She turned back to ferry cups to the sink and Pete felt as if he’d been hit in the gut with a wrecking ball. What if they came back and searched the studio? He had to get rid of the brat Joey had delivered a few days earlier.
“I’m off to the studio, Mrs Baxter. I don’t want to be disturbed, no matter what it is. Not even if the police come back to talk to us. Tell them I’m out. Tell them whatever you want, but do not bring them to the studio. I’m in the middle of a very tricky section on my latest track and can’t break off for anyone. You got that?”
She looked worried. “You sound angry, Mr Carson. Have I done something wrong?”
Pete forced a smile onto his face. “No, of course you haven’t. I’m just not used to being up at this time in the morning. You know what I’m like. Up all night and then sleep most of the day. But as I’m awake, I’ll go over and work.”
“Would you like some breakfast before you go?”
Pete shuddered. “No thanks. It’s too early for me to eat.”
“Shall I bring you something later?”
He shook his head. “No need. I’ll call out for pizza.”
She smiled at him. “I’ve never known anyone to love pizza as much as you do. I swear not a week goes by without that pizza van coming to deliver. I can’t stand the stuff myself, but each to his own tastes, that’s what I say.”
Couldn’t agree more, thought Pete, as he left the kitchen. But right now I need to get rid of the brat. He was bored with her anyway, so she’d be no loss, but he’d better lay off for a while until the cops found someone else to get their claws into.
Pete walked across to the studio and keyed in the security code. The brat was curled up in the corner, covered with a blanket. She looked up at him, fear and longing on her face. She wanted a fix and knew what she’d have to do to get it, but he couldn’t take the chance on keeping her. He’d have to call Joey. Mind you, it would make more sense for the pizza van to come at lunchtime, which gave him a couple of hours. Turning to double lock the door, he smiled. Yeah, why not have a farewell fuck?
He unbuckled his belt and pulled the blanket off the girl. That would have to go with her when she went. All his stash would have to go as well. He couldn’t leave anything behind, traces of the girl or any drugs, just in case that fucker Storey sent in people to search this place. He wouldn’t put it past the piece of shit to pretend he was doing it as a public fucking service.
Looking down at the girl, he decided to have one last go with her before he sent her back.
“Get up,” he said, signalling with his hands what he wanted her to do.
She knelt in front of him in the way he’d trained her and set to work. He was already feeling better. The phone call to Joey could wait for an hour or two.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
31st October (morning)
Paolo stood in front of his team, noting the looks of frustration on their faces. It reflected the way he felt. So far they’d interviewed all of the band members except one and none of them remembered anything bad about Pete Carson, which was pretty incredible considering Pete’s drug taking and outrageous behaviour had brought about The Vision Inside’s downfall. The fact that they all spoke of him like he was some kind of saint told Paolo there was some serious covering up going on, but there was little he could do about it at the moment.
“Right, as you know, the only member of The Vision Inside we haven’t yet spoken to is the drummer, Don Carmichael, and he arrives back from the Caribbean this afternoon. He’s agreed to have a chat with Dave and me at the airport hotel before travelling on to his next destination. Let’s hope he can give us something useful. God knows, we’ve had little enough to go on.” He sighed. “The forensic team went over every inch of Pete Carson’s gates and drive. They found miniscule traces of blood, but say they don’t yet know if there is enough to test. We’ll find out the answer to that in a few days, but it’s not looking good.”
George threw a file on the desk. “You’re concentrating your efforts on this Carson pervert. What about the Albanian side of things? What was the point of digging into those businesses if you’re not following up on them?”
Paolo caught the murmur of discontent whispering around the room. If he didn’t put a stop to this, George’s attitude would spread.
“You’re right, George. The Albanian side of things is where we’ll find the traffickers, so let’s recap where we are so far with the three main suspect businesses. First, the language school. Isuf Xhepa wouldn’t give us his reason for being there on the day the child died. He may have been there to find out which ward the girl was on, but we have no way of proving that either way. All we know for sure is that he was there. Full stop. However, the last time Dave and I went to interview him, Isuf Xhepa’s behaviour was odd to say the least. We will be watching him very carefully when the next batch of students arrive, but that’s a month off yet.”
Turning to the board behind him he pointed to the next business on it. “The import business itself looks clean enough, but there are two things that don’t smell right. Firstly, Jeton, Gazmend’s cousin, was at the hospital when we went to see the child before she was murdered, so he knew exactly where to find her.”
A voice from the back called out. “Which is more than we know about him and his ex-wife, sir.”
Paolo smiled. “Exactly. They have both fallen off the face of the planet. There isn’t a sign of either of them anywhere. Surveillance has let us down badly on this case. The ex-wife went into Tesco’s and didn’t come out again. Did she meet up with Jeton in there? Did he or someone else give her clothes and a wig to disguise herself? Did she go into the toilets looking one way and come out as someone completely different? It’s beginning to look like it. Let’s not forget that our other disappearing act, Bekim and Edar, used an empty warehouse almost next door to where Jeton worked, which is another possible connection to add to the tally.”
