On Laughton Moor

by On Laughton Moor (epub)

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  Sullivan moved off and Knight turned to Catherine. ‘We need to check out the other postcodes on the list Kent’s sister gave us.’

  ‘Do you want me to do it?’

  ‘I’ve got a meeting with the Super and DCI Kendrick. You know I’ve told the team we’ll meet at five back here. Do think you can make it around those postcodes before then?’

  ‘I’ll do my best, sir. Will Miss Zukic be with me?’

  ‘It’s tricky with her not speaking English and I don’t think we can ask Dr Whelan to stay around. I’m not sure the budget would stretch to it.’

  ‘She could let me know whether she recognises a place or not though?’

  ‘That’s true. Okay then. She could always talk to a translator later, I suppose, if she can give us more information about a place. It doesn’t help that we’ve no idea what these places will be.’

  ‘I’ll just check my emails quickly and I’ll be on my way.’

  * * *

  Catherine strode out of the station and onto the street, Milica Zukic at her heels. Glancing over her shoulder to check Milica was still with her, Catherine crashed straight into a tall, solid figure as she rounded the corner towards the car park.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Catherine said, steadying herself, and glanced at the person she’d almost knocked over. She looked again as she recognised Mike Pollard. ‘Mr Pollard? What are you doing here?’

  Mike glared at her, adjusting his jacket and pulling his knitted hat further over his ears. ‘You could have broken my ribs. Why don’t you look where you’re going?’

  ‘I asked you what you’re doing hanging around outside the police station, Mike.’

  Pollard was furious. ‘I wasn’t “hanging around”, as you put it. I’m on my way to a job interview, if you must know.’

  Catherine raised an eyebrow. ‘At the police station?’

  ‘No, not at the police station; you must be joking. I can do better than that. At a solicitor’s. Not that it’s any of your business.’

  ‘All right, Mike.’ Catherine beckoned to Milica Zukic. ‘It might be a good idea to surround yourself with people who know the law.’

  She marched off, leaving Pollard gawping after her, his expression thunderous. Once in the car, she sent Knight a quick text explaining what had happened. It was time they had another look at Craig Pollard’s brother, and probably his not-so-broken-hearted girlfriend too.

  * * *

  Catherine wanted to sing along to the radio as she drove but didn’t want to subject Milica Zukic to her voice. Milica seemed happy enough, though Catherine wasn’t convinced she understood where they were going. She seemed pleased just to be out of the station and Catherine could understand that. The first postcode took them to a village with a row of stone cottages, pretty and well maintained. Milica shook her head. She seemed to be looking wistfully at the scene and Catherine wondered if she was thinking of her home and family or was thinking about the life she could have had. She wanted to tell Milica that she was young, she could still achieve all she’d planned, but of course she didn’t have the words to do so. The next postcode brought them to another village and there was another headshake from Milica. Catherine was beginning to feel a little dispirited and hoped this wasn’t going to be a waste of time. It was a similar story with the next two places, a housing estate and a warehouse complex. Milica had obviously never been to either before. A half-hour drive brought them to the location of the final postcode, and this time as soon as Catherine slowed the car down, Milica was sitting forward, alert. She nodded her head firmly several times, said a few words before remembering Catherine couldn’t understand. Catherine knew what she meant though – they’d arrived at a row of lock-up storage units, bigger than the average garage attached to a house. She assumed this was where Kent had collected Milica. They’d have to call in Dr Whelan to be sure, but what else could Milica mean? Catherine parked in front of the first lock-up, turned off the engine and looked around. There was no one in sight. She turned to Milica, trying to say through mime that she was going to get out of the car, have a quick look around, and that Milica should stay where she was. Milica frowned at first, then smiled and nodded again.

