‘A lot of cabs have those,’ he observed.
‘Yeah, but he wasn’t a cab, was he?’ Not if he was picking people up from the underpass like that and his car had no markings.’
‘So, he’s got a normal car with a big plastic screen between the front and the back and a strange plastic pipe sticking out, and that made you suspicious?’
‘That and the hissing.’
‘The hissing?’
‘You could barely hear it, but he had the engine turned off when I got in and I could hear a very faint hissing sound.’
‘Then you put the pipe, the screen and the hissing together and you thought …’
‘Get the fuck out of there is what I thought.’
‘And you told him that?’
‘I said, “I’ve changed me mind,” but he just started up the engine and I knew he was about to drive away so I banged on the screen and said, “Stop the car! I want to get out!” but the car started to move off.’
‘There was no way he could have misunderstood what you were saying?’
‘I told you, I banged on the screen,’ she repeated. ‘Hard. I even said I had no money. He deliberately ignored me and just drove off. I thought, I’ve got to get out of there, so I did.’
‘And he didn’t stop, even then?’
‘No, and it’s not like he didn’t notice I’d opened the door and chucked myself out of his car. He didn’t even stop when the door hit the wall as he drove out of the underpass.’
Bradshaw had been busy making notes and he remained quiet while he finished them.
‘So, do you believe me or what?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Why would you make something like that up? Plus, your injuries are consistent with that kind of fall.’
She seemed satisfied with that but immediately went on the offensive again. ‘What you going to do about it, then?’
‘Find him, I hope,’ he told her. ‘With your help. Tell me about the car. What was the make and model, do you know?’
She shook her head. ‘No, but it was silver …’
‘Silver? There are a lot of silver cars in the North-East. Can you tell me anything else about it?’
‘Only the reg number,’ she told him.
‘You got the reg number?’ He was amazed she had had the presence of mind to try to remember it after landing so heavily on the ground from a moving car.
‘Yes, I bloody did,’ she said, ‘because I want you to catch the bastard!’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
They sat on the steps of the Collingwood Monument on the hill looking out to sea. It was a pleasant morning and there was no one else around except a handful of dog-walkers who were far enough from them for Francis to feel he could talk without being overheard.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ he said, ‘not really. I just got sick of the office job. I was doing long hours with loads of pressure and taking home just enough to survive.’ Then he added: ‘Like just about everybody else, I suppose. Anyway, it was a shit job, so I started thinking about ways I could earn a bit of money on the side and I came up with my bright idea.’
‘Prostitution?’
‘All I had to do was borrow some money to put down on a flat in Newcastle and advertise for women looking for work as escorts. As long as you don’t actually say that it’s sex work, you can get away with it. As soon as I had three or four lasses keen to do it, I put an advert in one of the porn mags and we started getting punters. The women got their share and I got mine. I had an older lass running things on a day-to-day basis and I just carried on with my life in Durham. As far as anyone who knew me was concerned, it was like the Newcastle place never existed. I just took my cut every month. It was incredible.’
‘But you were exploiting the women,’ Tom reminded him.
‘How? No, seriously. They were all volunteers, they all knew what they were getting paid for. I provided them with a place to ply their trade in a safe environment, and that was all there was to it. No one got hurt.’
‘Until the police raided you.’
‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ he admitted. ‘We’d been going for ages with no problems. I didn’t think anybody really minded. Everyone knows that it goes on. Christ, they even advertise in local newspapers in some parts of the country. I couldn’t believe it when all those police burst through the door.’
‘You made one pretty fundamental mistake,’ said Tom. ‘You didn’t pay off the right people.’
‘How could I,’ he asked, ‘when I don’t know who they are? Offer money to the wrong copper and you get arrested for bribing him.’
‘That’s the dilemma but, if you didn’t know who they were, you probably should have left that life to the professionals.’
‘Well, I know that now,’ Francis reminded Tom, as if the reporter had forgotten about the prison sentence.
‘What have you been doing since you got out?’
‘Nothing. What can I do? I’ve got a record that prevents me from getting any kind of job, even though I never hurt anyone. It was a victimless crime, for Christ’s sake.’
‘You must feel desperate.’
‘I do. Every day I have a knot of anxiety that I just can’t get rid of, right here.’ He pressed his fist to his chest.
‘If I was that desperate, I’d be tempted to contact some of my old girls and ask them to give me a few bob, just to get me back on my feet.’
‘Oh really, you think?’ he scoffed. ‘Do you reckon I want to go back to prison? I’m never going back! I only just got out of there alive.’ He shook his head. ‘So, no, even if I was the kind of man who wanted to blackmail women, which I’m not, I wouldn’t do it because it wouldn’t be worth the risk. Whoever is doing this thing, it isn’t me.’
‘Who, then?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Who knew the girls’ details apart from you? The woman you hired to be your’ ‒ he was trying to think of the right phrase for a brothel-runner ‒ ‘housekeeper?’
Francis shook his head. ‘She knew the girls by their chosen working names and had a mobile number for each of them, but that was all, so how could she trace them?’
