“Well that as may be but we still aren’t any further forward trying to find the girl. Who is she?”
“I can’t say.”
“You will have to say Mary. If you don’t you might be charged with perverting the course of justice and possibly as an accessory to murder.”
Mary flinched at the M word, “I can’t tell you everything officer – believe me I would if I could. I don’t know how much you know about me but I work with prostitutes in Glasgow. The Phoenix Centre helps women in crisis, gives them alternatives. You have to understand that a lot of them are forced into what they are doing and addiction can be a one way street for a lot of them. I feel something of a bond with the way they live and try to help when I can.”
“Mrs Clark, please stick to the point – we don’t have much time.”
“Bear with me. About a month ago I was approached in the street by a woman, Hanom Kocack. She’s Turkish and had been smuggled into the country by her husband Onur who works here as an engineer. She told me her family had got into trouble with debt in Istanbul – very serious debt. She said Onur had borrowed from loan sharks. It’s a familiar story but the debt soon added up and it was obvious they’d never be able to pay off what they owed. They had a daughter too – Kovan – and they made the decision to get out while they still could. Onur found work here in Scotland. He was sponsored by the Home Office to work with the Madoch Group. He left first, about six months ago. He tried to get his wife Hanom into the country but couldn’t get a visa so he opted for a different route. She travelled west through to Bulgaria where she linked up with people traffickers. To cut a long story short she arrived in the UK with about twenty other women in a container on a cargo ship. She told me it hadn’t been a good journey but she made it all the same.”
“So the two are now both living here in Scotland – I’m assuming then I know who the girl is?”
“Yes but its more complicated than that. Hanom is in Scotland. In Glasgow in fact but her life has not worked out the way she planned. The women who were brought in are being forced to work in sex clubs. They are given no money and have no papers. They know if they go to the authorities they will be deported so they are virtual slaves. People don’t realise what goes on. Onur is living somewhere in Glasgow but hasn’t seen his wife yet. This is what brought Hanom to me. Hanom found my number through Google in an internet cafe. She told me she needed to find her daughter. She said they would have travelled together but the traffickers insisted it wasn’t they way they did things, that it wasn’t safe. Kovan was brought to Britain in a van. She was forced to sit for 16 hours in a space hollowed out under the dashboard. The poor girl was stiff with cramp, terrified she might be electrocuted by the wires which held her in place. But she got here and I met her off the ferry in Hull two days ago. We travelled back to Glasgow by train and were travelling to meet her mother in Shotts when we got stuck in the snow.”
“How was it that you were meeting her mother – I thought she was a virtual prisoner?”
“There was nowhere for them to go but they do get breaks. They could walk about in the city but where would they go? She knew the people that brought her to Glasgow still had her daughter.”
“So you would have me believe that the people holding Hanom hostage would just hand over her daughter to a complete stranger?”
“I can’t talk about that but I made sure I got her.”
“Mrs Clark you realise your story sounds rather unlikely.”
“It’s the only story I have. I’m not lying. You have my word.”
“So what happened on the bus? Why were you left behind?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t part of the plan. I knew I might meet a third party. Hanom was going to try and run away. She said she’d try and leave.”
“You’ve met her then.”
“She found the address for the Phoenix Centre and came in one day on one of her breaks. She seemed nice and I agreed to help. I had to – the way those women are treated would sicken you detective – I had to try. Hanom said if she couldn’t meet with me on the night I collected her daughter then someone else would. She said I’d know.”
Arbogast was far from convinced but sensed this is what he was going to have to work with. “So I’m assuming Hanom didn’t show up?”
“The bus stopped in the middle of nowhere and a car drew up behind us, it must have been a jeep of some sort to get through the snow. The driver said the coach couldn’t go any further. He seemed nice and gave Kovan his jacket. He was very concerned for her. And then someone else got on the bus and, well, I just can’t remember anything else. Kovan was quite relaxed about the whole thing. I think she was excited at the prospect of seeing her family again and all that snow, it was a novelty to her. I think she felt her journey was over.”
Mary looked exhausted. She’d been talking a lot and had no energy. Her face was still very pale and drawn and it looked as if she needed rest. Arbogast could tell there was some truth to her tale but he wasn’t sure how much.
“I’ll leave you be for now Mrs Clark but I’ll be back. You will have to remain here until you can be released. DS Reid is the family liaison officer for this case and she’ll keep you up to date with what’s going on. You will also be seeing me again. Before I go however I need you to tell me where Hanom works. It is essential I speak to her as soon as possible. She may have pictures of the child which will help us too. All I have to work on at the moment is that the girl is missing with a known sex offender with a history which ties closely into yours. This case isn’t looking too tidy just now and if, as you say, there is another person involved then it looks even worse than I had expected. Where does Hanom work?”
“I promised not to betray that.”
“Do you know what’s happening here?” Arbogast said, his voice rising, “You are an accessory to abduction, trafficking and failing to report multiple crimes. You need to start cooperating.”
