The Major Crimes Team - Vol 1: Lines of Enquiry

by Graham Smith

  Lauren took her usual seat and then looked at Evans with innocent enquiry all over her face.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘What did you learn at Shakers last night?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Don’t even try and deny it. I had Jabba trace your mobile yesterday. You went to Shakers for an hour in the late afternoon then you were there from nine until just after one.’ Evans took a sip of his coffee. ‘When you came to me with those allegations, I could tell you weren’t going to take no for an answer. I know what you’re like. There’s no way you’d let it go after what happened to your cousin. The next logical step for you was to get a job there and try to get enough evidence to convince me to look into it.’

  Lauren’s face flushed with anger as she rose to her feet and leaned across the desk at Evans.

  ‘I thought you’d try to stop me if I told you what I planned to do. Instead you worked it out and let me do it anyway. I don’t like being used. I don’t like it one little bit.’

  ‘And I don’t like members of my team going behind my back taking unauthorised undercover roles. Especially when they’re stripping.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you stop me?’

  ‘Would you have listened if I tried to talk you out of it?’ Evans waved a hand. ‘Don’t even bother to answer. We all know you wouldn’t. The only way to stop you was to grass you up to the brass or to Nicholson. You’d have lost your career or Nicholson would have cleaned up his act. Yes, I have been using you. I’ll admit that. But what you don’t know is that I had Jabba watching the front of the club and Bhaki watching the back. If you’d left through either door with anyone, they’d have called backup and then stepped in.’

  Lauren’s jaw hung open for a second before she recovered her composure. ‘So you posted lookouts? What do you think would have happened if they’d been spotted?’

  Evans gave a non-committal shrug.

  ‘I’ll tell you what would have bloody happened. My cover would have been blown and then I’d never be able to prove where Christopher got that dodgy ecstasy tablet from.’ Lauren fixed Evans with a ferocious stare. ‘Either back me or sack me. But don’t ever use me.’

  Evans looked down at his desk. ‘I was backing you Lauren. You were off the books investigating a lead which we didn’t have enough proof to follow. What would you have had me do? Send in a gang of plain clothes coppers from another area? They’d have been rumbled in minutes. The only way to handle this was to let you do your own thing and provide discreet support.’

  Lauren slumped back into her seat.

  ‘Here.’ Chisholm extended his hand towards Lauren. A small jewellery case was between his fingers. ‘Gies your mobile.’

  ‘Why?’ The fight had evaporated from her as she realised Evans’s hands had been tied by bureaucracy and her actions.

  ‘I’m gonna put an app onto it which’ll let me listen to anything the microphones in these earrings pickup.’

  Lauren’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve never heard of anything like this in the police tech armoury, where’d you get it from?’

  Chisholm pointed at his computer. ‘Courtesy of a certain Mr Google and the guv’s credit card.’

  * * * *

  Lauren walked into Shakers with a confident strut. Now she had the backing of Harry Evans and the rest of the team, she felt the odds of getting a result had taken a big swing in her favour.

  Her shift last Saturday had passed without event. Katya had left her alone and nobody had asked her for anything other than an ordinary dance.

  She had her suspicions though. Candy seemed to get more than her fair share of dances. Which considering her looks rang alarm bells. Coupled with the high number of people who came in, had one dance with her then left, it seemed obvious she was the main supplier.

  Lauren had also noticed the men who took a dance with Candy often spoke to Katya first.

  She didn’t need her detective skills to work out Katya was in charge of the operation and was referring the men onto Candy.

  Dropping her bag into the changing room, she interrupted a hissed exchange between Katya and Scarlett. Candy was nowhere to be seen. Whatever they were arguing about, it was clear Scarlett was saying no to Katya.

  Scarlett stormed out, Lauren pretended she hadn’t noticed their argument, and began to change into the outfit she’d chosen for tonight’s shift.

  ‘I want talk to you.’

  ‘What is it?’ Lauren looked at Katya, expecting another bout of antagonism.

  ‘We get off on … how you say? Wrong leg?’

