by Conrad Jones
“As expected,” Annie sighed. “She can’t give up her source as it would ruin her reputation.”
“She has a reputation to ruin?” Miranda said sarcastically.
“That’s what I thought,” Stirling grunted.
“I have the feeling that the disrespect is mutual,” Miranda joked. “Did she have anything useful to give us?”
“She was certain that they used a rib so we’ve got the Port Authorities checking the canal links and shoreline CCTV. They’re adamant that all waterway access to the buildings in that area were sealed off in the seventies but it wouldn’t take much to cut through the grills and they would be in and out unseen. Once the rib reached the river, it could vanish in no time.”
“Are you thinking a bigger vessel in the port or anchored in the mouth of the estuary?” Miranda asked.
“It could just as easily have gone up river or across the estuary to North Wales,” Stirling said. “There are plenty of places to launch a rib. It’s all speculation unless we get lucky with the Port Authorities or the traffic cameras. Failing that we have zilch.”
“I may be able to help you there,” Miranda winked.
The three detectives headed into the Drug Squad section, where a number of screens were being studied by a dozen detectives. They were greeted with silent nods and half smiles. She pointed to the largest screen. “As you know, there are no CCTV cameras around Jamaica Street so we asked the guys at traffic to look for vans entering the main arterial roads around the dock roads along Parliament Street. We got lucky.” She pointed to the grainy image of a black Volkswagen pulling out from a side street. “Twenty minutes past twelve, which fits in with our timeline, yes?”
Annie felt a rush of adrenalin. She always felt it when a lead popped up. “What did the plates tell us?”
“It was stolen from the Wirral two weeks ago,” one of the detectives answered without turning around. He followed a line on the map with his pen. “We can follow it down the dock road as far as Aigburth but we lose it here near the airport at Speke. Apparently, Vice has been focusing on a number of properties in this area for months, one in particular and we’re guessing that they’re connected to what happened last night.”
“So they’re still in the city,” Annie raised her eyebrows and looked at Stirling. He shrugged and nodded. She smiled at Miranda. “Good work. What has Vice said about it?”
“They have been watching an address in that area for the last three months. They know it is owned by an Eastern European gang and they’re putting money on it being the destination for the women before they split them up and sell them on.”
“We don’t have long,” Annie said. “They won’t keep them there for long.”
“Superintendent Franklin from Vice has jumped on it,” Miranda rolled her eyes. “He’s with the ACC now getting authorisation for Forced Entry Teams, Armed Response Units and he has a helicopter on alert. We’re welcome to tag along but Vice are running the show. We’re bystanders on this one unless they find the drugs.”
“What do you know about this ‘zombie’ drug,” Stirling asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Miranda looked at her DS, a man Stirling knew as Sykes. He turned and pointed to one of the screens. The image of a cargo ship appeared and came into focus. “We think it began coming in from Amsterdam about six months ago,” Sykes explained. Stirling couldn’t help but think that he looked like Mike Tyson in spectacles. “Zombie is a form of Ketamine Hydroxide, which we all know and love as the horse anaesthetic of choice on the streets. It is usually called ‘Special K’.” Stirling frowned as he listened. “K is related to Phencyclidine or PCP as we know it but Ketamine is less than ten percent as potent as pure PCP,” he paused to make sure they were following him. “Zombie is both drugs mixed together in powder form. In its purest state, it is lethal so they cut it and press it into tablets.” He shrugged. “Its effects gave it its name. Zombie is the most powerful hallucinogenic we have ever encountered.”
“And because it is so potent...,” Miranda smiled.
“Everyone wants it,” Stirling finished off her sentence.
“Correct,” Sykes said removing his glasses. “Users are paying thirty pounds for one tablet. It has devalued anything else out there. I could buy an ecstasy tablet for less than two quid now.”
“I bet the ecstasy dealers are pleased,” Annie grimaced.
“Matrix is telling us that things on the streets are not good. Tensions are rising and people are looking for those responsible for bringing it in.” Miranda shook her head. Matrix was the undercover arm of her department and their information was priceless. “The thing is, no one is sure who is bringing it in. Everyone wants a piece of the action and to sell it but they don’t know who is importing it. Market instability leads to trouble. This is the first definite lead on the importers that we’ve had.” She shrugged. “That’s why I’m so miffed that Vice is leading the raid.”
“I suppose if they have been staking the place out for months, it’s their call,” Annie argued. She didn’t care who put the handcuffs on them. She just wanted them banged up behind steel and concrete. Annie was in a very small and unfashionable club, who believed that the force was more effective when its departments worked in tandem. Some detectives were more interested in personal glory than justice. “It sounds to me that they have the biggest investment in manpower at the moment. It’s their ball for now.”
“You’re right,” Miranda nodded with a frown. “But aren’t you just a little bit pissed off?”
Annie shrugged. “A little.” She mulled over what had been said. Something bothered her. “You said that Vice think the property is owned by Eastern European money?”
“Yes,” Miranda answered. “Why?”
“Just something Barrat said earlier about Russian accents.”
“It is an easy mistake to make unless you’re familiar with the language.”
