by Graham Smith
‘Yes, sir, the general consensus seems to be that he is mid-fifties with salt and pepper hair and of average build and height. The woman is of roughly the same age and all the people I spoke to said she wears a hell of a lot of jewellery. She’s approximately one point six metres tall.’
Campbell bit back the Mrs T. wisecrack before he said it, but it was a close thing. Luckily for him, Evans’s impatience with Bhaki dominated the conversation. ‘For God’s sake man, what’s that in real money?’
‘About five foot four, guv, give or take an inch. The men I spoke to described her as having long red hair and a, erm…’ Bhaki’s cheeks were darkening.
‘C’mon, spit it out.’
‘A large chest, sir. She always wore clothing that allowed them to look down her top when she leaned over the desk to count the money. She never sat down at the desk preferring to lean over.’ The nervous recounting from the young man led Campbell to speculate to himself about Bhaki’s lack of experience with the opposite sex.
‘A classic distraction. I do that all the time. I’ll bet she wore a short skirt as well.’
‘That’s enough thank you, Lauren.’ Grantham gave up all pretence of silent observation and fully engaged in the discussion.
‘Long skirts are for fat lasses, I’ve used exactly the same tricks many a time in the interview room.’
‘I said that’s enough, DC Phillips!’
Grantham was trying to sound authoritative, but it was clear Lauren was a weakness of his. Grantham was sneaking what he thought were furtive glances at her, but Campbell could see that she knew what the DCI was doing, and was playing him the way an angler plays a prize catch.
‘Coming back to the point: they have tricked at least a dozen people we know of, and probably as many again that we don’t. We need to do something about them and stop them before they rip any bugger else off.’
Chisholm spoke up for the first time at the meeting. ‘I took the liberty of speaking to a friend at the CPS, she told me that as long as both parties agreed on the amount of money, there was nothing they can do by way of prosecution.’
Evans turned to face Chisholm. ‘I want full search on him and his business, accounts, trading contraventions, reputation, credit ratings and anything else you can dig up on him. And I want it on my desk when I come in tomorrow morning.’
‘As you don’t have a desk, sir, where shall I put the report, under your windscreen wiper?’
‘Don’t be smart, it doesn’t suit you.’ Evans glared at Chisholm before continuing. ‘Maybe I should give Big Billy his address and call the Preston station with a tip off about a major drug deal at the other side of town.’
‘Quasi! Nothing like that will happen and if it does I’ll have your badge. Vigilante action is not the answer…’
‘Just a thought, sir. Did you manage to speak with the ACC at all?’ Evans knew when to change the subject and the tracking devices on quad bikes was as good a distraction as any.
‘He’s mulling it over and will get back to me later today.’
‘OK, then, does anyone have any bright ideas about the robberies from the licensed premises? I’ve heard from the CCTV monitoring posts and there’s no cameras overlooking the back entrances of any of the premises.’
Lauren’s eyes flashed. ‘That’s bloomin’ typical. CCTV cameras all over the bloomin’ place watching people’s every move, yet when we need one, there isn’t one there.’
Campbell was convinced there must be a common link between each of the venues that had been so meticulously burgled. He also wanted Grantham to see him make a worthwhile contribution to the discussion. ‘Is it possible there is a common supplier who we have missed from some of the premises?’
‘We have gone over every possible avenue and have found no common link between all four properties other than Bandits Express and they always visit in daytime opening hours and never go beyond the public areas.’
‘I still think that’s how they are getting access and knowledge.’
‘Anybody else got any ideas? No, well what about the farm robberies? Come on! Someone give me a wild guess or something. We’re supposed to be a crack team and you’re all sitting on your arses like a bunch of old women.’ When he was greeted with silence, Evans adjourned the meeting and stomped off.
Left behind in the office, Campbell gathered his own thoughts while filling out his daily report. As far as he could see the con with the counting was pretty much solved, all he had to do was prevent Evans from bringing the couple to the wrong form of justice. The burglaries from licensed premises were another matter, although the team had investigated each one on an individual and collective basis, he could not find the common denominator he was sure existed and was the key to the robberies. He knew the main clue was locked somewhere deep in the evidence swirling around his brain, but he couldn’t bring it to the forefront in a recognisable form. The robberies from the farms were the latest of a cyclic pattern, occurring every year or nine months, depending on how often the criminal gangs targeted the area. They would be solved either by luck or by the implementation of the tracking devices.
Chapter 20
Clutching the bag, Samantha went into the bathroom to change. She wanted to cry but couldn’t. The bag contained a red dress that was made of nothing but lace. A matching pair of heels was also inside the bag. As she pulled out the dress a note fell to the floor.
Six damning words confirmed her worst fears about the outfit.
WEAR NOTHING BUT THESE OR ELSE
The words were scrawled in a childlike hand but that didn’t matter to Samantha. Nor did the lack of punctuation. What mattered was the message.
‘Wear nothing but these.’ She would be exposed by the thin pattern. Her body revealed to the hungry lecherous eyes of the men. Especially that creep Blair. He was the one who would drink in her curves, leer at her body as they filmed her. She would bet her last penny that he chose the dress.
