The Stolen Girls

by Patricia Gibney

  Lottie glanced around the room. Where to go from here? She didn’t want this to be a wasted journey, or Corrigan would be at the arrivals gate of Dublin airport with her P45.

  She said, ‘Maeve had a new, expensive dress in her wardrobe. Do you know anything about that?’

  ‘A dress?’

  ‘Yes. McNally took it.’

  Phillips seemed to deliberate over this, his eyes glaring. At last he said, ‘I’ve no idea why he would do that.’

  ‘I think you do.’ Lottie walked around in a circle and came to a stop, towering over the criminal. ‘Why was McNally in Ragmullin two days before Maeve went missing?’

  ‘Interesting you should ask that.’ He moved away from her. ‘Maybe you’re not so stupid after all.’

  ‘Let me spell it out for you,’ Lottie said. ‘McNally arrives in Ragmullin. Your daughter goes missing and three girls end up being murdered. I’d say that is very interesting, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘As I told you already, there’s someone much bigger than me involved here. McNally travelled over to sort out a job.’ He stood in front of one of his Jack Henry paintings, put out a hand and straightened the frame. ‘I needed to get out of a particular line of business. I was threatened. My family threatened. Shit, I don’t give a fuck about my alcoholic wife. But my daughter – she’s everything to me. I sent my man to sort it out.’

  ‘But McNally fucked it up.’

  ‘Maybe he did. Maybe he jolted someone into action earlier than might have been intended.’

  ‘Who is this mysterious someone?’

  ‘Your killer?’

  Lottie began joining the dots in her head. ‘You provide girls for the sex trade. You traffic them. But some of them are used by this… doctor to harvest organs for sale on the black market.’

  ‘Now you’re getting somewhere.’

  ‘Who is he, this doctor?’

  ‘I don’t know. I only deal with the man with the crooked teeth, Fatjon.’

  ‘Where is Fatjon from?’

  ‘Kosovo, originally. There was illegal trade in human organs during and after the Balkans war. Look it up. I’m sure even you can find out about it. Try Wikipedia.’

  Another Kosovo link.

  ‘Did you ever hear of Andri Petrovci?’

  ‘No.’

  Lottie thought over everything Phillips had told them. Could this Fatjon be in league with Petrovci? It looked likely. ‘You said your family was threatened. How and when?’

  Sighing loudly, Phillips said, ‘Suffice to say, I didn’t take it seriously enough. Otherwise Maeve would be safe. You’d better find her, Inspector.’

  ‘Tell me about this threat.’

  ‘I’m dealing with it. Enough said.’

  ‘Mr Phillips, I’m not here to make trouble for you. You agreed to speak with us. Can’t you be candid?’

  ‘Mrs Parker, I’ve told you more than I intended. You need to find my daughter. And quickly. If you don’t, you will be responsible for the war I will wage on your town.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a threat so.’

  ‘Take it any way you like, but I think it’s time the pair of you left. Manuel will show you out.’ Phillips turned to look out of the window. ‘And don’t forget to visit the docks. Interesting place.’

  * * *

  Stepping out on to the burning pavement, Boyd asked, ‘Did you discover anything interesting in Chez Phillips with your snooping?’

  ‘Manuel wasn’t too far away so I didn’t get a chance to look.’

  ‘I don’t believe that for a minute.’

  ‘Oh shit,’ Lottie said.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Wait here. I left my phone in the bathroom.’

  ‘What? Lottie! Come back.’

  She disappeared inside the glass doors, leaving Boyd behind.

  The door to the apartment opened immediately. Manuel directed her inside when she asked. Frank Phillips was still standing, staring out at the sea.

  ‘My phone, I think I left it in the bathroom,’ she said, breathlessly. ‘I’ll only be a minute.’

  With a wave of his hand, he acknowledged her without turning. ‘You know the way.’

  There was no sign of Manuel as she hurried down the corridor, patting her bag where her phone was safely stashed. Five doors plus the bathroom. She quickly checked them out. The first one was a kitchen with dining area. Manuel sat at a marble-topped table reading a newspaper.

  ‘Oh, sorry. Bathroom?’

