‘Then I’d say she’s an excellent judge of character,’ she mock-chided him.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘put your coat on. It’s cold outside.’
‘It’s always cold outside,’ she told him and immediately regretted it because that was the kind of thing Peter would have said.
He’d managed to sort out a rental vehicle while the garage patched up his own car. ‘Bloody hell,’ said the mechanic when he surveyed the Renault’s cracked windscreen, broken side window, dented bonnet and pummelled bodywork, ‘who’d you fall out with?’
‘I hit a deer.’
‘Looks like you hit an elephant.’
They drove up to the quiet, mostly residential street with its little huddle of shops at one end. It was getting late but the lights were still on in the burger bar, the off-licence and the taxi rank and Tom eased his car into a space where they could see without being seen. The burger bar was dead, as you would expect for a Tuesday evening.
Occasionally a driver would pull up outside the cab office and go inside and once in a while someone went into the off-licence. Racially, they were a mixed bag, with white men and Asians who looked like they had been born locally mixing with other men who, judging by their appearance, may have been from Eastern Europe or a Mediterranean country. They had all adopted the same uniform of T-shirts, jeans and leather jackets or raincoats, which were mostly black. It was hard to tell a criminal from a normal person when everyone likes to dress like a gangster. They all wanted to look like a face – even the ones who were just popping out for a packet of cigarettes.
There were no signs of any young girls though.
‘It’s too early,’ Tom said, ‘let’s go.’
When they parked again it was within sight of Meadowlands, which was barely visible in the gloom. The building was lit by the single large light above its door. Whatever was going on inside was disguised by the thick window blinds. They settled down to wait.
Eventually the door swung open and a young girl emerged. Tom glanced at his watch. ‘Ten thirty,’ he said, ‘so much for a curfew,’ and they both watched her walk towards them. Tom had parked on the opposite side of the road under a broken streetlamp and he was pretty sure the girl would not notice his car among the row of others parked outside the houses. Sure enough she walked by without a glance in their direction, heading towards the cab rank.
‘What was her name again?’ he asked Helen.
‘Debbie,’ she said, ‘the one who told us to leave her alone, “for fuck’s sake”.’
‘You know if a beat bobby stops us we are going to have a lot of explaining to do,’ he told her.
‘I told you, I am not doing this on my own,’ Helen said. ‘It’s either this way, together, or not at all.’
‘Okay, I hear you,’ he said.
‘Anyhow, have you seen a single police officer?’
‘No,’ he admitted.
‘Exactly. I reckon this place is protected,’ she said.
‘You mean someone’s paying someone to—’
‘Turn a blind eye? Yes,’ Helen said, ‘but I don’t know how you keep every police officer in town away from a place like the taxi rank.’
‘Aside from the fact that no one seems to give a damn, that’s easier than you might think. The boys in blue can be ordered to stay away from certain locations to avoid prejudicing ongoing enquiries by undercover detectives,’ Tom explained, ‘or a politician can ask a senior policeman to go easy on vulnerable children to avoid a public scandal. Neither party wants to see the crime figures soar because of a raft of arrests of minors on drugs or prostitution charges.’
‘What a bloody world we live in,’ she said, ‘when people put crime stats as their top priority instead of arresting men who use vulnerable children.’
‘That’s how careers are made.’ Tom tensed then. ‘Here she comes.’ They watched Callie exit the care home and head unhurriedly along the path towards town.
Tom waited till she went round a corner then started the car’s engine. They drove into the main road, overtook Callie then pulled over to the side of the road, where Helen got out.
‘Callie.’
The girl took a moment to register Helen’s presence. ‘What do you want?’ she snarled.
‘I need to speak with you,’ she said, but Callie’s eyes were already darting around, as if she sensed this was a trap. Tom had not made his presence known yet. He hoped Helen, as a woman, would be a less menacing presence but Callie had clocked him sitting in the car.
‘What’s he doing here?’ she demanded as Tom opened his car window to explain. ‘You stole my photo, you bastard!’ she shouted at him.
