by Jay Nadal
“Just one other question, do you have any friends of relatives close to Hove Park that might explain why she was there or the near vicinity?”
Newland shook his head is despair.
Scott had the feeling he would not glean any further information about the final moments in Christine’s life from her husband. He wrapped up the interview thanking Mr Newland for his time and asking him to remain at home until they had further news for him.
Chapter 10
“Everyone listen up, please. The investigation into the death of Libby Stephens has uncovered a much wider problem. We have a realistic possibility of domestic trafficking of underage girls for sex,” Scott paused for a moment as he cast his eyes around the team that had gathered in the briefing room. The numbers had swelled to more than double by the addition of officers linked to units involved with intelligence gathering and the safeguarding of vulnerable children and adults.
With the scale of the offences uncovered, it warranted extra resources being drafted in, and information needing to be shared. Scott felt a personal need to stop this awful trade in young, vulnerable children. That’s all they were in his eyes; defenceless, impressionable children exploited by sick, depraved individuals. It was natural to assume that the majority of offenders would be male, but in Scott’s time as an officer, he had come across women who were just as twisted and vile.
DCI Harvey, as usual, sat at the top end of the long oval table. Her eyes gave nothing away, but it was apparent that she was weighing up each member as she stopped and glanced at each one of them in turn.
“We think young British girls are being targeted, groomed and abused, and then moved around the country by organised gangs. We need to liaise with other forces around the country to identify the scale of the problem. In particular, Manchester and Birmingham because of what we’ve gleamed so far about missing girls.”
“Anywhere else in particular, Guv?” Sian asked.
“I’d also suggest major cities like Cardiff, Liverpool and Glasgow, too,” he replied.
“Have these gangs got formal links?”
“We don’t think so, Sian. I believe they just link together as and when they need to, but that’s to be confirmed. The key is to identify the big players. We have Johnny Wright in the frame; he’s linked with the most recent target Jenna Wade. She has been returned to Benedict’s residential unit and is back in school again.”
“How many girls are we talking about here?” asked a portly middle-aged male officer from the vulnerability unit.
Scott turned to the whiteboard and proceeded to tap on each image pinned to the board. “We’re not entirely sure, but we know of at least four who are currently involved in this. We have Libby Stephens, aged 15 from Brighton, found dead on the beach. Jasmine Reed, aged 15 from Brighton, found dead in Birmingham. Rishi Mehta, aged 15 from Manchester, alive and believed to be in Sussex, possibly Brighton, and Jenna Wade ,aged 14 from Brighton. Some are from residential units, which is why I believe they’ve been targeted; they’re easy prey. Others have been reported missing but slip through the net.”
A thin, bespectacled female officer from the vulnerability unit adjusted herself in her chair before adding to the conversation, “So where does the trafficking come into it?”
Addressing the officer’s question, Scott replied. “Intelligence suggests that once the girls have been sexually exploited to such an extent that they are now no longer fresh meat, they’re moved to another city for the whole process to start again. So Raj and Sian, first thing tomorrow, I want you to liaise with our colleagues in Manchester, Birmingham, Cardiff, Liverpool and Glasgow to begin with. See what intel they can share with us and then feed it back to the vulnerability unit, too. Mike, I want you to look at local men who are on the sex offenders register who we can squeeze for information. Many of them have their noses to the ground and can give us a head start.”
Mike stopped chewing the end of his Bic pen for a moment. “We know of one guy, Robert Shaw, a real fucking sick Paedo. I remember nicking him some time ago. He preferred girls in their teens, so I think it’s worth paying him a visit. If I remember correctly, he’s been caught near youth clubs before. Bit of a loopy case. He’s got mental health issues … think some type of personality disorder,” he said scratching his head. His face tightened as he searched for details from memory.
“Sounds good, I’ll come with you.”
With no further questions, Scott concluded the briefing. He dealt with the most pressing emails in his inbox, double-checked the press release going out the following day on Christine Newland, and was switching off his PC when Abby poked her head around the door.