  ‘You passed it. First on the left.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lottie pulled the door shut.

  She opened another three doors. A bedroom, probably Manuel’s; two guest rooms. She surmised that the last door was the master bedroom.

  With a glance around, she stepped inside. The contrast with the green reception room was startling. A long space spread out before her, decorated in baby-blue. Ignoring the corner housing a desk overflowing with books and files, her eyes were drawn to the super-king-sized bed on the furthest wall. On one side the pale linen was rumpled and tossed; on the other a small, dark figure lay curled like a baby in the womb.

  Lottie crept towards the bed. A child, a girl of maybe ten or eleven, snored with soft, even breaths, skin like chocolate fondant shimmering through the sheer baby-doll negligee. Her hair was tightly woven to her scalp, and short lashes fluttered as her chest rose and fell. A film of perspiration glinted on her upper lip despite the coolness of the room.

  Dear God, Lottie thought. A dank smell hung in the air. The smell Phillips had tried to mask with his cologne.

  The girl turned in her sleep, but her breathing remained regular as the snores subsided.

  What could she do? With no jurisdiction, she was powerless. She would have to wait until she got home and tell Superintendent Corrigan, who could inform his Spanish colleagues. Monsters, she thought, I’m dealing with monsters.

  She eased back out of the room; tried to keep her footsteps normal as she made her way through to the living room.

  ‘I hope you found it.’ Frank Phillips turned, his eyes dark green balls of glass.

  The air con muttered a constant tune in the silence. Lottie nodded, unable to trust her voice. The crispness of the air suddenly turned into a raw chill and her skin prickled.

  He knows, she thought. He knows that I know and I can’t do a damn thing about it. We’ll see about that.

  She reached the front door. Manuel appeared by her side. Keyed in a code. The door glided back soundlessly.

  She put one foot out into the hallway.

  ‘No matter what you think of me, Inspector, I’m still a father with a daughter who has disappeared. Find her.’

  She took a deep breath. Moved like a sleepwalker towards the elevator to the sound of the door closing on Frank Phillips’s warped world. And she knew exactly who the child in the bed reminded her of – the girl they’d found yesterday at the pump house.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  They turned left into the shade of a side street, walking hurriedly away from the beach and back towards the city.

  When she could trust her voice, Lottie said, ‘Okay so. There are five rooms and all appear normal except for one that I presume is his. A bed, probably the size of my bedroom at home. Beside it, a small marble table lined up with heroin paraphernalia.’ She knew she was avoiding the other horror in the room.

  ‘So he dips into his own product?’

  ‘Phillips doesn’t deal only in drugs any more. You know he deals in people. Girls… children. Oh Boyd, it was awful.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘This wee girl on that monster’s bed… she looked no more than eleven.’

  Boyd stopped, grabbed her arm and pulled her to face him. Lottie saw the rage in his eyes.

  ‘We’re going back. I don’t care about this being unofficial; we need to take that girl out of there.’

  ‘Stop, Boyd. We’d mess it up. I’ll tell Corrigan the minute we get back. Let him do it through the correct channels. It�
�s the best way to get Phillips once and for all.’

  ‘She’ll be long gone by then.’

  ‘No. I think he’s brazen enough to think we can do nothing.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  She started walking again.

  Boyd said, ‘So this analogy he used, about the birds and planes… was he trying to tell us to back off?’

  ‘I think he was trying to say that what’s going on Ragmullin is only the tip of the proverbial. His main concern is finding his daughter.’

  ‘So he definitely didn’t have her abducted?’

  ‘No. He wouldn’t have agreed to meet us otherwise. I think he genuinely loves Maeve and wants her with him, but he hasn’t taken her.’

  ‘So what’s the story then?’

  ‘His sex trade business. He’s upset players bigger than him by wanting to change direction. To stop supplying them with girls for sex or organs or whatever they want to do with them. I think that taking Maeve is their way of getting him to play ball.’

  ‘Damn expensive ball.’

  They walked over the dry riverbed towards the train station. ‘Let’s go to the port,’ Lottie said, changing direction.

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘Because he told us to. And it’s one of the key areas for smuggling people into Europe.’

