by Rachel Lynch
He let her go and she swung round. It was him. Darren. He held up a knife.
‘I’m not gonna hurt you,’ he said. ‘I know you shared Nush’s room; she told me.’
Gabriela had her hands slightly in front of her, as if to ward him off, and her eyes darted about, scanning the room. She noticed a hefty paperweight sitting on a table to her right. Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest. Of course he’d come back! Why had she been so stupid?
‘What do you want? You’re Darren Beckett. The police are looking for you. Your picture is everywhere. They’re going to catch you.’ She kept her voice low.
‘OK, Gabriela – it is Gabriela, isn’t it? I know that Nush and Roza never came back. And they won’t. I also know that they left stuff behind; my stuff, stuff that I want. If you let me into their room to get it, I swear I’ll leave you alone.’ He was sweating heavily.
‘I moved rooms. I never touched their stuff. I have no idea what it is that you want.’ Gabriela raised her voice, hoping that a client might walk into reception and hear her panic.
‘Keep your voice down!’ he said. ‘Who’s in that room now?’
‘I don’t know,’ she lied.
‘Take me there now,’ he demanded.
She didn’t move.
‘Do you know what it feels like to have a knife in your belly, Gabriela?’
She swallowed. Darren was small, but he was still a man, and the knife was large. She didn’t know what to do. Her phone was in her pocket, but she couldn’t move without him seeing.
They heard the front door bang, and a minute later, the bell rang in reception. She looked at Darren. He put a finger to his lips.
‘Hello?’ a man shouted.
Darren nodded backwards and raised his knife. ‘Go, and not a word,’ he said. Gabriela walked past him slowly with her hands raised, and he pointed at her, showing gritted yellow teeth.
Two policemen were standing at the desk. Gabriela froze. She didn’t know what to do. Why weren’t British police armed? She couldn’t understand it.
‘Hello, miss,’ said the older of the pair. ‘Your manager called one of my colleagues earlier to say that there was an intruder on the premises yesterday, so this is just a routine visit to make sure that you’re OK.’
Gabriela felt a wave of gratitude towards George. He must have suspected that she wouldn’t have the nerve to call the police herself.
‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Aware of Darren only metres from her, she picked up a pen and pulled a sheet of paper towards her. It was the only way she could protect herself. She knew Darren was lying when he said he wouldn’t hurt her. She couldn’t worry any more about what Mrs Joliffe would say about her talking to the police.
She wrote: There is a man in the office, he is dangerous, and he has a knife.
The officer took the pen from her and wrote: Stay calm and slowly walk away from the desk.
They took out their truncheons and cuffs and approached the office.
‘Sir, this is PC Crick of Ambleside Police. I’d like you to come out and surrender your weapon,’ the officer said loudly. Gabriela prayed that no one would walk in at this moment.
The order was met with silence.
‘Sir, I am calling for other officers to join me right now.’
As the policeman began to speak into his radio, Darren emerged from the office with his hands held out in front of him. He glared at Gabriela, who looked at him triumphantly.
‘Turn around, please, with your hands behind your back,’ the PC shouted.
‘I haven’t done anything wrong,’ whined Darren. ‘This is my girlfriend. We had a fight.’
‘I am not his girlfriend!’ Gabriela said indignantly.
‘Sir, I’ll ask you again, put your hands behind your back and turn around.’
Darren tutted loudly and began to turn, but before anyone could approach him, he made a run for it, darting towards the stairs. The two policemen swung into action, with one sprinting after him and the other speaking urgently into his radio. He only got to the top of the first flight of stairs before PC Crick caught up with him. The officer cuffed him and read him his rights, then brought him back downstairs, holding onto him tightly.
‘Sir, do you have a weapon?’
‘No,’ Darren muttered.
‘He’s lying! He had a huge knife.’ Gabriela marched into the office. ‘It’s in here somewhere.’