Mary stared back for an age before replying, “I need you to help me. The last thing I want is for that girl to fall into the hands of dirty, filthy, perverted men. I’ve been there and I wouldn’t wish that ordeal on anyone. If this is Stevie Davidson we’re talking about then it would surprise me that he was mixed up in something like this, given what I know about his past. But I worry about Hanom Mr Arbogast. If you turn up at the club as part of an investigation she may well disappear. These men don’t mess about.”
“I will be discreet. There are ways round this. It may be that we already have some kind of contact there. A lot of the clubs are very cooperative. They’re lucrative for the people who run them and they like to keep us onside.”
“Very well,” Mary said, she was shaking now and afraid of the potential consequences of what she was about to say. “Hanom has been working out of the Devil May Care club. It’s possible she may have been moved as the women are rotated to make sure the regulars have fresh meat to ogle. If I were to try and find her I’d start there but tread carefully.”
Of all the places this investigation was heading the last one Arbogast had expected was the venue of his recent humiliation. Mary was right, they didn’t mess about there and less than 48 hours ago he had been one of lecherous punters ogling fresh meat. ‘How am I going to be able to go back without being recognised? First things first – I’ll have to get back to Motherwell to update Rosalind Ying about where we’re at.’ Arbogast was pleased that he had made a breakthrough. He remembered all too well having failed the last child he had been tasked with finding. The last kid had died and that couldn’t be allowed to happen again. But then again perhaps it was already too late.
10
DCI Rosalind Ying stared at the paperwork and knew that on the third day of the investigation things were only going to get worse. The researchers on the HOLMES team were collating every piece of evidence which had been gathered so far. Witness statements; evidence from door-to-door enquiries; and crime scene analysis; but it was still early as far as getting results were concerned.
She was hoping the leg work would throw a fragment of progress her way as the press coverage had gone ballistic after Stevie Davidson’s identity had been confirmed. His past record hadn’t been mentioned but that hadn’t stopped the vultures from tearing strips from his bloodied reputation. This was both a blessing and a curse. Although the case was now leading news bulletins across the country they were also under more scrutiny than ever. Rosalind had pulled Stevie’s social work record and his police files. He wasn’t the worst, she had explained to Arbogast, and he didn’t seem to pose a threat. She was interested in the information that sprung up on his disappearance in 1985 and she and Arbogast had discussed this at some length, “It does seem quite a coincidence. Do you think Eric Sanderson could be involved?” but Arbogast, or John as he asked to be called, wasn’t sure, “There’s something wrong with his story but I’m not convinced he’s directly tied into this. If the allegations from the 80s are true then Sanderson certainly played a part in shaping Stevie’s life. What I can’t figure out is how this all fits together? It doesn’t make sense but maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye?” They’d got Stevie’s mobile number from his work and tried to trace the handset but it hadn’t been used since the morning before he went missing, which his mother had confirmed had been a call to her. The number was still being monitored but it seemed likely at this point that it wouldn’t be used again. The weather was still holding them up. While it had stopped snowing, travel conditions hadn’t improved. Overnight temperatures had been a constant -12c, rising to only -5c in the day. The snow masked any evidence there might be at the bus and it had been snowing all night. By the time they reached the coach there were no tracks to suggest anyone had either left or entered the bus from any direction. The bus itself had been another problem. They had to wrap and lift it and bring it back to Motherwell for forensics which was a major operation in itself. The roads were still bad and the vehicle so big that the flatbed sent to carry the bus had slid off the road and into a ditch and ended up needing rescued itself. In short it was all taking longer than it should. Frustrated, Rosalind Ying gathered her papers and made her way to the morning meeting.
The debrief room was full which reflected the size of the case and the priority which it was getting. In reality the scope of the case was now national with forces across Scotland on the lookout for Stevie Davidson and the girl. There was a quiet chatter among the various teams as they waited to hear if any progress was being made. One side of the emergency incident room was floor to ceiling glass masked with internal blinds which were open. This allowed Arbogast, sat at the head of the room, to see Rosalind Ying powering along, papers in one hand, deep in conversation on her mobile in the other. The door opened slightly then stopped with Rosalind’s foot keeping it from closing. He hadn’t appreciated it before, perhaps he had been struggling with the case, but she was an attractive woman. With a Chinese mother and Scottish father DCI Ying had a classic dress style and a confident nature. She wore figure hugging designer suits which flattered her shape. As she pushed through the throng she caught him staring and smiled. He tried not to blush. ‘This is not the right time to be leering over your boss.’ Rosalind had a laptop to plug in for a powerpoint presentation. As she bent over to plug the computer in he couldn’t help but be impressed by the sight of her and found himself wondering what she was like when her out-of-office was turned on. He wondered what it would be like to have her like that, bent over and permissive before cutting himself off, embarrassed by his own inappropriate daydream. He hoped no-one had noticed although he could feel his face had reddened.
Rosalind stood up, “Right let’s get started,” she paused while the room quietened down. “First off I’d like to say thanks for everyone’s efforts so far but as you will be aware we are still far from the finish line.”
She was interrupted by Craig Marshall from CID. “Let’s face it, the paedo has probably already killed the kid – when we find the bastard he’d be best off having an accident. It’s not like it’s his first time, the prick.”
There were murmurs of assent around the room but the reply was blunt.
