by Lynne McEwan
‘I like to keep my hand in,’ replied Shona, deadpan.
‘Well, there’s a Rangers and Celtic game coming up. Fancy signing up for some overtime? Eight hours in the rain, with beer cans full of piss thrown at you?’
‘Aye, sounds grand, but I’ll pass on that.’ Shona turned back to her prisoner. ‘Mr Wazir, we’ll talk again in a minute. Think about what I’ve said. I can help you. The sergeant will ask you some questions. Would you like Shoku to translate for you?’
Wazir shook his head again. ‘No. Thank you. I understand.’
Dan took Shona aside. ‘What if he was the one who killed Sami?’ he asked.
‘If, at any point, it looks that way, I’ll stop the interview and arrest him for murder. We’d better take his clothes for forensics. Let’s just get him talking, part of him clearly wants to.’
Dan helped an officer bag Wazir’s clothes. Shona called DC Kate Irving over from HQ. When she arrived, it quickly became evident that she was expecting to conduct the interview on the suspect. Her face fell at Shona’s request to collect the clothing bags. Kate shot Dan a look of icy malevolence before stalking out of the custody suite and slamming the door. Shona felt a stab of guilt. It was Kate’s case; she had worked hard. But only Shona and Dan knew about the traffic camera photograph. She had to find out what Wazir knew about Sami Raseem, and by questioning him herself, Shona was protecting Kate from future comeback from DCI Baird. She had her best interests at heart, but she doubted her DC would see it that way. Shona pulled open the door and called her back. ‘Kate, a word.’
‘What?’ Kate looked surly and defiant.
‘Don’t dawdle with those forensics. I want you to draw up an interview strategy for Wazir. Keep it tight, just the baby milk thefts. You and Ravi will be handling this, I want you back here in an hour.’
‘Oh, okay,’ she said, brightening up. She was too pleased with the prospect to question Shona’s reasoning or even Ravi’s inclusion.
‘I need a quick word with Wazir first. Go on, get moving.’ Shona shooed her out of the building.
Wazir sat in the interview room wearing a grey sweatshirt and jogging pants. He turned the plastic cup of tepid black tea in slow circles. ‘You say you can help me. How?’ He studied Shona and Dan sitting across the table from him with a calculating look.
‘I will talk to the Procurator Fiscal’s office. In Scotland they decide what charges you’ll face, if any, based on the evidence the police put forward.’ Shona held out her hands, palms up. ‘But it’s like balancing a scale.’ She raised her left hand. ‘We have evidence against you that will lead to criminal charges and potentially imprisonment.’ Then she raised her right hand to the same level. ‘You help us to bring others to justice. If you’ve been a victim of human trafficking, if you’ve been threatened or made to do things against your will, we will protect and help you. That is the law in Scotland.’
‘You can judge a life that way?’
Shona folded her hands and rested her elbows. ‘I’m not here to judge your life. I’m here to find out how Sami Raseem died, bring closure to his family and friends, wherever they are, and see that those who are responsible pay for their crime.’ She took the speed camera photograph Dan had found from the file and placed it on the table. ‘You and Sami.’
For a moment Wazir stared at the picture in silence, before picking it up. He could deny it was Raseem. Identification linking this image with the post-mortem photographs would require expert witness testimony to persuade the fiscal, a long, difficult and expensive process. Shona held her breath. But the man before her didn’t deny it. Instead he pressed the picture to his chest and began to cry. He tipped back his head, his lips forming the words of a silent prayer as the tears ran back across his prominent cheekbones and into his cropped hair.
‘What will happen to his body?’ he said, rubbing at his tears.
‘It will stay in the mortuary until his family are contacted. If they can’t be found then the local council will arrange a funeral,’ Shona said softly.
Wazir nodded. ‘Samir Karam Raseem,’ he said when he had composed himself. ‘He came from Syria. Aleppo. He believed his family were still alive, in Damascus. Maybe they have fled now to Turkey.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The men who brought him here said they knew where his family was and would kill them if he tried to escape or did not do what he was told. They said this to me also.’