Despite the policeman’s remonstrations, she quickly searched the small space. ‘Here, he put it in a drawer,’ she said proudly, slamming the knife onto the reception desk. She took the photos from under the counter and put them on the desk as well. ‘Look, he’s Darren Beckett, wanted by the police. I knew it was him; that’s why he’s here, to shut me up.’
Sirens could be heard in the distance, and within moments they had stopped outside the hotel. Two officers came in and PC Crick gave them an update.
‘Looks like this guy is wanted for questioning. Take him in, we’ll stay with the girl.’
As Darren was led away, Gabriela realised that she was shaking. PC Crick pulled up a chair and guided her to it. The other officer stood by the door.
‘Can I take a statement from you, miss?’ he asked.
She couldn’t speak. She had to get rid of them. She had no idea what would happen next and what they’d do when they found out that she was here illegally.
‘I want to talk to Detective Inspector Kelly Porter,’ she said. ‘She’s the officer who was looking for that man.’
‘I’ll get a message to DI Porter as soon as I can.’ PC Crick glanced at the photo of Darren Beckett. ‘How do you know him?’
‘I don’t. He came after me when he found out that I was his girlfriend’s roommate. I think he did something to her, because I haven’t seen her for almost two weeks. She’s the other one wanted by police, here, look.’ She pointed out the photo of Anushka.
‘And the other photos?’ PC Crick was looking at the pictures of the watch and the ring. ‘Are these connected?’
‘Detective Inspector Porter gave them to us together, so I guess they are.’
‘You’ve never seen these things?’
‘No.’
‘OK, miss. Can you call your boss and get someone else to work tonight? I can stay with you until somebody comes.’
‘No, I’m all right now that I know he’s with you. Will he be released?’
‘No, don’t worry about that: he’ll be staying with us tonight.’
Crick put on some gloves, then went to the desk and placed the knife in a plastic bag.
‘Where are you from, miss?’
‘Poland.’
‘Summer job?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled, willing him to leave.
‘I’ll need to take a statement from you. Can you tell me your full name, please?’
‘Gabriela Kaminski.’
‘Gabriela, OK.’ He gave the knife to his colleague, took out a pad and pen, and sat down in front of her. ‘So, Gabriela, let’s go back to the beginning. When did DI Porter bring you the photos?’
‘Er… about a week ago.’
‘And when did this Darren Beckett turn up?’
‘He was in the office when I went in to get something and he grabbed me from behind and threatened me.’
‘With the knife?’
‘Yes. He said if I took him to Anushka’s old room he could get what was his and he wouldn’t hurt me. Then you came in.’
‘Did he say what he was looking for?’
‘No.’
‘How did he know you were her roommate?’
‘He recognised my name. Anushka must have told him.’
‘And where is Anushka now?’
‘I don’t know, but he said she was never coming back. I think he might have hurt her.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘He spoke as if she was already gone, perhaps even dead.’ It sounded dramatic. She looked down at her hands and picked at her skirt.
&n
bsp; ‘Don’t you lock the hotel door at night?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘I think you should. You have an intercom, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘So use it,’ he ordered, and smiled. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Could you read through this and sign it if you’re happy.’ He handed her the pad on which he’d written her statement. She read it and signed her name.
‘Do you live here, Gabriela?’ asked the PC.
‘Yes.’
‘Have you any reason to expect anyone else tonight?’
‘No.’
‘OK. We’ll call you tomorrow. If it isn’t the detective herself, it will be another officer. Now,’ he stood up, ‘make sure you lock this door behind us. When does your shift end?’
‘Five a.m.’
‘Right. We’ll swing by again before that to make sure you’re OK.’
She walked the two officers to the door and closed it behind them, locking it.
* * *
Further down the street, Sasha watched from his car. It hadn’t taken him long to track down Darren Beckett, but he hadn’t expected the turn of events that had just occurred. His father would be enraged.
