Three (Detective Alec Ramsay Series Book 7)

by Conrad Jones

Stirling took out his mobile and punched the speed dial for the DI. It rang three times before she answered.

  “I’m on the other line; I’ve got the Chief on hold. What have you got?” Annie said. He could tell that she was driving and trying to do a dozen things at the same time.

  “I’m at the pawnbrokers but when I arrived, there was a robbery in progress called in.” Stirling paused for a moment.

  “Bloody hell!” Annie said surprised. “Have you spoken to the owner?”

  “No. That’s why I’m calling. The owner is a woman called Kayla Yates but she isn’t able to talk right now.”

  “Is she hurt?”

  “I think so. A witness saw two men leaving the shop and locking the door. I’ve gained access but there’s no sign of her.” Annie remained silent. Obviously as baffled as he was. “There are signs of a struggle and there’s no other way in or out. I think she’s been rammed inside the safe, Guv.”

  “Is it a robbery or is it something to do with our case?”

  “There are no signs of a robbery, Guv.”

  “Jesus,” Annie’s voice was just audible. “What are you doing about it?”

  “I’ve put out a call for safe experts, locksmiths and welders. All that I can do now is to wait.”

  “Is there a computer there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Google the make and model of the safe. If anyone knows how to get into it, it will be on the net.”

  “Will do,” Stirling said moving behind the desk. He hadn’t thought of that but then that’s why she was his DI. “We need to pick up Antonia Barrat and find out why she went to see Kayla Yates, Guv. She needs to be in protective custody whether she wants it or not.

  “I’ll have her brought in,” Annie agreed. “Call me as soon as you have news.”

  “Will do.”

  Annie switched calls with a sick feeling in her guts. “I’m sorry to keep you, Sir,” Annie apologised. “It would seem that someone else wants the name of Barrat’s source.” She pulled her car off the main road towards the parking compound at the back of Canning Place. The rain became more intense and the tourists visiting the Albert Docks were scurrying for cover in plastic raincoats every colour of the rainbow. The Liverpool eye turned slowly, unaffected by the weather. “When she left the station this morning, she went straight to a pawnbroker’s shop in Kensington. It appears that the owner has been assaulted and locked inside her safe.” The gates opened and she steered her vehicle into an empty parking bay. The Chief’s silence was an indication of his concern. “DS Stirling is at the scene. He’s pulling out all the stops to get her out.”

  “Her?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Annie said. “The owner is female.”

  “Marvellous!” The Chief muttered sarcastically. “Do we know what Barrat was expecting to witness at that mill?”

  “No.”

  “Is she looking for another police corruption headline?” There was bitterness in his tone; bitterness and concern.

  “She wouldn’t divulge any information about her source or what she was investigating.”

  “No, I bet she wouldn’t. She was quick enough to call us when she was in danger wasn’t she?” Annie didn’t justify his statement with an answer. “How many dead at the fire?”

  “One of the trafficked women and one of the women found in the basement didn’t make it. The other two are touch and go. We won’t know if they’re going to pull through for a couple of days.”

  “And the woman in the safe,” he added with a snort. “How likely is it that we get her out alive?”

  “I don’t think it is very likely.”

  “Nor do I. This case is running away from us, Inspector.”

  “We have a briefing scheduled in three hours, Sir. Will you be able to attend?”

  “No, I’m heading to a meeting in London this afternoon. Superintendent Ramsay is flying back from Malta tomorrow morning. I need you to take the helm for now until we appoint a Senior Investigating Officer.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “For God’s sake get this bloody mess under control before then!”

  “Will do, Sir,” Annie said calmly. She didn’t feel calm. The Chief hadn’t asked enough questions to know the full details of the case or to be able to offer any useful advice. Reading between the lines, he was more concerned about how the events would be written up in press. A kidnapped journalist, people trafficking, a woman beaten and locked in her safe; she could write the headlines herself. Her focus was on the victims; her superior’s priority was the public’s perception of the Merseyside division and that rankled.

