by Carol Wyer
‘There were some good artists but I prefer today’s music.’
‘You would. You’re a good few generations younger than me. You can’t be much older than my son.’
‘I’m twenty-five.’
‘Really? You look about twelve.’ His mouth curved upwards, making him look more attractive. ‘That’s it for compliments. I just ran out of my daily quota.’
He whistled along to the music for a while, then sat bolt upright. ‘Movement.’
Anna peered out of the car window and saw what he had noticed. A figure in a hoodie was making its way along the cycle pathway. Anna held her breath. The man loped past them, neither veering off nor looking in their direction.
‘Just a jogger,’ she said.
Shearer checked his watch. ‘It’s five forty. Bit early to be out running on a Monday morning in January, especially when it’s two below freezing out there.’
‘They change shift at Amazon in twenty minutes. Maybe he’s headed there to work.’
Shearer nodded. ‘Yeah. Possible. Mad jogging in this weather, but possible.’
He drummed his fingers and Anna wanted to slap his hand. He leant forward and rubbed the steamed-up window with his sleeve, watching the man making his way past the distribution centre at a steady pace.
‘I’ve had enough of this. Units one and two, anything?’
Sergeant Mitz Patel’s voice came back over the radio. ‘Negative. Nothing apart from a huge tabby cat that hawked up a half-digested mouse in front of McDonald’s half an hour ago.’
‘Nothing, guv.’ PC David Marker, sitting with Sergeant Matt Higham, sounded his usual calm self.
‘Hang on. The jogger’s returning.’ Anna sank further into the passenger seat to avoid detection. ‘He’s going to spot us.’
‘Don’t move,’ said Shearer, his eyes trained on the man outside.
She banged her elbow on the gearstick and grimaced. ‘I can’t. I’m too big for this car. I think I need the next size up.’
He gave her a wry grin, then pulled a face. ‘Blast. He’s stopped. He’s doing up a shoelace.’ A crease appeared on Shearer’s forehead. ‘He’s talking to someone. He must be on a hands-free mobile. This doesn’t feel right. Shit! He’s moving towards the housing estate. Unit one, he’s headed in your direction. Apprehend him and check him out. He might have nothing to do with this but I’m taking no chances.’
They continued staring at the self-storage warehouse. Car headlights approached them. The traffic would begin to build up as the shift workers left the distribution centre. A black Audi drove past them, headlights on full beam, making Anna shut her eyes. Shearer grumbled beside her. ‘I have a horrible feeling this is going to go belly up.’
No sooner had he spoken than Matt shouted over the radio, ‘Guv, a black Audi’s pulled up and the suspect’s jumped into it, registration oscar, bravo, six, six.’ The radio crackled loudly. ‘It’s headed in the direction of Rugeley town centre. We’re in pursuit. I repeat, in pursuit.’
Tom weighed up his options. ‘Unit two, we’re going in. Can’t wait any longer.’
He flung open the door and marched across to the warehouse, puffing out small clouds of air. Anna followed. Cold air like freezing fingers grabbed at her cheeks. Shearer was right. Nobody would be jogging in these temperatures. The man had to be linked to the gang. She hoped Matt and David had caught them. Mitz and Gareth arrived clad in stab vests and huddled like dark beetles in front of the huge metal shutters.
‘Remind us which units we’re looking for?’ Shearer stamped his feet on the frosty ground and scowled.
‘Numbers 127, 128 or 129. The source wasn’t sure which one the gang was using.’
Tom let out a hiss of annoyance. ‘He also claimed the gang would drop off more gear, and since it’s now almost six and there’s no sign of them, I’d say he was pretty bloody unreliable. Still, we have to give it a go.’
Gareth Murray spoke up. ‘Do we need the Enforcer for this, guv?’
‘For crying out loud, of course not. The owner won’t thank us for destroying their property with a battering ram. You watch too much television. I have the entry code. The battering ram is for the storage units. We haven’t got keys for those. Don’t they teach you anything about using common sense at police school these days?’ Shearer punched in some numbers on a panel beside the shutters and waited. Anna threw Mitz a look. He shrugged. Shearer was in one of his lousy moods. They’d better find these drugs or he’d be impossible to work with. The mechanism whirred into action and the shutters lifted with a squeal. They slipped inside. Shearer flicked a switch and strip lighting spluttered into life, revealing the enormity of the place. Storage units, accessed by roll-up metal doors, flanked corridor after corridor.
