I’m thinking.’

  Louise pursed her lips. ‘There’s two words I don’t like in there. Should and if. We’ve already come too close for comfort to losing Tommy. If any harm comes to Annie through that job of yours…’

  ‘I know.’ Pete’s stomach fluttered nervously. ‘I wouldn’t forgive myself, either. Don’t worry. It won’t. We won’t let it.’

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? I do worry. And I will until you catch whoever’s been doing that out there.’ She nodded towards the front of the house. ‘But there’s one possibility you haven’t mentioned yet as to who it might be.’

  Pete frowned. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Mates of Tommy.’ />
  ‘Wh…’ He stopped, head tipping to one side. ‘Mmm.’ She was right. Both incidents had been fairly juvenile. He nodded. Smiled. ‘You’re not just a pretty face, after all.’

  She swung a punch at his shoulder. ‘This is no laughing matter.’

  ‘I know. But if it’s a choice of laugh or cry…’

  She drew a long, deep breath. ‘Yeah, I suppose.’

  It was good she was now capable of either, Pete thought. The only emotion she’d been able to express during her depression was anger. And the only target she’d been able to identify for it had been him.

  *

  ‘Ben,’ Pete said as he dropped his jacket over the back of his chair at just before nine the next morning, having come from the graveyard shift at Shafiq Ahmed’s place. ‘Are you still into electronics and stuff?’

  ‘Yes, when I get the time. Why?’

  ‘I’ve got a little project for you.’

  ‘What’s that, boss?’

  ‘In the car I’ve got a watering timer, a hosepipe, a sprinkler and one of those security lights with a motion sensor. Is there a way you can combine all that so that the motion sensor can switch on the watering timer and trigger the sprinkler?’

  Ben grinned. ‘Sounds like fun. Is this for your front garden?’

  Pete nodded.

  ‘I’m liking this,’ Dave said. ‘We need video footage.’

  ‘That can be arranged.’

  ‘Yes!’ He slapped his desk.

  ‘I’ll have to take it all home, take it apart and do a bit of soldering, but I should be able to make it work.’

  ‘Good. There’s one more thing I need to get hold of before I set it up, then we’ll see what happens. Meantime, what’s anybody got on the case?’ He looked from one face to another.

  ‘I’ve tracked down the Seger girl and spoken to her,’ Jane said. ‘Holly. She’s married now, changed her name to Jennings. Lives in Paignton.’

  ‘And what did she have to say?’

  ‘Pretty much what you were told last night. They had a struggle to get the victim to go to the taxi office. There was no way she was coming here. But when she met them that night, she was bruised, sore and bloody, her underwear was ripped and bloodstained, she was shaking like a leaf, make-up shot, and really just wanted to go home, but couldn’t until she’d sorted herself out.’

  ‘All of which confirms her story,’ Dave said.

  Jane nodded.

  ‘While Jane was onto her, I looked a bit further into the new victim,’ Dave continued. ‘He’s only got the one conviction, but he was better known to us than that suggests. I’ve spoken to a few local uniforms. He had quite the rep for being able to get whatever you wanted a while ago. Connections in London and Birmingham. After the arrest, though, he went quiet.’

  ‘Learned his lesson, eh?’ asked Dick.

  ‘Learned something, at least,’ Pete agreed. ‘If only how to stay out of our way. We need to follow that up further. See which option’s the right one.’

  ‘There’s no record of a Cindy Cummings anywhere – surprise, surprise,’ Jill said. ‘Except the PND links the name as an alias to a hooker who was operating in the city until eighteen months ago. Real name was Monica Parry. Now Devlin.’

  ‘And where’s she now?’

  ‘Gone straight. Got married and taken on a pub with her husband. In fact, I think you spoke to her a few months ago, boss. They run the Firkin.’

  Pete remembered her instantly. Fiftyish, small and fit with curly blonde hair, a dry, coarse voice and an open, helpful manner. He’d interviewed her about a couple of male students who had been regular customers in there and who had turned out to be the suspects in a series of killings in the city. He nodded. ‘That’s right. I’ll go and talk to her again. Meantime, we need to track our second victim back to where he picked up his last fare. See if there’s any CCTV that’ll help us identify who it was or pick out any potential witnesses.’

  ‘Talking of identifying suspects,’ said Jane. ‘Who do you reckon’s been targeting your place?’

  ‘Well, that’s what the cameras are for,’ Pete said. ‘To save us having to speculate.’

  ‘I know, but if they don’t pick anyone up, or if they do and whoever it is isn’t identifiable…’

  ‘Well, then we come back to the timing, I suppose. We’ve got several trials coming up in the next few weeks. Burton. Sanderson. Frank. Petrosyan… although it’s not likely to be him. Too subtle. And Burton’s family and colleagues have all taken a step or two back from him. They’ve got to, in the circumstances, haven’t they? Get tarred with a brush like that, they’ll be out of a job pretty quick.’

  ‘Well, I can’t see anyone liking Frank enough to risk their careers for him,’ Ben said.