“I suppose so.” Annie looked at Stirling. “Can you find out when Vice are moving on the address. I want to be there when they knock the doors off.” Her mobile rang. She answered it and her face darkened as she listened. “Okay thanks. Stay on her.”
“Problem?” Miranda asked. She was distracted by her own mobile ringing.
“I’m not sure,” Annie frowned. “Antonia Barrat didn’t go home. She stopped off at a pawnbroker’s shop near Kensington.”
“I doubt she’s selling her family jewels,” Stirling grunted. “Do you think she’s gone to see her source?”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. Run a check on the owners of the business.” Annie felt the hairs on her neck tingle. Something didn’t add up. “We might need to pay them a visit.” She waited for Miranda to finish her call.
“That was Vice,” Miranda sighed. She shook her head, a worried expression on her face. “The house that Vice were watching,” she paused, “they think it’s on fire!”
“They think it is?” Annie frowned. “It either is or it isn’t.”
“Apparently, the entire terrace is going up.” Miranda looked at Annie, her face deadpan. “Could be a coincidence.”
“And I could be Mrs Clooney, but I’m not. Let’s go and take a look.”
CHAPTER 8
The North West Air Operations Group consists of four helicopters that cover five police forces, Merseyside, North Wales, Greater Manchester, Lancashire and Cheshire. Annie could see that one of the choppers had taken position over the area between Sefton Park and the river. Thick black smoke spiralled skywards towards it from a row of three storey Victorian townhouses. Crowds were gathering at the cordons at each end of the street where uniformed officers struggled against the wind to hang yellow tape from the lampposts. Three fire engines poured water into the front of the burning buildings, the resulting towers of steam mingled with the smoke as they climbed skyward. Firemen clad in yellow and using respirators entered one of the buildings and the time ticked painfully slowly by as Annie waited for them to reappear. All eyes were fixat
ed on the doorway, from which billowed thick black smoke. When they eventually did appear, they carried the naked body of a male between them. Paramedics rushed forward but Annie had seen enough corpses to know that he was beyond medical help. A prayer would be more apt.
“Shall we get a closer look?” Miranda said quietly. They watched as the body was placed onto a stretcher and carried towards a row of waiting ambulances. “Are you seeing this?” Miranda hissed as they approached. “Do you think this is your missing reporter?”
“No chance.” Annie shook her head. The man was cuffed, his hands behind his back. She could see where the zip ties had cut deeply into the flesh. Black scabs had formed around the wounds, which told her that they were old. His face was swollen and bruised black and blue. The upper eyelids were deep purple. His fingers and toes were nothing but blackened stumps. “He’s been interrogated for a long time,” Annie observed. “See the tattoos on his shoulders,” Annie pointed to the images of epaulettes that were inked onto the man. “They’re a sign of authority in the Russian mob.” His chest and back were covered in multiple tattoos but they were faded with age and she couldn’t see them in detail. Each image had its own meaning while the man lived but they meant nothing anymore. “If Vice are right about the property being owned by an Eastern European gang, this man was very much a rival.”
Stirling loomed into view and gestured with his head. Annie and Miranda followed him until they were out of earshot. “The fire crew told me that the place is empty,” he leaned towards them as he spoke. “They cleared out in a rush. No sign of any girls and no sign of any drugs on the upper floors. They’re in the cellar now. Our dead friend there was left tied to a chair next to the front door. They wanted us to find him.”
“I thought Vice had the bloody place under surveillance,” Miranda shook her head. She folded her arms and studied the burning buildings.
“Not for twenty four hours a day,” Stirling shrugged. “No one signs off on twenty four hour surveillance anymore. They had eyes on the place until eleven last night. They don’t know where the fire started yet. It could have been further down the terrace but I doubt it.”
“I can take a good guess. They had plenty of time to pack up and leave.” Annie added. As she spoke, there was a commotion between the entry teams. They listened as the comms buzzed excitedly. Three females had been found in the basement. They watched in silent anticipation as a second suited entry team rushed into the smoke filled house followed quickly by a third. Paramedics stood stoically as close to the conflagration as they could, stretchers and oxygen at the ready.
“DI Snow?” A uniformed officer approached them.
“That’s me,” Miranda said with a frown.
“I’ve got a message from DS Williams from Vice. He’s at the back of the buildings searching a garage and some outhouses. He said that you need to see what they’ve found.” He paused. “Excuse me for asking,” he said to Stirling, “aren’t you from MIT?”
“That’s right.”
“I think you might want to come too,” the constable said grimly. “If you follow me, there’s an alleyway at the far end that will take us around the back.”
Stirling looked at Annie, “You go,” she ordered. “I want to see who they bring out. I’ll follow you around in a minute.” Stirling nodded and the group moved off quickly in the direction of the alleyway. Annie focused her attention back on the burning house. The recovery teams had been gone for an uncomfortable length of time. She checked her watch. Forty seconds at least had gone. Fifty ticked by and then sixty. The silence outside was palpable. All she could hear were the engines of the fire tenders and the hissing of water turning to steam. Seventy seconds went by silently, then eighty and then ninety.
