Eventually, the house was sealed until it was known what charges would be brought and against whom and by which authority, and the team made its way back to the station to sort out exactly what they had to deal with. Using the services of a prostitute was not an offence, although living off immoral earnings was, and then there was the matter that none of these young women would have visas and indefinite leave to stay and ‘work’ in the UK.
Then there were the drugs, which were presumed to be quite a large part of this set-up, not just to keep the girls compliant, but for selling on to the punters. The waiting room stank of weed, as did a lot of the working rooms, and a cursory search revealed stashes of tablets and wraps – a veritable sweetie shop for any user with a bit of cash to spare and, possibly, depraved ideas of what constituted a good night out.
Lauren left with the rest of the team, grim-faced and emotionally drained, and wondering how Olivia had got on at the Nissen hut. She was feeling bad about the way she had shunned her friend and partner, purely out of guilt over what she had on her extra-curricular agenda, and shame was also beginning to creep into her heart. Daz wasn’t just a colleague on the same team, he was a junior officer who was also much younger than her, a situation in which there was no future whatsoever. Was he worth throwing her career away for? At her age and with two children to bring up? She knew what she had to do, and she’d better get on with it pretty damned fast.
A sleepless and hag-ridden night before the raid had shown her the error of her ways, and she was determined to clean up her act, not only with regard to the amount of alcohol she consumed, but also to the body she was ‘consuming’ on a regular basis. At this point, she determined to apologise to Olivia and, although not explaining what had been on her mind, at least to open up the channels of friendship again so that, if nothing else, their joint working lives would be less fraught with tension.
Olivia, her personal problems temporarily erased from her mind by the adrenaline of the situation, hurled herself through the door of the hut with the rest of the advanced guard, most of whom were Immigration officers plus Buller, looking like the Grand Panjoram himself or, at least, like the cat who had knocked over the cream jug and was reaping the rewards of the spillage. Rounding up this complicated little scam would do his career no harm whatsoever.
As the big red key did its job, and they pounded into the dormitory, what struck the inspector most was that, with all the noise and intrusion, the girls only stirred in their sleep, and surmised that a daily grind of long hours followed by the reward – ‘wages’, if you were feeling particularly sick about the whole thing – of a hit of drugs, kept them pretty subdued and compliant.
She noticed that between each pair of triple bunks hung three baggy work overalls in an institutional grey, and surmised that these were what the girls wore for their work in the nursery.
Some of the girls were now waking and showing signs of panic, and this was where the female officers came into their own, calming them with small gestures of friendliness and soft words that hardly any of them could understand, but it worked.
It was the smell that also got to the inspector. It was a mixture of old fart, body odour and hopelessness. They had presumably all paid a large sum of money – or at least what was deemed to be so in their various countries of origin – to obtain a new life in England, with a job at the end of it, and had found only callousness and slavery as a reward for all their hopes and dreams.
What the future held for them, no one could yet determine, but it certainly wasn’t what they’d paid for, and Olivia felt tears sting her eyes at the crushed ambitions of all these poor individuals who had only wanted to live somewhere in freedom and without fear, and had been catapulted into a life that held both, and was possibly worse than what they had fled from.
Immigration had actually provided a coach to transfer the women to a holding centre, to be sorted into countries of origin and provided with interpreters to make their statements, and when the raid was over, the police van was filled only with the service’s own personnel.
Olivia sat in the back, preoccupied with how much she took for granted in her own life and how she would have fared in a similar situation to the ones that these women had found themselves in. In her heart of hearts she knew she was very lucky to live in a democracy that didn’t suppress girls and women, and knew now that she would forgive Hal. They had so much, whereas some people had nothing where they came from, and little hope of improvement in the future. The only change these women could make was the choice they had made, it had worked out even worse for them, and now they’d probably have to go back to where they came from, unless they could claim asylum.
Hal had definitely put a foot very wrong, but they had adequate income, two lovely children, a comfortable home – an enviable life, really. How could she possibly throw all that up on top of twenty years of marriage because he had made a mistake, one he was already regretting bitterly?
DCI Buller never made it back to the station, having gone to the nursery itself to see if there had been any luck there. His hunch had, indeed, been vindicated. In the most remote greenhouse with whitewashed windows was a sophisticated hydroponics system and, in a heavy-duty safe in an outhouse, was a stash of drugs that would have kept the town high for the foreseeable future.
That there had not been a regular security team was a sign of the arrogance of whoever was organising this, keeping outgoings to a minimum, as they felt under the radar and untouchable. Well, now they’d go and feel Abdul Amir’s collar, face him with what had been discovered, and see how untouchable he felt then, and whether he was willing to trade information to make his future not quite so onerous as it could be.
That he would go to prison, there was no doubt, but the length of his sentence would be determined by how helpful he might be to the police in the pursuit of their enquiries. Buller was full to bursting point with glee following this after-dark arrest, hoping that this individual might lead him further up the food chain to wherever this atrocious crime emanated from. It might not get him to the big boys, but even a rung up the ladder was a step in the right direction.