“Hot date with Scalpel Queen tonight?” she teased.
Scott glanced up, a small smirk acknowledging her taunt. “Yes, we’re heading out for dinner,” his response taking him by surprise. It was the first time he’d referred to his relationship with her without hesitation or thought. Perhaps she was having a greater influence on him that he cared to admit.
“As my deputy SIO, I’ll leave everything in your more than capable hands,” he said with his hands outstretched in front of him. “If the shit hits the fan… you’re on your own.”
Abby’s eyes narrowed not knowing if he was being serious. As a deputy senior investigating officer, she’d lead on the cases the team were investigating, and it would be her call on what action to take. Something she looked forward to, whilst being shit scared at the prospect. “Seriously?” she asked with a hint of curiosity and concern.
“Facing the wrath of the DCI isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy,” he laughed leaning back in his chair. “Call me if you need,” he winked.
Abby mockingly wiped her brow and exhaled, “Phew! Go and enjoy yourself, you deserve it.”
***
It was a cool summer’s evening as Scott stood outside Harry Ramsden’s restaurant opposite Palace Pier. The town was still buzzing. Commuters were replaced with those heading out for a piece of the local nightlife. Scott watched as the traffic slowed to a crawl as they reached the small roundabout in front of him. Each driver playing Russian roulette as they glanced to their left and right before pulling out, the Highway Code etiquette thrown to the wind, with frequent thumps on car horns from frustrated and impatient drivers.
“Hello, young man,” the words broke the hypnotic spell he was wrapped up in with the drone of traffic. Fully expecting it to be Cara, he turned with startled look to his right. It wasn’t Cara, but a blonde, big-chested woman that Scott put in her early thirties, wearing a knee-length skirt, black knee-length boots, and a blouse with the first few buttons undone.
Her makeup looked as if it had been put on in the dark with a garden shovel. “If you’re looking for business, I’ll give you an amazing time. How about you buy me a drink?” she asked in a deep-throated voice that had no doubt had been ravaged by cigarettes. She chewed loudly on a piece of gum as she looked him up and down provocatively.
Scott thought only a cow slowly munching on grass could come close to the way she was chewing her gum. “What else did you have in mind?” Scott asked.
“Anything you want lover, you can have anything … for a price.”
Scott knew he could arrest her for soliciting, but he could do without the aggravation and the possibility of spoiling his evening back at the station. Pulling out his warrant card, he shoved it towards her face. “Take this as a friendly caution, I suggest you go home, put your feet up and enjoy a hot chocolate. If I see you out again tonight, I’ll nick you for soliciting … you’re choice,” he suggested raising a brow.
The colour drained from her pale, pasty, puffy face, the chewing replaced with uncomfortable teeth grinding as her jaws tensed. She rolled her eyes, and turned, leaving with a parting comment, “Wanker.”
As he followed her with his eyes, Cara was walking towards him, a curious look on her face as she exchanged a glance with the blonde, buxom woman who was now pacing away at speed.
�
��You two-timing me?” she teased, still looking confused.
“No, just doing my bit of friendly neighbourhood policing,” he replied, holding the door open for her as they went in.
The pair hungrily tucked into a large portion of cod and chips. Their evening began where their last date had ended, full of laughter and cheek. Scott was still getting used to the idea of just how easy it was to see the hours drift by in Cara’s company. She was fun, flirty, intelligent and attractive—oh so attractive, he kept reminding himself.
Tonight was no exception; her long flowing dark hair tumbled over her shoulders. She wore an off the shoulder, thin light beige jumper that hinted subtle sex appeal, her tight jeans finished off with black heeled shoes. He’d never seen her have an off day; even in her clinical green scrubs, she exuded a sexual magnetism.
Feeling incredibly full, Scott suggested they head over to the pier for a stroll.