‘Or else.’ The two-word reminder of the fate awaiting her and Kyle, if she did not do as bidden.
Screwing up every last ounce of her courage, Samantha took her clothes off and pulled the dress over her head.
Pulled down it reached mid thigh, but when she straightened after pulling it down, it rose two inches. Looking in the tiny mirror from a distance of three feet she could see her skin through the lace, although mercifully the designer had saw fit to increase the pattern in the lower half of the dress.
Grateful her downstairs bits were better covered than her boobs, she pushed her feet into the shoes which were at least a size too small. Tottering on the heels that were higher than she was used to, Samantha practised walking back and forth in the bathroom. No way was she going to fall over and expose herself even further!
Determination was creeping into her mind. Scaring away the nerves, the worries. Hadn’t Amy worn something like this that night in Carlisle? Sure she’d worn a bra and hot pants underneath the dress, but she’d worn it round the pubs and clubs. If Amy could choose to dress like that for the world to see, then she could for a private audience to save herself and her brother.
A gruff voice interrupted her thought processes. ‘C’mon then. We ’aven’t got all bloody day.’
Opening the bathroom door she saw Blair’s head poking into the bedroom. Kyle dropped his controller and pressed himself into the furthest corner.
‘C’mon!’
‘I’m coming.’
Seeing Kyle’s worried face, she reassured him on her way across the room. ‘It’s all right. I won’t be long. You try and finish that level before I get back.’
Samantha’s bravado almost deserted her before she left the room. Blair had a way of breaching any defences she created. His probing eyes covered her body like a second skin.
Her instincts told her he would be the captor who’d instigate raping her. It would be his hands she’d feel grabbing at her.
Feeling like a lamb being taken to the slaughter, she halted in front of Blair, awaiti
ng his next order.
‘Go downstairs. The boys are there with the video.’
Blair stood to one side in the doorway, his low hanging gut forming a barrier which Samantha would have to squeeze past.
It was a toss-up which option would be worse, facing him, and giving the close up view he wanted, or turning her back and risking him grabbing her boobs as she brushed past him.
His eyes made the decision for her as they locked themselves on her chest. With skin crawling at the thought of his sweaty body touching hers, she barged her way through the gap with her back to him.
The pained grunt as her back thumped into his bloated gut was satisfying to Samantha’s ear, although her back twitched with an involuntary spasm where contact had been made.
As Blair slammed the door behind her, she used the small victory as a way of boosting her resolution to face what lay ahead.
Fearful of his grabbing hands, she hurried down the stairs as fast as the towering heels would allow her. Her hands slid down the banisters on each side of the staircase, caking her palms and fingers with a layer of grime.
Heavy boots followed her down the stairs, but she could sense him keeping enough distance between them to afford him the best possible view of her bottom.
Reaching the living room she found the man in the Elvis mask, sitting by himself. The table and chairs had all been pushed to one side of the room. Beside Elvis was a video camera; a laptop was perched on his legs.
‘Over there.’ Elvis pointed to the clear area of the floor as Blair followed her into the room.
Samantha waited for the next instruction. Her nose crinkling from the stench of days’ old curry and nicotine.
Elvis stood up and pulled an iPod from his pocket, which he then placed in a docking station. ‘Right, love. Here’s what you’re gonna do. I’m gonna play three songs and you’re gonna dance to them. Properly with all the right moves. And don’t try and fool us ’cause I’ve just watched the videos on YouTube so I know exactly what you should be doing.’
As Elvis had been informing Samantha of what to do, Blair busied himself in opening the windows as far as possible. A chill wind blew the curtains back, raising goosebumps on Samantha’s exposed skin.
‘The fuck you doing? It’s bloody freezing in here.’
Blair pointed at Samantha who was standing with one arm covering her chest and the other hand over her crotch. ‘If she’s cold, her nips’ll stand out better.’
Shaking his head, Elvis turned to Samantha. ‘He’s got a point. Just be glad you’re doing the dances I chose, and not the lap dance he wanted you to do.’
OMG, that Blair is so pervy!
Something in Elvis’s voice told Samantha that he wasn’t getting the same perverted kick from her torment as his friend. Although he wasn’t stopping Blair, he was acting as some kind of restraint. Keen to acknowledge his different behaviour, she nodded her head once and quietly thanked him.
The one positive about the open windows was the breeze taking away the worst of the fetid smell.
Blair picked up the video camera and after spending a minute fiddling with settings told Elvis that he was ready.
‘Right. When the music starts, you do the dances in full. No turning away from us, no adjusting your clothing. Just dancing. Do them right first time and it’s pizza tonight. If you don’t you’ll be dancing naked until you get them right.’
Samantha could have sworn that Elvis winked at her behind his mask as he issued his instructions. While she wasn’t foolish enough to believe he was on her side, she felt he was trying to encourage her to get the dances right the first time. Whatever it cost her in terms of dignity would be a small price to pay compared with the penalty for failure.
Steeling her nerves as she prepared to move her hands from their covering positions, she heard the first rhythmic beats of ‘Cha-Cha Slide’. With her courage fighting to thaw the ball of ice in her stomach, Samantha began to move in time to the beat.
