Cuthbert gave a theatrical roll of his eyes. ‘Inspector Wallpaper? I can hardly wait.’
‘Now now, Monk, let’s give him a chance, shall we? He’s actually starting to grow on me.’
Cuthbert snorted. ‘Like a boil, you mean? A big juicy boil, growing on your—’
Cuthbert stopped as the door flung open again, and DCI Kendrick crossed the room in four strides.
‘DS Cuthbert, where are we up to?’ he boomed.
Cuthbert wrung his hands. ‘Well, sir, as I was telling DS Bishop here…’ Both men turned around, but Catherine had vanished.
* * *
Scurrying down the corridor, Catherine couldn’t help smiling to herself. It helped to keep your eyes and ears ever alert for Kendrick, who had a nasty habit of appearing without warning. It wasn’t as if he was easy to miss. Cuthbert had only himself to blame. No doubt she’d be seeing him soon enough; he’d probably want to be in the meeting with Knight when he heard about it. She turned into the conference room, turning on the lights. One of the bulbs was obviously faulty and kept flashing on and off.
‘Great,’ muttered Catherine to herself. She collected three cups of water, prepared in case DCI Kendrick did decide to join them. The room smelt stale, even worse than usual, provoking more mumbling from Catherine. Her mobile beeped as it received a text message, and she smiled as she read:
Enjoyed last night. Same again tonight? Doesn’t matter what time. L x
Louise certainly seemed to want to try again. She felt a small stab of guilt; she definitely needed to do some thinking about whether she wanted to jump straight back into a relationship, albeit a more casual one, but now was not the time to do it. She set her notebook on the table, sat and took a sip of water. She hadn’t drunk the tea Sullivan had made for her and it would be cold by now, even if she had time to nip back to her desk before Knight arrived. Right on cue, the door opened, and he wandered in, looking as if he had all the time in the world, absent-mindedly brushing rain from his hair.
‘Pouring down out there,’ he said, pulling out a chair and settling in it. ‘How’s it going?’
Catherine opened her notepad. ‘Steve Kent’s flat is still being searched, but it’s turned up an interesting find already. A mobile phone with no numbers stored in the memory, and that has only received calls from one number.’
‘Instructions about his dodgy deliveries?’
‘Could well be. We’re trying to track down the number, but I suspect it’ll be difficult, if not impossible. It seems Kent was single; he had a girl living with him for a while according to his neighbour, but she moved out over a year ago. The neighbour never knew her name. Neither did the blokes he worked with. We did find out from them that he has a sister living in Leeds, so we’ve been onto West Yorkshire. They’re going to track her down and break the news. It’s almost certain he would have had another mobile phone, a personal one, but no sign of it so far. It’s looking like whoever killed Kent took the phone, as we’re presuming happened with Pollard. We haven’t found it in the area around the crime scene, or anything else. The van’s gone off to forensics; we’re not expecting much. Seems like the invisible killer’s struck again.’
‘A person who knows about forensics, the traces they can leave. Most people have a vague idea about that sort of thing these days though. The victim was attacked when he was vulnerable, as Pollard was. It seems Kent had his back to his killer, climbing out of the van.’
‘I suppose that makes it easier for our murderer. Hit them when they don’t even know you’re there. Kent was quite a big bloke, as was Pollard.’
‘Around six foot, yes. Dr Webber mentioned that Kent had only been hit three times, according to what she found during the post-mortem, whereas Pollard…’
‘He’d been hit loads of times.’
Knight nodded grimly. ‘Maybe Pollard had pissed our friend off more than Kent had.’
A deep sigh from Catherine. ‘Or he’s getting better with practice, knew just where to hit this time.’
There was a pause. Knight sat up straight. ‘We need to establish what links Craig Pollard with Steve Kent,’ he said. ‘I’d like to think we’d have stumbled across that fact without our helpful murderer leaving us another calling card. Has a photo of Kent gone to Pollard’s parents, his brother?’