They took a moment to soak up the vibrancy of the pier, the beach and the falling sun as they leaned up against the white railings. Looking out along the seafront, there was still a fair few people milling around. Some sat on picnic blankets enjoying alfresco dining. Another group stood on the edge of the beach taking bets as to who could stand their ground the longest before the waves reached their feet. Some poor sod lost the gamble much to the squeals of laughter from those around him. They watched as a dog ran in and out of the surf, jumping with delight as each wave washed over.
Cara turned to Scott, “You having a nice time?”
“I’m having a lovely time," he replied, as he hunched over the edge of the railings looking towards the water below. “It’s nice to get away from all the grief of work, to be honest. A bit of sanity in this mad world.”
Cara listened intently. “That current case with the girl must be hard?”
Scott silently nodded once, his thoughts sailing in the wind much like the surrounding seagulls who hung effortlessly in the air just out of touch.
She nudged him in the ribs, “Well, the night’s not over so let’s go have some fun.” With that she turned and was already heading towards the arcade that sat beneath the large neon Palace pier sign, leaving Scott to catch up.
The arcade was awash with the sound of chatter from the throng of tourists flittering away their money carefree on the numerous racing car rides. Scott was greeted by a cacophony of sound from all directions as flashing lights, spinning dials, the sounds of tumbling coins and musical tones lit up the machines.
As he looked around, it was nothing more than a den of soft gambling. A hypnotic place where very few won anything of substance, but it drew people in. Unsuspecting punters were willingly to part with their cash, in the slim hope of winning a handful of small change or a worthless small toy.
They cashed up a twenty-pound note and split it into two cups. Over the next hour, they moved from one machine to another trying their luck. The occasional win lifted their spirits and egged them on further. It didn’t stop their cash reserves dwindling rapidly as they got drawn into throwing more coins down the hungry throats of machines. The very same machines that had stood the test of time entertaining generations over the years.
Scott stopped by Cara’s side. She was engrossed in a coin drop game. Concentration etched on her face. She wanted to win, she needed to win. He watched as she dropped one two-pence coin in the slot. It bounced from one pin to another before finally coming to a rest on the platform alongside dozens of coins perched precariously on the edge. Just one coin in the right spot would tip them, and Cara seemed determined to be the victor. Cara dropped her coins at regular intervals, her eyes fixated on the prize, not averting her gaze for a moment in case she missed something.
He was drawn to Cara. Her energy for life exuding from every pore of her body brought a warm glow to him; it made him smile, it made him happy. A loud squeal broke his daze as Cara erupted into an excited frenzy as she fist-pumped the air.
“I won!” she screeched, before singing, “I’m in the money, I’m in the money,” and jigging her shoulders in delight. She reached down to scoop up her hard-fought earnings.
Scott laughed and shook his head. He estimated that in the time he’d stood by this machine, she’d spent three pounds in two pence pieces. Staring into her cup, she won the princely sum of thirty-six pence in coins.
After claiming her spoils, they walked back along the seafront to the Regency Square car park. Even amongst the throng of people and cars, they still had time to enjoy a pleasant and relaxing walk.
Cara finally broke the comfortable silence between them. “I’ve had a lovely time.”
“Me too,” Scott replied, pausing for a moment. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”
Cara smirked, “Hhmm, yes I know, aren’t you a lucky boy.” .
“I am, in more ways than you could ever know,” he replied as he leant in and gave her the softest kiss.
As he pulled away, Scott felt something that had been missing for many years.
Happiness.
Chapter 11
The property that Scott and Mike were visiting sat towards the back of the Whitehawk Estate, a sprawling development of council housing. For those who didn’t know their way around, it was easy to get lost in the warren of small streets with identical looking terraced dwellings. Scott felt a certain degree of sympathy for unsuspecting citizens who unwittingly took a wrong turn and found themselves deep inside the belly of the estate. It was bad enough turning up during the day, but he knew that at night, the deserted streets and estate took on an intimidating and chilling existence.
