The Rock: A DCI Ryan Mystery (The DCI Ryan Mysteries Book 18)

by LJ Ross

  For, that’s what he felt.

  Shame.

  The same shame he’d seen on Hopper’s face as he’d knelt on the sticky floor of that private room, with his trousers around his ankles and several grams of coke spilling out of his nose. The look he’d seen in the man’s eyes as he’d confessed that the girls supplied by The Dragon had seemed too young, even for him, had turned his stomach.

  Ryan thought of his wife and daughter, and his hands tightened on the wheel.

  If anyone—anyone—ever hurt them, they’d have him to answer to. It was a promise he’d made, on the day Emma had been born. To think there may be other families out there, other mothers and fathers, who were missing their sons and daughters but were unable to seek help made him deeply ashamed.

  He could not save them all—nobody could.

  But, if he could even save one, that would make it all worthwhile.

  * * *

  “Tell me the truth.”

  Gaz looked up from the telly as his wife stumbled into the sitting room, smelling of liquor.

  “Go to bed,” he said, and turned the television up louder.

  “I said…tell…me…the…truth!”

  On the last word, Keeley picked up the remote control and flung it at the television, where the cheap plastic cracked and fell to the floor in a heap.

  Gaz could feel anger rising up, but he’d promised Mick there’d be no more trouble. They were moving the women that night, and needed no police drama or reports of domestic disturbance, on top of…

  On top of what they’d found in Marsden.

  He couldn’t bring himself to say his son’s name, and wasn’t sure he’d ever speak it aloud again. He’d made his decision, and now he had to live with it.

  What choice did he have, really?

  He knew what Mick was capable of, and when he said it was either him or the boy, he’d meant it. Friendship or no friendship, it could have been him swinging from a rope, and he’d worked too long and too hard to see it all end there.

  Besides, the boy had been warned about the consequences, hadn’t he?

  It wasn’t personal, it was business.

  “I don’t know what you’re goin’ on about, Kelz.”

  He called her by the old nickname they’d used in high school, to butter her up a bit.

  “We’ve both had bad news today,” he continued, thinking of the pay cut he’d been forced to take, thanks to his son’s efforts. “It doesn’t help for you to keep on.”

  “Keep on?” she repeated, in disbelief. “Gaz, he was our son! They said he was hanged—”

  “Aye, and loads of youngsters kill themselves over nowt, these days,” he told her. “It’s sad, but it’s true.”

  She shook her head.

  “No. No, I don’t believe that,” she said. “It’s to do with you, and with Mick. When he came over the other day—”

  “To visit, and say ‘hello’?” Gaz said, in a tone that suggested she’d lost her mind. “Look, I know me and Mick have had our fingers in a few pies, over the years, but it comes to somethin’ when you start throwin’ accusations round, like that. He was my son, too, Kelz.”

  He injected just the right amount of hurt into his voice, she might have believed him.

  “Ollie—he’d—he’d been doin’ that apprenticeship with Mick,” she argued. “What if he ended up mixin’ with some other lads—”

  “We don’t know what could have happened,” Gaz said, realising she wasn’t about to let the matter drop. “Leave it with me, and I’ll ask around, all right? Let me ask around.”

  “The police—”

  “You know we don’t talk to the police,” he said, flatly.

  She folded her lips, and brushed tears from her eyes.

  “Good girl,” he said, rubbing his knuckles against her cheek. “You know they’re not there to help us, they’re there to trap us. Do you want to see me put away? How would you live?”

  Keeley remembered once, a long time ago, she’d wanted to work as a nursery nurse.

  But that was a long time ago.

  “And then there’s Becki to think of, isn’t there? D’you want her growin’ up in care? Is that what you want for her? The same start that you had?”

  Keeley thought back to her own miserable childhood, and of how the drink made her forgetful and neglectful, and knew that, if someone were to make a report, there was a good chance her daughter might be taken from them.

  “A—all right,” she mumbled, and walked from the room with her head bent, defeated once more by the weight of her own fear.

  * * *

  They moved the women in the dead of night, while the city slept.

  The van left the scrapyard shortly before two in the morning and made its steady journey west of Newcastle towards Cumbria and The Lakes, before veering north, taking the scenic route towards Scotland. There might have been an All-Ports Warning in place, but there were ways around that, if you knew the right people, in the right places.

  Noddy and Callum drove along the winding road to Scotland through the dense forests of the Northumberland National Park, up and over the hills until they reached the border, which was unmanned—little more than a pretty stone with a placard carved into it, which bade them welcome.

  Onward they drove with their cargo, further and further away from the Northumbria Constabulary’s Command Division. The storm followed them all the way, its angry wind pushing and shoving the van from all directions, as though Mother Nature herself knew that what they were doing was wrong.

  Twice, the van skidded against black ice, and twice it recovered, continuing its unwavering journey through the eye of the storm until its twin headlights disappeared into the all-consuming fog, lost in the folds of the valley as if it had never existed at all.

  CHAPTER 35

  Tuesday 16th February

  The semi-detached house in the little cul-de-sac known as ‘Garth Two’ was wholly unremarkable.