  Catherine got out and wandered over to the first set of double doors. She wouldn’t have been able to get inside any of the doors even if she had wanted to, which, without a warrant, wasn’t advisable. She just wanted to walk around, make sure there was nothing suspicious. For all she knew, there could be frightened girls behind any of these doors. She stepped closer, listening, eyes searching, then heard an engine behind her and turned. A white van had appeared. It parked next to her car; the driver’s door flew open and a man leapt out wearing gloves and a baseball cap with a dark scarf covering his face, leaving only his eyes exposed. He ran to the passenger door of Catherine’s car, wrenched it open and reached inside, grabbing Milica Zukic’s arms and trying to drag her from the car. She screamed then shouted, struggling and kicking. The man realised her seatbelt was still fastened and tried to reach across her to undo it with Milica trying to push his hands away. Catherine stared, frozen, then ran back towards the car, shouting, ‘Stop, police, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  He looked wildly across at Catherine as she bore down on the car, struggling to yell into her Airwave handset for backup. She had no choice, but running towards a man who could be armed when she was alone probably wasn’t the best idea. Catherine was almost at the car, still bellowing at him that she was a police officer, Milica still fighting and screeching in Serbian, when he seemed to finally take in what Catherine was saying, abruptly dropped Milica back into her seat, sprinted back towards the van and scrambled in. His vehicle shot forward down the line of lock-ups, hurtling around the corner at the end and out of sight. Catherine gabbled a description of the van into her handset as she wrenched open the driver’s door of her car and set off in pursuit, Milica still shouting and leaning forward, hoping to see which way her would-be abductor had turned.

  Chapter 34

  Catherine sat at her desk, head in her hands as Varcoe silently placed a mug of tea at her elbow as she passed on the way to her own desk. Knight stood beside Catherine, frowning.

  ‘You did nothing wrong, you know. I would have done exactly the same,’ he said.

  Catherine lifted her head and stared at him. ‘He almost had her. If it hadn’t been for the seatbelt… I should have locked the door or stayed in the car.’

  ‘She’s fine, that’s all that matters, and on her way to a safe house.’

  ‘I’m going to get my arse kicked for this though, aren’t I?’

  ‘For protecting a witness, ensuring her safety?’ Knight shook his head.

  ‘She ensured her own safety. I wouldn’t want to be in a fight with her.’

  ‘The DCI is just happy she’s still in our hands. It’s after five; let’s get to the conference room.’

  Catherine slowly got to her feet, noticed the tea and picked it up, raising it shakily to her lips.

  ‘Thanks, Anna,’ she said, as the DC followed her to the door. ‘How did your Nick and Dave hunting go?’

  ‘Pretty well; we narrowed our list down to two Nicks, three Daves. Not sure how the others got on. Are you okay?’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry about me.’

  * * *

  In the conference room, Knight was pacing in front of the assembled officers. Catherine and Varcoe found chairs, sitting down as he spoke.

  ‘Just to let you all know that we found the van driven by Milica Zukic’s attacker abandoned in a lay-by just out of town. We think our man phoned one of his mates who picked him up. Chances are, he won’t be very popular when he tells his boss he could have snatched her but has come back empty-handed, which is why Miss Zukic is on her way to a safe house as we speak.’

  ‘Shows she’s still important to them though,’ said Chris Rogers.

  ‘Exactly, even though they must realise she’s been wit
h us since Steven Kent’s death and has had plenty of time to share all she knows.’

  ‘Do we think the attempt to grab her was planned, or did he just happen to be going to the lock-up and recognise her?’ Sullivan asked.

  ‘We’ve no way of knowing, though DS Bishop didn’t notice anyone following her. As it was just one man, I’d guess it was spur of the moment. He saw his chance and tried to grab it – and her. Little did he know he’d have a fight on his hands.’

  ‘Any chance of any fingerprints, trace evidence that could help us identify him?’

  ‘He was wearing leather gloves, a cap and a scarf over his face. I didn’t recognise him, but I couldn’t swear I’ve never seen him before. I’ve no way of knowing. Miss Zukic’s going to be interviewed when she’s safe but she didn’t seem to know him. I didn’t recognise any names in what she was shouting,’ Catherine said.