In her mind she was picturing herself and Amy practising the routine in their bedrooms. Those had been good times. Innocent times when two pre-teen girls had danced routines, giggling about boys they would never admit to fancying.
Closing her mind to the lecherous eyes of Blair, she danced to the music in the most sedate way she dared. Her ears strained above the music waiting for a command or word that would condemn her further.
Samantha’s closed eyes raised her other senses, she could feel her hemline creeping up her legs. The lacier top of the dress rubbed coarse against her jiggling boobs as they moved unbidden with her moves.
As the music faded out she risked a look at her captors. Elvis was leaning against the wall, arms folded. Blair however was directly in front of her with one hand pressing the video camera to an eye while the other hand was massaging his groin. The temptation to pull down the hemline felt irresistible, but Elvis’s warning remained front and centre in her thoughts.
The next song began and with a sinking heart, Samantha recognised the pumping dance track from Los Del Rio. Throwing her mind back to dancing with Amy once again, she launched herself into a three-quarter-hearted rendition of the Macarena. Distraught as Samantha was, she was still trying to balance what she must do with what she could get away with not doing.
With each move she cursed the two men for subjecting her to this ordeal. Blair with his wandering eyes and oily hands, rubbing himself as she danced; Elvis with his threats and false shows of support. Elvis could stop this any minute he chose to, yet he allowed her degradation to continue.
The hip-swaying, pelvic-thrusting dance ground to an end and Samantha breathed a sigh of relief. The urge to pull her hemline down was now unbearable but again she fought it back, afraid of the consequences the action may bring.
Her only consolation was so far the dances had not made her raise her arms above her head, lifting the skimpy dress further up her body.
A glance at Blair, gave her a look at eyes shining with desire. Lust poured out from the mask’s eye holes, filling the room with the heavy scent of testosterone. His left hand still massaged his groin, irrespective of her and Elvis’s presence.
Licking her lips as she always did when nervous, Samantha waited with trepidation for the final song.
Samantha gagged when she heard the trumpeting intro of ‘YMCA’. Her arms would have to go above her head in this dance. Their view of her boobs would be unobstructed while she mapped out the letters, but Samantha was more concerned about how far the hem would raise before the dance ended.
Swallowing the bile in her throat, she threw a pleading glance towards Elvis. He unfolded his arms and moved one hand in front of him. With fingers extended he rotated his hand at the wrist, signalling her to carry on.
She knew better than to even try to sending any appeal Blair’s way.
Then out of the corner of her eye a shape moved beyond the window.
It can’t be!
It is!
We’re gonna be saved!
Samantha moved her right foot back and with a sudden thrust flung herself towards to the window. A scream erupted from her mouth as she charged forward. To freedom. Towards the police car pulling into the farmyard.
Chapter 21
Evans was ordering a second pint when his mobile rang. ‘Quasi, DCI Tyler would enjoy your company for a brief chat.’
‘I’ll see him tomorrow, I’m off shift now.’
‘Now. It’s not a request.’
‘Oh goody, I’ll enjoy talking to him.’ The sneer in Evans’s voice told of a renegade’s hatred for those who sought to bring order and conformity to their world.
There was always someone willing to stab a knife into his back, undoing his efforts to make the streets and alleyways of Cumbria safer. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone to get on with his job?
Evans made his way back to the station, and stalked through the pastel corridors, grumbling about desk-bound fuckwits who’d never slapped a pair of handcuffs on in their life.
<
br /> Reaching the office of DCI Richard Tyler, the head of Cumbria’s Professional Standards Department., he crashed through the door, almost knocking over the young PC being reprimanded.
Evans tapped the unfortunate man on the shoulder. ‘Run along and play nice, else next time I’ll be the one to deliver the bollocking.’
‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir.’ The PC who wasn’t sure whether he was being saved or threatened, but he had the good sense to escape before either of the senior officers could shout at him any more.
‘Hello, Dickie.’ Evans relaxed into a chair without invitation, putting his feet onto Tyler’s desk. ‘Before you get started, can I just say that I overheard PC Pot using racist language when referring to PC Kettle?’
‘Who the blazes do you think you are? Coming into my office, taking over a disciplinary matter, making bad taste jokes and disrespecting a senior officer?’
‘I’m Cumbria constabulary’s leading copper. I’m the man who is running three different cases. Young Miles there was in trouble for being overheard by an offender’s family, saying he thought the guy had received a light sentence. He was off duty and talking to friends. That’s bollocks and you know it as well as I do.’
‘Coppers like you are the reason the public has little faith in the police force.’
‘Bullshit.’ Evans’s voice was calm while Tyler’s was rising in anger at the disrespect shown to him and his position as the moral authority. ‘It’s lazy bastard rubber heelers like you who are keeping good coppers from doing their job. The amount of paperwork we’re supposed to file is mind-numbing and it’s all driven by desk jockeys and paper-pushers. We’re losing more good coppers than we’re gaining recruits. Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. If we stopped fucking about shuffling paper and got you and your mates back on the streets, that would restore public faith far quicker than curbing the odd sweary word or unfortunate comment.’