Catherine nodded. ‘Yep, the one that’s on his driving licence. It’s a few years old but I wanted them to see him as soon as possible. Hopefully, we’ll come across a more up-to-date one in his flat somewhere.’
‘Have you got a copy?’
Catherine rummaged through her papers and handed one over. Knight considered it. ‘He doesn’t seem to have changed much to be honest, not that he was looking his best when I saw him.’
‘What else could Jo Webber tell you after the PM?’ Catherine asked.
Knight explained what the pathologist had said.
‘We keep coming back to the question of why Kent stopped the van,’ he added. ‘Milica Zukic said they stopped very suddenly, then she heard him shouting. As you said at the scene, there could have been a vehicle blocking the road, maybe pretending to have broken down.’
‘If that’s what happened though, why didn’t he wait until Kent was bending over the engine and then smack him one? Although, I suppose he’d have ended up with bits of brain and skull all over the engine, and if he is forensically aware…’ Catherine’s voice trailed away.
‘He wouldn’t want to take the chance when he’s been so careful, plus there would be no guarantee Kent would stop, especially when he had his passenger locked in the back of the van. Not that our murderer would have known that.’ Knight drummed his fingers on the table. ‘We still need a name for our anonymous caller, especially if Mike Pollard recognises Steven Kent as the Steve that was Craig’s mate. Maybe he was right when he mentioned Nick? We’re waiting on the analysis of Milica Zukic’s clothes, but I don’t think we’ll find any blood or anything to suggest she killed Steve Kent, even if it would have meant she could escape. Where would she go? She doesn’t speak enough English to be able to blend in, and she knew Ivona. This man she calls the “Vuk” and the gang would come looking for her.’
‘It seems a bit strange she hasn’t picked up more English though, if she’s been here a few years.’ Catherine drank more water.
‘She said she wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone though, didn’t she, although she must have said a few words to people she worked with. They might have been Serbian too, though, I suppose, taken in by the same people who brought Zukic here. Did you speak to Intelligence?’
Catherine nodded, screwing up her face. ‘Just now,’ she told him. ‘I spoke to a DI. Foster’s his name; he’s going to call me back. I wasn’t able to give him much to go on, just the names Ivona and Ron. There’s a member of his team working over here on another assignment. He said to go and speak to her, but I’ve not had a chance yet. We could try to narrow down the area Zukic could have been held, but…’
‘But it would be mainly guesswork, given how little she can tell us. They’ve been clever, threatening her, keeping her separate from the other girls, transporting her in vans so she couldn’t see road signs or landmarks.’
‘Bastards,’ said Catherine with feeling.
Knight nodded in agreement. ‘If they’ve moved Zukic, surely they will be moving the other girls too? Did Foster mention any raids that might be a reason for the sudden panic? Maybe Ron and Ivona were tipped off?’
‘I asked him. He’s going to do some digging,’ Catherine said.
‘Do we have any locals whose card you’d mark for this sort of thing?’
‘People trafficking? Most wouldn’t be seen dead getting involved, code of honour and all that, but… anything organised around here usually has one man behind it, and I do mean well behind it. He usually keeps his head down these days. Dougie Hughes.’
Knight blinked a few times. ‘Hughes?’
‘Yeah, you know the type – local boy, dragged up on the worst o
f the backstreets, place so rough even the dog shit wears knuckledusters. He has bigger ideas, starts by grafting on building sites, saves enough to buy a van, drug dealing all the while, sets up a legit firm of builders. Still dealing, takes on a few blokes, now branches out into plumbing, buys some warehouse space, takes on a few more blokes, doesn’t deal himself now he has minions to do it for him. Throws himself into the legitimate stuff, sets up a taxi firm, a club, a betting shop. Hairdressing salon for his Mrs to work in, beauty parlour, money flooding in, building the big shopping centre in town. The man’s a walking stereotype. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got his sticky fingers in this somewhere; probably owns the courier firm Kent worked for if we can dig deep enough. He might have a bit less cash floating around these days, economic situation and all that. Maybe he’s moved into dealing people as well.’
Knight said softly, only just audibly, ‘Sounds like a Hughes I know.’
