Their mother had lost weight during her stay in hospital. She’d never been a big woman, but now she looked even thinner than usual. Though she managed to smile when she saw them, her eyes were still sad. She was dressed, sitting in a small waiting room, bags at her feet. It took little more than ten minutes to complete the paperwork and then they were ready to leave. Several of the nurses and doctors came out to say goodbye and wish them luck. Kamal was pleased that his mother was joining them in his aunt and uncle’s home, but still he watched everybody and listened to what they said. Most people at home in Iran could be just like this, helpful and friendly. But they were still wary, nervous even. You just never knew. He picked up his mum’s small bag.
‘It’s really good, their home,’ he said to her as they moved towards the door. ‘Me and Arshi have been out in the town where they live. There’s a beach, and the sea. It’s nice, Mum. We like it.’
Roya squeezed his hand. She looked close to tears.
* * *
The grown-ups were in the kitchen, discussing the kind of questions that might be asked during the asylum process.
‘We came through several other countries on our way here,’ Roya was saying. ‘I’ve been told they view that as a mistake and that the immigration officials will argue that we should have sought asylum in the first country we reached. But we all speak English. Zaan studied here. We have you here, close family. It seemed the best place for us. And if it works out, I can get legal status and get a job. I’ll pay my taxes and contribute to the country. Why should that be a problem?’
‘Because the whole attitude towards asylum seekers and immigrants in Britain has changed in recent years,’ Soraya’s mother, Jenny, said. ‘It’s the same in other parts of Europe. There’s a new mood and people no longer trust outsiders. They treat you differently now. More and more immigrants are being turned away. The government says the country is full up and can’t take any more. But when you look below the surface of those words you find that the reality is something else. If you have good qualifications, it’s easier to get permission to settle. That should help you. But out on the streets, there’s another feeling. Some narrow-minded British people are happy to let white people come in from Australia or America. It’s only people of colour or from lower status countries who they want to keep out. Even white people from Poland get insults thrown at them. I think it was always there, but those people were afraid to let their feelings be known. Now they feel able to let their prejudices show. It isn’t nice.’
‘But we’ll be alive, Jenny,’ Roya said, leaning forward, ‘which we wouldn’t be if we’d stayed in Iran. Those revolutionary guards were working their way through a list and we were on it. There were spies everywhere. We didn’t know who to trust. Our neighbours were betrayed by someone from their own family. How could they do that? Send their own cousins to a camp where they’d probably end up dead? And those poor children? There may be unpleasantness here, but I can live with that if it means Kamal and Arshi have a future.’ She paused. ‘I’ll need to get in touch with that professor. She said that her charity would help once I got out of hospital. I still don’t know whether I should accept help from those police officers. Back home, we’d never expect to get that from anyone in authority. I’m sure some of them meant well, but we never knew who to trust. It was awful, Saman. It’s all so different since you were there. There is fear and deprivation in every town and village. We couldn’t go back now, not without Zaan.’ She sobbed. ‘What will I do?’
Rose stood up to leave. ‘You must go through the asylum process, Roya,’ she said. ‘And the sooner the better. I’ll help where I can but do contact that charity. Her name was Alice Linklater. One of my bosses knows her, I think. Do it today. We’ll be back in touch soon. Some of those photos of Kamal’s are likely to be used as evidence once we catch the traffickers. And we may need to ask you a few more questions about what you remember.’ She glanced out of the window. ‘I’d better go and drag my partner off. He’s having way too much fun.’
The children were out in the back garden, kicking a football about with George. They shrieked as Rose ran across the lawn and booted the ball, only to see it fly off over the fence, into the neighbouring garden.
‘You’ve got to go and get it back, Rose. That’s the rule,’ Arshi said. ‘But I’ll come with you.’
Rose took her hand. ‘Why do these things always happen to me?’ she complained loudly.
