Torment

by David Evans

  “Okay,” the driver said. “You know what we need.”

  The passenger hesitated, nodded then got out.

  The knock was answered by mutterings from the other side. “What now,” Veronica said, opening the door. “Look, I’ve told you everything …” Looking at the stranger, Veronica’s voice trailed off before she recovered. “Yes?”

  “Mr Chapman?”

  “He’s not here at the moment.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t. Now, if you don’t mind …” She began to close the door.

  The man put his foot on the threshold. “Do you mind if I come in,” he said, calmly.

  “Yes I do. What the …”

  He bundled her back into the house and closed the door behind them.

  “I need to speak to Mr Chapman.”

  “Who are you?” Veronica said, her eyes narrowing.

  “Just someone who needs to speak with him.” He smiled, but there was no warmth.

  She regained her composure. “Join the club. I have no idea where he is, so if you don’t mind …” She made to push past him to open the door.

  He grabbed her arm. “I don’t think you realise how important it is that I speak to him.”

  She struggled but his grip was firm. “Let me go, or I call the police.”

  “You’ve already spoken to them.” He gestured towards the street. “I saw them leave.”

  Her resistance subsided. She realised this was a serious situation.

  He felt her weaken. “I’m sorry,” he said. “My people need to find your … boyfriend.” He released her arm.

  “Why?” she asked, rubbing her arm.

  “He has an arrangement with us and we need to talk to him.”

  “Look, I’m telling you what I told those two detectives. He left in the early hours of Thursday morning. He said he was called out to a breakdown and that’s the last I’ve seen of him. I have no idea where he is and I haven’t heard from him since. If you know where he might be, I’d like to know too.”

  “But you must have some idea where he might be?”

  “As far as I know, he works at Westgate End Garage, try there. The only other friend he has is Gary Baker who lives down Agbrigg way, I believe.”

  “If you’re holding anything back … Trust me, you don’t want to be.”

  Back in the car, the passenger related the conversation he had just had with Veronica.

  “His employers haven’t seen him since Wednesday evening. I called them this morning,” the driver said. He paused and looked at his companion. “Do you think she was telling you all she knows?”

  “Probably not. But I’m assuming we’ll be back?”

  The driver nodded, started the engine and pulled away.

  26

  Souter parked in the allocated space outside his block of flats near to Wakefield’s Westgate station. The drive home was the first opportunity he’d had all day to give thought to Jennifer and Mary, reporting on the Garforth murder had taken care of that. He also wondered if Sammy had been able to find somewhere to stay, he’d not heard from her.

  As he lifted his briefcase out of the boot, she appeared at his shoulder, startling him.

  “Christ, Sammy, I thought you were a mugger.”

  “Sorry.”

  Souter looked round the parking area. “Have you been waiting for me?”

  “About an hour,” she said. “I lost your card so I couldn’t ring you. I’ve got some news.”

  He looked down at the rucksack she was holding. “No joy with any of your mates, then?”

  “There’s a squat in Featherstone I’ve heard of. An old pub.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “I had a good breakfast, remember.”

  Souter smiled. “Come on, I’m starving. Do you like Chinese?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. I’ll order something and you can tell me what you’ve found out.”

  Ten minutes later, Souter was sitting on a chair and Sammy on the settee in the lounge, food ordered and a mug of coffee each on the table in front of them.

  “So what have you got?” he asked.

  Sammy took a small note pad from her rucksack and flipped it open. “From those newspaper reports, both girls lived in the Pontefract area. Jennifer’s dad died about two years after she went missing and her mother moved away. No idea where. Mary’s family still live in the same house. She had an older brother, Paul who now lives in Sharlston, and a younger sister, Fay. There’s also twin girls who were born after Mary disappeared, all still living at home.”

  Souter was impressed. “I won’t ask where you got all this.”

  Sammy beamed.

  “Don’t suppose you have an address for Paul Duggan?”

  She held up a finger, flipped her note pad over to another page and ripped it out. “Of course I do,” she said.

  “Brilliant.”

  Just then the doorbell interrupted them. “Told you the Chinese would be quick.” He got up to answer it.

  Opening the door, he found Alison standing there.

  “Hi,” she said. “Not seen you in days. Thought I’d come and make your evening.” She put her arms around him and kissed him. He couldn’t disguise his surprise. “What’s wrong with you?” She walked past him and into the lounge.

  “What’s going on? Who’s this?” She looked daggers at Sammy.

  “Sit down,” he said, recovering some composure. “This is Sammy. I told you about her the other day.”

  Alison remained standing. “But not that she was familiar with your flat.”

  “Sammy, this is Alison, my girlfriend.” Alison gave him a cold look. “Sammy’s been helping me track down those schoolgirls’ families. Let me get you a drink.”

  “I’m fine for now,” she said.

  The doorbell rang again. This time it was the takeaway delivery. Souter paid and returned with the bags.

  “Very cosy.”

  “Come on, Alison, this is all perfectly innocent. Sit down. There’s enough food to share.”

  She slowly sat down on an easy chair.