“If I hear any one of you repeating shite like that, you will be off the team. We do not know what Stevie Davidson’s motives were although on the surface there is a link to Mary Clark. We still don’t have a picture of the child but I’m hoping we’ll get one today from the CCTV footage we’re reviewing from Buchanan Bus Station. The girl, Kovan, was smuggled into the country so there may well be links to child traffickers either here in Scotland or overseas. It is unhelpful to come to this investigation with the mentality of tabloid outrage. Keep a clear mind guys and we might just break this case – is that understood?”
The silence was all the answer she needed. “At the moment we are questioning all known sex offenders but so far have turned up nothing. Everyone we have spoken to about Stevie Davidson has said that they trusted him a hundred per cent, although we suspect one of his colleagues has been leaking information to the press. The online entry naming Stevie came from a Twitter user called Hot Gossip who rather stupidly had kept contact details on her profile despite an attempt to appear anonymous. We will be speaking to one Jean Jessop in due course. Meanwhile the search goes on. So far we’ve had more than a hundred uniforms out there but progress has been slow and the fact there’s so much snow has been a nightmare. DC Small I think you might have more information from the scene?”
“We haven’t turned up anything from the bus at all. So many people have used the coach that it’s difficult to tie anything down. Interestingly we have one lead from the Kirk o’ Shotts church which we missed first time round. A door had been forced at the back of the building. We hadn’t seen it first time as snow had obscured the wall,” this was met by groans and disbelief, “So we know someone has been in the church recently. The door to the bell tower had also been forced but we found nothing to suggest that anything else had been damaged.”
Rosalind turned her attention to DS Reid as family liaison officer, “What do you have for us?”
DS Mhairi Reid had questioned the husband John Clark as soon as the investigation had been called in. She travelled to his home with one of the duty PCs whose name she couldn’t remember. The couple had a modest home in Shotts, just a few miles from where the bus was found. The estate was one of those non-descript brown brick affairs that were thrown up on vacant plots across the UK. While the area once had a distinct industrial feel post war reconstruction had seen an explosion of council estates and more and more of these areas were becoming commuter zones, with pokey homes being thrown up with little space between them and not much in the way of sound insulation. DS Reid had a gut feeling that John Clark would not be home, suspecting he would have already left for the hospital but she wanted to see what she could learn before she spoke to him in person. The house itself was semi-detached with an out of place Tudoresque wood and plaster effect covering the top floor. She saw nothing so out of the ordinary. Inside was an explosion of IKEA and brown leather and it had a distinctly masculine feel, like a bachelor pad which had morphed into a married home but still hadn’t decided on a style. It wasn’t so different from her home in Shawlands. Going round the back garden she saw there was a boarded up window in the kitchen. A box stood out from the snow which contained large shards of glass so it would appear that the damage was relatively new. As she peered into the kitchen a voice sounded from across the hedge.
“Can I help you officer?”
It was the neighbour, a 50-something woman, with a cigarette in one hand and a smoking mug of tea in the other. The mug read ‘horny bitch’.
“Do you know when this happened?” DS Reid said, “It looks recent.”
“Two days ago that was. Those two are always fighting. The walls in here are so thin you can hear everything.” ‘And I bet you fucking love it,’ thought DS Reid. Horny bitch continued, “They were screaming at each other that night. It was something about a kid. I don’t know if she can’t have any or he
won’t let her but they were wild that night. There was a lot of noise and it sounded like they were throwing things. I was out having a smoke when an ash tray came crashing out of the window. I was quite frightened to tell you the truth. And then I heard her screaming so I knocked on the door and it all went quiet. He answered and said it was all fine but I told them if I heard anymore I’d have the law round. And that was that.”
Mhairi left horny bitch tapping fag ash into thin air. About a half an hour later she was back at the hospital where she found John Clark sitting by his wife’s side.
“Mr Clark if you have a minute I’d like a word,” he looked round absent-mindedly and patted Mary’s hand and kissed her forehead as he left. Mhairi explained her role as family liaison officer and that she would be his first point of contact for any developments.
“I’ll be honest with you Mr Clark we are still at an early stage with this investigation but I can assure you that this case is our number one priority,” John nodded but looked as if he was bemused to be having the conversation at all. “First off I have to ask you a couple of very direct questions and I’d appreciate an honest answer.”
“Of course.”
“Did you know the child your wife was travelling with?”
“No.”
“We don’t believe that Mr Clark. What were two of you fighting about the night before?”
That got his attention.
“Sorry. What?”
“I have reason to believe there had been a violent disturbance in your home the night before this all happened. I visited your house before I came here. There was a broken window.”
“It’s the bloody neighbour that’s been talking to you isn’t it, the bitch. Look DS Reid it’s no secret that we’ve been having a bad patch and that night, well, let’s just say we went beyond the pale. Mary and I desperately want to have a child but my wife can’t. She wants to adopt but I’m not sure. She got so angry that she drew a kitchen knife on me. I’m sure she didn’t mean anything. She wouldn’t have actually stabbed me but it shocked me and I—”
Wilderness (Arbogast trilogy) Page 7