  Located on the western outskirts of Killingworth, it had been built during the sixties, and had fared better than many of that era but significantly worse than others, taking into account its sagging roof and generally tired appearance. Killingworth, which lay to the north of the city of Newcastle, had been built as a ‘new’ town during that swinging decade, replacing the old colliery land that had lain derelict for some years before the town planners took charge of it, and creating what some had called a ‘revolutionary, avant-garde’ architectural landscape of concrete high-rises and angular walkways. The area was largely a commuter suburb, safe for young families and older people, and as Ryan and his team drove through its quiet streets, they were struck once again with the realisation that crime hid in plain sight and, in this case, with a good view of the boating lake.

  It was barely seven-thirty when the police van turned into the cul-de-sac, transporting Ryan and Phillips alongside a team of specialist firearms officers, whilst another van carrying more police personnel covered the rear of the property by closing off access to the back alley running along its northern edge, where a number of private garages were located.

  Both teams spilled out of their vans, some to guard the safety of neighbouring properties, whilst others made directly for the front and back entrances to Number 15.

  “Doesn’t look occupied,” Phillips murmured, as he peered through his field binoculars. “Blinds are all closed.”

  “It’s still early,” Ryan said, and gave the order for armed police to enter.

  ARMED POLICE! ARMED POLICE!

  They heard the warning shouts, followed by the splintering of doors, but there were no answering shouts or cries, as they might have expected.

  They watched the live footage as their colleagues cleared every room in the house with military precision, until they could be sure that Phillips was right.

  Nobody was home.

  “They’ve cleared out,” Ryan said, and ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

  “Aye, but the question is when,” P
hillips replied.

  “No way they could have done this overnight,” Ryan said. “They had no way of knowing we’d bust Hopper, or that he’d give us the address.”

  “There’s always a chance of discovery,” Phillips said.

  “They screen their clients before giving it out,” Ryan said. “But, even so, I agree—the business model carries a large degree of risk. Perhaps they mitigate that by shifting address, every so often.”

  Though it was an unpalatable line of thought, Ryan had to admit that’s what he would do, if he was criminally inclined.

  “I’ve been thinkin’,” Phillips said. “Why do they call him The Dragon?”

  “The Far Eastern connection?” Ryan offered. “I don’t know, Frank. Maybe he watched one too many episodes of Game of Thrones.”

  “Aye, you never can tell with these crackpots,” Phillips agreed. “What do we do, now?”

  “I want the whole place swept for forensics,” Ryan told him. “I know Faulkner is run off his feet, at the moment, so pull in a team from a neighbouring command, if you have to. I want every room checked for DNA, especially the bedrooms, and I want an express service—no more than twenty-four hours.”

  Phillips nodded. “It’s frustrating, always playin’ catch up with these bastards,” he said.

  But Ryan shook his head. “I can smell them, now, Frank. It was a mistake, killing that boy,” he said. “By doing that, they told us who’s involved.”

  “Any word from the surveillance team at the Nicholson house?”

  Ryan nodded. “They’ve had eyes on the house since yesterday evening,” he said. “Nobody’s come in or out, except the little girl, who was picked up and taken to school by a neighbour.”

  “Not the parents?”

  Ryan shook his head. “They’re bedding down.”

  “If we could only get Keeley on her own,” Phillips muttered.

  “We could bring her in for questioning,” Ryan said. “I would, if I didn’t think she’d be in the same danger as her son. We need to be careful, with that one.”

  “You never know,” Phillips said. “Maybe her mother’s instinct will shine through.”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  * * *

  Lawana opened her eyes to blazing white light.

  Was this Heaven?

  She blinked, her eyes watering as they tried to adjust, and her mind slowly registered other things.

  A persistent beeping noise, in time with her heart…

  The distant murmur of voices.

  She tried to move her head, but found she couldn’t, for it was strapped securely in a neck brace to protect her spinal cord from any further trauma.

  She panicked, and must have alerted one of the nurses, who came running to her bedside.

  “Hey, there, hey! It’s okay. It’s okay,” she said, soothingly, and laid gentle, firm hands on her shoulders to steady her.

  Lawana tried to speak, but found her voice croaky and sore.

  The nurse must have understood, for she reached for a cup of water with a long, bendy straw and placed it on her lips.

  “Here,” she said. “Have some water, it might help.”

  Lawana drank thirstily, then tried again.

  “Achara,” she said.

  “You keep saying that,” the nurse said, worriedly. “I wish I knew who or what you meant. I’m going to call someone who can help.”

  Lawana recognised the single, important word in that sentence, and was satisfied.

  Help.

  “Hel’,” she repeated, and gave the nurse a smile.

  * * *

  While Phillips supervised the scene at Garth Two, and Lowerson and Yates took themselves off to Bolam Lake to honour Gemma Yates’ memory, Ryan and MacKenzie made their way to the hospital with a Thai translator in tow.

  When they arrived on the ICU, they were pleased to find an armed officer standing guard, and even more pleased when he insisted upon seeing their warrant cards, despite the fact he knew them both by sight.