‘Thank you for identifying him,’ said Shona quietly. ‘We will try to trace his family and ensure he has a proper burial.’ She set the cold tea aside and poured out a fresh cup of water, encouraging him to sip it. ‘Imran, may I call you Imran?’ She waited for the nod. ‘A short time ago, Sami tried to end his own life. I was there at the bridge when he tried to jump into the river. He was helped by a man called Tony Kirkwood, who works at a charity in the town. Do you know him?’
Imran twitched his head in a way that said maybe he did, but he was undecided on whether to commit himself.
‘Tony wanted Sami to go to the police, but Sami was afraid of the people that had trafficked him in to Scotland,’ Shona continued. ‘What sort of work was Sami doing to pay back the gang?’
At this, Imran’s face creased in anguish and Shona thought he might cry again. After a moment, he bit his lip and said quietly, ‘It is best you know what sort of people you chase. Sami was paying off his debt with children. That’s why he tried to kill himself.’
Next to her, Shona felt Dan shift uncomfortably in his seat and rub his forehead as if trying to erase the mental images that had sprung up. She took a breath and pressed on. ‘What do you mean, Imran? What did Sami do with the children?’
‘I was working in a warehouse, moving boxes. But Sami, he deliver children like they were boxes. He did not know what happened to them. He thought people use them for bad things. That’s what made him sick, here…’ he touched his finger to his head, ‘…and here.’ Imran pressed his hand to his heart. ‘That is why we took the baby milk.’
‘For the children?’ said Shona, puzzled. The thought that this gang was trafficking babies for whatever purpose made her stomach tighten further.
But Imran shook his head. ‘No. We take the milk to make money, to get away. Sami meet this girl and she tell him we could sell it online and make enough to escape. We could pay the traffickers, go and find our families.’
‘So, what happened?’ Dan asked.
Imran looked at him for a moment. ‘You were kind to me when you did not need to be. Gave me water.’ He made a thumbs-up sign, recalling their journey from Carlisle. ‘So, I will tell you.’ Imran leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His eyes became hard. ‘The traffickers found out. They beat us and sell us to a new boss. He say, it’s okay. Keep taking the baby milk. It’s a good business, I look after you, give you new cars. Just pay me a little of what you earn. Sami handled the money. The girl, her name Ella, she help him. We hoped to take, maybe two thousand tins from all over Scotland and England. It was easy to walk in and out like a family. We would sell them with Ella’s help on eBay. Make enough for everyone.’
‘What went wrong?’ Dan said.
‘We sell them for less. Ella? I did not trust her. She a whore and took drugs. One day, she just vanish,’ Imran said bitterly. ‘The boss took what money was left and say we need to pay more. We are trapped like fish in a net that is smaller and smaller. We are squeezed so we owe him the breath in our mouths.’ He shook his head.
Shona had watched Imran as he told his story. She saw the emotions flit across his face like cloud shadows across the surface of the sea. Hope, cunning, triumph. The grey bitterness of betrayal and defeat. As he spoke, an idea, caught on the breeze, floated before her eyes. Finally, it zig-zagged down, coming to rest like an autumn leaf landing on the water.
‘This girl, Ella,’ she said into the silence. ‘What did she look like?’
Imran shrugged. ‘Small, like you, but blonde. Always the short clothes.’ Shona took out her phone and scrol
led through. She turned the screen to Imran. He glanced quickly at it then turned away and nodded. ‘That is her,’ he said with a look of disgust. ‘That is Ella. I hope you find her.’
‘We have found her, Imran. Her name is Isla. Isla Corr. She’s dead,’ Shona said. ‘She died about six weeks ago.’
‘Yes, Ella, that is her name. She is dead? Then I am sorry for her family,’ he said solemnly.
‘I think whoever killed Sami killed Isla too,’ Shona said.
‘They will kill me now for sure,’ he said, resigned.
‘No,’ said Shona. ‘I meant what I said, we can protect you, but you must tell me all you know. Who was the boss who took the money?’
‘I never knew his name. He just the boss.’ Imran brushed his face with his hand. ‘His face was thin. He had good clothes and a black car.’
‘Did you meet anyone else? Any of Isla’s friends?’
He nodded slowly. ‘There was a man of business. He help her sell herself for drugs.’
‘You mean her pimp? Do you know his name?’
‘Jay, I think his name was Jay.’