‘Sorry?’
‘It’s okay, carry on. Just thinking out loud.’
She blinked at him. ‘He has property that could be used. The warehouse space Zukic mentioned, the club, the betting shop… they could all be used to find punters for the poor buggers that are brought into the country, or for cheap labour to work in with not many questions asked, or to transport people.’
Knight was chewing his thumbnail. ‘Plenty of opportunity, yes,’ he said. ‘Can you see him doing it?’
Catherine didn’t need to think about it for long. ‘Oh, yeah. He’s the type, but he knows how to keep his nose clean. We’ve never really been able to send him down for anything yet. He’s bloody clever, and the more money he has, the better the people surrounding him are. They protect him, advise him – they’ll know all the tricks and loopholes.’
‘It’s all supposition though. Do we have anyone closer to him?’
‘You mean an informant?’
Almost imperceptibly, Knight nodded.
Catherine shook her head. ‘Not that I know of.’
‘We could get Milica Zukic to have a look at him; she might have seen him at some point? I know it’s unlikely, but it’ll only take a few minutes. Otherwise…’ Knight lifted his shoulders.
‘I’ll sort that, get some mugshots of a few of the well-known local pervs and kerb crawlers, see if Milica can recognise any of them. It might give us a handle on the location of the house she was held in, at any rate?’
‘Fine. We should have the full post-mortem report later and we’re waiting on Mr and Mrs Pollard and Mike to see if they know what could link Craig Pollard to Steve Kent, if anything. DC Varcoe’s going to try that teacher at Pollard’s old school again today, see if she can give us any more names. Anna may as well show her the picture of Kent too. Hopefully West Yorkshire will get some info from Kent’s sister.’
‘Hopefully. I gave them Pollard’s name; she might remember him,’ Catherine said.
‘We’re bound to have some journalists sniffing round before the day’s much older. There’ll probably be a press conference. We’ll keep the messages out of it, or try to. I don’t think Milica Zukic’s name should be mentioned either, if we can help it,’ Knight said.
‘We’re definitely not considering her as a suspect?’
‘Obviously we can’t rule her out completely, but as we’ve said, I don’t think so. There’s no way she could have killed Pollard either, if her story is true.’
Catherine frowned. ‘Do you think it might be to our advantage if we let the press know there was a possible witness in the back of the van that Kent was driving though? Not mention a name, as you say, but…?’
Knight squinted at her. ‘Try to rattle our man you mean?’
‘Just a thought.’
‘It’s a good idea. No doubt DCI Kendrick will want a chat soon anyway. I should think he’ll want to handle the press conference, probably the Super too.’
Catherine rolled her eyes a little, and Knight pretended he hadn’t noticed.
‘A double murder… We don’t have many of those around here,’ she said. ‘The press will be panting for some information, might even make the national news. Good job the DCI has his suit handy.’
‘With all the buttons attached,’ said Knight.
Chapter 20
Keith Kendrick was still making his presence felt in the incident room as Knight opened the door. Kendrick spotted him immediately and beckoned to him. Knight managed a half smile and joined Kendrick and Cuthbert in the middle of the room.
‘DI Knight, just the man. How are we doing?’
Knight told him. Kendrick bounced on his toes.
‘Superintendent Stringer and I will be holding a press conference at four this afternoon,’ he said. ‘The Super will want to talk to you again before then though. I’m presuming we expect to have some results from speaking to the Pollards and the rest?’
‘Yes, I would hope so. What about Milica Zukic?’ Knight asked.
Kendrick raised his eyebrows. ‘What about her? I see the need to keep her safe… It would be a feather in our cap to shut down a gang of people traffickers, pimps and forced prostitutes as well as solve the Pollard and Kent murders. Wouldn’t be a bad way to introduce yourself to Lincolnshire, Jonathan.’ Knight made a neutral sound that Kendrick chose to interpret as acquiescence. ‘We’ve had hundreds of journalists wanting to know what’s going on,’ he said. ‘They’ll have to wait though. Let’s hope we have something concrete for them by four, so we don’t have to go cap in hand, asking them to help us out.’
