The Hope That Kills (A DI Fenchurch Novel Book 1)

by Ed James

  Kershaw was taking the steps two at a time. His head twisted back to check.

  Fenchurch tackled him from the side, knocking him against the steel handrail. He spun him onto his front and pinned him down with his knee. Then slammed the heel of his palm into the back of Kershaw’s skull. His nose thwacked off the ground. ‘You’re under arrest, sunshine.’

  Kershaw spat blood onto the concrete. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘I’m arresting you under section fifty-eight of the Sexual Offences Act 2003. Do you understand?’

  Kershaw slumped forward. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  Kershaw pulled his legs into a ball as Owen and Nelson appeared at the top of the stairs.

  Fenchurch bellowed in his ear: ‘Where’s Erica?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘No comment!’

  ‘We know what you’re doing, Paul.’ Fenchurch hauled him up. Kershaw was a good few inches taller but he slumped his shoulders.

  Owen grabbed him and sat him against the handrail. He slapped on handcuffs. ‘Who do you work for, Paul?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Who are you working for?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘You better hope they can pay to keep you out of prison. Police officers are usually very popular inside.’ Fenchurch pointed at an armed officer. ‘Get him down to Leman Street and get him his bloody lawyer.’

  ‘Sir.’ The officer grabbed Kershaw by the wrist and led off.

  Fenchurch stared at Owen then Nelson. He let out a deep sigh. ‘Have we searched that house?’

  Nelson nodded. ‘No sign of Erica, guv.’

  Fenchurch squinted at Kershaw as he was led away to a waiting meat wagon. Blue lights flashing, reflected in the puddles on the pavement. He got out his Airwave. ‘Fenchurch to Savage. Over.’

  ‘Safe to talk.’

  ‘Have you found anyone in that house?’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘Erica McArthur should be there.’

  ‘Well, there’s a hatch in a back bedroom.’

  Fenchurch raced off down the steps and sprinted along the street. He entered the house and stormed up the stairs three at a time.

  Voices came from a room to the back left. A uniformed officer was boosted up on another’s shoulder. He crawled up into the roof space and let his colleague breathe again.

  ‘Have you got her?’

  Savage spun around. ‘Jesus, you frightened the life out of me there.’

  A ladder shot down from the attic. The second uniform rested his hands against it. ‘Come on down, you’re safe now.’

  Grey tracksuit bottoms stepped out onto the top step. Adidas three strip. Erica peered into the bright room. ‘Simon?’

  ‘Here’s what I don’t get, Erica.’ Fenchurch brushed the stubble on his chin. The overhead lights cast long shadows into the corners of the interview room, space occupied by Owen pacing around. He focused on Erica again. ‘Why don’t you seem to exist?’

  ‘I’m right here.’ She pinched herself on the arm. ‘See?’

  ‘That’s not what I mean.’

  Erica hugged herself tight. ‘I don’t understand any of your questions.’

  ‘We don’t have a register of your birth.’

  ‘I’m English born and bred.’

  ‘So why aren’t you on any system?’ Fenchurch cleared his throat. ‘Is Erica McArthur even your name?’

  She looked away and focused on the other wall. ‘Only one I’ve ever had.’

  ‘Whatever mess you’ve got yourself into, we can help.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Erica shook her head, eyes shut. ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’

  Fenchurch got up and leaned against the interview room door. The steel was cold against his back. ‘What really happened at The Alicorn on Thursday night? Why did Robert Hall get chucked out?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You sure about that?’

  ‘Positive.’

  Fenchurch tossed the screen grab across the table. Erica shivering behind Winston Gooch as Hall pointed a finger at him. ‘This is you, right?’

  She shrugged a shoulder. ‘What’s this got to do with anything?’

  Fenchurch placed the next still down. A few frames on from the last. ‘Why’s Mr Hall pointing at you?’

  ‘I was working, that’s it.’

  ‘Sure you weren’t the reason he’d been kicked out?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. What happened?’

  ‘He had a dance with me.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘He tried to buy me.’

  ‘Buy you.’ Owen rolled his eyes. ‘Right.’