Shona pulled up another photograph on her phone and showed it to Imran, who nodded. ‘Yes, that is him.’
She tilted the phone to show Dan. On the screen was the arrest photograph of Jamie Buckland. ‘Okay, Imran. Thank you. Let’s take a break. Now, I want you to think very carefully about a solicitor.’ She held up her hand when he began to protest. ‘You have been very helpful, and I will do as I promised, but a legal representative can assist you in other ways. Please think about it.’
Shona and Dan watched a custody officer walk Wazir along the corridor to a cell.
‘Do you think he’s telling the truth?’ Dan hugged his notepad to his chest, his eyes full of excitement.
‘On Friday, Kate and I phoned around for trafficking intel in this area. There was none,’ Shona said, chewing the end of her pen. ‘Wazir said there’s children involved. I need to flag this up with Division and the child protection agencies right away.’
‘Perhaps there were no traffickers, and Wazir killed Sami and Isla to take the money for himself?’
‘It’s a possibility, but where’s the money? He seems genuinely afraid of someone, more afraid than he is of us. He was almost relieved to get the story off his chest and get into that cell. If what he said is true, this is a gang that haven’t been picked up by any agency yet. They must have a slick operation.’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘You’re going back to Carlisle. Find Jamie Buckland. Wazir’s identified him as Isla’s pimp. I want that little bastard picked up and any of his associates. Ravi and Kate can get the baby milk case progressed. That will give us time.’
‘Time for what?’
‘Time to work on who killed Isla and Sami, and why.’
Chapter 20
Dan pulled up behind a squad car parked outside the flat-fronted, red brick terrace on Carlisle’s Currock estate. As he got out, the two officers came to join him on the kerb.
‘No sign of life,’ said the larger of the two, hoisting up his utility belt and adjusting his stab vest. ‘Should have tagged the bugger, least we’d know if he was in there,’ he grumbled. ‘Job for the Jocks this, aint it? Waste of bloody time.’
‘Look,’ said Dan patiently. ‘Just go round the back. Check he doesn’t scarper.’
The officer scowled at him but did as he was told, slouching down the street and disappearing into an alleyway.
Dan hammered on the door. The second officer peered through the dirty net curtain of the downstairs window but shook his head. Somewhere inside, a dog barked. Dan flipped open the letterbox. The hallway was filled with a stale, empty silence. ‘Mr Buckland, it’s the police. Open the door.’ He checked with the cop at the rear of the property. Nothing.
Pulling out his mobile, he called the station. ‘Has Jamie Buckland been in yet? He’s on bail from the Dumfries Sheriff, reporting daily.’ Dan listened to the tapping of a keyboard at the end of the line and the desk officer’s reply. ‘But that was three days ago. Is that the last time he was in? Why wasn’t a no-show warrant issued? What do you mean, it’s in progress?’ Dan ended the call, shaking his head. ‘Fuck.’ He stared up the street.
The uniform officer had stood listening to the exchange. He rocked back on his heels, his thumbs hooked into armholes of his vest. ‘That dog, sir.’
‘What about it?’
‘Your fella’s a no-show? Might be lying dead in there. Can’t leave the dog.’ The officer gave Dan a knowing smile.
‘Right, officer,’ said Dan catching his meaning. He stepped back from the door. ‘What are you waiting for? Kick the bugger in. But just remember,’ he warned, ‘you’re catching the beast.’
They found the white Staffie pup in the kitchen, shut up in a soiled and stinking cupboard. It was delirious with joy to see them and ran trembling to the officer, who set down a saucepan of water which it lapped noisily. They searched the property but there was no sign of Buckland.
Dan called Shona. ‘Bad news, boss. Buckie’s legged it. Left his dog shut up. We can do the bastard for animal cruelty as well when we catch him.’ The officer was rubbing the dog down with a wet towel, washing off the worst of the filth. It sat patiently, watching him with grateful eyes. The other constable came back into the kitchen with a metal tin. With his blue-gloved hand he pulled out a wad of cash and showed it to Dan. He dropped it back in the tin and held up four fingers.
‘Shit,’ Shona said. ‘How long’s Buckland been gone?’