‘I did,’ he admitted. He handed it back to her through the car window. ‘Borrowed it, really.’ She marched up to him and snatched the photo from his fingers. ‘I’m sorry. I just wanted to be able to identify Diane.’
‘To drag her back here?’ she accused him.
‘No,’ he shook his head, ‘why would I want to bring her back to this hell hole? Diane is better off in London and we both know it.’ That stopped Callie in her tracks. ‘I just want to know she’s safe and I’d like to speak to her about Sandra Jarvis. I need to find Sandra.’
‘Well, I can’t help you with that.’ And Callie walked away.
‘How much do you earn a night, Callie?’ he called after her and she spun back round.
‘What do you mean?’ She looked worried.
‘I’ll bet it’s not that much,’ he said calmly, ‘so I’ll double it,’ he told her, ‘if you come with us now.’
Chapter Forty-One
It took a moment for Callie to make her decision. He could tell she contemplated denying earning money at the cab rank but she must have reasoned he knew all about that, so there wasn’t much point. Offering to double her earnings was the clincher and she told him, ‘Forty quid.’ Tom knew she was lying.
‘I’ll give you fifty.’
‘You said double.’ But she was already getting into the car.
Tom drove them a few miles from town and parked up at the edge of a village in a well-lit side road with neat little houses either side of it. He hoped Callie would feel safe here and be more likely to talk. They both turned to face the girl on the back seat.
‘What about my money?’ Callie demanded as soon as the car stopped moving.
‘Afterwards,’ he said.
‘When you’ve answered our questions,’ Helen told her. ‘That’s only fair.’
‘Fuck fair,’ said Callie.
‘Why was Diane so keen to leave?’ asked Tom.
When Callie didn’t reply, Helen said, ‘All the girls seem to like it in Meadowlands.’
Callie turned back to look at Helen. ‘You got to say that, haven’t you?’ she told the reporter as if it was obvious.
‘In case Dean and the others get angry with you?’
Callie’s silence was answer enough.
‘And if they’re not angry with you,’ Tom said, ‘you get to do pretty much what you want,’ then he decided to risk it, ‘and you can go to the cab rank at night.’
‘Are you a copper or something?’ barked Callie.
‘I told you, Callie. I’m just a reporter who is helping Sandra’s old man find his daughter. I don’t have any interest in the men that own those little businesses.’ He was lying to her about that, for he fully intended to write something about them as soon as he was given the opportunity.
‘They’re my friends.’ Callie was defiant.
‘I know you think they are,’ said Helen, ‘but they are using you, Callie.’
‘Don’t talk wet,’ she told Helen.
‘It’s none of our business,’ Tom told Helen and when she gave him a venomous look he stared right back at her significantly, trying to convey the message that right now this was all about Diane and Sandra Jarvis. ‘Callie’s a big girl. She can do what she wants. Isn’t that right, Callie?’
‘Yeah,’ the girl agreed and she seemed to calm down a litt
le.
‘And if she makes a little money along the way, that’s her business.’
‘It’s not money,’ protested Callie, ‘well, sometimes, but mostly they just give us stuff.’
‘Cigs, booze … that kind of thing.’ Tom was saying it as if this was all above board and perfectly normal, his tone reassuring her.
‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘all boyfriends do that.’ Helen had to restrain herself from telling Callie that this was not how it was supposed to work with a boyfriend but she knew the young girl would clam up again if she tried.
‘It’s not as if you’re the only one,’ said Tom, ‘we know all the girls at Meadowlands do it.’ Callie instinctively avoided that admission but she didn’t contradict him. ‘You do it, they do it, Diane did it. No big deal.’ And he hated himself for saying it. ‘Sounds like an arrangement that suits everyone,’ he concluded. ‘So why did Diane want to leave?’
‘It wasn’t them,’ Callie protested. ‘They treat us alright,’ she said and Helen wondered about a reality where a young girl could actually be made to believe that sex with a multitude of strangers was alright. ‘It was something else.’
