Into the Darkness

by Sibel Hodge

  ‘I’m going to check out Delaney’s known associates now.’

  ‘Good stuff, Lee.’

  I grinned and repeated the name Jimmy Delaney over and over in my head.

  Got you now, you fucker!

  THE DETECTIVE

  Chapter 36

  Ronnie drove to Berrisford while I got on to the control room, asking for a list of incidents that were logged on that patch during the evening Tracy was last seen. I listened while they ran through a burglary, a road traffic accident, a pub fight, a domestic assault, a shoplifting. All in all, it had been a pretty quiet night.

  I stared out of the window as Ronnie said, ‘What are you thinking, guv? Why does it matter what was going on that night?’

  ‘Just trying to get a picture of what was happening on the streets. How and why Tracy might’ve met her accomplice.’ I tapped my mobile phone against my lips, thinking. ‘OK, this wasn’t a burglary, which means they didn’t panic because they’d been discovered by the Jamesons in their farmhouse. Jan and Mike had no enemies or criminal connections, so what’s the motive for killing them?’

  Ronnie looked blank. ‘But Greene thinks it was a burglary gone—’

  ‘I think he’s wrong.’

  Ronnie shrugged. ‘I can’t see a motive other than that. They were a regular, retired couple who led a quiet life.’

  I scrunched up my face. The trouble was, neither could I, but there had to be a motive. ‘The last time Alice saw Tracy was about eleven p.m. on Tuesday. The murders were committed the next morning. Where had Tracy been and what had she been doing in the interim period?’

  Ronnie shrugged. ‘Doing drugs, most probably. Holed up in another druggie’s house.’

  ‘Or?’

  ‘I’ve got no idea.’

  ‘Why was her phone switched off at 11.31 p.m., a short while after Alice saw her, and hasn’t been turned on since?’

  ‘Maybe it ran out of battery.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. But I don’t think this started when the Jamesons were murdered. Something triggered it.’

  ‘You’re not making sense.’

  ‘That happens often. Just ask Greene.’

  It was gone 11.30 p.m. when Ronnie parked at one end of London Road. There were about ten girls on the street in various stages of undress and striking a multitude of poses which were intended to be seductive but just looked heartbreakingly sad. I spotted Alice there, too.

  ‘You take that side of the street. I’ll take this side,’ I said before getting out of the car.

  Ronnie nodded and darted across the road.

  I approached Alice first. Despite the chill in the air, she wore fishnet tights, a tiny skirt and a skimpy vest top.

  She clicked her teeth and rolled her eyes at me. ‘What? You gonna nick me for tryin’ to earn a livin’ now? I told you everyfink I know.’

  ‘I’m not here to nick anyone. We need to find Tracy.’

  ‘Well, she ain’t here.’ She made a show of looking around, arms wide open.

  ‘And you still haven’t heard from her or seen her?’

  ‘No!’ She jutted out one hip and looked at a spot over my shoulder.

  ‘Do you know if Tracy charged her mobile phone before you left the house together that night?’

  ‘Huh? What kind of question’s that?’

  ‘Think, Alice. Please. It’s important.’

  She tapped a stilettoed toe on the pavement. ‘Actually, yeah, it was charged. We both always make sure it’s on full battery at night, just in case. Can’t be too careful out here, can ya? Anyway, just before we were leavin’ I made some toast. I needed the socket for the toaster and I had to unplug her phone to make it so I checked the battery then. It was full.’

  So, had Tracy’s phone been purposely switched off on Tuesday night after she’d last been seen on London Road? If she was going on a drugs binge with someone she’d just met it seemed way too premeditated because how did she know she’d end up at the Jamesons the next day? The other possibility was that the phone had broken somehow – fallen from her bag and smashed on the pavement, maybe got lost down a drain, or it could’ve even been stolen. The possibilities were endless.

  ‘Did Tracy have a bank account?’

  ‘Yeah. With Barclays. It was from her Bristol days. She never used it, though. This is strictly a cash business.’

  ‘Do you know if she had much cash on her?’

  ‘Nah. She’d just paid ’er rent to me so she only had a fiver left. She was hoping it would be a busy night.’