  CHAPTER 12

  Paul Fletcher had to get his brother Pete to a hospital quickly but he daren’t move until he knew that they had gone. He listened intently to what was going on. After what seemed like an age, he heard the Mercedes engine fire up and he heard it pulling out of the service bay. The sounds of the garage doors being slammed closed and locked drifted to him and then there was an angry male voice shouting and swearing. His accent was foreign. Paul was confused when the anger in the voice was replaced by fear. He listened to the screams coming from the service bay and they had made the hairs on his forearms bristle. He had heard the term ‘bloodcurdling’ many times but never really understood its true definition until that moment. The fear in the wailing was audible. He could actually hear terror and anguish in their cries and it made his blood run cold. He could make out two or maybe three men and God knows how many women. There were many female voices shouting in several languages that he had never heard before. Whatever was going on in their garage, it wasn’t what had been arranged and it didn’t sound like it would end well. He couldn’t envisage what was going on but it was bad. The female voices were angry, of that there was no doubt. At first, the men were shouting words, mostly ‘no’ but their voices were soon replaced by screaming. Their fear was contagious and Paul was beginning to panic. What if they came for him next?

  They were helpless. He had to do something. His brother still hadn’t regained consciousness and the colour had drained from his face; he looked grey. When he heard the diesel engine leaving, he figured it was the men with the guns that had left and he began to grind his bindings against the edge of a metal shelf. Five minutes later, he was free. He untied Pete and rolled him onto his side and then placed a bundle of clean cloths under his head to make him more comfortable.

  Paul turned the closet handle and pushed. It was open, having said that, he couldn’t remember ever having a key for it. He opened it an inch and peered through it. The corridor was clear. He tiptoed along the corridor until he reached the door that led into the service bays. It was partially open. The shouting had reached fever pitch but the screaming had subsided somewhat. He held his breath as he looked around the doorframe to see what was going on. When he did, he immediately wished that he hadn’t. He saw black women, flashes of silver and splashes of claret. The scent of blood floated on the air. Paul closed the door quietly and locked it before slamming a deadbolt home and then he walked quickly to the outside door. Through the window, he could see that the service bay doors had been shut and padlocked from the outside. Whoever the women were, they were locked in but there were plenty of tools in there that could be used to break out. If they set their minds to escaping then it would take minutes. He couldn’t waste time. They were distracted by their bloodlust. It appeared to be too late for the men that they were beating. There was nothing that he could do against that many armed women. The men were a bloody mess and the screaming had all but ceased.

  The Fletcher brothers had made a bad decision to make some quick money. Business had been slow and their cash flow was unpredictable. They had some big accounts but the bigger the company, the slower they were at paying. They had needed a cash injection into the business but he wanted nothing to do with whatever was going on in their garage. If they ended up facing criminal charges, so be it. He needed help and his brother needed an ambulance. As he walked into his office, he took a deep b
reath before picking up the telephone and dialling 999. When the call was picked up he paused before saying, “Police and ambulance please. You’d better send a lot of them.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Stirling Googled ‘Cannon Executive Safe’ and the product link appeared. He cut the link and pasted it into the browser with ‘How to open’ as a prefix. The screen filled with methods to drill and open the lock but no two looked the same. There were several animations and three YouTube links. As he paged down, a news report from San Diego caught his eye. He clicked on it and read the headlines. A young girl aged seven, who had been taken to a new office block by her father, had climbed into a safe and the door had slammed behind her. He read on and then shouted for the uniformed officer.

  “Any joy with an expert?”

  “Nothing, Sarge. They’re putting calls out but nothing yet.”

  “I need you to go into the cafe next door and ask if there are any builders in there or if they know any local builders that use heavy duty drills.”

  “Sarge?”

  “A little girl was trapped in the same model of safe and no one had the combination,” Stirling said pointing to the screen, “and they feared that she would suffocate. Her father, who was a fitter on site, managed to drill several holes through the door so that his daughter could breathe. It was three hours before the safe was opened and there was no doubt that his quick thinking saved her life. We need to try the same.”