Gareth’s mouth flapped open. ‘Crikey, how many units are there here?’
Mitz glanced about. ‘Several hundred. Some are the size of walk-in closets and others as big as two-car garages. The owners charge per size and you can store just about anything in here. The renters have twenty-four-hour access to this place and each unit is lockable. They can request individual door alarms too.’
Shearer growled at Mitz. ‘Enough chatter. Find the units. You take 127; Anna, 128, and I’ll go through 129. Murray – stay outside and keep watch.’
They followed behind Shearer in single file, their footsteps echoing in the vast space. They could still hear the sound of cars passing on the road outside. The shift changeover had begun. Shearer’s radio crackled.
‘Lost the car, guv. Put out a call on it. Got the suspect. He was tossed out onto the road. He’s okay. We’re taking him in for questioning.’
Shearer kicked at a nearby shutter. The explosive sound resonated down the corridor.
‘Sod it. Okay. Keep me informed. See you at the station.’
The trio continued searching for the units, finally stopping outside the rolled shutters. ‘Padlocked, as we suspected. We’ll need these.’ Mitz lifted the bolt cutters he’d been carrying and cut through the padlocks on unit 129.
‘What the fuck?’ Shearer’s mouth dropped open as he gazed into the unit. A huge Dalek stared back at him, its massive form filling the entire space. ‘First person to say “exterminate” gets my full wrath. Don’t even think it.’ A Cyberman’s costume was propped next to the Dalek, and behind it, against the far wall, stood a slightly tatty Tardis, clearly used as a prop in a show.
Mitz swivelled around in the space, avoiding the armour-clad Dalek. ‘I doubt there are any drugs in here.’
‘I think someone was on drugs when they bought this lot,’ mumbled Shearer, flicking through Doctor Who magazines. ‘I’d better check it out thoroughly.’
‘You can climb inside the Dalek,’ Mitz said.
Shearer’s eyebrow raised high. ‘How do you know that?’
‘There was one exactly like it on the news a while back. Fetched a load of money. The news presenter drove it about on television.’
Shearer smiled humorously. ‘I think I’ll try and resist driving it about the warehouse, tempting though it seems. Go on. Check the other units. I’ll deal with weirdo world here.’
Mitz opened the unit next door for Anna. It was empty compared to the first one. Over a hundred shoeboxes were stacked on the floor. On one wall was a mirror and in front of it a red carpet.
‘Somebody likes stylish shoes,’ said Mitz as Anna unpacked the first box and extracted very expensive high-heeled Louboutin shoes. He pulled out his notebook and checked his information. The Dalek unit is rented by Julian Fisher and this unit, oh, it’s rented by Jeremy Gubbins.’
Anna held up a pair of sparkly silver stilettos. ‘Looks like Mr Gubbins has a shoe fetish. Shame, none are my size. Maybe they’re stolen goods. Or his wife rented the unit in his name and puts them here for safe keeping. Oh well, better check each box. There might be drugs hidden in them.’ She dug into the inside of a pair of glittering red stilettos with cold fingers, checking for packets of drugs. Judging by the numbe
r of boxes, it was going to be a long job.
Mitz left Anna in the unit and broke into the third unit. The light wasn’t working in this one. Inside it was dark, in spite of the strip lighting outside. He directed his torch beam around to see it was empty apart from a large wooden trunk, the sort used as luggage, at the far end of the room. Holding the torch in his teeth, he attempted to break open the padlock.
‘Anna, could you come in here a minute and hold the torch?’
She appeared at the door. ‘Lucky you. Only one box. I’ll be all morning opening that lot.’
‘Can you shine the light on it while I get it open, and then I’ll give you a hand?’
Their long shadows danced against the tin walls as Mitz dropped to his knees and struggled to remove the padlock from the trunk. The clasp wouldn’t give at first, but he teased and prised until it finally lifted away with a satisfying clunk. He tugged at the heavy lid which remained resolutely shut. Anna joined him and together they sought leverage, and with grunts, eased it off then pushed it back on its hinges with relieved sighs.