Sasha spoke into his phone, then, satisfied that the police were long gone, got out and walked to the hotel. He peered through the door and saw a girl sitting at the desk. Her head was down but he could make out certain features. Nobody else was about, and he surmised that if any other member of staff was on duty, they’d be busily discussing the unfolding drama at the front desk, overriding any other duties in the quiet night. But there was no one.
Chapter 41
Kelly flicked on the kettle, and dropped two tea bags into cups. Her mother was back home. Kelly had tried to keep a straight face when Mum had told her about her stay at Nikki’s. They’d laughed conspiratorially, then felt guilty afterwards. It was diverting having someone to make tea for again. Her neck ached and she stretched. She’d been up until gone midnight updating her notes. When she’d got the call this morning about Darren Beckett being in custody, she’d fist-pumped the air and it had given her a boost.
She took the tea to her mother.
‘How’d you sleep, Mum?’
‘Much better in my own bed, love. Have you got a busy day?’
‘I’m afraid so, but I can pop back at lunchtime to check on you.’
‘You don’t need to mollycoddle me, I’ll be fine,’ her mother said. ‘Have you heard anything about that woman who left hospital?’
Kelly sat down on the edge of the bed, sipping her tea.
‘I still can’t believe she left her baby. She’s a potential witness in an important case; I think they’re illegal immigrants. We’ll catch them soon enough.’
Wendy shifted position uncomfortably. ‘Them?’
‘She came with her husband, who’s wanted in Bosnia.’
‘She must have been terrified. I didn’t know she’d left her baby, I thought he died.’
‘Died? What are you talking about, Mum?’
‘Ah, nothing. I’m just confusing her with something I read.’
‘It’s another headache I don’t need; she could have identified someone for me, that’s all. Right, I’d better get going. There’s no washing to do, the house is clean and I’ve put some nice stuff in the fridge for you, so you don’t have to cook,’ said Kelly. She took the towel off her head and shook her hair out. ‘I’m sure Nikki will be over, but don’t let her tire you out,’ she added.
‘I can look after myself. Go on, you’ll be late.’
Kelly felt anticipation building inside her. She had so many questions for Darren Beckett, but no guarantee that he’d talk, or tell her any truths she could work with. She also needed to speak to the night manager at the guest house – the young woman from Poland –who’d need handling carefully. It sounded as though she knew plenty but was petrified of that hag of a boss Teresa Joliffe. She’d also had a terrible shock last night. Joliffe was firmly a person of interest in the investigation, and would remain so until Kelly found out how involved she was with Colin Day.
Agencja Wywiadu, the Polish foreign intelligence agency, had confirmed that Anushka Ivanov was a Polish citizen, and they were looking into her last-known whereabouts. There was no evidence that she had entered the UK, nor indeed had a work permit. What Kelly wanted to know was if she was dealing with a random set of unconnected events that the girls organised themselves, or one organisation that planned it all, and thus potentially international and highly organised.
She had to see Christine Day again. It was feasible that Colin Day had used his wife’s name to make bookings through Elite Escapes without her knowledge, but it was also possible that she’d been duped by the hard-done-by widow.
When she arrived at work, there was an email waiting for her from Ted Wallis. It was marked as ‘sensitive’. It was short, and simply asked her to call him when she had time. She looked at her watch and figured she had five minutes for the helpful coroner.
‘Mr Wallis, it’s Kelly Porter.’
‘Kelly, I’ve been thinking about what you said, and it’s a long shot but I think I might have something for you. Many years ago, Colin Day gave me a card. I thought nothing of it at the time and threw it in a drawer somewhere. After our conversation, I found the card and called the number, and a male voice answered and intimated that he could provide a certain service. The memory of Lottie Davis has never left me, you see.’
‘Service?’ asked Kelly.
‘Yes, the card simply says “flower”, and I’m pretty sure it’s a service offering, er… prostitution.’ He coughed.
