“I’ll text it to you when I stop. Try to get her to see sense about teaching tonight. If you can’t, then lie.”
There was a long pause before Adam spoke. “Is she in danger from this guy?”
“No.” Not while Marco had no idea who Tomas was. Hopefully.
“When will you be back?”
Tomas smiled. “Missing me already?”
“I thought we could go shopping for some…plugs.”
His attention wavered and he drifted toward another vehicle. A blast from a horn snapped him back on track.
“I’m guessing you might like one,” Adam said.
He sucked in his cheeks.
“I thought I’d get remote controlled ones,” Adam added.
“The plugs follow you around the room?”
The guy chuckled. “I think they chase you.”
Oh God. “Not sure what time I’ll be back.”
“I was trying to give you an incentive.”
“Call Wren and try to persuade her to stay home with us.”
“Okay. Take care.”
Tomas stared at the road ahead. Home with us? Take care? How had they gotten so deep so fast?
The obvious answer to that was one word. Wren.
* * * * *
Wren was selective which staff members she talked to about the class lists she’d copied. All she needed to know was if they’d taught all the students on their registers. She asked those who had smaller classes and particularly those she trusted not to blab to Olive. When she discovered names had been added to the lists of everyone she’d asked, she was shocked. The numbers added varied depending on class size. If the class was already large, as many as ten more names appeared to have been tacked on.
She needed to call Matt. Wren felt in her purse and couldn’t find her phone. She checked again, patted her pockets, tipped out her purse and groaned. Where the hell was it? Had it dropped out as she ran this morning? Had she left it in Tomas’ apartment? Lost it in the bowling alley? Shit. On the upside, it was a pay-as-you-go and she only had about ten pounds credit on it. On the downside, she’d lost all her recent numbers and there was no automatic backup with the provider.
“Mike, please can I borrow your phone? I’ve lost mine or left it somewhere.”
He tossed it over. “Please don’t call Australia.”
“New Zealand okay?”
She strolled to an unoccupied corner of the room and called her own number. She’d left the phone on vibrate, but wherever it was, it was being ignored. Wren looked up the number for the bowling alley but no phone had been handed in. It wasn’t worth bothering the police. She took Matt’s business card from her purse and called him.
“Matt Ellis,” he said.
“It’s me.”
“Different number?”
“Mislaid my phone.”
“What do you want? I’ve just got into bed,” her brother said with a groan.
“Meet me at one fifteen in the city-center library. Third floor.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve got the information you wanted.”
“What did you get?” He sounded excited.
She looked around and lowered her voice. “Class lists. They all have names added.”
“Bloody hell. Are there any details about the additional people?”
She sighed. “I didn’t get that for any but my class.”
“Ah well, never mind. See you then.”
She took the phone back to Mike. “Thanks. Can you do me another favor?”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Photocopy the data sheets of the pupils on your lists that you didn’t teach.” She checked through the folder and pulled out those for his classes.
“What’s happening here, Wren?”
“I don’t know, but I’m beginning to think Jolene isn’t as good at her job as we thought.” She didn’t want to tell him what she really believed.
“And if you find she isn’t, what are you going to do about it? Even if you pluck up the courage to say something, you think Olive’s going to listen? Sometimes it’s not worth making waves if you’re going to drown and take others with you.”
She put Mike’s sheets back in her folder. “You’re right. Sorry.”
Wren headed straight to the office. She wouldn’t ask anyone to help her, but she wasn’t going to let this go. Something stank.
“Yes?” Jolene asked when she walked in.
“I need to copy the personal details of the people in my adult English conversation class.”
“Why?”
“I’m doing a lesson on maps, directions and modes of transport. I thought it would be fun to have their homes to use as examples. Obviously I won’t reveal their actual addresses.”
While Wren talked, she sidled to the filing cabinet and pulled out the bottom drawer.
“You still haven’t given me the money from last night,” Jolene said.
“Oh no, I forgot. Sorry.” Wren pulled an envelope from her purse. Thank goodness she hadn’t lost that. “Two hundred and twenty-five pounds. There was an extra person.” She unfolded the supermarket receipt and tipped out the contents of another small envelope. “That’s the change from the advance. I’ll need about twenty pounds more next week, we’re going to make pasta. I’ll bring my machine in and the café said I could—”
“Fine, fine.” Jolene waved her hand and Wren slunk back to the filing cabinet.
As well as pulling out the files of those in her English language class, she picked out the people from the bottom of one of Leo’s lists.
“Good morning. Ezispeke Language Academy. How can I help you?” Jolene said behind her.
Wren willed the machine to work fast and Jolene not to notice how many sheets she was copying.
“I’m sorry. I’m not able to do that. I can take a message and try to see that she gets it… Yes, yes… Okay. Goodbye.”
Wren stuffed the copies in her folder and returned the others to the filing cabinet.
“What’s the number on the log?” Jolene asked.
Oh God. A log? “I don’t know. Where do I look?”
Jolene tsked. “Press print record.”
“Er…296,884.” Wren made herself laugh. “I didn’t think I’d copied that many.”