He picked up a piece of paper from the table in front of the board. “This stays within these four walls, but I am bringing in a new Albanian interpreter from London.”
CC called out. “You have doubts about Gazmend, sir?”
Paolo turned to her. “Not really, CC. My main reason is saving Gazmend’s feelings. It looks more and more as if his cousin might be involved in some way. I don’t want to put Gazmend in an awkward position. I’d like you to tell him that we’ve given up on questioning the girls we have in care. Say we realise now they are too far gone on drugs, or simply too traumatised to talk.”
She nodded. “Will do, sir. I’m sure he’ll buy that because we haven’t been to talk to the girls for a while now for exactly those reasons.”
“When the new interpreter arrives, a woman, she’ll be working closely with Jessica Carter, the clinical psychologist who has helped my daughter so much. I’ve spoken to her about the girls in care and she’s offered to give her time free of charge, working through the interpreter, to try to help the girls. In the process, she might find out a few facts we can use to flush out the traffickers.”
When he mentioned Jessica’s name, Paolo felt a blush rising up through his body and prayed no one in the room picked up on it. Sharing a table with her most evenings had become a very pleasant habit and it was over one of their chats that she’d made the offer. No need to mention that now, though, Paolo decided. Let them think it had happened during one of his consultations with her about Katy.
He turned back to the board. “This final business, the haulage contractors, is also very interesting. When Dave and I went to ask about Bekim and Edar, I left my card with the receptionist. She hasn’t been there very long, but thinks there’s something not quite right about the set up. If she has any information, she’ll pass it on. So you see, George,” Paolo said, smiling in his direction, “we are still keeping a very close watch on all three concerns. The reason we are concentrating on Pete Carson is that we believe, strongly believe, that he is a customer of the traffickers. Even more than that, we are convinc
ed he was in some way responsible for what happened to the child before she was found by the travellers.” He sighed again. “Unfortunately, so far we don’t have a single shred of provable evidence.”
“So he gets away with it!” George said.
Paolo took a deep breath before replying. The last thing the team needed was an argument breaking out in front of everyone.
“No, George, he’s not going to get away with anything. That’s why we’re watching his place day and night and will pounce if there’s so much as a hint of DNA linking the blood of that child to the blood on his gates. We just have to be patient for the time being.” He nodded to the group. “That’s it for now. Dave and I will be out for most of the day. We’re off to Gatwick to chat to Don Carmichael, but you can reach either of us on our mobiles.”
The Gatwick Elevation wasn’t the kind of airport hotel Paolo sometimes used for overnight stops if he had an early departure. This was luxury with a capital L, he thought, as he took in the marble floors and gilt fittings glinting in the soft lighting hidden behind elaborate structures pretending to be artworks instead of light fixtures. It was the kind of place that made you want to whisper when you asked for directions.
“How the other half live, sir,” Dave said as they waited for someone to show them to Don Carmichael’s suite.
“I don’t know about waiting for a plane, I’d be happy to have my holiday right here,” Paolo said. “It’s ten times better than the hotel I stayed in last year in France and that was supposed to be five star. If that was five, this place must be ten at least.”
A young man in the purple and gold hotel livery left the reception area and walked over to where Paolo and Dave were seated.
“Mr Carmichael asked me to show you to his suite. Would you come with me, please?”
Paolo reluctantly heaved himself out of the low armchair. He’d have been happy to be kept waiting another hour or so while he relaxed in that chair. Something so comfortable most probably cost more than he earned in a month. They followed the young man to the lifts. He inserted a card into the operating mechanism, but didn’t press a floor number. The doors closed and the lift moved upwards.
“That’s neat,” Paolo said. “Is that to stop other guests going up to certain floors?”
“Yes, sir. Only those actually staying on the top floor get one of these cards and we never give them out to their visitors.”
Paolo wondered what it must be like to be so rich you could afford to stay in a place like this. Not just rich enough for the lower floors, but rich enough to buy the privacy of a top floor suite. The members of The Vision Inside must be rolling in it if this hotel and Pete Carson’s mansion were examples of the wealth they had.
The lift doors opened and they followed the porter to the end of the corridor. He tapped on the door and they waited a few moments. The door opened and the least famous member of The Vision Inside appeared. Instead of the aging rocker Paolo had been expecting, Don Carmichael could have posed as a business tycoon ready to attend a board meeting.
“Come in,” he said, gesturing to Paolo and Dave to move past him. “Thank you, Simon.”
Turning to the porter, he grasped the young man’s hand and Paolo thought money was exchanged, but it was so neatly done, he couldn’t be sure. He found himself liking the man, without quite knowing why.
“Take a seat. Please, make yourselves comfortable. What can I get you? Tea? Coffee? Something cold?”
“Nothing for me, thank you, Mr Carmichael,” Paolo said.
Dave shook his head. “Not at the moment, thank you.”
“Call me Don, please. Mr Carmichael makes me sound like I’m in trouble.” He frowned. “You said it was to do with Pete. What do you want to know? I haven’t seen him in years. In fact, when he got in touch about reforming the band, it was the first time I’d spoken to him since we split up.”