  Process was all-important, and could mean the difference between life and death.

  “How’s she doing?” Ryan asked, when they were met by the consultant outside one of the private rooms.

  “Better,” she replied, with a measure of relief. “I was worried about her, yesterday, but her vitals have improved overnight and her MRI scan hasn’t thrown up any further problems—other than those we’re already aware of. She’ll be going in for surgery this afternoon, but we thought you would want to speak to her, first.”

  “Thank you,” MacKenzie said. “We’ve brought a translator with us.”

  She introduced the young man standing beside them, whose name was Kamnan.

  “That’ll be a big help to us, too,” the consultant said. “Follow me.”

  She tapped on the door behind her, and then led them inside.

  Ryan and MacKenzie were not often shocked. They had seen too much, borne the weight of too much waste and human destruction, to be surprised.

  And yet, as they looked upon the bruised and battered body of the woman, whose frame was scarcely bigger than that of an adolescent, they were forced to bear down upon the wave of human empathy which rose up and threatened to choke them.

  “You have two visitors,” the consultant said, and appealed to Kamnan for help with translation.

  He repeated the words in his own language, and the woman replied.

  “She wants to know who they are.”

  “Detective Chief Inspector Ryan, and Detective Inspector MacKenzie, from the police,” Ryan said, and stepped forward so that she could see his warrant card. “Can she tell us her name?”

  There was a short pause, then her quiet voice echoed around the room.

  “Lawana.”

  “Lawana,” the translator repeated, and they all laughed.

  “May we sit down?” MacKenzie asked, gesturing to one of the chairs near the bed.

  Lawana nodded, with difficulty.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” the consultant said, after she’d asked a few pertinent medical questions.

  Once the door clicked shut, MacKenzie began again.

  “Can you tell us what happened to you, Lawana?”

  The translator repeated the question, and Lawana closed her eyes for a long moment, wondering where to begin.

  She told them about Pos’man, and Nodi…about Gaz and the arduous journey overland to the sea, and then of the terrifying journey in the hold. She spoke slowly, softly, eloquently, about her fear, about the other women and how many there had been. She spoke of what happened on the beach, of her fall into the cave and of the boy who had come to help.

  “This boy,” Ryan said. “What did he look like?”

  She described him as best she could, and told them he’d given her a chocolate bar. They listened, without interruption, as she told them of the man who’d come to save her…or, so she’d thought. They exchanged a sharp glance as she described what he had done, and how he had done it. She paused only once to take a sip of water, before continuing to describe her ordeal in the cellar attached to the side of the abandoned outbuilding, detailing what it looked like, and how many others she feared had come before her. Her voice faltered, as she came to describe the first night, and she pressed her lips together.

  MacKenzie leaned forward to place a hand over hers, a gesture that meant more than any trite words she could have said.

  Lawana drew herself together again, and continued, describing it as best she could, although she struggled to remember it all. Her mind had closed itself off from the worst of it, to protect her from the memories.

  Still, it was enough.

  When she fell silent, Ryan stood up and moved quietly to the window, unwilling to allow himself the indulgence of tears, though they threatened to fall. Never, in all his career, had he met a survivor who had endured so much pain, without ever giving up or giving in.

  He turned back to face her, and said as much.

  �
��I’m more sorry than I can say, for the pain you’ve suffered. You have my deepest respect,” he said, quietly. “Thank you for giving us your testimony. We’ll do all we can to find the people responsible.”

  She said something to the translator.

  “She says you’ll never find Postman, and his gang,” he told them. “They’ve done it many times before.”

  Ryan acknowledged that.

  “Everything must end,” he told her, with simple conviction.

  Lawana said something else, and became agitated.

  “Her daughter, Achara, was also part of the group,” Kamnan told them. “She’s very worried about her, and hasn’t seen her since the night of the shipwreck.”

  MacKenzie exchanged a glance with Ryan, then brought up a picture of the female they’d found dead on the beach, that first morning.

  “This will be difficult,” she said, gently. “Is this woman your daughter?”

  Lawana’s lips trembled, but she forced herself to look.

  And, God forgive her, felt nothing but relief.

  “It’s not her,” the translator told them. “It’s a woman called Chantara.”

  They made a note of all she could tell them about the dead woman, and hoped it would be enough to trace her next of kin. Then, they took down a full description of all the other women they were looking for, including Lawana’s daughter.

  “Can you remember the gang saying anything about where they were headed?” Ryan asked her. “Anything at all?”

  Lawana thought hard, trying to remember all their broken conversations in an alien language, but the effort was too great and the pain in her back had started to return.

  “That’s all for today,” MacKenzie murmured, and gave the woman’s hand another squeeze. “Please let us know the details of anyone you’d like us to contact, Lawana, or let us know if we can bring you anything.”

  She reached down to grasp the handles of the carrier bag she’d brought, with a few things inside it.

  “I don’t know if these will fit,” she said. “But, I thought you might like to have them.”

  Lawana looked at the woman with the flaming red hair, and reached for her hand again.

  “Than’ yoo,” she said.