“What?” Jolene got up and strode over to her. She looked at the number Wren had read out. “Don’t you have someplace you need to be?” Her voice was frosty.
Wren fled. She hurried up the stairs to her last class of the day. Not hard to figure out the number was higher than Jolene anticipated. Probably the couple of hundred copies she’d made last night. She hadn’t realized the machine bloody counted, though she should have. Her sense of danger rose to a fast simmer. Wren wasn’t a policeman’s daughter for nothing.
Benoit was already in the classroom. He beamed when he saw her. “Good morning.”
She walked straight to him. “Good morning, Benoit. Do me a favor and keep these sheets in your bag?” She handed him all but the pages about the students in the class. “Say nothing.”
He nodded and tucked them in his bag. “I have two hundred and twenty signatures on petition.”
Her jaw dropped. “Wow. That’s fantastic.” Then guilt struck. She felt bad she’d lied about why she needed them, but what choice did she have?
“Good morning,” Georg said.
Duscha and Monique followed him.
“Good morning,” Wren said.
She let them settle and then drew a terrible picture of Europe on the whiteboard.
“We not wait for Tomas?” Monique asked.
“No. Anyone guess what this is?” Wren crossed her fingers.
“Bacteria,” Georg said.
Benoit put up his hand. “Amoeba.”
Shit. “Er, no.” Wren rubbed it out and tried again, made Italy look like a foot kicking a ball.
“Europe,” Benoit said.
“Yes. Brilliant.”
“It look nothing like Europe,
” Monique said. “Where is Denmark?”
Wren drew an erect cock poking up into the gap between Norway and Sweden.
The door opened and Olive walked in, followed by Jolene. Olive held a sheet of paper.
“A word, Wren.”
She went over to the door.
“Been doing some copying?” Olive asked quietly.
“Yes, for this lesson.” She gestured to the folder on the desk, her heart thudding.
Olive opened it and flicked through. Wren uttered a silent prayer she hadn’t left a stray page of incriminating evidence.
“Is this yours?”
Olive showed her the sheet she had in her hand. One of the students off Leo’s list. Oops. A stray page of incriminating evidence.
“I saw that when I started,” she lied. “I presumed someone must have left it on the machine so I put it back when I’d finished.”
Weak but the only thing she could say.
“Did you make any copies last night?”
“Last night? No. How?” She suspected guilt was written all over her face in large letters. The urge to keep talking bubbled, but it was one of the things her brothers had taught her—another life lesson—stop digging when you’re in a hole. Anyway, Wren didn’t need to speak. One word from Monique and she’d be finished. She waited for the axe to chop off her head.
Olive kept glaring and Wren pressed her lips together.
“Someone did a lot of copying last night, and there were only a handful of staff members here,” Jolene said.
Wren shrugged. Why hadn’t Monique said something?
“When I uncover who was in the office, they’ll be instantly dismissed,” Olive spat out the words like bullets.
After Jolene and Olive walked away, Wren let out a shuddering breath. She had to sit down, her legs shook so much.
“Benoit? Please mark where you live on the map and tell us how you traveled here.”
It was not Wren’s best lesson. Strangely enough, it was Monique who kept things going, but Wren could hardly meet her gaze. The French woman knew she’d lied. And Wren had a horrible suspicion that Olive and Jolene knew as well.
She expected Monique to challenge her at the end of the lesson, but she didn’t. The woman left with Duscha. Why didn’t she say something? Once Wren had retrieved her papers from Benoit, plus the sheets with the signatures, she made for the city library. After she talked to Matt, she might as well use the computers there to look for another job. Wren suspected she was about to get the sack.
Chapter Twenty
As Wren hurried past Leeds General Infirmary, the traffic light changed at the junction ahead. Rather than run to the crossing, she glanced to check the road was clear and sprinted across. She didn’t falter, though her stomach lurched into her throat, because Monique was about twenty yards behind her.
Instead of turning right toward the library, Wren made for the Headrow stores. Not running but walking fast. Another quick glance showed Monique still following. It didn’t have to mean anything, but it did in Wren’s mind. Monique knew she’d lied to Olive, so what did she want? To talk, blackmail, murder?
Wren squeaked and drew alarmed gapes from a couple of women ahead. She looped through The Light, and ran back toward the town hall. When she poked her head around the corner, there was no sign of Monique, and with a grunt of relief she hurried to the library.
Matt waited on the third floor. Wren flung her arms around him.
“Christ, twice in a couple of days? What’s up?” He pulled back to look at her and narrowed his eyes. “Been doing something you shouldn’t?”
Her cheeks heated. “Apart from eating peanut butter with a spoon?”
He rolled his eyes and tugged her over to a table. “Show me what you’ve got.”
She laid it all out. “I drew lines to show the point where the names seem to have been added.”
Ten minutes later, he sat back and sighed.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“There’s nothing conclusive, but…”
She held her breath.
“There is something odd. The crosses and circles indicating attendance and absence alongside the names under the lines are slightly different to those above. Plus it appears as though there’s a pattern. Overall, the attendance is very good, but there’s always a couple of circles in the names below the line, as though that makes it seem more legit.”
