by Jay Nadal
Scott didn’t need to ask again, choosing to push past Renshaw followed by the other officers. “New evidence has come to light from a credible witness that suggests girls have been sexually abused and tortured in your basement. We’re here to have a look,” his eyes firmly fixed on Renshaw.
Renshaw swallowed nervously, his already parched mouth unable to quench his dry throat. He desperately tried to lick his lips, frozen to the spot and unable to respond. Panic was growing inside him. He nervously looked around the pub, thinking of ways to stall them. “You can’t just barge in here. If you want to search this place, you need a warrant!” he fumed, trying to buy himself time.
Scott could see that Mike was getting agitated with Renshaw’s delaying tactics, his face dead pan, his eyes narrowing and just the slightest hint of Mike’s forehead twitching.
“Well Mr Renshaw, we’re more than happy to if needed, but consider your position. You’re implicated in the rape and torture of girls on your property. You’re also implicated with having sex with an underage girl who died within hours of seeing you. We also have you on a charge of supplying drugs to an underage girl who died within hours of seeing you. So you’re in a big pile of elephant shit up to your neck. As far as I can see, you’ve just traded your last day as the licensee.”
Renshaw’s brow was sweating; he ran his hands through his hair, nervously pacing back-and-forth, staring wildly at the floor. The two uniformed officers were more alert now moving into position behind Renshaw just in case there was a change in his behaviour and he needed to be restrained.
Renshaw’s character was morphing in front of them. He was becoming a gibberish wreck, muttering incomprehensible words to himself. “They made me … they made me … they forced me … I can’t stop them, they’ll kill me.”
“I want you to stay here with the two uniformed officers, Mr Renshaw, while we go down to have a look,” Scott said in a firm directive tone.
Renshaw didn’t acknowledge Scott’s intention; he was consumed in his own deep thoughts, his hands gripping either side of his head.
Scott’s team made their way down a series of worn concrete steps into the dark and dingy cellar. Scott led the way tapping the wall with one hand searching for light whilst he steadied himself with his other hand on the wall. Finally finding the switch he flicked it on, a singular bulb cast a dull glow around the room in front of them as they reach the bottom step.
The cellar was a cold, dark and damp place. The only sounds around them were those of their own footsteps and breathing. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness. The room had a lowered ceiling which left little headspace for Scott causing him to bow a little. He saw a long room ahead of them, with bare brick walls that had been organised into two sections.
Immediately in front of them were several rows of beer kegs. One line of kegs was positioned against the wall, attached by plastic lines that disappeared into the roof cavity and no doubt ended up behind the bar. It was the space beyond the kegs that alerted Scott. The three of them walked a few feet before stopping. A partition wall with a door had been built across the far end of the cellar. Scott reached for the handle. As he pushed the door open, Scott stretched out both arms to either side to stop Abby and Mike from moving any further into the room. They stood in silence taking in how this section of the room had been re-modelled.
“Fucking Christ,” was all that Abby could muster.
On the wall to the left were two thick chains anchored into the wall about six feet from the floor. At the end of each chain hung a handcuff. To the right of them and up against the wall lay a beer keg on its side. Above it, attached to the wall were two hooks each with a pair of handcuffs hanging from them.
Scott stared in disbelief, unable to comprehend just what atrocities had taken place here, and what the victims had suffered. His attention was drawn away when Abby nudged him in the ribs. He looked toward where Abby was staring.
On the floor close by lay a small light blue T-shirt, with dark brown splatters. Not far from it lay a hammer, a screwdriver and several pairs of pliers of different shapes and sizes. Empty bottles of Holston Pils lay scattered around them. Scott recalled that based on the conversation with Sabina, it was likely that this is where the girls had been plied with drink before being tortured and raped.
“Mike, go upstairs and arrest that shit. Abby can you get onto scientific services; we need SOCO to do a full sweep here.” Scott was alone in silence. He surveyed the scene, haunted by the words Sabina had uttered in her interview. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He wasn’t sure if it was due to the temperature of the cellar, or the emotions that washed over him, a sense of guilt and regret for not helping these girls sooner.