  “Yes, Sarge. I’m on it.”

  Stirling read on through the specifications and gleaned as much information as he could. His eyes kept drifting to the safe. He wanted to put his fist through it and drag her out.

  “Sarge,” the uniformed officer interrupted his thoughts. “This is Charlie Boyle. He owns a local building firm. He was just on his dinner break.”

  “Hello, Charlie, I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch,” Stirling offered his hand. The stocky builder reciprocated. His thick sandy coloured hair was coated with dust. “I know this may seem odd, but I need some holes drilled through that safe and I need it done in the next ten minutes.”

  Charlie looked at the safe, a confused expression on his face. He rapped on the door with his knuckles and sucked air between his teeth as if he was pricing an extension and upping the price by a thousand pounds. His hands were dry and caked in cement. He rubbed the grey stubble on his chin and shook his head. “I’m not sure it can be drilled.”

  “It can definitely be drilled,” Stirling said firmly. He turned the computer monitor towards him and pointed to the screen. “If you look here, this safe was drilled with both titanium and diamond tipped bits. It took a while to break through but they managed it.” The uniformed officer looked surprised. Charlie shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve read it and it is genuine. A man in San Diego drilled holes in the same model of safe and saved his daughter from suffocating.” He allowed them a few seconds to read what was on the screen. “Have you got the drills capable of doing it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And titanium drill bits?”

  “Yes.” Charlie looked confused again. “That little girl was suffocating you said?” He narrowed his eyes as he spoke. “Are you telling me that someone is in that safe?” Stirling nodded slowly. “Jesus Christ!” His eyes widened. “Is it Kayla?”

  “I think so.” Stirling nodded. The builders jaw dropped open. He looked like he had been punched in the stomach. “Do you know her?”

  “I see her in the cafe every morning,” Charlie stuttered. “She’s one in a million.”

  “She really needs your help. She needs it right now.” Stirling could see he was shocked but they needed to move quickly. “We don’t have much time, Charlie.”

  “Give me two minutes,” Charlie looked wounded. He stared at the blood on the floor and dialled on his mobile. “It’s me. Listen. I need the Bosch drills and the titanium bits. If we have any diamond tips, bring them too.” He had an afterthought. “We’ll need some kind of coolant to keep the bits keen. Get Kenny to go to the supermarket and tell him to buy as many six pint cartons of milk as he can carry. I’m in Kayla’s shop next door to the cafe. Bring everything we have and make it snappy. She’s in trouble.” He put the mobile away and knelt in front of the safe. His face had darkened to a mask of concern. “How long has she been in there?”

  “I don’t know for certain but it’s less than half an hour.” Stirling gestured to the computer. “I’ve Googled that make and model. The specifications are here. It means nothing to me but it might help you to know where to drill.”

  Charlie studied the spec and pulled a tape measure from his belt. “According to this spec, there are reinforced plates around the lock mechanism so if we drill above and below, we have a chance.” He moved the tape again. “It says the top half of this safe is comprised of lockable storage, a sort of safe within the safe and metal shelving.” Charlie looked at Stirling and frowned. “That means that the only space for a large bulky item is in the bottom third. I’m not sure that you could force a human into that space without...” He didn’t finish his sentence.

  Stirling understood what he was saying. He didn’t comment as he couldn’t think of anything positive to say. It was a relief when two of Charlie’s employees arrived with four hard storage cases and a carton of milk.

  “This is Noodle,” Charlie introduced his workmates, “And this is Greggs.” Stirling acknowledged them with a nod and a half smile. Shaking hands wasn’t an option as they were fully loaded with kit.

  “Margaret donated the milk so that we can get started,” Noodle said enthusiastically. “Kenny has gone to get some more from the supermarket although fuck knows what he’ll come back with. He thinks it’s a wind up.” He stopped talking when he saw the safe; an anxious look crossed his face. “Is she really in there?”

  Nobody answered his question. Charlie gestured to the safe door. “I’ll start eight inches above the lock, Noodle, you start eight below. We’ll use the titanium bits for now and see how we get on. Greggs, I want you to use the diamond bits and go for the side.”