‘I know, Callie,’ he said, ‘we figured that out. We know it wasn’t the guys at the taxi rank that Diane told Sandra about. Like you said, it was something else.’ Callie eyed him warily as he spoke. ‘And, whatever it was, it was enough for Sandra to close the door on Diane’s room and sit with her all night while they talked about it. You told us they were both really upset in the morning and a little while after that Diane left for London and Sandra disappeared.’ He gave Callie a moment to take that in. ‘So what was it, Callie? The big secret Diane told Sandra,’ he reached inside his jacket pocket and took out his wallet, ‘the reason she ran away?’ Tom took out the fifty pounds and handed it to her. She took it, folded it and stuffed the money in her jeans pocket but her eyes never left his hands, as he began to count the remaining notes from his wallet. ‘Ten … twenty … thirty,’ he began.
‘What’s that?’
‘More money. Forty … fifty.’
‘What for?’
‘Sixty … seventy … eighty …’
‘What do you want for it?’ And she glanced at Helen. ‘I don’t do girls,’ she told him, ‘if that’s what …’
‘That’s not what we want, Callie, and you know it. This is easy money … the easiest you’ll ever make … Ninety … a hundred … there.’ He concluded by stacking the money in a neat pile and holding it out for her. She reached for it greedily but he pulled it away. ‘It’s yours, Callie,’ he told her, ‘the moment you tell us the little secret you’ve been keeping all this time. I know you know what I mean. I can see it in your eyes.’
There was a silence that seemed to stretch while Callie weighed up the risks in complying with him.
‘We had a problem,’ revealed Callie, ‘with one of the bosses.’
‘What kind of problem?’ asked Helen.
‘Which boss?’ asked Tom at the same time.
‘I don’t know his name.’
‘What does he do, Callie?’ asked Helen, but the girl seemed to struggle to say it aloud.
‘Does he mess with the girls?’ asked Tom bluntly and Callie nodded.
‘And you say he’s one of the bosses?’ Callie nodded again.
‘Does he work at Meadowlands?’ asked Helen.
‘No,’ she said.
‘For social services then?’ said Tom and she simply shrugged. ‘Or the council?’ He probed further. ‘Is he a politician,’ he offered as an alternative, ‘a policeman or a gangster?’
‘I dunno what he does,’ Callie told him, ‘but he’s one of the bosses.’ And they realised she used the phrase generically to denote anyone in authority. ‘He’s high up, you know.’
‘And you don’t even know his name?’
‘No, I don’t. He never uses it.’
‘I suppose he wouldn’t,’ admitted Tom.
‘But he comes down all the time.’
‘Callie,’ asked Helen carefully, ‘if you don’t know this man’s name and you don’t know what he does, how do you know he’s one of the high-up people?’
‘Because,’ said Callie with irrefutable logic, ‘he does what he likes and no one ever stops him.’
‘Okay,’ said Tom, ‘you don’t know his name, but presumably you could identify him?’
‘Course,’ she said, ‘but there’s no point, is there?’
‘Why?’ asked Helen.
‘No one would believe me.’ She said this as if it was obvious.
‘What if I said we believe you Callie? What if we showed you some photos,’ asked Tom and the girl eyed him cautiously, ‘and we kept your name right out of this? All you’d have to do is point him out then you’d get your money.’ He could tell this idea appealed to her. ‘How does that sound?’
There was another long silence.
‘Maybe,’ she said.
They dropped Callie back on the street not far from Meadowlands then drove away
‘You didn’t really believe that,’ Helen asked once they were alone, ‘did you?’
‘Believe what?’
‘That what the girls are doing with those older men is no big deal?’
‘Christ, Helen, how could you ask me that?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said immediately, ‘it was just …’
‘I was trying to get her to talk,’ said Tom, ‘and she did.’
‘I really am sorry. I am struggling with this whole thing.’