  Lauren didn’t correct her. Didn’t trust herself to speak. Whatever Katya was up to, it seemed an olive branch was about to be offered. Inside her chest, her heart thumped hard metronomic beats as adrenaline coursed through her system.

  ‘True.’

  ‘I be bitch for no reason. Am sorry.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  Lauren bent down and picked up one of her shoes, desperate to appear cool even though she could feel the prickles of excited sweat starting to form on her body. Balancing on one leg she wriggled the shoe onto her foot: waiting for Katya to continue while trying to appear indifferent.

  ‘You good dancer. Men like you, want lots of dances.’

  Lauren threw out a baited hook. ‘Shame they don’t want more dances. I need every penny I can get.’

  ‘Do you want make extra money?’ Katya gave the smile of a predator looking at wounded prey.

  ‘Depends what I have to do to make it. I ain’t doing porn or sleeping with anyone.’

  ‘Is not porn.’ Katya straightened her back, indignance written all over her face. ‘I not prostitute.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Lauren tried to put contrition on her face as she thought of a way to get the conversation back on track. It wasn’t her intention to halt Katya’s flow, but she knew she had to stay in the role she’d assumed.

  Katya rescued her. ‘Way to make money is easier.’

  ‘What is it then, what would I have to do?’

  ‘When men ask for deluxe, superior or executive dance you give ten pound dance and special packet. Take fifty pounds off men. You keep ten for dance and get extra ten for delivering packages. Rest goes to Kevin at end of night.’

  Lauren could feel the power of Katya’s gaze as she pretended to consider the proposal. This was exactly what she wanted and by mentioning Kevin, Katya also implicated Scruffy and by extension Nicholson.

  She just hoped Chisholm’s gadget had recorded the conversation. It had worked fine when they’d tested it, but too often, technology failed at the critical moment.

  Remembering the discussions with Evans and the rest of the team, she knew she would have to play things very cleverly. They recording they were getting wouldn’t stand up in court and all the evidence they had so far would expose Lauren’s undercover role. What they needed to do was catch Kevin or Katya with the drugs on them and press them for a confession. If either could be turned, they would be able to bring down Nicholson or at the very least force the closure of this club.

  ‘I’ll do it.’ Lauren looked Katya in the eye. ‘I’m guessing I shouldn’t ask what’s in the packages should I?’

  ‘Up to you.’ Katya reached into her bag and pulled out a brown paper bag. ‘Is five of each in here. All marked.’

  Lauren peeked into the bag and saw a collection of paper wraps. Each was marked with a letter identifying the dance it belonged to.

  Leaning close to Katya, Lauren whispered in her ear. ‘Which one is the charlie, and do I get a discount?’

  Katya’s smile was rapacious as she digested Lauren’s question.

  ‘Is marked with S. No discount, but is good stuff. Worth every penny.’

  Lauren stashed the content of the paper bag in her purse and walked into the main room. She had to fight to keep the smile off her face. If Chisholm had heard the conversation with Katya, he would be beginning to mobilise the troops.

  The plan was that she
was to pretend to sell out of the drugs and ask for more. Once she’d done that, she was to go outside for a cigarette. Once outside she would be seen by Chisholm who would issue the order to go. She’d have a minute to get to the bar along the street and lose herself in the crowd so she wasn’t picked up by the local plod when they raided the club.

  If anything went wrong or there was a need for her to leave, Amir Bhaki would walk into the club.

  Working throughout the evening, Lauren was only asked for a special dance once. Complimenting the man on his shirt, she did her best to describe him so he could be allowed to slip through the net lest his arrest lead to her exposure.

  Lauren caught Katya’s attention, after completing several dances. A moment later she saw Katya excuse herself from the man she’d been trying to entice into a dance.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I need some more S. I’ve none left and only two E.’

  Katya’s eyes sparkled. ‘I speak Kevin. Get more for you. You got money?’

  Lauren took Katya into the nearest booth and handed over a sheaf of notes. ‘I’m going out for a quick smoke. I’ll get them when I come back in.’