Chapter 31: Debrief
Monday morning
Sophie was in an observation room watching Corinne’s debrief, along with Paul Baker and several other officers from the Met. Steve Lamb was conducting the interview in a small, comfortably furnished office. The three of them were all in soft chairs set around a low table, with a pot of coffee and a plate of biscuits in front of them. The third person present was Marie Friesmann, a behavioural psychologist employed by the Met for exactly these kinds of debriefs, involving people freed from hostage situations or kidnappings. She’d become an expert in such meetings, although she’d warned Paul that she didn’t expect to say much on this occasion. Realistically, she was only present because of the strict protocol for a debrief such as this. Corinne seemed very calm and matter of fact.
She was exactly as people had described her — rather taller than average, with pale ginger hair and freckled skin. She was smartly dressed in a black fitted jacket, cream silk blouse and black slim-fit trousers. She was wearing shiny black two-inch court shoes. Sophie wondered if her hair might be coloured, although it was difficult to be sure from the screen display. It might be difficult to be sure even up close. A woman so well kept would surely be able to pay for the best of hair treatments. Her manner was correspondingly immaculate — cool and collected.
Steve began by stating how pleased they all were that she’d managed to escape from her captors, and that the police were doing all they could to apprehend her abductors. They’d identified the small remote cottage where she’d been held and were carrying out a thorough and detailed search of the premises. No obvious clues had been left though, which was why this detailed debrief had proved necessary. He then asked her to take him through the events on the evening of her abduction. She took a sip of coffee and began. She had a slightly deep, almost husky voice and spoke in an economical, almost emotionless way.
‘I was in the kitchen tidying up my supper things and stacking the dishwasher when the intercom from the main door rang. It was a young man’s voice saying he had a delivery of flowers for me. He knew my name. I told him I was on the first floor and asked him to bring them up. A minute or so later, my doorbell rang, and I opened it after checking through the eye hole. I had the security chain across, but the gap was too narrow to get the bouquet through, so I was forced to close the door, disengage the chain and reopen it. Then he pushed it hard and it swung into me, hitting me with some force.
‘He came through shoulder first, dropped the flowers and punched me hard in the face, and I staggered back, cannoning off the wall behind me. I’d hit my head hard, and I nearly passed out. He dragged me through to the lounge and told me to stay still and keep silent, otherwise he’d kill me. I wasn’t in a fit state to resist anyway. I was dizzy from the punch and hitting my head. I think it must have caught the edge of the mirror on the wall. I could feel blood. I tried to move but felt nauseous and was worried that I’d pass out.
‘He came back from the bedroom, stuffing something into his pockets, then grabbed me by the wrist and hauled me back into the hall. He grabbed a coat from the rack, threw it at me and told me to put it on. While I was trying to get into it, he opened the door and peered outside. Then he grabbed my arm and pulled me to the lift. It was still on my floor, so we got down to the entrance lobby very quickly. I kept hoping that someone else would be around, but no one was. It was late at night and many of my neighbours are elderly. He was pushing something into my ribs. I think it was a knife.
‘It was all I could do to stay upright. I was still feeling very
sick and dizzy. He had a car outside and he opened it and pushed me in, saying that if I did anything stupid, I’d suffer — well, something like that. I was too dizzy to remember exactly. While I was still thinking about what I could do, he was already in the driving seat, so it was too late to do anything. He tied my wrists before driving off, so I couldn’t try to escape.’
She stopped, took several sips of coffee and closed her eyes. Sophie was impressed. Corinne had recounted that evening’s events in a clear and concise manner, despite the emotional toll it must be taking.
‘Are you okay to continue?’ Marie asked.
Corinne’s eyes opened and she nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’ She finished her coffee.
‘Can you remember much about the car journey?’ Steve asked.
‘Not really. I felt as if I was inhabiting my own bad dream. I was still sick and dizzy. I know we ended up on the M1, heading north. Beyond that, I can’t say much. We came off the motorway at some point and I think we drove west, but I can’t be sure. The roads got increasingly narrow. I don’t know how long I was in the car. It just seemed to go on and on.’
She refilled her coffee cup and swallowed another mouthful.