  Fenchurch held up a hand, trying to stop the tirade of sarcasm. ‘You told me it was two other girls he tried to buy.’

  ‘And he did.’ She flicked her hair. It’d lost some of its sheen but still glowed under the lights. ‘But he offered Winston a grand for me. He turned him down and this Robert guy started shouting at him.’

  ‘And this is why he was chucked out?’

  ‘He punched Winston.’

  ‘Not a wise move.’ Fenchurch sunk his hands deep into his pockets. The panelling on the door dug into his back and gave a satisfying ache. ‘Does the name Paul Kershaw mean anything to you?’

  ‘Should it?’

  ‘Mr Kershaw never approached you?’

  ‘I don’t know who he is.’

  ‘He’s the man who abducted you.’

  ‘I’ve never seen him before.’ Erica kept playing with her hair. Hadn’t shown the dimple all interview. ‘I thought it was Bruco at the door. That’s the honest truth.’

  ‘Fascinating.’ Fenchurch couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  Owen took his seat again. ‘Why aren’t you talking to us? We’ve just rescued you.’

  ‘Because they’ll get me.’

  ‘Who will?’

  ‘Them.’

  ‘We need something a bit more than that.’

  ‘I can’t say anything.’

  ‘Why?’

  Tears bubbled in her eyes. She swallowed, eyes screwed tight, and gasped in air. ‘They’ve got my mother and my sister.’

  Fenchurch crouched down next to her. His bruises flared up again. ‘We can help.’

  ‘You can’t.’ Erica tugged her hair, pulling it into long strands. She wiped her eyes with the back of the other hand. ‘If I help you, they’ll kill them.’

  ‘Who will, Erica?’

  Her gaze gouged at the tabletop like a power drill. ‘I. Can’t. Tell. You.’

  ‘I hear you.’ Fenchurch held up a hand at Owen. ‘Is Kershaw helping you with this situation?’

  ‘He didn’t really talk to me. Just put me in a car and told me to shut up. Then he stuck me in that attic.’

  ‘When I visited your flat last night, you told me there was some chat in The Alicorn about dodgy policemen. Your colleagues didn’t name Mr Kershaw, did they?’

  She blinked hard a few times. ‘Is he a policeman?’

  ‘He is.’ Fenchurch stood up straight. Knees jolted. ‘What’s the story here, Erica?’

  ‘I can’t tell you anything.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about Kershaw finding out you’re talking to us any more.’ Fenchurch looked away, focusing on the wall. ‘He’s next door, waiting on his lawyer.’

  ‘Well, let me know when you’ve charged him.’ She gave a slight chuckle, her nose bubbling with snot. ‘They’ve told us to keep quiet.’

  ‘Who has?’

  She looked up, glassy eyes narrowed to tiny slits. ‘Bruco.’

  ‘Sotiris Vrykolakas?’

  ‘Him.’ She dragged a sleeve across her face. ‘I heard
there was a cop working for this group that owned us. That’s it.’

  Fenchurch frowned at Owen. ‘What do you mean by owned you?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You mean owned the club?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘No comment.’

  Fenchurch tried to stare her out, waiting for her to look away. He turned to Owen. ‘Can you leave us for a minute.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just do it. Watch from the Obs Suite, if you need to check I’m not up to anything. Sound down, please.’

  ‘Your funeral.’ Owen left the room, taking the Custody Officer with him. The door clicked, resting on the rim.

  ‘Interview paused at one thirty-six p.m.’ Fenchurch stopped the recorder and sat in his chair. ‘Erica, were you taken from your home when you were a young girl?’

  ‘Is this because I said you remind me of my father?’

  ‘Tell me about him.’

  ‘I can’t remember much. Last time I saw him was twelve years ago. He was in a wheelchair.’

  ‘A wheelchair?’

  She stared at the table. Her painted nails scratched the laminated surface.

  ‘Where were you brought up?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Erica, I need to know.’

  ‘Why?’

  Drum rolls cut across Fenchurch’s hearing. ‘Because I think my daughter might be there.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Chloe.’