‘What’s happening is terrible and we will stop it,’ he said, ‘but first we have to identify this boss who has been abusing the girls at Meadowlands. If we do that, maybe we can bring this all out in the open and then they will have to do something about it. Can you get some photographs of Joe Lynch, Jimmy McCree and Alan Camfield from the newsroom?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘Bring a couple of other photographs too,’ he instructed her, ‘of people who have nothing to do with politics or social services.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if Callie picks them out, we’ll know she’s lying.’
Chapter Forty-Two
‘There’s a message for you,’ DC Malone told Bradshaw before he even took his jacket off, ‘from a Sergeant Hennessey.’
‘Really?’ Bradshaw wondered if the message from the time-serving waste of space was to inform him that Hennessey had made a complaint against him. ‘What does he want?’
‘He said they brought a guy in earlier who’ll be of interest to you.’
The man in the cell looked like he had been run over by a Transit van. His face was battered and horribly swollen and as Bradshaw slid the shutter back over the slot in the door the man next to him spoke: ‘And before you say anything,’ the duty officer told him, ‘he looked like that when we brought him in.’
‘I never doubted it,’ said Bradshaw. ‘Who is he?’
‘Name’s Colin Avery.’
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘The funniest thing.’ The duty officer was trying not to laugh now but the more he kept his voice down so the prisoner could not hear him behind the locked cell door, the more he struggled to keep the mirth from it. ‘He’s stalked a woman down on some land near Shaggers’ Alley, which is why Hennessey said it would interest you. She’s been exercising down there, jogging and whatnot. She’s about five feet nothing and weighs around seven stone in her bare feet but it turns out she’s only got a black belt in karate. He goes up to her, pulls out his percy and starts playing with it right in front of her, but instead of being scared of this pervert she ran at him and she kicked chummy in there right in the balls.’ He was laughing uncontrollably now. ‘But she didn’t just leave it at that …’ He was fighting to get his breath now. ‘She’s only gone to town on him … That little lass gave him an absolute twatting …’ And his voice went up several octaves as he wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘There’s not an inch of him that hasn’t got a bruise on it. If
a passer-by hadn’t come along at that point and suggested she call the police, we’d have probably found his body down there …’ He made a gasping noise then as he finally managed to bring himself under control. ‘We honestly don’t know what to do: give her a medal or charge her with grievous bodily harm. I mean, you can’t exactly describe that as reasonable force,’ and he pointed back to the cell which contained the bruised man. ‘I have never seen anyone happier to be taken into custody.’
‘Has a doctor seen him?’ asked Bradshaw, not wishing to question the guy if he had sustained serious injuries.
‘Yeah, he’ll be fine,’ said the duty officer. ‘He’s got bruises on his bruises but amazingly nothing’s broken, though I doubt his percy’s still working properly.’
‘Thought he might have been released,’ said Bradshaw, ‘with a caution, for what he did?’ He was surprised the man was still in custody.
‘He might well have been,’ the officer turned serious all of a sudden, ‘but we found something in the boot of his car.’
‘What did you find?’
‘A bag,’ said the duty officer simply, ‘and you wouldn’t believe what was inside it.’
‘Duct tape …’ said Bradshaw in a loud and clear voice that seemed to echo and the detained man flinched ‘… handcuffs …’ He let that sink in as he walked round the interview room, circling the table and chair occupied by the balding, chubby man with the vivid bruises covering him. ‘A balaclava …’ He altered his tone to make it appear as if he was saying that last word with great sadness, as if there was nothing now that he could do for the man. ‘And …’ he was saving the most damning part till last. ‘… an enormous knife.’
Bradshaw stopped walking. ‘That’s at least ten years right there,’ Bradshaw told him, ‘even if you don’t say another word.’
‘But I didn’t do anything.’ The man’s voice was weak, snotty and whiney.
‘You didn’t do anything?’ said Bradshaw. ‘You whipped your penis out in broad daylight and started masturbating in front of an innocent woman and you say you didn’t do anything?’
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