***
Mark Renshaw was sitting in the interview suite accompanied by his solicitor. A short squat dumpy man, who Scott recognised as a duty solicitor he’d clashed horns with frequently. He was a man who seemed to relish the opportunity to scrutinise and dissect any case that his clients found themselves in. From first appearances, Renshaw looked terrified and jittery. Scott and Abby joined them; Abby did the formal introductions, reasons for arrest and activation of the voice recorder.
Renshaw had been advised by his solicitor to offer nothing more than no comment to the questions posed by the officers. Simple questions about how long he’d run the pub? Who else had access to the basement? And, how much was he aware of in terms of what was going on down there? Were met with a wall of silence, and the proverbial but shaky no comment. Scott continued; he needed to push Renshaw, he needed to get this man talking. In Scott’s favour he had a very detailed witness statement from Sabina, however to continue building a tight case, he needed Renshaw.
If there was one weak link in this operation, it was Renshaw.
“Did you know girls were being tortured in your basement?”
“No comment,” was the faltering reply.
“Did you take part in the systematic torture and rape of girls in your cellar,” Scott levelled.
“No comment.”
Scott needed to change tactics; Renshaw was as closed as a clamshell and he needed to steam this guy open. “Did you hear Libby Stevens cry and plead for her life when you tortured her there?” He asked with his hands placed on the table leaning in towards Renshaw.
That statement sparked a pain inside Renshaw, a pain that contorted and twisted his face like a melting pot of emotions waiting to erupt like Mount Vesuvius. Spittle oozed from his mouth, his eyelids closed tight, trying to hold back the tide of tears that threatened to escape.
Scott pushed Renshaw even harder. He needed to, he wanted to break the man. “You said, ‘They made me … they forced me … I can’t stop them, they’ll kill me’ … Who forced you Renshaw? Who can’t you stop? Who will kill you? I need names and I need them now!” Scott barked, slamming his fist on the table causing Renshaw and his ruddy-faced solicitor to jump.
Renshaw’s solicitor burst into life. “May I remind you, Detective Inspector, that my client is not at liberty to answer any of your questions, and nor do I advocate your treatment and style of questioning either,” he replied poker-faced.
Scott glared at Renshaw’s solicitor, enjoying the gladiatorial battle that was now taking shape. He had them both rattled.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it would go this far,” Renshaw pleaded.
“What went too far Renshaw? You raping young girls? You getting your kicks from humiliating young, vulnerable girls?” Scott pushed.
“No … no … it wasn’t me. What they did with the girls.”
Renshaw’s solicitor was remonstrating furiously now, advising Renshaw to say nothing more.
“Who are we talking about, come on Renshaw, you doing well, you’ve come this far, you might as well get it off your chest! Do the right thing for the first time in your life!” Scott prompted.
“They’ll kill me, I can’t say.”
“Well, you can either help us to catch the pe
ople who committed these vile crimes—the judge will be more lenient with you because you’ve helped us with our enquiries. Or you can continue to protect those people so they continue to make your life a misery whether that be inside or outside prison.”
Renshaw sighed in desperation as he saw his world falling apart around him. “It was Ardit Gashi and his henchmen. They were bringing girls in the pub to ply them with drinks, get them drunk, doing stuff to them, before moving them on elsewhere. It was the process.”
“What part did you play in it?” Abby asked.
Renshaw hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right way to structure his reply. “In return for using my pub and my booze, they let me have a go with the girls.”
“What do you mean, ‘Have a go with the girls’?” Scott probed.
Renshaw shrugged, “Well by the time they were drunk, they were just lying on the floor like a sack of shit, so they let me do whatever I wanted to them. It was a free shag.”
“And what happened to Libby Stevens?”