  ‘No, but the people he dealt with might,’ Jill put in. ‘The ones he sold to. There’s a lot of money involved there and you cut off their supply. They’re not going to be happy about that.’

  Frank Benton was an ex-copper, a former member of CID who had been illegally taking and selling the eggs and chicks of birds of prey since before he retired from the force. Pete and Ben had tracked him down in the hills to the west of the city, on the edge of Dartmoor, and caught him almost red-handed.

  Pete nodded. ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘The other choice is Neil Sanderson,’ Dave said. ‘Not personally, of course, being in the clink, but his associates. The perverts he was sharing pictures with. Again, we’ve cut off their supply, haven’t we?’

  ‘And round we go, full circle,’ Jane observed.

  ‘The only way to break out of that is to get some firm evidence,’ Pete said. ‘And that’s what the cameras and sprinkler system are for.’

  ‘So, how’s the sprinkler going help?’ Dave asked. ‘I mean, yes, it’ll wet them, but so what?’

  ‘Ah, well,’ Pete said. ‘It depends what you wet them with.’

  ‘Something that’s not going to ruin your lawn, I hope,’ said Dick.

  Pete grinned. ‘It might confuse the bees for a while, but that’s all.’

  ‘It’d take a hell of a pump to push honey through a sprinkler system. A fair bit of honey too.’ Dave’s comment drew a laugh from the whole team.

  ‘That’s what I’ve got to go out to Middlemoor for,’ Pete said.

  ‘What, the honey or the pump?’

  ‘I’ve got something a bit more subtle than that in mind.’

  Jane reached across and patted Dave’s leg. ‘Never mind. You wouldn’t understand, Dave.’

  ‘Oi!’ He turned back to Pete. ‘Come on then, boss. Out with it.’

  ‘UV dye packs.’

  Dave grinned. ‘Oh, yes. I like that. They won’t even know about it until we catch up with them and the proof’ll be all over them. Even if they change clothes before we catch them.’ He turned to Jane. ‘See. Ye of little faith.’

  ‘OK. Colour me surprised.’

  ‘Yeah, and colour them violet,’ said Ben.

  ‘So, how’s that going to confuse the bees?’ Dave asked.

  ‘Bees see ultraviolet,’ Dick told him. ‘Don’t you watch nature programmes on telly?’

  ‘Not the sort that tell you stuff like that, I bet,’ said Jill.

  *

  Pete stepped out of the Firkin Arms and started down the narrow, shaded alley towards the High Street. Monica Devlin had been as helpful as he had expected, recalling their last encounter. She had confirmed that she’d been attacked by Singh in his cab. He had tried to rape her, assuming that her profession would prevent her from reporting it. She had fought him off, but he’d been right: she had seen no point in going to the police about it. She had, however, gone into the taxi firm’s office and made a complaint to them.

  Pete hadn’t bothered to tell her about Singh’s other victims. There was no point. Sadly, she was right. His colleagues probably wouldn’t have taken her too seriously as a known prostitute making a complaint about an attempted rape.

  He turned a corner and could
see down to the brightly sunlit High Street. A group of people walked past the end of the narrow alley. One of them – a girl in her late teens or early twenties – looked towards him as his phone began to ring in his pocket. He pulled it out, saw the number on the screen and answered it.

  ‘DS Gayle.’

  ‘Hey, boss. It’s Jill. We’ve just had another alleged victim of Ranjeet Singh’s phone the station. Saw the report in the paper about him, thought she’d be safe to get it off her chest now.’

  Pete stepped out into the sunshine on the wide pedestrianised street and stopped. ‘So, that’s four. How many more are there?’

  ‘Who knows? That could be all of them or there could be dozens out there.’

  ‘And his wife knew nothing about it? I don’t buy that. There’d have been signs, surely. And one of the victims her own sister?’ Pete was shaking his head.

  ‘She could just have been in denial,’ Jill suggested. ‘Didn’t want to admit to herself that she wasn’t satisfying him that way.’

  ‘She didn’t strike me as a proud woman. Just the opposite, if anything. Quiet. Recessive.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have to be about pride. If she’s as recessive as that, it could be more about not wanting to rock the boat. Could be too scared of him. Or it could be a cultural thing. Women out that way are very much second-class citizens. Something like that would be more about family honour than pride as such.’

  Pete was reminded of the so-called honour killings that happened within the Indian and Pakistani culture. There was no honour there, he thought. And none here. If she knew about what Ranjeet was doing, it was her duty to do something about it, not just stay quiet and let him carry on. Even if the alternative meant putting herself at risk of reprisals from him. The system could protect her from that. There were places she could go for safety. It surely couldn’t be about loving him. How could she, knowing what he was doing to other women? No, she had to talk.

  ‘OK, Jill. We really need to talk to the wife again, don’t we?’

  ‘Do you want me to go round there and have a word?’

  At this moment, he was more inclined to send Dave, but perhaps that was a bit over the top. He’d tried the softly, softly approach already, though, and it had got them nowhere. ‘No, Jill. I’ll deal with her.’