Kelly was shocked. Her thoughts bounced from Wallis’s compassion towards Lottie to the fact that he had been harbouring this information. Slow down, she told herself. He hasn’t done anything wrong.
‘And you’ve never given this information to the police before?’ she asked.
‘No.’ The implication sat between them, but she understood. Ted Wallis’s moral fibre wasn’t her concern; after all, he was doing the right thing now.
‘What gives you the impression that it’s a sex service?’
‘My call to them. I, er… said I wanted a young one. I felt sick to my stomach when I said it.’
‘So the service is still operational?’
‘The man informed me that it’s not, but I managed to come across as quite legitimate, and he said he knew someone who could help and he’d be in touch.’
‘I don’t suppose he gave you his name and address?’ she asked sarcastically.
‘Sadly no.’
‘And did you give him your name?’
‘I think we both know that in these cases, no one gives their real name. I said I was called Mickey Mouse.’
‘Colin Day used his own name,’ said Kelly.
‘He’d become arrogant. I think he thought that at his age he could get away with it.’
‘Quite. Can I take the number? And could you scan the card and send it to me? By the way, Darren Beckett is in custody in Ambleside; he was caught harassing a young woman at another hotel who had recognised his photo.’
‘That’s great news. It sounds like you’re almost there.’
‘Was there anything else about Colin Day that struck you as odd? Was that the only time he offered his services?’
Ted paused. ‘There was a woman he was close to, and I don’t think Christine cared for her much. She’s a local businesswoman, or she was. It’s probably nothing. But she and Colin got on well, and when Christine wasn’t there, they had a lot to talk about.’
‘Can you remember her name?’
‘I’m trying to think. It was Teresa, I think, but I can’t recall her surname.’
‘Joliffe?’
‘Yes, that’s it.’
‘Thank you, Mr Wallis. I’ll try to be discreet about my sources, but if this goes the way I imagine it will, you might be dragged in.’
He
hadn’t committed a crime, but details like this had a habit of being leaked. Social media now did the job of the old witch hunts, and no one, not even the law, could prevent it. Dealing with malicious communications was in its infancy, and as the internet grew bigger by the day, the law trailed behind. Everyone knew what was at stake.
DC Hide poked her head around Kelly’s door, then came in and placed a coffee beside her.
‘Thanks, Emma. I was just thinking about caffeine. Could you get me the list of numbers called from Colin Day’s two phones, please.’
‘Will do, guv. I thought you might like to see this. My mum is a Daily Mail Online addict, and this came up today.’
DC Hide handed Kelly her iPhone. Sloppy, unchecked journalism could sometimes be a handy thing, and Kelly had to admit that she used the app from time to time. It was all well and good reading a broadsheet from cover to cover, but she knew no one who had the time. The gutter press served a purpose. If one could stomach the articles about sex on Love Island, soap actresses’ buttocks, and celebrity infidelity, then a sweeping ten-minute grasp of the news could be gleaned with not much effort.
‘Scroll down about three articles,’ Hide said. Kelly did so and her eyes widened.
SCANDAL IN THE LAKE DISTRICT: LOCAL PHILANTHROPIST’S FINAL BINGE WITH ‘PROSTITUTE’ the headline read. Inverted commas forestalled libel; the newspaper wasn’t that stupid. A photo of Colin Day was emblazoned above the article, and there was one of his wife and kids too.
Bastards, she thought. This kind of thing could never be undone. The paper had a readership of over two million, and then there was the gossip fallout on top of that. It would only take one person from Ambleside to read it and the whole town would know. Christine Day’s worst fears had just been realised.
‘Do me a favour,’ said Kelly. ‘Get on to the Daily Mail news desk and find out the source. They should give it to you; they know the score. I doubt any real names were used, but it might be helpful.’
‘I’ll do it after I’ve got you those numbers.’
Kelly had been right. The number for ‘flower’ appeared on Colin Day’s statements.
‘Let’s go and pay Christine a visit on our way to see Mr Beckett, shall we?’