  “I’ll stick the kettle on and make us a fresh brew and dish this lot out.” Souter took the food into the kitchen, leaving the door open so he could listen to any conversation in the lounge.

  After a few seconds he heard Alison ask Sammy what had happened to her face.

  “Bob told you what I was doing, right?” There was a pause. “Well the guy that was paying my rent, he got annoyed that I wasn’t earning. Well that’s what he said anyway, but I think it’s because Maria’s disappeared. He thinks she’s left to work somewhere else. I’ve been trying to find her and … well, I think the truth is, he has some new girls he wants in the room where we lodged.”

  “This guy, your pimp yes? He physically assaulted you and threw you out?” Alison asked. There was a slight delay. “When was this?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “So where did you spend the night last night?”

  Sammy hesitated before telling her that Souter had put her up on the sofa-bed.

  “Christ, this gets worse.” Alison stormed into the kitchen. “You didn’t tell me this. Working late, you said. You spent the night with her in your lounge. That’s if she was in the lounge and not in your bed.”

  He stopped dishing up. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course she was on the sofa-bed. I couldn’t just leave her on the streets.”

  “Why not? It’s where she works.”

  “Come on, that’s not fair.”

  “Where did you meet? Did she come round here?”

  “No. It was after I left Susan last night. She was outside A & E having just been stitched up. She’d got nowhere else to go. She’s only nineteen. Her best friend from when they were in the children’s home is missing, God knows where. It was only a couple of days ago when you didn’t know what had happened to Susan. I’m just trying to help here.”

  Sammy appeared at the doorway. “Look
, I’ll go now. I don’t want to be in the way where I’m not wanted. I’ll check out that squat.”

  “No wait, Sammy,” Souter said.

  She turned back into the other room and he could hear her unzipping the rucksack to put her things in.

  Souter looked at Alison who shook her head then returned to the lounge. He followed.

  “Look Sammy,” she said, “Here’s the deal. You can stay at mine for a few days, until that face of yours improves. But if anything, anything at all goes missing, I find you smoking so much as a dodgy cigarette, you’ll be out on your backside. Got it?”

  Sammy put her rucksack back down. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  Souter smiled. “Thanks, Alison.”

  “Yeah, well,” she replied, “I’m only thinking of your reputation.”

  “Let’s get this food before it goes cold.”

  As they ate, Sammy told Alison of how she’d met Maria and their lives since.

  “So,” Alison said as she washed down the last of her meal with a swig of tea, “You’ve been on the streets for a while now. What about your health? Do you have regular checks?”

  “At the clinic you mean? Yeah, of course. And I use protection, always.”

  “That’s not always one hundred per cent though.”

  Sammy put her plate down. “Look, I don’t want to do this. If I could earn a living properly I would. I’d love the chance to leave this life behind.”

  Alison studied the girl for a few moments. “I know you would,” she said seriously before lightening the tone. “Now,” she said, opening up her handbag. “Lean back a minute, Sammy.”

  Sammy looked puzzled until she saw Alison bring out her make-up.

  She leaned over and began to apply some foundation to Sammy’s eye. “Well if you stay with me,” she said, “there will be no evidence of your previous occupation. In fact, I expect you to do a few jobs around the house.”

  Sammy tried to nod.

  “Hold still. These steristrips can come off in a couple of days and that should look a whole lot better. The bruising doesn’t look so bad now I’ve put some of this on. There you go, have a look.”

  Sammy stood up and checked her face in the mirror behind the settee. When she turned around, tears were welling up. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Hey, stop that, you’ll spoil my handiwork.”

  “It’s just that nobody has shown me any trust before.”

  “Don’t let us down.” Souter said.

  Sammy stood where she was and looked down at her hands.

  “What’s up?” Alison asked.

  Sammy looked up at her then across to Souter. “I miss Maria. What do you think’s happened to her?”

  “I don’t know, Sammy,” he said. “We need to find that van.”

  “But how? We’ve no registration number.”

  “I might have a plan on that. So tomorrow morning, we’re off to see a man about a van.”

  27

  Saturday

  Strong wasn’t planning on working Saturday but events dictated otherwise. Stainmore had received a phone call from the Port of Felixstowe police that morning. They had located two containers from the documents provided by Dave Pratt and currently they were being held dockside pending further instructions.

  “All the paperwork seems to be in order, Guv,” Stainmore said.

  Strong, Stainmore and Ormerod were sitting in the DCI’s office, coffees in front of them. Hot sun streamed through the window but any chance of enjoying the good weather had evaporated with the events of the week.

  “So what does that tell us?” Strong asked.

  “Details of a Lexus 400 and a Mercedes sports check out on the PNC database,” Stainmore explained. “Not reported stolen, same models as went missing here but the Lexus is registered to an owner in Tewksbury and the Merc in Oxford.”

  “And those are the only two vehicles recorded? Nothing on a Subaru or, what was the first, a Range Rover?”

  “No. They’re probably long gone.”

  “No doubt you’re right,” Strong said resignedly. “Have you checked to see if those two are due to be shipped out?”

  “I’ve got calls in to both owners. No answer from the Lexus and I’ve left a message for the Merc’s.”