Renshaw folded again, wringing his hands together, riddled with emotional pain. He cried, his voice broken, like the rest of him. “She was different, she’d been to the pub a long time ago, but he brought her back. She was crying and screaming, so Ardit and a few others beat her up, they went too far ...” his voice trailing off.
“What happened next?”
“I begged them. I didn’t want any more to do with this. I told them to look for somewhere else, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer. That’s when they came back and smashed up the place and beat me up.”
“To silence you?” Scott asked.
Renshaw nodded. His guilt exposed. His downfall complete.
Chapter 17
A rank tasting coffee from the drinks machine and a few packets of chocolate bourbon biscuits would suffice for a late lunch as Scott hurried from the interview. He was keen to update the DCI.
DCI Harvey was sitting in her office humming away casually to herself as usual, a knock on the door interrupted what pleasant thoughts she was no doubt entertaining. She looked up to see Scott and waved him in. “I had the Superintendent on the phone earlier this morning asking for an update, so damn handy you turned up, what have got for me?”
“Things seem to be shaping up nicely, Ma’am. We’ve just arrested the landlord of the Unicorn pub following interviews with the two victims we extracted from the house. Renshaw was allowing one of the suspects to use his pub for the torture and rape of girls. I’ve got forensics combing over it at the moment, there’s plenty of evidence I’m confident will confirm it.”
“Good, good,” she replied.
“Ardit Gashi, who we arrested at the house, is failing to cooperate. To be honest there’s plenty of evidence to implicate him with or without his statement. One of the victims has positively ID’d him from photographs. The punter that uniform picked up after he left the house admitted paying thirty pounds for sex with one of the victims. So cash has been exchanged in return for sex. I think it’s moving in the right direction. One of the suspects in the frame, Johnny Wright, is now implicit with the coercion and grooming of girls. Some of the team have picked him up this morning, the rest I can update you on later?” he suggested.
“Jolly good, Scott, give me a shout if you need my help,” the DCI replied. Her reassuring, smug grin grew wider, content she wasn’t going to get another ass kicking from the Superintendent.
As he left the DCI’s office, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Reaching for it, he saw it was a text from Cara.
Hey handsome, did my breath smell that much that you had to leave first thing in the morning? LOL … Only joking! Missed you this morning, had a nice relaxing shower before heading off to work, wish you could have joined me!!! Had a really nice time last night. Hope there’s no regrets?? C xx
Just reading the text brought a smile to Scott’s face. His mind drifted back to that wonderful night they shared less than twelve hours ago, which now seemed a distant memory with what he’d had so far today. For the first time in as long as he can remember, there was excitement in his life. He thought he could never betray Tina’s trust and memory. She was no doubt up there wagging her finger at him, telling him to get on with his life.
Your breath did honk!!… Only joking. Had a lovely time last night, wished I could have been there to see you wake up. Look forward to the next time you fancy a shower. X
He hit send and then focused on the task in hand.
Scott raced back to his desk and fired up his PC. He had a long list of emails still needing his attention. At the last count, he had a running total of two hundred and twenty-five to work through. Most were internal memos, or emails about news articles on policing or Google alerts. He knew today he’d only be able to clear a dozen or so emails. He shouted from his desk, beckoning Sian in.
Sian hurriedly marched in, a notepad under her arm, while she wiped away a few bread crumbs from around her mouth. “Yes, Guv?”
“How did you get on with looking into Gashi’s background?”
“I’ve got some promising information, Guv. Ardit has a brother called Korab Gashi, he’s known to run trafficking, sex and prostitution rings in Albania and over here in the UK. He’s been tracked a few times coming in by our colleagues in the Met vice unit. He only comes over once or twice a year. Their officers find it hard to track him because he comes in from different ports, Dover, Newhaven, Folkestone, Harwich you name it. He’s got convictions back in Albania for human trafficking and prostitution. The Met boys have broken up a couple of his operations in London, but no sooner has one operation shut down than another opens up. Plenty of foot soldiers at his disposal. And he’s nowhere in sight.”