‘I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, we’d stopped. It was still dark. The man got out and opened my door. He dragged me from the car, gripping my arm with such force that I couldn’t think clearly. He pushed me through a low door into an old building. He didn’t switch on any lights. He shoved me into a room, slammed the door behind me and locked it.’
Another sip of coffee.
‘The room was in complete darkness. I felt around the wall near the door and found a light switch. I was surprised when a light came on. I was in that room for the next week. He only came back twice, after gaps of about two or three days. I wasn’t tied up and the room had enough food in it to keep me alive. There was a small en-suite, so I had a toilet and a wash basin.’
‘What kind of food?’ Steve asked.
‘Nothing the first night. But the next morning he unlocked the door and threw in some packets — biscuits, some cheese slices, a packet of dried apricots. Even some cake. I didn’t starve. I don’t think they had planned to keep me a prisoner there. If that had been the case, I’d have expected to find food, and maybe some clothes. But there was nothing like that.’
‘What about the furniture and fittings?’
‘There was a bed and a chair. That was it. There were two towels in the en-suite, and a tablet of soap. Oh, and a plastic tumbler that I drank from. The bedroom had a plug-in convection heater and that was useful. Not only to keep the room warm, but it meant I could rinse my clothes and drape them on the chair to dry overnight. The bed had a duvet, so I was warm enough during the night. It was very basic, but I could stay clean and keep myself alive.’
‘Anything else about the room?’
‘There was a window, but it had outside shutters that were closed. Even so, light came in during the daytime. I could see that the window faced south by the sunlight that came through the cracks in the shutters.’
Corinne paused and lowered her head. Sophie wondered if she was becoming distressed. Marie leaned across, squeezed her hand and asked her if she needed a break, but Corinne said she wanted this over as quickly as possible.
Steve raised his eyes enquiringly. Corinne nodded.
‘You said you thought your captor called twice,’ he said.
‘Yes. I think it was the Monday and Wednesday. He was only there for a minute or two though, just long enough to throw a bag of food in. I don’t think he stayed in the house. Each time, I heard the outside door shut soon afterwards and the sound of a car driving away. I tried to speak to him, but he ignored me. I didn’t even see him. The door was only open long enough for him to shove the food in.’
‘What did you spend your time doing?’ Steve asked.
The question seemed to annoy her. ‘What do you think? I explored every inch of the room. I sat thinking, planning, looking for a way out. There was a book on a shelf by the bed. Some cheap thriller. I read it and re-read it. What else was there for me to do? I’ll probably hate that book forever.’
‘How did you escape in the end?’ Steve asked.
‘I realised that the window latch was slightly insecure. It was fastened in place by a little grub screw. I kept working on it. Then, on Friday morning, I decided to break the plastic tumbler and try to do something with the shards. I managed to scrape one piece down to fit the screw and undid it. I could open the window a little until it caught against the shutter. I put the chair against the window, climbed onto it, sat on the sill and kicked through the gap at the shutter. It wasn’t as secure as I expected, and I had it open within ten minutes. They were the longest ten minutes of my life. I kept imagining I heard a car approaching. Once I got outside, I just kept heading south, avoiding the roads. I followed a footpath through the woods and across some farmland. I got to a village with a small post office, so I went in. I think you know the rest.’ She paused. ‘I was lucky in a way. I had access to food, water, a decent bed, a toilet and a wash basin. I could keep myself clean and nourished, even though the food was just dry — nothing cooked. It could have been a lot worse.’
* * *
Sophie walked slowly out of the observation room with Paul Baker. Outside, she dawdled, taking her time to move along the corridor. She couldn’t have said precisely why, but she wanted to see Corinne Lanston in the flesh. They were entering a more open-plan area, with a row of seats next to a water cooler, when a door opened and the trio from the debrief appeared.