  Pulling a pack of cigarettes from her purse, Lauren made her way to the door. As she walked through the room she saw Katya making her way to the bar.

  Stepping into the street, Lauren gave a shiver as the night air enshrouded her exposed skin. She’d chosen to wear a skimpy dress which would be alluring to the customers of Shakers, yet still decent enough to be worn on a night out in a town like Workington.

  As she strode along the street as fast as her heels would allow, Lauren drew on a cigarette while calling Chisholm for an update.

  Hearing his voice she went straight into her report without any salutations. ‘I’m out and clear and on my way to the Blue Bell now.’

  Lauren pressed the phone against her ear as a souped-up Clio trundled by, a thumping bass accompanying its movement like thudding footsteps.

  ‘What’s that? … cool.’

  Flicking her cigarette butt down a drain, she popped a mint into her mouth and slunk into the Blue Bell. Making her way to the ladies, she found a vacant cubicle and whipped her dress over her head and turned it inside out. The reversible dress was transformed from fire-engine red to coal black.

  Leaving the cubicle, she washed the thick makeup from her face and tied her long hair into a pony tail. With her transformation complete, Lauren made her back into the crowded bar.

  Picking up an empty wine glass from a table, Lauren made her way to the bar and stepped into a space vacated by a large woman with distressed hair and too many ear piercings. ‘Can I get another Pinot Grigio please gorgeous?’

  The barman who served her was all smiles and she flirted with him as he served her. Using all her charm, she reeled him in until he was asking for her number. She gave a false one along with a fictional name.

  With her alibi established, Lauren stepped to the back of the room and waited for her phone to ring. The plan was that she’d wait in the Blue Bell until the raid was in progress, then slip out of a back door where Amir Bhaki would be waiting to pick her up. Chisholm had checked in advance and the back entrance of the Blue Bell wasn’t covered by any CCTV cameras.

  It was essential to the whole investigation that Lauren wasn’t identified as the source of the tip-off they were acting upon. They’d even covered her tracks to the extent that the mobile she was using tonight was a throwaway one. Her own left at home so it couldn’t identify her presence at the club.

  Slipping out the back door as arranged, Lauren climbed into Bhaki’s car and looked at him.

  Seeing the grave expression on his face, Lauren felt her stomach drop. ‘What’s wrong, has the raid not gone ahead?’

  ‘Yeah. They’re in there now. I watched them go in. They’ll get them.’

  ‘So what’s wrong?’

  Bhaki didn’t answer until he was stopped by the traffic lights at the corner of Washington Street.

  ‘It’s the guv’s wife.’

  Lauren’s stomach sank another foot. Whatever Bhaki was about to say wouldn’t be good news.

  ‘He found her a couple of hours ago. He tried to resuscitate her but couldn’t. The paramedics couldn’t either.’

  ‘No!’

  The one word couldn’t begin to express the anguish Lauren felt for Evans. He’d tried to be stoic throughout recent events but she knew how much it was affecting him. She’d seen the effort it took him to continue working, to hold it together in the face of criminals trying to get under his skin.

  Questions started to present themselves. Unanswerable questions, arriving unbidden. There was just one question that mattered to her right now.

  ‘How’s the guv?’

  Bhaki shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Chisholm tried calling him but he’s not answering. We only found out when Jenny from Control told Chisholm.’

  Another question pressed at her mind. One she should probably have asked first. As she asked it she recognised it for the straw grasping it was. ‘How did it happen? Was she attacked again?’

  Again Bhaki’s head shook. ‘There’s no details yet, but there’s no word of suspicious circumstances.’

  Washed Up

  DC Amir Bhaki parked in a gateway and struggled into his coat before opening the door. Torrents of rain bounced off the windscreen as he eased his way out of the car and approached the two disconsolate PCs looking over the bridge.

  ‘Why have you called out Major Crimes, surely this is just a blockage?’

  The older of the two PCs looked at Bhaki with a hint of exasperation that didn’t just come from having to stand in the rain. ‘Have a deeks yoursel’ and you’ll see why.’