  “Keep trying, Kelly. We might need to visit Suffolk, though.” Strong paused for a slurp of his coffee. “Luke, any developments on Chapman and Gary Baker?”

  “John and I went back to see Veronica, Chapman’s girlfriend. She says she hasn’t heard from him and judging by her reactions I’d say she was telling the truth. She said he’d seemed a bit on edge in recent days but hadn’t said why. She appears to be genuinely worried.”

  “Any ideas where they may have gone?”

  “The only thing she could suggest was that Chapman spoke about a cousin he was close to as a kid, used to play together.” Ormerod flipped open a notebook. “Name of Barry, Barry Whitefield. She thinks he lives down south somewhere but not a clue where.”

  “Anything on record?”

  “There is a Barry Whitefield with previous for burglary, currently living in Bristol but at fifty-three I think he’s too old to be the cousin. I’m checking that out though.”

  Stainmore’s mobile rang and she stood up. “DS Stainmore,” she said, walking out into the corridor.

  Strong drained his coffee and looked across at Ormerod. “Do we know exactly what you’d need to export a vehicle?”

  “I think it’s just the vehicle log book and a bill of sale.”

  “I wonder how easy that would be to forge?” Strong said, more in thought than inviting a response.

  Before the conversation could move on, Stainmore came back from the corridor. “That was Mr Morrison in Oxford,” she announced. “His pride and joy, a Mercedes SLK 230 Sports Coupe is currently sitting on his drive.”

  “So, the one at Felixstowe is a clone.”

  “One more thing, guv,” she said, with a self-satisfied grin, “he confirmed that he’s insured with Olympia.”

  “Right, I’m going to see DCS Flynn. Search warrants for both those containers I think. Let me know as soon as you get a call back from the Lexus owner, Kelly.”

  * * *

  When Souter collected Sammy from Alison’s house next morning, she looked a lot better than even the night before. Although the bruising had started to turn autumnal colours, Alison had done a professional job with camouflage make-up. Hair freshly washed and dressed in her jeans and a tee shirt borrowed from Alison, Sammy looked more like an ordinary nineteen-year-old girl than the rough provocative woman who had first visited him at the Yorkshire Post offices.

  Jeremy Bullen met them in the reception of the Town Hall in Wood Street, opposite Strong’s police office. He was certainly different from the spindly young lad Souter remembered playing in their school football team some twenty-five years earlier.

  “Bob, good to see you,” he said, gripping Souter’s hand tightly in his.

  “You too,” Souter responded. “I’d never have known you though. Colin told me you’d changed.”

  “Bulked up, you mean.”

  “Well,” Souter hesitated, “the last time I saw you, you’d be about eight stone wringing wet.”

  Bullen laughed. “I got pissed off being picked on so I did something about it. Not by you lot, I must add, mostly those in my year. Anyway, I went to the gym and started working at it. All legal, none of that steroid shit. I found I enjoyed it and this is the result.” He opened his arms wide to demonstrate.

  Souter turned to his companion. “Sammy, this is Jeremy. He was a year below me at school. We played in the same football team for a while.”

  “Look,” he said, “call me Jezza. Everyone does. You lot started it.” His grin confirmed he bore no malice for the taunting. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “Sammy’s a friend of mine and I wondered if you might be able to help us. I understand from Colin you have access to the town’s CCTV footage. Specifical
ly the Market Square from last Saturday.”

  “Come down to the office. I’ll make us a brew.”

  Bullen turned and led the way along the ornate corridor of the old Victorian building, stone floors, leaded windows and stained wood panelling, to a staircase dropping down to the basement. Beyond a door proclaiming Jeremy Bullen as Assistant Head of Security, lay his small windowless office.

  Flicking the switch on the kettle in the corner he turned to ask the obligatory tea or coffee question. While the water boiled and the drinks were made, Souter outlined what was known about Maria’s disappearance.

  “We have a problem with prostitution around the Market area,” he said, giving Sammy a stare. “Police don’t seem too concerned but the Council are getting pissed off.”

  Sammy was about to respond but Souter put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

  “We think there may be something more serious here, Jezza. We’re worried about Maria.”

  Bullen raised an apologetic hand. “Of course. I understand.” He stood up. “Now, last Saturday, between eleven and midnight?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay, let’s have a look and see what we’ve got.” Bullen paused at the door. “Remember, you didn’t see this.”

  “Message received,” Souter said.

  They followed Bullen into the room next door where a bank of television screens was being monitored by a solitary operative.

  “Big brother lives,” Souter said quietly.

  “You’d be surprised how much this benefits the town,” Bullen responded. “We’re getting more teams of shoplifters coming in, especially in The Ridings shopping centre. They’ve got their own setup there but we liaise with them and the police. It’s estimated it would cost stores around half a million a year without this.”

  “Listen,” Souter said, “if it would help, I could give this operation a bit of a plug, not the sensitive or detailed stuff, but if it puts some of these gangs off and sends them somewhere else it might make your job easier?”

  “Thanks. I’ll talk to my boss and see if he might want to take that up. But hold fire for now.”