‘Last seen at the nick three days ago,’ Dan sighed. ‘Someone should have been round but they’re still getting their arse in gear. Sorry,’ he apologised, embarrassed by his force’s lack of urgency. ‘But listen, for someone who doesn’t claim benefits and does casual bar work, there’s a lot of nice stuff here.’ He glanced around at the wide-screen TV, the expensive music system and high-end leather furniture. ‘And we’ve just found about four grand in cash in a biscuit tin.’
‘So, we’re maybe talking alternative source of income, which fits with what Wazir said about him pimping girls,’ Shona said. ‘Okay, get an arrest warrant out. Put a trace on his phone. I’ll make sure he’s on our watch list too.’
‘What if he knows we picked up Wazir?’ Dan said. ‘The money could be the proceeds from the baby milk thefts. Maybe he killed Isla and Sami and has taken off?’
‘And left his cash behind? Wazir’s got no love for the boy Jamie. He’d have handed him to us on a plate if he thought he’d killed Sami. But you’re right, we can’t rule it out,’ Shona said. ‘Do a house to house, ask the neighbours. I know you struck out last time, but we might get lucky. Listen, Vinny Visuals has just walked into the office, I’ve got to go. Stick with it. Update me later.’ She ended the call.
* * *
‘Vin, how’s it going, pal? Dazzled by the city lights?’ Murdo said, shaking his hand as the rest of the team said their hellos. ‘Pleased to be back slumming it with us yokels?’ he continued. ‘Bet the beer prices in Glasgow were an eye-opener.’ Vincent pulled at the sleeves of his plaid shirt, swept back his long, dark fridge and smiled shyly at his colleagues.
‘Vincent, welcome back. Got a minute?’ Shona indicated her office.
When he was seated, she said, ‘We’ve been a bit stretched without you.’
Vinny nodded, crossing one long, denimed leg over the other, resting the ankle on his knee. ‘Yes, ma’am. Kate said.’ He eyed Shona nervously.
‘Op Fortress must have been interesting work?’ she said, smiling.
‘Aye, great experience. Got all the best gear,’ Vinny said with enthusiasm. ‘Encrypted cloud storage, remote access. Top facial recognition software.’
Shona was sure Baird’s team had secured the biggest bite of the budget cherry and, sooner or later, this would be reflected in her own slashed overtime resources. ‘Sounds great.’ She nodded, taking care to look impressed. ‘You still got access to the CCTV fo
otage?’
‘Yes,’ he said, shifting in his seat. ‘Suppose so.’
‘So, you could find me this guy?’ Shona showed him a picture of Jamie Buckland.
‘I might need permission from DCI Baird’s team,’ Vincent said uncertainly.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Shona reassured him. ‘I’ll square it with DCI Baird. Buckland’s not one of their targets. He’s a potential witness on another case, but we picked him up on the drugs raids. Local address, Carter Street in Dumfries. Op Fortress were monitoring it.’ She lowered her voice and turned her brown eyes up to him. ‘I’ll confide in you, Vincent. He’s not been seen at his home address in Carlisle. There’s concern for his safety. We need to trace any associates locally.’
‘Fine, ma’am. If you think it would be okay,’ said Vincent, reassured. ‘I’ll get onto it.’
‘Can you do it now?’ Shona turned her laptop towards him.
‘Now?’ Vincent said, a little surprised.
‘Like I said, there’s concern for his safety. Matter of urgency.’ Shona fixed him with a firm look, pushing the laptop towards him.
Vincent shrugged, then shuffled forward in his seat. ‘What’s the address? Carter Street?’ He began tapping into the CCTV cloud storage and an interface appeared, split into three areas. One showed the surveillance file images, the next detailed the watch team, and the third listed the suspects identified. The camera covered the entrance to a house and part of a street. Jamie’s name was tagged to four separate clips, corresponding to visits he’d made to the target address, a dilapidated squat, the hangout of dealers and punters. Shona ran down the other names, all known to her and all currently on bail. She’d send uniform round for a chat just in case he showed up at any of their gaffs.
Vincent ran the videos, using the specialist software to jump to the sections that contained Buckland.
‘That’s odd.’ He frowned at the screen. ‘Some of this is missing.’ He pointed to the time clock counter in the corner. It skipped forward in gaps ranging from a few seconds to nearly a minute.