  As they walked, Lottie thought about the little girl on Frank Phillips’s bed. How pathetic she had looked, dressed up in a baby-blue negligee. And the stench of sex in the air. She felt her heart breaking for the frightfulness of the world and feared for the very soul of the human race. And she felt powerless to do anything about it.

  * * *

  A ruffling breeze cooled her burning skin as they walked along the paved promenade.

  ‘The architecture is beautiful,’ Lottie said, glancing up at the wavy concrete canopy above their heads.

  A cruise ship blared a foghorn, slipping away from the dock. A flotilla of tug boats heralded the route. Lottie stood beside the glass panel skirting the harbour. She saw a cargo ship. Containers stacked high. Gigantic cranes, manoeuvring, lowering, lifting. The skyline appeared like a contemporary piece of art. Lines and arcs. Mesmerising.

  ‘So what was Phillips trying to tell us?’ Boyd asked.

  ‘Look over there.’ Lottie pointed. ‘The ferry. Can you see the name on the side?’

  Boyd squinted beneath the shade of his hand. ‘Melilla. Never heard of it. Is it the name of the ship or her home port?’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Taking out her phone, Lottie switched on her mobile data and googled the name. ‘It’s a port in Africa. Bordered by the sea and Morocco. Owned by Spain.’ She tapped off her data.

  Boyd held up his hands. ‘We’re not going to Africa. No matter how important you think it is. We’d have to get malaria shots. And I’ve read about what that stuff does to your sex drive.’

  Lottie said, ‘I’ve worked out how Phillips operated the human trafficking. And it’s way too big for him alone.’

  ‘So who’s the boss? Our doctor killer?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ Boyd scratched at his jaw.

  ‘I’m starving.’ She grabbed Boyd’s arm. ‘Let’s find somewhere to eat.’

  ‘Best suggestion you’ve made all day.’

  ‘There.’ She pointed to tables outside an eatery facing the port. ‘That will do. It has free Wi-Fi.’

  They ordered two omelettes and got the Wi-Fi code from the waiter. Lottie’s phone pinged with three emails.

  ‘Who’s writing to you?’ Boyd asked.

  ‘Jane Dore.’ She opened the first email, the latest one to arrive.

  ‘Read.’

  ‘It’s a bit convoluted.’ Lottie scrolled to the end, where Jane had summarised her findings. ‘The last victim we found. She’s different to the others.’

  ‘Different?’ Boyd took his plate from the waiter and ordered a glass of red wine. Lottie declined with a shake of her head without looking up.

  ‘She was shot and the wound washed. The bullet was lodged in her heart. But no organs missing.’

  ‘Plus she wasn’t buried underground.’ Boyd munched.

  Lottie ignored her food. ‘A rush job? Why?’

  ‘Was the same weapon used?’

  ‘Yet to be determined.’ She tapped open the next email. ‘This one is just Jane’s preliminary autopsy.’ Glancing at the last message, she raised an eyebrow. ‘Dan Russell?’ She read the missive before hurriedly closing her email and slapping the phone into her bag.

  ‘Must be personal,’ Boyd said.

  ‘It’s not personal. Not really.’ Lottie picked up her fork and dug it into the hard omelette. Suddenly she had no appetite.

  ‘What’s up?’ Boyd asked.

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘Lottie Parker, I know when something is upsetting you. What had Russell to say for himself?’

  ‘Nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Nothing to do with me? Come on.’

  ‘It’s to do with his time in Kosovo.’ And Adam, she thought. Was Russell really telling bare-faced lies? She’d have to find out.

  ‘Kosovo? Is it to do with Petrovci?’

  ‘It might have to do with Adam.’

  ‘Your Adam? You’d better explain.’

  ‘Not now, okay? And I honestly don’t think it is connected to our investigations.’

  ‘You’re such a crap liar. You already said this Melilla place links back to Kosovo.’

  ‘That’s not what I said. I think they bring some of the girls through Melilla into Spain and from there to wherever they need them to operate. It’s the murders that have something to do with Kosovo.’

  ‘And Andri Petrovci is from Kosovo.’