‘That was way more difficult than I expected.’
An earthy, cheesy aroma rose to greet them as they peered in. The trunk contained sheets.
‘Oh please don’t tell me we went to all that effort for a trunk of bed linen.’
Mitz removed the first sheet: cheap cream cotton that had been neatly folded. Under it were more sheets, haphazardly thrown in.
Mitz felt the sheets. ‘There’s something under this one.’
Anna wrinkled her nose. ‘Smells like rancid butter.’
A palpable frisson of excitement passed between them as he lifted the material in anticipation of revealing the stash of heroin. Anna shone the beam into the trunk and gasped. There were no bags of drugs under the sheet. Wrapped in plastic, arms folded across its ribcage, was a body.
Three
Robyn dug deep. She pushed into the sprint, feeling the warm pull on her quads and anticipating the relief she’d experience when she reached the end. She ignored the mild burning of lactic acid and flew along on autopilot, air rushing in and out of her lungs.
Her mind was not on running. She couldn’t shake the irritation hanging over her like a noxious cloud. Tom Shearer was out for promotion. Ever since the new detective chief inspector, Richard Flint, had arrived at the station, Tom had been toadying around the man. She suspected Shearer had talked Flint into letting him take over the drugs case, even though the informant who called the station had spoken to her, not Shearer. She replayed the conversation she’d had with the DCI.
‘You were not singled out by the informant, DI Carter, you merely happened to be there when the phone rang. DI Shearer has more experience with such cases. He was involved on several busts with Derbyshire Police.’ For a moment she yearned for Louisa Mulholland to be sitting in the chair and not the ginger-haired man, whose face was so smooth and plump that he looked like an overgrown schoolboy. His manner was brusque, but unlike Louisa, he would not look Robyn in the eye, instead focusing on some speck to the left of her. ‘I’d prefer you to deal with Stephen Hobbs. There’s been a burglary at one of his shops. A range of expensive mobiles have been taken.’
Stephen Hobbs was a high-profile entrepreneur with a chain of mobile phone shops. He was well known for his charity work and held an annual charity ball at his estate, attended by some of the UK’s best-known movers, shakers and celebrities. No doubt Flint wanted to ensure Hobbs received the police’s full assistance to further his own ends.
Rankled more by his condescending tone than his words, Robyn argued her corner. ‘I agree DI Shearer has more experience in this field, sir, but it’ll be a catch-twenty-two situation if you don’t allow me to lead this investigation. I’ll never get the necessary experience and you will always pass drug-related cases to him.’
Flint’s thin lips disappeared into his face.
‘I won’t let you down. The informant, Freddy, is calling me back with the dates and times of their movements.’
Flint took a noisy, deep breath and spoke as if she were a simpleton. ‘DI Carter, I can assure you that you won’t be passed over in the future, but when a large amount of heroin like this is involved, it’s logical to put my most experienced officer on the case. I refuse to discuss the matter any further. If you want to take it up with the super, go ahead, but I can assure you he is behind my decision.’
She had wanted to argue further but it would have been pointless. DCI Flint’s mind was made up. To be fair to Tom, he hadn’t gloated. However, it should be her at the storage warehouse, not him.
Around her, faces contorted with exertion and soles slapping on treadmills drowned out the pumping beat of ‘Eye of the Tiger’. Her friend Tricia wasn’t among the regulars. If she had been, they’d have buddied-up and matched each other pace for pace. As it was, with her mind elsewhere, Robyn had set off too quickly and was paying the price. Her legs felt heavy and her heart was beating too fast. She urged herself on, the room a blur, her focus only on the rhythm of her breathing. Her vest stuck to her back, and beads of sweat dripped into her eyes, stinging and blinding her. She wouldn’t break stride to wipe them away. She was too close to the finish. The treadmill’s screen showed one hundred metres remaining. She drove her legs into the speeding treadmill, feeling a pull at the top of her thigh but ignoring it, and pounded the last few paces, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The pain intensified, like a knife burrowing into her hip. She swallowed a cry and decreased the speed rapidly to a halt before limping off.