  ‘Plenty of Serbian swearing going on too, I bet.’ Rogers grinned.

  Knight asked Varcoe and Lancaster to update them on what they’d learnt that day, and then Rogers and Sullivan. Progress had been made and they were down to five men called Nick or Nicholas, seven Daves or Davids. Knight was quietly pleased, offering encouragement. He asked Varcoe to share what she’d learnt about the ownership of the property she and Catherine had visited, which she did, to general approval. There wasn’t a copper in the place who would be sorry to see Dougie Hughes or any of his family behind bars. Knight calmed them down, warned them they were a long way from that. They still needed to find Ron Woffenden; plus the chances of tracking down the man who’d tried to snatch Milica Zukic were slim. Still, it felt as though they were moving in the right direction. Sullivan and Rogers were going out again to attempt to track down a few more of the men on their lists before heading home for the day, while Varcoe and Lancaster were going to see Mike Pollard. As the room emptied, Knight called Catherine over.

  ‘Why don’t you call it a day, finish early for a change?’ he said. ‘You’ve got my spare key.’

  ‘I’ve got things to get on with, sir. I don’t want to leave when others are still working.’

  ‘It’s up to you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She turned away from him.

  Knight hesitated, then made his way to the incident room. Catherine was looking paler by the hour, and though he doubted she would ever admit it, he knew she was struggling. How long before DCI Kendrick noticed it too?

  * * *

  Catherine stubbed her toe on the corner of her desk as she hurried around it to pick up the phone. It had been ringing since she stepped back into the CID office and she didn’t want to miss the call.

  ‘Ow, shit, bloody hell… Hello?’

  ‘Is that DS Bishop?’

  ‘Yes, speaking.’

  ‘DI Foster. I’ve got a couple of names for you.’

  Catherine thought fast. ‘DI Foster, of course. Thank you.’ She fumbled for a pen and scrap of paper. ‘And how do you spell that… Okay, that’s great, thanks very much.’

  Two names, at last. She leant forward, hands poised over the keyboard. Her mobile started ringing in her bag, and she rummaged for it. Her eyes widened when she saw the caller’s name.

  ‘Hello, Louise?’

  ‘Catherine? I can hardly hear you.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m in the office. You know the signal’s not great.’

  ‘I thought you were going to call?’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. I’ve had a crap day.’ Catherine closed her eyes for a second.

  ‘And you’re still at work?’

  ‘It’s only just gone six, Louise. Of course I am.’

  ‘I only asked.’

  Catherine sighed. ‘I know you did.’

  ‘So I won’t see you tonight?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s fine. Give me a ring when you can fit me in.’

  Louise hung up. Catherine stared at the phone. So much for a new start and being understanding, Louise, she thought. She scrolled through her emails until she found Claire Weyton’s phone number and typed a text message, her heart pounding: How about that drink tonight? She quickly placed the phone face down on her desk, almost afraid to read any reply that Claire might send. What are you doing, Catherine? She concentrated on her monitor, but found no records for either of the names Foster had given her. She picked up her desk phone again, called down to the incident room and told Knight about her conversation with Foster.

  ‘Why don’t you go home, and I’ll see what I can dig up on them?’ Knight said.

  ‘I’ve already said…’ Catherine glanced at her mobile as it beeped – a text message. She snatched it up, held her breath and read the message: Any time x ‘Then again, sir, you might have a point. It’s been a long day. You will let me know what you find?’

  ‘If you’re up when I get in.’

  ‘I might go out for a few hours, meet a friend.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Then I’ll send you a text,’ Knight said hurriedly. He paused. ‘I know I’ve said this before, but be careful.’

  ‘I will. Thank you.’