  “Got it.”

  They opened the cases and assembled the business end of the drills with chuck keys, whilst slotting the power packs into the handles. Charlie placed the bit against the cold metal and squeezed the trigger. The first drill kicked into life, a second drill just a minute later. Greggs aimed the diamond bit against the middle of the side wall and the drill began to whirl noisily. Stirling felt his stomach tighten into a knot when after two minutes the drills had barely scratched the surface.

  CHAPTER 14

  Toni closed her eyes and let the hot water soothe the stiffness from her muscles but they still ached and no matter how many times she soaped her skin she couldn’t seem to wash away the filth. She could still smell the odour of the women at the mill and it wouldn’t go away; neither would the questions in her mind. Where had the women come from, and what nightmares had they suffered to make them desperate enough to leave their homes and their families behind and travel thousands of miles without ever knowing their destination? What horrors had they endured from the traffickers along the way and where had they been taken to now? What would happen to them, would they live or die and would death be the kinder option? Was Mike being tortured for information that he didn’t have? Her head was spinning with a myriad of scenarios, none of which were good.

  She tilted her head backwards and let the spray hit her face; it ran through her hair and down her back, its warm caress took the stress away for a moment and let her linger in a world where there were no problems. She wanted to stay there a while longer but reality summoned her back into the real world. When she opened her eyes, the questions returned with a vengeance. The entire episode had been a nightmare. One that she couldn’t come to terms with. It wasn’t something that she could shake off and put to bed, in fact she had a niggling feeling that it was going to haunt her for a long time to come. There didn’t seem to be an outcome that could offer any closure, no satisfactory endings
or questions answered but then that was the story of her life.

  She had thought briefly about talking to her partner about exactly what had happened but it was difficult to explain the anxiety and fear that she had experienced. How can you convey your mental turmoil to someone who wasn’t there and hadn’t experienced the fear? She didn’t think that it could be done. There were so many PTSD sufferers nowadays, mostly soldiers. She had interviewed several of them for an article but hadn’t really appreciated their plight. They suffered alone because they couldn’t convey their pain to their loved ones. How could they? You had to see what they had seen to begin to understand what they were feeling. As much as she loved her partner, she hadn’t been able to find the words to explain how she was feeling. The trafficked women and the feeling of helplessness had triggered the memories of losing her parents. She shared their sense of hopelessness and their desperation. She had been there and felt it, bought the t-shirt, worn it, washed and ironed it. ‘Hopeless’ was a lonely place to be. They were surrounded by others and yet alone, just as she had been after her mother’s disappearance. Her feelings of guilt couldn’t be shared with anyone else. Her deep sense of anxiety for the women was hers alone and she would have to come to terms with it and cope, or it would consume her. She knew the human condition was a fragile one but she had never appreciated just how fragile until now.

  She turned off the water and instantly wished that she hadn’t. As the air touched her skin it chilled her and goose pimples covered her from head to toe. She reached out for her towel and wrapped it around her shoulders; its thick pile quickly absorbed the moisture from her skin and warmed her. She stepped out of the shower. The black floor tiles were heated, an expensive addition to her home following the success of her book. She had had the bathroom extended into an extension at the rear of the house. It was an L-shaped wet room with a walk-in shower that could fit a small saloon car inside it. The water jets sprayed from all angles, washing and massaging simultaneously. At the other end of the room was a floor to ceiling mirror with a makeup area built around it. She checked the marble shelf where she had set her stuff down while she showered and saw the screen on her phone flashing. Her mobile had been constantly ringing since she left the station but she wasn’t ready to talk to anyone yet, especially her editor, who had been ringing nonstop since eight o’clock. There was no doubt in her mind that she would have heard the bones of her story already and she would guess that there were photographs. Toni could hardly wait to log on to her Dropbox account. The pictures that Mike had taken would have uploaded instantaneously. Part of her wanted to see them but the other part was terrified of what they would show. It was the frightened part of her that had stopped her from accessing them so far.