‘Hey, you okay?’ Jay, the gym manager came across.
‘Just a strain. I’ll be fine. Need to stretch it. I wasn’t concentrating. I had a bad day at work.’
‘I know those days. If you need a massage, shout out. Kath is free. She’ll sort you. Try icing it.’
‘Cheers. I’ll be fine.’
Robyn attempted some gentle stretching. She was now not only annoyed with Flint and Shearer, but with herself. With several marathons and triathlons behind her, she knew better than to let emotions distract her when training. She hobbled into the changing room, swallowed a couple of ibuprofen, and took a shower, all the time reflecting on her career.
It had been a struggle to return to the force after losing Davies, her fiancé. Louisa Mulholland had been pivotal in getting Robyn back on track. Louisa had recently taken up a new position in Yorkshire, leaving Robyn with an open invitation to join her, and although Robyn loved her job and most of the team at Stafford, she wondered whether she should consider transferring. The rivalry between her and Shearer caused a bad atmosphere, and it seemed Flint had taken an instant dislike to her.
She slumped onto the bench, resting her head against the locker, eyes shut. She was almost forty, unmarried, had no parents and no boyfriend. She could go wherever she wanted. Of course, if she moved away, she’d be leaving behind her cousin and best friend Ross, and his wife Jeanette, who mothered her at every opportunity. She wouldn’t see much of Amélie, Davies’s daughter. She was due to go to the cinema with Amélie and her best friend on Thursday. The thought made her smile. No, as long as she had Amélie, she’d stay in Staffordshire. The girl was growing up quickly and was what they called a ‘tweenager’ – she’d be thirteen in six months. Robyn couldn’t deny that she loved the girl. If Davies had lived, Amélie would have stayed over regularly. Robyn would have been her stepmother, a role she’d have relished. Bugger Flint, she thought as she shook her head and rose, wincing as she put weight on her hip. She had better get home and ice it. If she wasn’t in decent shape, Flint would pass her over for a lot more than a drugs bust.
She pulled her mobile from her kitbag and texted Amélie:
Looking forward to the cinema on Thursday. What do you fancy watching? Heard La La Land is good.
The reply came back almost immediately:
Rather watch Street Cat Named Bob. Florence said it’s sad.
Okay, I’ll bring a box of tissues in case we all cry.
Florence says we will cry.
I’d better bring two boxes then. I’ll pick you up at about four thirty.
Great. See ya then.
Florence and Amélie had been friends for years and were always at each other’s houses. Florence’s parents lived near Uttoxeter and trained racehorses. Robyn remembered Christine Hallows, Florence’s mother, telling Robyn it didn’t matter that Florence showed no interest in horses – as long as the girl was happy and healthy she could be whatever she wanted. She would be proud of her daughter no matter what. Robyn admired Florence’s parents, who thought the world of their only child.
Robyn mused that she too would have allowed her child to follow his or her dreams and been there to support them. As it was, she only had the sad memory of what might have been, having miscarried her and Davies’s baby after his death. She pushed the memories away. There had been too many tears. Now she had Amélie and, by association, Florence. She might even treat them both to a pizza before the film.
She turned the shower thermostat to its top setting and let the steaming water wash away all negative thoughts; when she emerged, she felt better about life. The pills had numbed the pain in her hip and Amélie had helped her mood. She could face Flint and Shearer again.
As she flipped her car boot to throw in her kitbag, her phone rang. It was Anna Shamash.
‘Boss, you have to come in straight away.’ Anna’s voice oozed excitement.
‘Did you find the drugs?’
‘No. There weren’t any.’ The phone buzzed angrily. There was another caller on the line – DCI Flint.
‘Hang on, Anna. Got to take another call.’
‘DI Carter, I know you’re off duty but there’s been a development and I need you back at the station immediately.’
Robyn felt a pull at the edges of her mouth. ‘Is it regarding the drugs case, sir?’
‘It’s related to it.’
‘Then surely that’s DI Shearer’s department.’
There was a hiss of irritation. ‘DI Carter, I require your expertise on this matter.’