  ‘And so are Mimoza and Milot. And this mysterious man with crooked teeth. It’s like something out of an Agatha Christie novel.’ She set her lips in a thin line, threw down her napkin and picked up her bag. ‘Are you finished eating?’

  ‘I am now.’ He laid down his cutlery and gulped the remainder of his wine.

  Lottie paid with her card. Boyd asked for the receipt.

  Without speaking to each other, they walked the short distance to the main road, jumped into a taxi and headed to the airport.

  * * *

  On the plane, Boyd twisted sideways to look directly at her.

  ‘So how does Adam fit into all this?’ he asked.

  Buckling her seat belt, Lottie said, ‘I knew the silence was too good to last. I could ask you how does Jackie’s boyfriend McNally fit into all this too.’

  ‘He’s just trying to find the boss’s daughter.’

  ‘Maybe he killed three girls, having first extracted the kidneys from two of them.’

  Lottie sighed. It didn’t make sense. Closing her eyes, she hoped Boyd would take the hint: conversation over.

  ‘How long are you going to be allowed to keep Milot?’

  She opened her eyes. ‘Monday. Shit, that’s tomorrow. I wish I knew where Mimoza is.’

  ‘I think she’s been murdered,’ he said.

  ‘If she’s dead, where’s her body?’

  ‘We just haven’t found it yet.’

  ‘Well if she’s not dead, she’s in terrible danger. First thing tomorrow, I’m bringing in Russell and then I’m hauling in Andri Petrovci. This time he’s going to talk.’

  ‘Maybe we should follow up with his boss, too. This Jack Dermody.’

  ‘You do that, and check out all his friends and acquaintances. Someone got his phone number in order to send him to the pump house. He doesn’t strike me as a killer, though.’

  ‘And pray tell, who does?’

  ‘Boyd, close your eyes and go to sleep.’

  The seat belt sign remained on for the full flight. Turbulence bucketed the plane through the sky and it was half an hour late landing at Dublin airport.

  It was 7.30 p.m.

  Lottie felt like she’d been up for a week.

  SIXTY-NINE

  Chloe did
n’t want to go out; Emily Coyne was begging her. On a Sunday night? With school tomorrow? Madness. But her mother was away in Spain or somewhere, so it might be okay.

  After pulling tops, skirts and jeans from her wardrobe she looked at the heap of clothes on the floor. Too warm for long sleeves, she thought, but she had to cover the scars. Frustration welled up like a balloon in her chest. She sank to her knees and flung the clothes to the four corners of her room. On the bed, her phone vibrated with an insistent chirp.

  ‘Go away, Emily,’ Chloe shouted at it.

  She stumbled to her feet. Maybe it was Maeve. She checked. It wasn’t Maeve.

  Twitter alert: #cutforlife.

  Her bottom lip trembled. She had wanted to delete the app. But she couldn’t do it.

  Now she tapped it and read the tweet.

  ‘No,’ she cried. ‘No! Leave me alone.’

  She threw herself onto the bed and howled.

  Boyd dropped Lottie off at her house at 9 p.m. Sean opened the door.

  ‘Missed you,’ he said, hugging her tightly.

  ‘I was only away for the day.’ She hugged him back. ‘It’s nice to be missed, though. Everything all right?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Hi, Mam,’ Katie shouted from the sitting room. The remnants of a pizza takeaway littered the floor. Milot smiled, a rim of ketchup on his lips.

  ‘Hello, little man.’ Lottie threw her bag on an armchair and ruffled his hair. She needed a shower but didn’t think she could move her legs up the stairs yet.

  ‘Where’s Chloe?

  That was when she heard a scream from above.

  Crashing into Chloe’s room, she shouted, ‘What’s wrong? What happened?’

  ‘Go away,’ Chloe sobbed into her pillow.

  ‘I’m going nowhere until you tell me why you’re screaming at the top of your voice.’ Lottie stood inside the door and surveyed the mounds of clothing scattered everywhere. ‘What’s happened here?’ She began picking up T-shirts, folding them over her arm. Initially she thought they were dirty, but they smelled fresh, unlike another underlying scent that she couldn’t place. Dirt? Dust? Blood? ‘I leave for one day and the roof caves in.’