  ‘OK, thanks.’ I moved away from her and called Becky. Told her to check with Barclays’s out-of-hours number to see if Tracy’s account had been touched since Tuesday night. Then I moved on to the next girl along the street. She looked in her early twenties but her eyes told a different story. They spoke of a lifetime of seeing things most people couldn’t even imagine. She was leaning against a lamp post and pushed herself away from it with a resigned weariness when she saw me heading in her direction, before plastering a fake smile on her face.

  ‘Hey, gorgeous,’ she said. ‘Looking for some honey tonight?’

  ‘I haven’t been called gorgeous in a long time.’ I smiled and pulled my warrant card from my pocket. Flashed it at her. ‘DS Carter.’

  The smile morphed into a scowl. ‘Shit. I’m just trying to earn a living here.’

  ‘It’s OK. I’m not interested in that. I’m looking for another working girl. Tracy Stevens, do you know her? Know where she might be or who she could be with?’ I slid Tracy’s photo from my other pocket and held it in front of her.

  She swallowed hard. ‘Yeah, I know her. She’s normally down the end there.’ She pointed further down the street, towards a blonde and a redhead. ‘I heard you lot are after her, but I haven’t seen her for days. Alice is the only one who’s mates with her.’ She jerked her chin in Alice’s direction behind me.

  ‘Can you be more specific which day?’

  Her eyes darted from side to side. ‘Um . . . would’ve been Tuesday. Early on in the night, I think.’

  ‘Did you see her with anyone? Or see her leave with someone?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nah. I was too busy trying to score my own punter.’

  ‘Was there any trouble that night out here?’

  She shrugged. ‘Trouble’s relative, isn’t it?’ she said wearily, and I understood she was talking about her own situation. ‘But no, not that I remember.’

  I handed her a card and asked her to call me if she remembered or heard anything else that might help. I also told her the same as Alice, that if she wanted me to put her in touch with some women’s projects that could help her, I’d be more than happy to do so. She tucked the card in her tiny handbag and looked down the street, eyes already scanning for a potential customer.

  The next girl along was older, with acne scars covered up by a thick layer of foundation. She’d moved to a shop doorway and was smoking with one hand while texting with the other.

  She sighed when I introduced myself. ‘Oh, great.’

  I reiterated I wasn’t there to nick anyone for prostitution and her shoulders relaxed.

  ‘I just need information.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard what they say she did, but I can’t see it myself.’ She took a long drag on her cigarette.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Look, I didn’t know her well. She kept to herself mostly or hung around with Alice. She was kind of quiet. But you get used to reading people, ya know? Sometimes your instinct is the only thing gonna save you from a dodgy punter who wants to rough you up a bit. Tracy always seemed like the gentle type. Not like some of the hard-nosed bitches on this patch.’ She glared at a girl across the road as she said this, her dislike of the other woman obvious from the venom in her voice.

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that since I saw her splashed all over the news. It was Tuesday night. She was in her usual spot down there.’ She pointed a long, red nai
l in the same direction as the previous girl. ‘Must’ve been about elevenish?’

  ‘Did you see her with a punter? Or anyone else?’

  She ground her cigarette out on the concrete with the toe of her high-heeled boots. ‘No. Sorry. I wasn’t paying much attention, really. It was a quiet night, and pickings were a bit sparse so I was watching the road for cars.’

  ‘Were there any incidents out here that night? Something Tracy might’ve seen? Some trouble she might’ve got into?’

  ‘If there was, I didn’t see anything. Like I said, it was quiet.’

  ‘Do you know of any regular punters Tracy had?’

  ‘Nah. Sorry. I didn’t know her that well. She was quite closed off. Some of the girls talk to each other. Some of us are friends. I think Tracy only confided in Alice.’

  I handed out another business card and offer of help and moved on. Fifteen minutes and four women later, I was back at the car, waiting for Ronnie.

  As he slid into the driver’s seat, I said, ‘Anything?’

  ‘Nothing helpful, guv. A few of the ladies saw Tracy around elevenish on Tuesday but don’t remember seeing her later on. No one noticed her leaving with anyone. And there was no trouble out here that night.’