Knight, who had raised his eyebrows at Kendrick’s ‘hundreds’ of journalists, made the neutral noise again and tried to move away without appearing to do so. Kendrick noticed, and kept talking.
‘I’ll set up a meeting with the Super at three o’clock. Her office again. I’ll see you there.’
To the relief of Knight, Cuthbert and everyone else in the room, Kendrick marched out, slamming the door behind him.
‘Thank God for that,’ said Cuthbert. ‘Now, what was I doing before I was interrupted?’
Knight finally had the opportunity to wander around the room, absorbing everything. He’d seen little of DS Cuthbert before, but Catherine had said he was a conscientious officer and the usual choice for the key role of running an incident room. Knight paused to read the notes on the whiteboards, Cuthbert watching his progress without appearing to do so. Knight, seemingly satisfied, wandered out of the room. Cuthbert, astounded, turned to one of the uniformed officers.
‘Did you see that? He comes in, struts around then saunters off, doesn’t even bother to speak to me! I’ve worked my arse off this morning to get this lot set up, and he just…’
The PC tuned him out, concentrated on the screen in front of her. This had the makings of a long day.
* * *
Catherine peered around the open door. The room beyond was small, but filled with so much clutter and boxes of files that at first, she couldn’t see whether anyone was in there or not.
‘Hello?’ she called.
There was a rustling sound and a figure emerged from behind a bookcase. It was the woman from the briefing room.
‘Hi, are you looking for me?’
Catherine cleared her throat. ‘You’re Claire Weyton? I spoke to DI Foster earlier, he said you might be able to help me. I’m Catherine Bishop. I think we met in the briefing room? I stood on you…’
‘Good to meet you again.’ The woman grinned. She was a little taller than Catherine, not that it took much, with glossy dark hair and high cheekbones, her eyes vivid blue. Catherine couldn’t quite believe she hadn’t noticed her around the station, but then if she had been working in this dungeon for the past few months, it was no real surprise. No one came down here unless they absolutely had to; it was like the land that time forgot. Claire Weyton held out a hand and Catherine shook it. Claire’s grip was firm, her hand warm. Catherine blinked a little.
‘How can I help?’ Claire asked.
Pulling herself together, Catherine said: ‘I nee
d any information you can find about a raid that may have been planned on a property that was being used as a brothel where trafficked women were being held.’
‘And this place is in Northolme? Nothing springs to mind, but I can check for you.’
Catherine waved a hand helplessly. ‘The problem is, we don’t know exactly where. It probably isn’t in Northolme; we think it could be somewhere else in the county. I have a few names that might help narrow the search down a little?’
Claire pursed her lips. ‘Right. Well, I have my laptop set up over there. There’s just room for a desk, believe it or not. Shall we have a look?’
‘That would be great.’
They made their way through the mess, squeezing around the bookcase.
‘There’s only one chair, I’m afraid,’ Claire said, turning to look at Catherine.
‘Oh, it’s fine. You need to sit to use the computer,’ she said hastily.
‘Thank you. Let me just close all of this down,’ Claire said, her hands moving fluidly over the keyboard as she settled in the grubby desk chair. ‘Okay. You said you had some names?’
‘Yes, but if I’m honest, what I have is a little bit thin. I only have the names of one of the women who was working there plus two of the people that were holding them: Milica Zukic, Ivona and Ron.’
Claire Weyton paused, gazing up at Catherine. ‘And that’s all?’
Catherine nodded. ‘That’s all,’ she confirmed miserably. ‘Sorry.’
‘Well, I like a challenge. I’ll have a hunt around, see what I can come up with.’
‘Sounds good to me. Anything you can find that might help would be a bonus.’ Catherine stepped back, bumping into the bookcase behind her.
‘I’ll see you later then, DS Bishop.’
‘You will – and call me Catherine.’
Claire Weyton smiled, already turning back to her computer. Catherine hesitated for a second, then made her way carefully out of the room.
* * *
On Laughton Moor Page 12