The various police officers had a loose meeting about three thirty a.m., and then were dismissed for a few hours’ sleep, until they could have a more formal de-briefing during office hours.
After the meeting, Lauren sought out Olivia and just threw her arms around her and murmured, ‘I’m so sorry I’ve been a moody and aloof bitch,’ in her ear, before disappearing off into the car park and home, from whence she sent a dismissive text to Daz Westbrook, pointing out that neither of them could risk their careers by carrying on with the reckless behaviour they had been indulging in, but thanking him for a few memorable moments. It was the only way she could phrase it without telling him that she must have been off her head to ever consider a physical relationship with him, but that the temporary madness had passed.
Five minutes later, she received a one word reply – ‘OK’.
Phew!
Everyone was bleary-eyed the next morning when they met to pool the outcomes of the previous night’s raids – with the exception of DCI Buller, who looked like a model of a man totally stuffed with Mexican jumping beans. His eyes flashed, as did his teeth, in uncharacteristic smiles, and he bounced around on his toes like a teenager.
‘You didn’t have a little sample last night, did you, guv?’ called an obviously disguised voice from the back of the room.
‘Or a wee dram or two before you came in?’
‘Didn’t need anything. I’m high on life: drunk with success. And there’s no better way of getting off your face than with results that I, although a modest man’ – a few noises from the ranks at this wild claim – ‘hope might end with a promotion for yours truly.’
‘So, what’ve we got now?’ asked Olivia, with a particularly infectious yawn.
‘Amir’s spilled his guts. We’ve got the names of the local heavies who were used to discipline the girls if they got out of
line – we’ll track them down, no trouble. He knows he’s in it up to his neck, and that’s the very thing he wants to save.
‘From the translations, we’ve got a list of all of Mr Kharboub’s trips to and from the continent, and the number of “parcels” and “packets” he delivered to the nursery. We’ve got the girls’ names – unpronounceable, most of them – from the nursery’s under-the-counter records, and the same for the house of ill-repute, along with a couple of ledgers that show records of drug sales and sessions with prostitutes, along with supplements for “extras”’ – there was a chorus of leers at this description – ‘All right, keep it down, lads, you’re not in the playground now! Now, where was I? Ah, yes, and all of this, presumably, to be passed on to whoever keeps the books for this lot.
‘We’ve got a sniffer dog visiting the home of Mr Amir this morning, and then going over the whole of the nursery premises in case we missed anything last night. This is going to be a big case. Devenish is already getting measured for the feather in his cap that he thinks will surely be his after what we’ve … you’ve done. I didn’t think you had it in you.
‘We’ve had a statement from Immigration that the woman who was found in the van and whom Dr MacArthur confirmed had recently given birth, had slipped in with a larger than usual consignment, and was probably only a few weeks pregnant, but she wasn’t one of the prettier ones, so she wasn’t expected to “serve” male clients. And she was a canny one. The overalls they wore to work at the nursery were baggy, and she managed to keep her spreading middle concealed for all of the pregnancy. After all, whoever used to take any notice of staff in the old days? It’s the same now with slaves.
‘The other girls knew, but made sure that whenever any of the other nursery staff were around, she was never on her own, so that they could help conceal her steadily expanding overall.
‘Of course, there was a complete panic when she went into labour, and her yells attracted some attention from their jailers. One enterprising young thug broke its neck just as it was born, and then the body and the other yucky things that came with it were wrapped up and disposed of on the tip. Again, an act of complete arrogance and disregard for any comeback there may have been. They really thought they were untouchable.
‘But no more. Amir also spilled all the names he knew up the next rung of the ladder, so we can continue enquiries at a slightly higher level, and hopefully, given time, get to the really big boys. I’ll be concentrating on that when I get back to Drugs.’
‘You’re not leaving us, sir, and after we’d got so fond of you?’ called out Olivia, moved to smile at the imminent return to normal working life.
‘I had considered getting a transfer to you lot’ – gasps of horror and calls of ‘oh, no’ – ‘but home is home, and that’s where I’m going; back to the good old Drugs Squad.
‘Down The Locomotive, everybody, at lunchtime. We can only have one because of the drink-driving laws, but the pints are on me. We certainly have something to celebrate.’
There was a round of applause at this summing up of what they’d achieved, and this, Lauren mused, had made no mention whatsoever of Olivia and her wrapping up the Shillington baby-murder case.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
There was quite an air of celebration in The Locomotive that lunchtime, and many of the officers had made private arrangements for their partner or a friend to pick them up after work, so that they could have a little more than one drink. Whatever had they done before mobile phones?
When the merry atmosphere had been milked for as long as possible, the officers began to dribble away back to the station and, finally, there were only Olivia and Lauren left. ‘Don’t be too late back, ladies,’ called Buller as he waved them a cheery goodbye, and Olivia went to the bar to order them two cappuccinos, a spur of the moment decision that she felt had been relayed almost by telepathy from her sergeant.
As she placed the cups on their table and sat down, Lauren held out a hand. ‘I’m so sorry I haven’t been much of a friend recently,’ she said with emotion in her voice.