  Becky called back as Ronnie started the car.

  ‘Tracy’s bank account hasn’t been touched for a couple of weeks. Seems like she’s been saving a bit. Money paid in in dribs and drabs but nothing ever taken out. There’s six hundred and fifty-five quid in it.’

  ‘Saving for a better life maybe,’ I said. ‘So why hasn’t she withdrawn any money? If she’s in hiding she’d need cash.’

  ‘Yeah, weird, isn’t it? The other thing is, I’ve gone through Jan Jameson’s address book and spoken to everyone in it. I can’t find any links to Berrisford from people listed.’

  I sighed.

  ‘And the one-page phone record for Tracy covered a whole year. She hardly ever used her phone and the only calls she made were to her dealer, Dex, or Alice, or a pizza delivery shop.’

  ‘What about calls to Tracy?’

  ‘Again, Dex and Alice were the only ones in contact with her via phone. I just got hold of the text logs and they were only from and to Alice. Just normal chit-chat, nothing suspicious. I called the pizza shop and spoke to the owner. He didn’t know Tracy personally, and their regular delivery driver was working during the time the Jamesons were killed so there’s no connection.’

  I thanked Becky and hung up.

  ‘What now?’ Ronnie asked.

  ‘Now we get some sleep. There’s not much else we can do tonight. We have no more leads.’

  THE VIGILANTE

  Chapter 37

  Disappointment flooded through me when I found 198 Balham Place. It was a high-rise block of council flats in amongst other tower blocks arranged in a square. It had a sad patch of grass in the middle that housed a children’s play area full of broken and vandalised equipment that was currently occupied by some teenagers, sitting on the ground, laughing and passing a can of drink around.

  I parked the pick-up next to a small brick building with vented doors that housed an electrical substation. I got out of the truck and glanced about, staring up at the towers, which were run-down and graffitied to death. It was definitely not the kind of place that would have a basement or bunker or outbuilding where the website was being filmed from. The amount of screaming on those videos would’ve also been heard by neighbours and reported to the police. And it was unlikely they could drag a kidnapped victim into a place like this without being spotted.

  There was no point setting up an observation point in a location like that. All I’d see would be a fifth-floor window. It would be useless. And I’d be spotted immediately by all the kids, who were probably runners for the local drug dealers or members of whichever gang operated in this area – stereotypical or not, that was the cold, hard truth of these estates. I couldn’t afford to attract attention to myself that might tip Delaney off or slow me down. This wasn’t the place Toni was being held, I was sure of that. I could wait and watch and see if Delaney left the building and led me to wherever Toni was, but I didn’t have time. I checked the countdown marker on my digital watch that I’d synchronised with the clock on the red room’s video box. It was on 3:30:56.

  Just three and a half hours to go until the live video feed started.

  I made sure my Glock was secure and concealed, and put my taser into my coat pocket, threaded a couple of plasticuffs through my belt loops then jogged into the building. I was worried the pick-up wouldn’t be there when I got back, but I’d have to deal with that if and when it happened.

  There was a choice of a graffitied lift that stank of piss or graffitied stairs that stank of piss. I ran up the stairs to the fifth floor and found number 198.

  The door was grey and battered and looked like it had been kicked a few times. One way in and one way out. Good for me. Bad for Jimmy. If he was in there.

  There was no peephole in it for anyone to look through. The element of surprise was all mine.

  I glanced up and down the open-air walkway that ran the length of the block. No one was about. A baby cried in a flat further along. A heavy metal rock song pumped out from the flat next door so loud I could hear the lyrics clearly and the drum beat reverberated through the soles of my boots. I put my ear to the front door of number 198 and listened, but the music drowned out any possible sounds from within.

  I pulled out my taser and let my arm rest by my thigh. I pivoted a little backwards on my right foot, waiting for the door to open, ready to kick it inwards with my left if needed.

  Then I knocked on the door.

  THE DETECTIVE

  Chapter 38

  I tossed and turned in bed as thoughts flitted into my head on a continuous loop – Denise, the collapse of my house sale, Tracy Stevens, Jeremy Wellham and his ex-girlfriend Mandy, what to do about work, Tracy’s unknown accomplice, Ellie Nash, the Jamesons.