  Catherine put the phone down, already typing: On my way, where? X

  Chapter 35

  Dave Bowles was in bed, curled on his side, mind racing. What could he do? Nick would know. Nick would come for him. He could be outside now, walking down the path, opening the door. He listened, eyes roaming the room. Nothing. Maybe it wouldn’t be tonight. He should have gone to the police years ago and confessed. Maybe it would have been all right. It was too late now though. They would blame him, he knew it. He would have to wait until whoever had killed Craig and Steve found him too, unless he could think of another way quickly.

  Chapter 36

  Catherine saw Claire immediately, sitting alone at a table in the corner, sipping a glass of red wine. She stood as Catherine approached.

  ‘What can I get you?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s okay, I’ll buy.’

  ‘No, please, let me.’

  ‘Same as you is fine then, thanks,’ Catherine stammered, hardly aware of what she was saying. Claire smiled and went over to the bar. Catherine watched, her stomach turning over. What are you doing? What about Louise? She ignored her own voice in her head as Claire came back to the table and handed her the wine. Catherine took a gulp.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Sitting down beside her, Claire picked up her own drink. ‘I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.’

  ‘I know. I finished early.’

  Claire nodded, knowing better than to ask. There was a silence. Well, this is awkward, Catherine thought, glancing around the pub. She took another swallow of wine. It wasn’t a drink she would usually have chosen, but it didn’t taste too bad. She was very aware of Claire’s thigh close to her own, the smell of her perfume. All at once, Catherine had an urge to tell Claire everything: about the messages left by the murderer of Pollard and Kent and the photograph taken through her own window, her worries and fears, the plight of Milica Zukic and the others in the house. Louise…

  ‘Catherine?’

  Catherine looked up. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You were miles away.’ Claire’s voice was gentle.

  ‘I’m sorry, I just…’

  Here goes, she thought, her hand seeking out Claire’s where it rested on the bench between them. Smooth, warm, slightly larger than her own. She stroked her thumb over Claire’s fingers, felt her respond, heard her quiet intake of breath. Claire moved closer, her fingers entwining with Catherine’s. They sat quietly, savouring the moment. Claire drained her wineglass.

  ‘Can I get you another?’ Catherine said softly.

  Claire looked into her eyes. ‘Shall we go?’

  Catherine gazed back. This was the moment when she had to choose to stay on the path she’d always taken, or make the leap. She knew she had no choice, that this was going to happen however much she tried to persuade herself it couldn’t. She nodded gravely, and Claire smiled.

  * * *


  Claire was staying in a hotel down by the river, close to the centre of town. They walked quickly, not touching, not speaking. Afterwards, Catherine couldn’t have said what route they took, if they saw anyone as they hurried along. Catherine’s mind was still filled with all the reasons why this shouldn’t happen, as well as the knowledge that it would. It was only as the door closed behind them and Claire reached for her, their mouths meeting urgently, that she felt herself relax. All her worries, temporarily at least, were forgotten.

  Chapter 37

  In Kendrick’s office, Knight waited until the DCI had closed his mouth after a huge yawn.

  ‘Time I was at home. I’ll be turning into a pumpkin at this rate. It’s the end of another day; where are we?’

  ‘I think we’re definitely making progress, but…’

  ‘Come on, don’t play the bloody mystery man with me, Jonathan. Tell me what you’re thinking.’

  ‘It’s just that the house Milica Zukic was held in is owned, ultimately, by a bloke called Richie Hughes,’ Kendrick made a noise that indicated disgust, ‘and more than once I came across the name Hughes in London. Malc Hughes. It just so happens he has a cousin called Dougie.’

  ‘Our friendly local self-styled gangster. Too much of a coincidence.’

  ‘Just what I thought.’

  ‘Dougie Hughes is a nasty, slippery bastard. I’m presuming there’s a family resemblance?’

  Knight’s left hand touched his right shoulder blade, then moved away. ‘Yeah, sounds just like Malc.’

  ‘Involved in people trafficking?’

  ‘I’d heard rumours, but you know what it’s like – no one wants to point the finger.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ Kendrick leant back in his chair, which groaned beneath him.