‘We all have periods when we’re a bit off,’ Olivia countered.
‘I know I’ve been really distant and aloof, but there were reasons.’
‘Which you don’t want to confide in me.’
‘It was more a case of “couldn’t talk about” because I was, underneath, so ashamed.’
‘Do you want to tell me anything now?’
‘A little. I was becoming dependent on alcohol. I was using it like a tranquiliser to distance me from all the trouble I expected from Kenneth regarding custody of the children, maintenance, and the eventual sale of the house. After he died, I suddenly realised that I didn’t need it any more. Kenneth had been my trigger, and he was no longer around.’
‘Is that all?’ queried Olivia, who had often used wine to switch off her head when a case was particularly disturbing, just for the temporary break it gave her from her teeming thoughts.
‘No, but I can’t tell you any more at the moment.’
Inspiration struck the inspector, and she asked, tentatively, ‘Did Dr Mac tell you about Gerda’s condition?’
‘He did have a word in my shell-like to let me know before it came out in the inquest that she was three months up the duff, but then Kenneth never could keep it in his trousers, and she would probably have been terribly careless with the birth control, because she wanted a piece of him that she could really own.’
‘That’s very grown-up of you,’ replied Olivia, wondering whatever else had been bothering her sergeant, if this wasn’t it.
‘Anyway, I’ve made my apologies. I hope we can be friends again as well as colleagues, and what about a musical evening in the near future?’
‘Yeah …’ Olivia’s one word reply was limp and lacklustre, ‘but give me a while. You’re not the only one who’s had problems; and, no, I can’t talk about it either. It’s too raw at the moment.’
‘Buller did have a quiet word with me about Hal.’ Now Lauren sounded nervous.
‘I simply don’t believe it. If you want anything broadcasting around the whole station – nay, town – just tell a police officer.’ Olivia’s face was a mask of fury, but it dissipated quickly. ‘Scratch that. At least you know what I’ve been going through.’
‘What are you going to do about it?’ Lauren was curious to discover if Hal’s little slip would end in another fractured marriage.
‘I have a fair idea of how I want to play it, but I’m not saying anything till it’s dealt with.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Come on, drink up. As responsible officers of the law we shouldn’t be sitting here in the middle of the afternoon drinking coffee and chatting about the murkier areas of our lives.’
You don’t even know the half of it, thought Lauren, as she carried her cup and saucer over to the bar and collected her handbag from the back of her chair. The place was nearly empty now, and they were beginning to stick out like sore thumbs.
‘What about these thugs who dispatched the man and the woman in the van, and that man nailed to the table?’
‘We know who the killers of the victims in the van are, and they’ll be picked up and charged. Whatever, justice will catch up with them, but that’s nothing to do with us, now. The other bloke semi-crucified in the kitchen – well, I think that’s another matter altogether and leads further up the ladder. Buller will follow that up when he’s back on home territory. He’ll enjoy that.’
‘So, what do we do now?’
‘Sort out our personal lives and take a breather until something else evil this way comes, I suppose.’ Olivia was already getting ready for a tense evening at home, and her mind was ahead of her, in the cottage and at odds with Hal.
When the inspector arrived home, a little late that night – subconsciously on purpose – it was to find that Hibbie and Ben had gone out in Ben’s old banger, and Hal was waiting for her in the hall with a bunch of flowers.
‘Come on i
n, my lovely,’ he invited, escorting her with a leading arm to the kitchen. The table was laid with a snow-white cloth, placemats, matching – unusual in their house for everyday eating – cutlery, coasters, and wine glasses. There were even side plates to the left of the forks with ringed napkins on them, and finger bowls to the right.
‘What’s all this in aid of?’ she snapped suspiciously.
‘Something very important. I’ve done all your favourite dishes. We’re having asparagus with butter sauce – finger bowls and napkins absolutely essential for that – steak with mushrooms and all the trimmings, followed by lemon meringue pie – not a very elegant dessert, but incredibly delicious.’
‘But … what’s all this in aid of?’
Hal suddenly dropped down on one knee and pulled a small leather box out of his trouser pocket. As he opened it, he said, his voice deep and serious, ‘Olivia, will you marry me?’ as Olivia stared down in incredulity at the most beautiful ring.
‘Don’t be silly, Hal. We’re already married.’
‘I meant … will you consider renewing our vows; like a fresh start for us?’
The devil on Olivia’s shoulder forced her to reply, ‘I’ll have to think about it first.’ But the ring looked absolutely scrummy, and considerably more upmarket than the one he had originally bought her when they had gone through round one of matrimony. Her resistance started to crumble.
‘Will you at least let me put the ring on your finger? Try it for size?’
‘Let’s eat first. I’ll probably weigh about a stone more after that lot, and we need to know it will fit after a blow-out.’
‘Does that mean “yes”?’
‘I’ll tell you after I’ve sampled your cooking.’
‘We can have a glorious reception, and maybe go off on a second honeymoon: go over and see the folks …’
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