  Bhaki leaned over the parapet and looked down at the roiling mass of water and driftwood, fighting to get through the narrow arch of the bridge. Nothing looked amiss at first but the longer he looked, the more he saw.

  Stretched between two oak trees on either side of the river, a wire rope hung in the water. Looking more closely at the tree on the left bank, Bhaki saw a second almost completely submerged wire rope.

  The twin ropes had entangled a number of trees washed down the river by the recent heavy rains, their bulky stems and branches forming a makeshift dam solidified by countless smaller pieces of driftwood caught up in their branches.

  One thing Harry Evans always impressed on his team was to look for what wasn’t there, missing items which were clues only by their absence.

  Looking down at the trees entangled in the wire, Bhaki saw heavy branches but no root ball protruding from the water. While the bottom part of a tree would be the heaviest end, the raging waters would soon strip away the soil encased in the root ball.

  Peering harder Bhaki spied a cleanly cut end at the bottom of a tree. The suggestions his mind was making were exhilarating yet disturbing. Raising his eyes from the torrent he looked upstream and found a possible motive peeking between the squalls of rain.

  With help from the first rays of morning light he saw the outlines of a building. Peering with more intensity he saw timber boards lining the gable. The front which overlooked the normally idyllic river showed huge windows rent open by river-carried flotsam. A doorway in the gable showed just three feet above the water giving him a ready scale of the destruction.

  The whole of the ground floor would be a mess of silt, twisted debris and foul water. The clean-up would take weeks if not months and would cost many thousands of pounds.

  Bhaki’s memory kicked in and he recalled a news item about the ruined building. It was to be a new restaurant. Owned by one of the county’s leading chefs, its opening was anticipated with excitement by many local foodies.

  Realising the seriousness of the situation for the first time, Bhaki reached for his mobile. The destruction to the restaurant was a secondary concern. The first thing to do was ensure there was no risk to civilians or animals from the rising flood water. Then there was the issue of the safety of those below the bridge
to consider. If the makeshift dam was breeched or the wire rope broke, the ensuing torrent of water would cause untold destruction to properties further downstream.

  Bhaki climbed into his car as DS Neil Chisholm answered his call. ‘It’s Amir. This shout I’ve just had is a bad one. Someone’s created a dam at the bridge. If it gives way there’s no telling what danger it will pose to anyone living downstream.’

  He paused to listen for a few seconds. ‘There’s two PCs here. I’ll get one of them to go to a farm I can see at the end of the road. The farmer there should be able to tell them of anyone who lives in the first mile or two. The other can stop all traffic from crossing the bridge.’

  Neither man mentioned Bill Barker, but each of their thoughts went to the PC who had lost his life in the floods of 2009 when a bridge he was standing on was washed away by flood water.

  Listening as Chisholm spoke, Bhaki watched the rain bounce off his windscreen as it was whipped by a ferocious wind.

  ‘The river is in a little valley and the road is built up to create a natural dam. The only way the water can get away is to go under the bridge or swell until it comes over the road.’ Bhaki wiped his forehead. ‘I dare say you could get a digger in to create another route for the water to go but to do that you’d have to dig up the road. It may be better to wait for the rain to stop and the water to drain away naturally provided the dam holds. I’ll get these PCs mobilised and call you back. Can you find out what the weather forecast is?’

  Approaching the two PCs who had retreated from the centre of the bridge, Bhaki issued some instructions. The elder of the two assessed his orders with a canny gaze. ‘Can you use your car to block one end of the road? I’ll keep traffic away from t’other.’

  Bhaki nodded as the man headed away to do his task. From the purposeful set to his stride, he suspected the man knew of a barn or building where he could shelter from the rain.

  Leaving the other PC to see the farmer and alert anyone else who may be at risk, Bhaki climbed into his car and pulled out of the parking space. Building up as much speed as possible he crossed the bridge as quickly as possible then slammed on the brakes to negotiate a sharp corner. Reaching a small junction at the end of the road, he manoeuvred the car back and forth until it blocked the road. Walking back to the bridge with the cold rain stinging any exposed skin, he started to chew over possible motives for blocking the river.