‘How could anyone?’
‘I really don’t know … unless …’
‘Unless what?’
‘Unless they had the ledger.’
‘What ledger?’
‘I kept one with the girls’ details in it. It had their real names, their fake names, their age, address and contact details and a few bits and pieces like their vital statistics and what they were prepared to do so we didn’t get any disappointed customers wanting stuff the girl wouldn’t provide, and a photo.’
‘You kept a photo of the girls?’
‘One of those passport ones. And I made them sign an agreement, too, to say they weren’t coerced. The photograph was clipped to the document, but it was strictly confidential.’
‘Who else but you and the girls could have seen these agreements?’
‘No one. I kept it under lock and key at my house in Durham.’ He added, needlessly: ‘When I had a house.’
Tom thought for a moment. ‘Where is it now?’
‘I haven’t got it.’
‘Who has?’
‘Who else but the police?’ he told Tom. ‘They took it away when I was arrested. It was one of the main pieces of evidence against me.’
‘The police. Have they still got it?’
‘I assume so. They were hardly going to give it back to me.’
While Tom contemplated the implications of this, Francis continued, ‘Look, I don’t know who’s blackmailing the girls, but it isn’t me. I daren’t risk anything that is going to land me back inside. I wouldn’t be able to cope with going back. Maybe it was those people you mentioned,’ he offered, ‘the ones who put me out of business. Perhaps they got bent law to give them my ledger and are using it.’
‘Perhaps,’ Tom replied, though he could have added: but I doubt it.
‘Do I look like
I’m living off the proceeds of blackmail?’ Francis asked then. ‘Look at me. I have no life, and nothing to look forward to.’
‘You do have a life,’ Tom reminded him as he got to his feet, ‘and you should remember that, because I know some people in Newcastle who wouldn’t have taken the trouble to shut down their business rivals with a police raid. They would have left you floating face down in the Tyne with your fingertips missing.’ When Francis looked alarmed, Tom said, ‘Think about that the next time you’re feeling sorry for yourself.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Bradshaw dialled them from the hospital. When Helen answered, he said, ‘A man tried to pick up a woman in an unmarked cab and he wouldn’t let her go. He drove off with her and she jumped out of it.’
‘Oh my god,’ said Helen. ‘Was she badly hurt?’
‘She’s in pretty bad shape, but she’ll heal. She’s conscious and talking. She wanted to tell me all about this guy. I think he could be our abductor, and guess what?’
‘What?’
‘She got a reg number. Somehow, this amazing woman forced herself to look up from the road she had just fallen on to and she clocked his reg number. I think we’ve got him, Helen.’
He watched Eva through the hatch in the door. She was asleep. The young woman looked so peaceful, so devoid of sin. Eva Dunbar would never know how close she had come to dying. If the crazy woman in the underpass hadn’t thrown herself out of the car like that, almost killing herself in the process, then she’d have been Eva’s replacement and she would have been saved instead. The flame-haired girl would have been punished for her failure to obey the rules.
Not trying to escape was the most important rule.
It had happened before, years ago, and almost brought catastrophe down on them. When a girl who’d looked close to death had been left unattended for just a moment, she’d somehow found an ounce of extra strength and managed to break free. The whole thing could have been over then, but fortune had been on their side. Sarah Bradshaw was so far gone no one had believed her story. It was as if she was claiming she’d been abducted by aliens. Instead of the newspapers reporting her kidnapping and imprisonment underground, they told the story of a missing woman who died after she was struck by a car.
They were blind and could not see. Thank God in His mercy.
But it could never be allowed to happen again. Every lock, every key, every door had to be checked and secured before bed, the keys left in the locks from the outside, so the keyholes were blocked and could never be picked. Always the shotgun had to be on hand in case it was needed, and every inch of every room had to be searched regularly. Vigilance was the only way, and it was that vigilance which had led to the discovery of the tampered-with screw in the vent and the tool she had used to loosen it. Eva had been meant to stay locked in the underground room only while he searched the crate, but she couldn’t go back now.
Did she think he was stupid? It seemed so, and the discovery that she was no good caused him pain. She had been perfect. The hair, the plain dress, the lack of jewellery or any other adornment ‒ all hinted at qualities within her that could be nurtured.
A shame she had to die and be replaced, but the failure at the underpass had made him think again. He’d almost been exposed. Why risk it, when he already had five and it would be safer to give her another chance? She looked perfect. She could perhaps be trained to be perfect, if he was tough enough, if he could break her will. After all, this was for her own good.
And then there was her name. He remembered when he had opened her purse and seen that name on all the cards she carried to pay for things. Eva.
So much like Eve. The first woman.
She was a sly one, but he could be sly, too. He wouldn’t tell her he had discovered the tool and the loose screw. That would make her even more careful and deceitful. He’d let her think he wasn’t watching her so closely, the better to catch her if she tried to fool him again.
He’d give her another chance, then, but she would have to stay underground for good.
Bradshaw arranged to meet them at police HQ. He had already phoned his information into CID. As soon as he had brought Helen up to date, he left the hospital and went there.