Scott was mulling over the intelligence. “So the chances of catching him are small, but my guess is, he’s still in the country because we still haven’t been able to locate Rishi Mehta. We need to find her before she disappears for good,” he said. “At least we can assume that his brother Ardit is running one of the operations for him in the UK.”
Sian continued, “We’ve got Johnny in a holding cell. The funny thing is, Guv, he does not seem to be the slightest bit worried that we’re charging him with the coercion and grooming of underage girls. He just doesn’t seem to be bothered. He keeps saying that he’ll be out soon.”
“Well, to be honest, Sian, he came across as a smooth character when I first met him. We have a powerful victim statement, so he’s not going anywhere in a hurry. Okay, good job, Sian, keep me informed. I’m just popping along to forensics. They’re pulling off some history on the laptop I recovered this morning,” he said staring at the email in his inbox from the high tech unit. He knew the DCI would come in handy.
***
Tim Coburn was the forensic computer examiner that Scott had spoken to earlier this morning. As he stopped by his desk, Coburn was on his phone, no doubt having a personal conversation judging by what Scott overheard. “Yes, love, I promise I will be home by six tonight … yes … yes … I know … yes and I know it’s my turn to take Chloe for her swimming lesson….”
He shot Scott an embarrassed glance as he endeavoured to stop his wife on the other end the line continuing to give him a hard time. “Got to go, love, someone wants to speak to me, love you lots.”
Scott stood there with folded arms. He wasn’t opposed to people having personal conversations at work, but it did rile him when the conversations were loud enough for everyone in earshot to have a ringside seat.
“I got your email, Tom, what have you got for me?” he asked looking around the workstation. There were clear evidence bags scattered around containing mobile phones of all shapes and sizes. The large workbench behind Tim had larger clear plastic evidence bags containing laptops and PC towers. Scott estimated there must have been at least a dozen or so such bags. The DCI’s intervention had fast tracked his request to the top of the list, much to his relief.
“And it’s, Tim, actually,” the examiner replied annoyed with ha
ving his name mixed up.
Scott laughed to himself, having successfully wound him up. Serves you right for keeping me waiting. “And?” Scott said cycling his hand suggesting that Tim get on with it.
“I had a look at that computer you left this morning. Still need to be do a bit more digging, but I found a chat history. Here, have a look at this printout,” Tim offered, thrusting a sheet of computer paper towards Scott.
Scott glanced at it and scanned through a section of the conversation.
Lucy: I'm Lucy Newland btw, nice to meet you (smiley face symbol).
Johnny: Johnny here. Pleased to meet you too Lucy.
Lucy: Thank you.
Johnny: You are cute btw.
Lucy: Well I wouldn't go that far but thanks.
Johnny: Well I love your eyes in your profile pic.
Lucy: They're my mums eyes LOL.
Johnny: I can't stop looking at it.
Lucy: She has the same eyes.
Johnny: Is she as pretty as you though.
Lucy: Yes she's a beautiful woman.
Johnny: Perfect! Random question for you though, what’s yr bra size?
Lucy: That was a bit random.
Johnny: I did say it was a random question. Not going to answer it ...?
Lucy: Do you always ask random questions Johnny? I'm a B cup.
Johnny: Oh that's a nice handful. He he. (smiley face symbol).
Lucy: Cheeky.
Johnny: Have any boys been lucky enough to see them or even get to play with them?
Lucy: Well if I'm honest most boys at my school are idiots. So no, none of them.
Johnny: Never taken a pic of them?
Lucy: Never really had a reason to.
Johnny: Bet they look amazing like you.
Lucy: LOL. I see them every day.
Johnny: Lucky you i wish I could see! (devil face symbol).
Lucy: Im not sure, my dad will kill me if he found out cus I’m only 14?
Johnny: How wud he find out
Johnny: U don’t tell him, it's just fun
Johnny: We r not having sex