  I huffed to myself as I turned on the light, then picked up the framed photo of Denise on my bedside table and spoke to her, as usual. ‘What am I supposed to be doing with my life?’ If she was still here she’d kick me up the arse. Talk some sense into me. I was lost without her. Although the depression that had consumed me since her death was slowly starting to lift, now I just seemed to be permanently angry. And I was lonely. Alone. Floating in some kind of limbo. The house was too quiet with just me rattling about in it with the echoes of Denise’s laughter round every corner. ‘What will make me happy again?’ I asked her.

  She just stared back at me in all her beautiful glory and a voice in my head said, You need to start taking responsibility for yourself. You’re the only one who can make you happy.

  I sighed, closed my eyes and willed the internal struggle inside my head to bugger off so I could sink into oblivion for a few hours. I was exhausted but, as usual, my mind refused to switch off.

  I gave up at 3 a.m., got out of bed and made a cup of tea, thinking about the Jamesons and Stevens again, trying to work out what was niggling at me. Something, just out of reach, was attempting to surface but, again, the more I thought, the more the chatter in my head drowned it out.

  It was just gone 7 a.m. when I got to the CID office. I was the first one there. I was about to fill the kettle to make coffee when I noticed some git had stolen that now as well.

  I glared at the empty space where the kettle should’ve been and called Becky to see if she could stop off for supplies on the way in.

  ‘We should put CCTV in our own office,’ she said before telling me she’d make a diversion to Costa.

  I sat at my desk and opened my laptop, surprised that was still there. Then I pulled up all the crime scene photos and videos from the Jamesons’ house, studying them all before turning my attention to the paperwork and documents we’d already compiled and carefully reading through them, searching for something I’d missed.

  There’d been no sightings of Tracy Stevens overnight and
no word from her mobile phone company to say her phone had been switched on so we could trace a location. I was no further forward.

  Becky arrived bearing a tray of coffees and a bag of muffins.

  Ronnie arrived shortly after, immediately noticed the lack of kettle and let out a little shriek before giving me a horrified look. ‘Where’s it gone?’

  ‘Nicked,’ I said. ‘And I haven’t got time to scour the station for it.’

  ‘I got you green tea and mint,’ Becky said to Ronnie, resting the cardboard tray on my desk. ‘Is that all right?’

  ‘I usually have chamomile in the morning,’ he said.

  Becky shrugged. ‘Sorry. That’s all they had.’ She sat at her desk, opened her laptop and said to me, ‘I spoke to the owners of some shops in London Road last night. There are five with CCTV. They’ll all be there this morning for someone to go up and look at them.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. CCTV was the only possible lead we could check out now. ‘Ronnie, you head up there after your tea and check out the recordings.’

  Ronnie removed the lid from his tea and sniffed it with a withering look. ‘OK.’ He put the lid back on the tea and moved it to the far edge of his desk.

  ‘I’m going through this paperwork again. We’re missing something here.’ I bent over one of the Jamesons’ joint bank account statements and read it once more.

  Greene appeared in the doorway, muttering a ‘Morning all.’ He walked over to my desk and said, ‘Where are we? I need to tell the Chief Constable something tangible. There’s got to be a trace of these killers.’

  ‘We’ve got nothing. No sightings. Tracy’s phone’s still switched off,’ I said. ‘She could be literally anywhere. And there’s something not right about—’

  Greene held up a hand to silence me before pacing the room for a moment. ‘The quickest route from Berrisford to Turpinfield is the A1M before picking up the B roads and country lanes. I want you concentrating on traffic and CCTV cameras along that route. Stevens and her accomplice were intending to burgle the Jamesons so they would’ve arrived by vehicle.’

  ‘Sir, that’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. There are hundreds of routes they could’ve taken to get to Turpinfield that didn’t involve travelling through any towns or using motorways with cameras,’ I said, exasperated. ‘They could’ve used any of the back roads and traversed the county on any combination of them. There are too many possible directions of travel.’