DC Malone came back into the room as he entered it. ‘We ran that reg number,’ she told him, ‘and we have a match. It’s registered to a Charlie Hamilton.’
‘What have we got on him?’
‘Not much yet, but we do have an address and I’ve checked with Northumbria Police. They’re happy for us to pick this one up, since there might be a link to your case.’
‘Great,’ he said. ‘I’ll head down there now.’
‘What about me? Am I not coming?’
‘I need you to get me everything you can on this guy then call me up before I go in there.’
‘What about back-up?’ she asked, because she wanted in on this one, too. ‘Kane said to be careful with this and not just go barging in on your own.’
‘Get Jack Gibson to meet me there.’
‘Who’s Jack Gibson?’
‘A specially trained officer.’
‘Specially trained in what?’ asked Malone.
‘Firearms.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
1976
‘Warum?’ she asked him, before quickly correcting herself. Ingrid knew how much he hated it when she used her old language. She knew it, but she still did it. Careless, stupid bitch. ‘Why?’
He greeted this with the same stony silence that followed every word his wife had uttered to him in the past three days.
‘Why won’t you speak to me, Samuel?’ Her voice was high, the tone pleading; she was desperate now, he could tell. Ingrid needed human contact more than he did, which meant he was winning.
Good.
‘What have I done?’ she demanded. ‘Can you not tell me that, please? What have I done?’
If she didn’t know, he certainly wasn’t going to tell her.
It was the ingratitude that hurt him the most. He had saved Ingrid from her home, from her parents, from herself and her own sinful nature. If it hadn’t been for his act of charity, she’d be lying down with squaddies every night for a packet of cigs. Instead she was safe and warm in her own home with food on the table, all provided by him, but it wasn’t enough for her. He just wanted Ingrid to stay here in their apartment and avoid the corruption of the outside world. He would spare her that. She didn’t have to work or shop or meet anyone at all. He took care of everything. All he asked from her in return was just a little bit of obedience, for the girl to understand and obey his rules. Was that really too much? It seemed it was, for Ingrid.
She started sobbing uncontrollably then and, as the tears fell, her voice was distorted by her crying until it became the snotty, whining protest of a child. ‘Ich bin so einsam,’ she said.
The words seemed to cut him.
Ich bin so einsam.
Of all the ungrateful, hurtful, selfish …
It was no use. He was going to have to lock her in again.
Ich bin so einsam.
I am so lonely.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
In the end, three armed officers descended on 17 Mercer Road, as well as DS Bradshaw and two other uniformed policemen. They parked in the main street so they could not be seen from Hamilton’s two-up two-down.
‘You’d better wait in the car,’ Bradshaw told Tom and Helen, and when Tom bridled he said, ‘In case there’s any shooting.’ He shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t want any journalists to come to any harm.’
‘Too much paperwork?’ asked Tom.
‘Exactly, and the chief constable hates to pay compensation.’
‘We’ll stay here on one condition. If you get anything juicy that can be used in a story, you give it to us and no one else.’
‘I’m a respectable officer of the law,’ said Bradshaw. ‘I never leak information to journalists.’
‘Not you, no,’ Tom assured him. ‘But an anonymous police sourc
e might.’
‘Yes,’ said Bradshaw quietly. ‘I suppose he might.’
Moments later, Bradshaw led the way towards the house, at the head of a column of policemen who were moving swiftly but quietly down the street. There wasn’t much light from the streetlamps, just a dull yellow glow that left most of the street in darkness, and that suited their purpose. The curtains were all drawn, so there was little danger of them being spotted before they got there, and men were sent round to cover the back of the house.
Only when they reached the front door did DC Gibson and his colleagues produce the handguns they were carrying. They held the Smith & Wesson .38s low and pointing down until they were needed, ready to raise them and fire if necessary. They had debated whether to try a knock at the door first but had discounted that idea. If the owner of the house was the man who had tried to abduct the girl, he would surely be expecting them. Better to have at least an element of surprise by breaking the door down.
The officer with the battering ram stepped forward between his armed colleagues, who stood either side of the doorframe, tensed in readiness. He took a step closer then swung the battering ram back to get some momentum and crashed it against the door. There was a bang and the wood splintered, but the door did not give way and a dog started to bark incessantly from a neighbour’s house. It took two more smashes of the battering ram to break it down. The armed police rushed inside, pointing their guns out in front of them.
As they were going in, a pale, gaunt figure was rushing towards them, presumably panicked by the sound of his front door coming off its hinges.
‘Armed police!’ the men yelled at once and the terrified man slid to a halt, his eyes wide. ‘On your knees! On your knees!’ Then someone shouted, ‘Drop it! Drop it now!’ Bradshaw could see the man had something in his hand, but he couldn’t tell what it was through the gloom and his partially obscured view.
Oh Christ, don’t shoot him if he’s only carrying a newspaper.
He strained to look over his colleague’s shoulder and saw the man let go of something. It hit the floor and rolled away.
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