  ‘It means nothing to me. Sorry.’ She frowned at him, like a parent telling a child their dog was sleeping now. ‘I’d tell you if I knew, Simon. Trust me.’

  ‘Wish I could.’ He shifted on the seat. ‘I want to stop what’s happened to you. I need you to be completely honest with me. Will you do that?’

  She stared into space for a few seconds, then gave a light nod.

  Fenchurch flicked his fingers at the camera.

  The door flew open and Owen sat down next to him, eyebrow arched. ‘What did I miss?’

  ‘Interview recommenced at one forty p.m.’ Fenchurch gestured for Erica to continue. ‘Who owns you?’

  ‘I can’t tell you anything.’ She swallowed something down. ‘I was born on a farm somewhere. No idea where. I lived with my mother and sister in this house. They fed and clothed us. Took care of us.’

  ‘And they brought you to London?’

  ‘Two years ago. To The Alicorn. They wanted to see if I could work there. Dancing.’

  ‘Had you been trained?’

  ‘I slid down that pole every day since I was five.’

  ‘You never went to school?’

  She shook her head.

  Fenchurch took out the photo sheet and passed it to her. ‘I showed you this before. Tell me the truth now.’ He tapped at the first Jane Doe. ‘Erica, you said she worked at The Alicorn with you.’

  She took her time inspecting it. ‘She did. I didn’t know her, though. She lasted a couple days before she scratched some guy’s face.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘I never heard.’ She gripped the edge of the table with her free hand. ‘If we don’t dance, they threaten to stick us on the street.’

  ‘As prostitutes?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Why’ve you never run away?’

  ‘Don’t you understand? They’ll kill my family.’ She rubbed at her eye. ‘I had to nick a phone from a punter just to call you.’

  ‘Were you ever put on the street?’

  ‘I was a good girl. Played by the rules. Kept the fat men in suits happy.’ She swallowed again, staring into space, her lips twisting into a snarl. ‘Their hands all over my body. Their fingers inside me.’ She made eye contact. ‘Do you know what that’s like?’

  ‘I can only imagine.’ Fenchurch smiled, his eyebrows inverted. ‘Erica, is there any way we can corroborate this story?’

  ‘Not that I can think of.’

  ‘What about the other girls?’

  ‘They won’t talk.’

  ‘We’ll have to see about that. Interview terminated at one fifty-three p.m.’ Fenchurch wrapped his hands around hers. ‘Listen. I’m not sure what’s happened to you, but I’m stopping it. The people who did this to you are going to pay for it. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ A tiny whisper, barely any sound.

  Trumpets blared over the drums now, atonal and distorted. Fenchurch was leaning against the wall, the corridor stretching off to infinity in both directions. He ran a hand over his face. His cheek was damp.

  ‘Something in your eye?’ Owen was grinning at him.

  ‘Don’t start.’ Fenchurch stabbed a finger at him. ‘I’m warning you.’

  Owen raised his hands. The smile had disappeared. ‘I’m really sorry, Simon. Genuinely.’

  ‘I’m finding it pretty hard to believe anything coming out of your mouth, Chief Inspector.’

  Savage appeared beside Owen, his face grave. ‘What’s going on here?’

  Fenchurch pointed at the door. ‘You watched that?’

  Savage gave a tight military nod. ‘Me and your guv’nor reviewed it in the Obs Suite.’

  ‘What she’s talking about. That’s the Machine, right?’

  ‘You’re not cleared to know that.’

  Fenchurch got in Savage’s face. Foreheads almost touching. Coffee breath up his nose. ‘I’m this close to kicking the living shit out of the pair of you. I want the full story.’

  ‘Give him it.’ Docherty was in the corridor now. Didn’t seem to want to split Fenchurch and Savage.

  ‘Easy, easy.’ Owen pushed them apart, keeping his hand on Fenchurch’s chest. ‘Howard, I don’t give a shit about protocol, you need to tell them everything.’

  Savage shut his eyes and snorted. ‘Very well.’ He stormed into a vacant interview room and sat nearest the window.