There was an ear splitting explosion as the windows of the house next door exploded outwards, showering the emergency responders in a maelstrom of splintered glass. Annie ducked instinctively as huge plumes of orange flames were propelled skyward.
“Gas main!” A fireman shouted. A second smaller explosion rocked the buildings. “Get the hoses on that house!”
“I thought all the services had been cut?” A fire officer called over.
“They’re working on it, Sir.” The officer shook his head and began to rant into the comms. Whoever was on the other end of the tirade was receiving the sharp end of his tongue but the message was loud and clear. ‘Turn the fucking gas off!’
Raised voices signalled that the first team was coming out. They stumbled through the doorway, the limp body of a female hung from their shoulders. Annie could tell from the way her knees were bent and her toes dragged along the floor that she was unconscious, or worse. Paramedics ran forward and helped them to carry her. They were a safe distance from the blaze before they put her gently onto a stretcher. As she approached, Annie could see deep welts around her wrists. The wounds were fresh, the blood still flowing. She was white European, which created more questions than answers.
“The bastards chained them to a radiator in the cellar,” one of the firemen said as he removed his mask. “What kind of people would chain them up before torching the place?”
“Bad ones,” Annie grimaced and patted him on the back. “The other two?”
“They’re in a bad way, Guv.” He shook his head, his eyes filled with tears. “Smoke inhalation. We had to cut the chains to get them free. It took too long. Two of them are still breathing but only just.” As he spoke, the other teams appeared from the darkness within the burning house. The women that they brought from their smoke filled prison were almost identical to the first, blond, white and nearly dead. Annie watched as paramedics applied an oxygen mask to one and began mouth to mouth on the second. They looked like mannequins at a first aid conference, lifeless and as still as the first woman. The medics worked hard and then others took turns to resuscitate them. There was nothing that a detective could do to help them, no matter how good they were.
She backed away and headed through the throng of responders towards the alleyway. It was difficult to spot, hidden between two hedgerows. The hedges were overgrown and conspired with the trees to hide the gap between the houses. The paving stones were uneven and strewn with broken glass and fast food wrappers. There were discarded syringes and empty beer cans dotted about and the alleyway smelled of urine. As she reached the rear access road, she spotted a group of detectives and uniformed officers milling about to her left. A single fire tender sprayed tons of water onto the slate roofs from a hydraulic platform. At that point, it was succeeding in keeping the flames from reaching the rear elevations.
The road was narrow and covered in asphalt. It was wide enough to drive a large vehicle through and the garages were big enough to park a van inside. She noticed several black tyre marks scorched onto the road. Someone had left the rear of the house in a hurry and the vehicle had been carrying a heavy load. The walls at the back of the houses were high. Each house had a garage that faced the access road and an outhouse in the backyard. When she reached the back gate, Stirling waved her into the yard. His expression spoke volumes. She had seen it before many times and it indicated that nothing good had happened.
“You need to see this, Guv,” he growled as she neared. He ducked under the doorframe into the garage. The smell of human excrement filled her senses. Against the far wall, four plastic buckets stood in a line. She could see garden netting draped over each bucket. As she approached, the smell intensified. The buckets held human waste that had been passed through the netting. “It looks like they were trying to recover the drugs from the mules when they had to leave in a hurry.” Annie nodded her agreement. “One of them must have excreted her parcels before they left.” Annie knew what was coming but she didn’t want to hear it. She waited for Stirling to complete his sentence. “There’s a black female in the outhouse. She’s malnourished, dirty and her throat has been cut ear to ear.” They walked out of the garage and into the brick outhouse. Annie knew that it would have been the toilet when the houses were o
riginally built in the 1800’s. Outside toilets seemed prehistoric when she thought about it but in those days, they were a huge step up from a bucket beneath the bed. Only the upper classes had a toilet at all. She scanned the narrow yard but it didn’t reveal much. The borders were overgrown and strewn with fast food wrappers and black bin bags were piled up near the back door. When she looked into the outhouse, the brutality of the traffickers was clear for all to see.
The body of a young black female lay sprawled on the stone floor. She was on her back, hands tied together. Her eyes were open wide and her mouth was twisted into a silent cry for help. The gash to her throat was so deep that Annie could see her spine glistening. A congealing pool of blood had spread beneath her and its coppery smell lingered in the dank air. A fly fed greedily from it. Annie thought of the journey that the girl would have endured; thousands of miles crossing deserts, mountains and seas to wind up with her throat slashed in a dark damp toilet block, a long way from her family.
“So they weren’t trafficked for sex,” Annie muttered. “They’re mules and once they’ve shed their cargo, they’re of no value.”
“It certainly looks that way,” Miranda said from the doorway. “The poor girl wasn’t out of her teens.” As she spoke, DS Williams from Vice approached.
“This is a first class fuck up!” he moaned. The other detectives just looked at each other.
“How did they manage this without being busted already?” Miranda asked. Williams blushed. “I thought you had the place under surveillance.”
“Who told you that?” Williams asked defensively.
“Your Governor.”
“He doesn’t know his arse from his elbow sometimes.” Williams lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “We have been running an opp on number 2, which is at the bottom of the terrace.”