There was Steve, strolling towards Paul Baker, starting to relax after the tension of the past hour. Marie came next, hanging back so that Corinne wasn’t left alone. Corinne advanced slowly, replacing a pen inside her shoulder bag. She looked around her, watchful, and her eyes met Sophie’s. Sophie gave her a brief smile and Corinne smiled back. The smile didn’t reach her eyes, which were distrustful, cautious. Was she still suffering the effects of a week in solitary imprisonment, when she must have had doubts as to whether she’d ever escape alive?
‘Are you still okay with going to the cottage tomorrow?’ Paul asked. ‘We can delay it if you prefer. But it’d be very useful to see the place. You didn’t get a look at the rest of the house, did you?’
‘It’ll be fine,’ she said, as controlled as she’d been during the debrief. ‘Then maybe I can start to forget it. It’s not easy.’
Sophie slipped out of the room. She’d already arranged with Paul Baker to be included on the next day’s visit. It was even more important now.
Chapter 32: Food — and then Drink
Monday evening
‘So, Mum, tell me all about why you’re in London. I miss getting the gossip.’ Hannah Allen was sipping her wine. They were in Hannah’s favourite restaurant, a family-owned Italian eatery near Russell Square in Bloomsbury. Hannah was Sophie and Martin’s elder daughter, a newly qualified actor, fresh out of drama college and already getting positive reviews for her occasional roles on the stage, which varied from light comedy to Shakespearean drama. Like Sophie, she was slim, average in height and blonde. Unusually for her, she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Her mother was also in jeans, with a thin, wool jumper in pale blue.
‘It’s all linked to the migrant smuggling operation. I can’t give you any details though. To be honest, it’s all over the place. We keep thinking we might have it nailed down, then something pops up somewhere else that throws a completely different light on it.’
‘Right up your street, then?’
‘You always were a shrewd one, Hannah. Anyway, I had an unexpected day at New Scotland Yard and there’s a follow-up session tomorrow. It made sense to stay over, even if it does mean kipping down in your spare room. Lucky that Jess has moved out.’
‘We’re all reaching that age, Mum. It’s a mid-twenties thing, I expect. You know, making big decisions about commitments. Jess and Magnus are talking about getting hitched. The ski
ttles are starting to fall, one by one.’
Sophie looked her elder daughter in the eye. ‘You make it sound like a prison sentence. Settling down can be fun, Hannah — if the time’s right.’
‘Jade messaged me to say you were in Oxford last week.’
‘That’s right, I was there on Wednesday, again linked to the case. We met up for lunch. It’s partly the reason I wanted to see you tonight. You see, she discovered something about me by sheer chance.’
Sophie paused and took a gulp of wine. This was going to be hard. She told herself to grit her teeth and just get on with it.
‘We were chatting during lunch on Wednesday and she asked me a totally unexpected question. I couldn’t control my reaction, and she guessed. It’s just that when I was there as a student, before I met your dad, I had a brief fling with another woman, a close friend. I thought it only right to tell you as well, Hannah, what with Jade knowing.’
Hannah’s reaction was unexpected.
‘Phew. That’s a relief. It makes me feel better.’
Sophie couldn’t help but smile. ‘Not you as well?’
Hannah looked at her apprehensively. ‘Rather more times than you’d want to know about, Mum. It worries me because I really love Russell and want to be with him. I wish life was a bit simpler. Does it alter anything between us?’
Sophie reached across and laid her hand on Hannah’s. ‘Of course not. This is us, you and me, Hannah. If I wasn’t your mum, I’d be your big sister. I’ve always hoped that you and Jade both feel that you can tell me anything.’
‘Well, that’s true, up to a point. How’s Jade getting on with George, do you think? He’s really nice. If it wasn’t for the fact he’s going out with Jade, I might have made a move on him myself.’
Sophie laughed. ‘You never fail to cheer me up, Hannah, whenever I manage to see you, which isn’t often enough. Anyway, they’re besotted with each other. I sometimes spot George at work, wearing this dreamy look on his face. Not recently though, since she’s been away at Oxford.’
RUTHLESS CRIMES a totally captivating crime mystery (Detective Sophie Allen Book 9) Page 19