They pulled up outside a row of four terraced houses. Each one staggered back slightly from its neighbour to the right. A large satellite dish hung to the outside wall of each property. A standard brown wooden door and white UPVC windows added to the bland feel of the area. The overgrown garden was kept from claiming some of the pavement by short green iron railings that seemed out of place and more suited to a park or recreation ground.
As they approached the front gate, Scott noticed a few kids playing on the grass in the small playground provided for local families. The sight left an uneasy feeling in Scott’s stomach that gnawed away at him. The bait was far too close to not have gone unnoticed by the resident they were here to see.
They heard him before they saw him. From behind the overgrown bushes that obscured part of the garden, Robert Shaw was on his knees muttering loudly to himself. He was turning over the soil and picking out weeds around the few shrubs and plants that he had. The majority of his garden was laid with patio slabs making it a low maintenance space. He looked up as they stood over him; his back hunched over, his hair messy to match the unkempt beard.
Shaw stared at them nervously, licking his dry lips, hesitation in his movements as he looked around in panic to see who was watching. “What you doing here?” he uttered in a quiet tone. “I don’t want to be seen talking to you lot.”
“The feeling is mutual. Considering you have a string of offences against young girls, we need to talk to you about a case we’re dealing with,” Mike insisted. He bent down looking Shaw right in the eyes. There was no love lost between Shaw and the DC; their paths had crossed many times. Mike despised grown men who preyed on vulnerable, easy influenced children. He spoke to Shaw through gritted teeth, but Scott knew that Mike was just a tinderbox waiting to explode if the likes of Shaw or his conspirators antagonised him.
Shaw reared up and straightened his thin bony frame, his oversized clothes hanging off him.
In a muted tone he pointed a finger at both of them and spat, “I told you, that’s all in the past now. I’ve done my time. Yes… yes… yes.”
“That’s okay, is it?” Mike fired back, a deep hatred burning in his eyes.
“We can talk to you out here and give the curtain twitchers some meaty gossip, or we can do this inside,” Scott offered, looking around the surrounding houses.
Shaw spun on his heel and strode inside, muttering contempt, Scott and Mike
a few steps behind.
Off the hallway of this two up, two down, was a small sparsely furnished lounge. As Scott peered in, he saw a small television sitting on a milk crate. Positioned a few feet away was a well-worn, purple two-seater sofa beneath the front window, a stack of old newspapers scattered in a pile beside it. The green carpet was threadbare in places, and the whole room had a heavy smell of tobacco hanging in the air. Yellow staining on the ceiling suggested that the place hadn’t been decorated in many years.
The house was provided by Brighton and Hove council. The only obligation was to provide him with adequate accommodation. With his record, he found the door closed on most jobs he applied for, thus stigmatising him further. State hand-outs and handyman work helped him to get by.
Shaw stood behind his dirty net curtain, shifting from one foot to another, peering out nervously. He looked from side to side for any evidence of curiosity amongst his neighbours. “They can’t see me, no one can see me,” he muttered.
With his arms crossed, Mike continued, “I don’t know why you’re worried, no one around here knows we’re police officers . and no one knows who you are.”
Shaw swallowed hard, “Well I wanna keep it that way, you plank.”
“Of course if we wanted to announce ourselves and alert the neighbours, we could have turned up in squad car. I’m sure that would raise a few questions and make things very awkward for you. We wouldn’t want that, would we?” As Mike let the thought hang in the air, Shaw became further agitated.
Scott casually walked around the room taking in the bland surroundings. “Speaking of questions, we have one for you: Where would someone need to go in Brighton to have sex with … underage girls?” He turned to fix his stare on Shaw, not letting the man escape from his steely gaze.
Shaw ran a hand through his thick greasy hair, alarm written over his face. He was breathing erratically, swallowing hard, his eyes darting in all directions. He crossed his arms defensively. “Are you fucking joking me?”