Paolo sank into another comfortable armchair and seriously considered robbing a bank to be able to afford this lifestyle.
“Without going into details, we need to ask you some questions about Pete Carson’s activities off stage.”
Don sat down opposite them. “Okay, I have a feeling I can guess what you want to know.”
Paolo raised an eyebrow. “Really? Your fellow band mates didn’t give us the impression there was anything to know.”
Don laughed. “Well, they wouldn’t, would they? Their income is mainly from royalties on our old stuff. It still gets a fair amount of air time. You might not realise it, but a lot of our music is used to sell products on television and a couple of the latest shows use our tunes as their signature theme.”
“Are you saying they kept quiet to protect their earnings?”
Don nodded. “Of course.”
“Which implies,” Paolo said, “that there is something in Pete’s past that would threaten those royalty payments. So why are you prepared to tell us if they weren’t?”
Don smiled. “Because I am not reliant on the royalties for my lifestyle. Before I joined The Vision Inside I’d gained a first at university in business studies. From the moment we made our first serious money, I started investing in various businesses. The royalties are nice, but I don’t need them.”
“Why did you guys break up? The story in the press was drugs and drink. Was that all there was to it?”
Don poured himself some water. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything to drink? No? Okay, here’s what happened. It wasn’t the drugs; we were all doing those at the time. I don’t think there was band back then who didn’t have a constant supply of stuff on tap almost. We gave out that Pete’s use had rocketed, but that wasn’t really true. Sure, he was using, but he had it under control.”
“Go on,” Paolo said, when Don stopped.
“We were on tour and we’d all gone out to eat after a gig. All except Pete, who’d said he was tired and wanted an early night.” Don laughed. “An early night! It was two in the morning, but that’s the way life was on tour. Getting to bed when the sun came up and sleeping most of the day. Anyway, Pete said he was too tired to come out to eat with us and he went back to the house we’d hired for the week. We’d only been in the restaurant for half an hour when Jimmy, the bass guitarist, who was allergic to shellfish, said something he’d eaten must have been contaminated. He blew up like the Michelin man and we got into a right panic, but he said it was no hassle. We just had to get him back to the house where he kept an emergency supply of injections his doctor had given him.”
Don went quiet and Paolo guessed what was coming next, but stayed silent to give him time to find the words.
“The bastard couldn’t have been expecting us back for another couple of hours at least.” He looked at Paolo. “You know, don’t you?”
Paolo nodded. “I can guess, but we need you to tell us. I can’t prompt you.”
Don shrugged. “No, I suppose not. I don’t even want to put it into words, but I’ll have to. We opened the front door and Pete must have heard us because he appeared at the top of the stairs wanting to know why we were back so soon. Jimmy went off to get his injection from his room at the back of the house and then we heard someone crying. Really sobbing her heart out.”
“Go on,” Paolo said.
“I ran upstairs, pushed past Pete who tried to stop me from going in his room. There was a young girl on the bed. Turns out she was from a local children’s home. I have no idea how Pete found her or how she came to be in the house. She certainly hadn’t been there earlier when we left for the gig. At least, I don’t think so. While I was calming the poor kid, there was a massive noise going on behind me. The other guys beat the shit out of Pete – put him in hospital for a week.”
Paolo thought back to the time the press had been full of Pete’s injuries. “Is that when the papers reported he’d fallen from an upper floor window while high?”
Don nodded. “That was the story we gave them. We took the child back to the home and made a hefty donation to their charity funds. Then
we dumped Pete at the hospital.” He shrugged. “And that was the end of The Vision Inside.”
Dave stopped writing and looked up from his notes. “Why didn’t you carry on without him?”
“Because he was the gifted one. It was his music, his voice that people paid to listen to. The man is an absolute genius when it comes to music, but a sick bastard outside of that.”
“Why didn’t you report him to the police?” Paolo asked.
Don sighed. “There is no good answer to that question. I could say things were different then, which they were, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that we didn’t do the right thing. We covered it up and went our separate ways.”
“So why are you breaking your silence now after all these years?” Paolo asked. “Why not keep quiet? We wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t told us today.”
“If I’m honest, I don’t think I would have come forward looking for anyone to tell, but you contacted me asking about Pete’s past and I knew I had to tell you the truth. It was time.”
Paolo stood up. Dave put away his pad.
“You realize you aided and abetted a paedophile, don’t you?” Dave asked, his voice close to a snarl.
Paolo looked at him and was astounded to see Dave was trembling and looking at Don as if he wanted to punch him.
Don nodded. “I know that now, but back then it wasn’t…we didn’t see it. Look, I’m sorry, we should have reported it to the police, but we didn’t. I’m doing my best to make up for it. I know it’s too late for–”
“It’s too late for the kids your friend has abused over the years,” Dave said. “I’ll wait for you downstairs, sir.”
He left without looking again in Don’s direction.
Someday Never Comes (#2 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series) Page 18