  Fenchurch followed Owen in and rested against the wall. ‘Well, I’m listening.’

  Savage waited for Docherty to join them. ‘Your father’s theory is pretty much on the money. Back in the early eighties, the European Commission started flexing its muscles, tightening up immigration, particularly from behind the old iron curtain.’ His nose twitched, taking his upper lip with it. ‘They now knew exactly who was coming and going.’ He scratched at his cheek. ‘Problem was, it made it much harder to get cheap girls into the country from Eastern Europe and China.’

  He stroked his chin. ‘At the same time, my predecessors were turning over half of Soho on a weekly basis. The Machine, as your old man calls them, had their fingers badly burnt. They’d expanded into semi-legal operations like The Alicorn but they were becoming short-staffed as they grew. And they were making too much cash.’

  ‘So they started kidnapping girls off the street?’

  Another curt nod. ‘They took them from areas where they didn’t think they’d be missed. Sink estates in the East End. And Brixton, Tottenham, that kind of place. Got them hooked on drugs and forced them to work. They had absolute control over these girls.’ Savage hugged his arms tight around his body. ‘And that’s just the first generation.’

  Fenchurch frowned. ‘What does this have to do with what Erica just told us?’

  ‘They breed sex workers, Inspector.’

  Fenchurch scowled at him. ‘In this day and age, people can be treated like that. Really?’

  ‘It’s easier than you’d imagine.’

  ‘And this is what Kershaw’s involved in?’

  ‘We think so.’

  ‘Is this your big fish?’

  ‘The rod just started twitching.’ Owen let out a shallow breath. ‘These girls they were kidnapping in the eighties, the ones your father’s been looking into. Well, instead of putting them on the streets, they stuck them on a farm in the middle of nowhere. They bred from them.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘We’ve had some anecdotal evidence to that effect. Nothing concrete. These girls can be fairly loose-lipped whe
n they first get picked up, but as soon as a lawyer gets in there, that’s it. End of evidence trail. And they always ask for one.’

  ‘How can they get away with this?’

  ‘Because, like Howard said, they’ve got absolute control over their property. Their leverage is along the lines of “you tell anyone about what’s going on and we’ll kill your parents and your siblings”. You see?’

  Savage filled the space Fenchurch wasn’t going to. ‘And they throw the girls who don’t make it out onto the street. Sink or swim. The Machine’s a very good name for them. They’re brutal. Efficient.’ He bared his teeth. ‘They make a lot of money. That cash pays for things. People like our friend Kershaw.’

  ‘How much money?’

  ‘Let me spell it out for you. Assume there’s forty working at The Alicorn. Four hours of dancing in an eight-hour shift. That’s forty dances a night per girl on average. Twenty pounds a dance. Thirty-two grand a night. Pure profit. They don’t pay the girls. Over a year? Twelve million pounds. For one club. They’ve got six.’

  Docherty curled his lip. ‘We’re in the wrong bloody game.’

  ‘You can see why they’d run the risk, though, Alan.’ Savage gripped the table edge tight. ‘We reckon they take in over sixty million a year from the girls alone.’

  Fenchurch pointed at each of them in turn. ‘No more lies now, okay?’

  Owen exchanged a glance with Savage. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Do you know where this farm is?’

  Owen gave a slight shake of the head. ‘We haven’t a clue.’

  ‘You’re telling me you’ve no idea where they’re breeding these girls?’

  ‘The whole point in me man-marking Kershaw was to find out what he knows.’ Owen folded his arms. ‘We were operating on the assumption he’d lead us somewhere.’

  ‘And did he?’

  Owen looked away. ‘No.’

  ‘Fantastic.’ Fenchurch waited for them to nod. ‘Is his lawyer here yet?’

  ‘Force Rep’s been in the car park for the last hour, waiting for his lawyer.’

  Savage went out into the corridor and grimaced. ‘We’ve got company.’

  A middle-aged man trudged towards them. Dicky bow and tweed jacket. Face like the world owed him an apology for existing.

  Fenchurch joined them by the door. ‘Right, let’s get this started.’