“And the names are of a type.”
“Same nationality?”
“Not sure. They all look East European, which is kind of odd even though we do get a lot of East Europeans at the school. I don’t think there are any men’s names. It’s hard to be sure, but I could check that out online.”
Matt picked up the lists of signatures Benoit had collected. “What are these?”
“Current students. I said Mum was protesting about the closure of an animal sanctuary in Meanwood.”
“Mum’s started a petition?”
Wren huffed. “No, I lied, though she’s always going on about it. The names might not be much use now, but I thought they might act as a control. If any of the extra people on the lists appear on these sheets, then it sort of disproves my theory none of them attended Ezispeke.”
“These registers aren’t current. Won’t the students have changed?”
“Some but not all. The terms are really short and they overlap. Sometimes students are here for nine weeks, which could be made up of three terms. Jolene, who runs the admin, has everything well organized, but to anyone trying to look at the whole picture, it’s confusing. Might be deliberate.”
Matt sat back in his chair. “Maybe Olive and Jolene are working together. They fabricate students who pay cash. Could be money laundering. Though not big money.”
“But how long has it been going on? And some of the students buy the whole package of transport and accommodation as well as the cost of the course. It’s thousands of pounds. I bet all the extra ones did that.” Wren pulled out the details she’d copied of Leo’s students and laid them in a row. “Yep, they did.”
Matt met her gaze. “Well done, Sherlock Holmes.”
Wren gave a little smile.
“What’s the name of the guy who gave you the lift? I’ll check him out.”
That wiped the smile off her face.
“Wren?”
“Tomas Adzovic.” She exhaled. If he was involved in this, he’d be found out sooner or later. “What about the link with Marco and the women I taught?”
“No more, Squirt. You’ve done enough. Let me run the names through the computer at work and see what I come up with.” He piled up the sheets, pushed them in his bag and rose to his feet. “I think you should reconsider joining the police.”
“No way.”
“If you’re right about this,” he held up the file, “you won’t have a job for long.”
Her stomach slumped. “What do you mean?”
“If Ezispeke is being used for money laundering or as a way to get illegal immigrants into the UK, it’ll be shut down. You and your friends will be out of work.”
Oh God.
* * * * *
Tomas drove one-handed and rubbed his eyes. He was tired and his back ached. He’d finally been spat out of Nottingham’s rush hour traffic and was heading for the motorway. Turned out he had nothing to pick up in the city and he was fairly certain Marco had done that deliberately. Maybe because he was pissed off he’d refused to drive to Hull last night. Or maybe because Wren had secured Marco the information he’d been supposed to get. Or maybe because Marco wanted to make a move on Wren himself. A lot of maybes and Tomas didn’t like any of them.
One certainty. He didn’t want Wren anywhere near Headingley tonight, but neither he nor Adam knew where the hell she was. Adam had called several times to tell him Wren wasn’t answering her phone. Tomas already knew that because she hadn’t answered him either, or responded to his voicemails or texts. Adam told him he’d called Ezispeke and left a message for
Wren to contact him and when she hadn’t, he’d been to the school only to discover she’d left for the day.
So Tomas had a problem. As far as he knew, Wren would turn up at the house in Headingley tonight and there was no way to prevent it without creating ripples. Those ripples might build to a tidal wave, which could pull the three of them under. If he told Adam to intercept Wren, what if Veton saw him, stopped him, hurt him? If he told Wren’s brothers or father, they might blunder in and wreck his undercover work. If he told Julia, she’d accuse him of letting sentiment get in the way of doing his job. If Wren mentioned her father and brothers were policemen, would that get her murdered?
The lump in his throat grew larger. The notion of someone getting killed was a legitimate one. The bastards didn’t care what they had to do to get what they wanted. He put his foot down and edged over the speed limit. There was no chance of him getting back before Wren was due to arrive in Headingley, but he’d make damn sure he was there when she finished.
* * * * *
Wren knocked on the door before she could change her mind. Dragen answered, cigarette in his mouth.
“Hi,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
The top button of his jeans was unfastened and he wore a filthy T-shirt with a picture of a candle that said, “Blow me, it’s my birthday”. Dragen looked her up and down without saying a word and then moved aside to let her in.
“Dragon, yes?” He exhaled smoke into her face.
Wren coughed. Bastard.
Only Danijela, Vesna and Tanja were waiting.
“Where are Jovana and Ardita?” she asked.
“Ardita ugggh.” Vesna held her stomach and put her hand to her head.
“Ardita’s sick.” Wren nodded.
“Jovana busy,” Danijela said.
Wren took three women’s magazines from her bag and handed them out.
“Flip through. Find a page you like and we’ll talk about it.”
Wren hadn’t planned to ask any tricky questions unless the moment was absolutely right with no chance of being overheard. The women settled into talking about makeup and clothes, and a couple of times they even laughed. Danijela read out a letter on a problem page about a woman whose boyfriend had cheated on her with her friend.
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