She knew the Manchester case involving the Iqbals was probably dead from an investigative point of view by its standalone nature; though she could try ringing the women again. But her first instinct was to have a closer look at the Preston case involving Mohammed Sadiq. That was a brothel job, so potentially a far more open case, with any number of ways in. If she could find one. Clients of such places were never that forthcoming, even if she could trace any. What was on public record though, was the end-of-terrace house in Preston that had been used as the brothel. According to the online news reports, it had now been boarded up, but she reckoned the neighbours must have seen more than they apparently told the police. She’d be able take Vinnie for a drink later, too. She just hoped he was still in Preston by the time she’d finished. She’d ring later. But for now, it was back up the M6 to Preston. The address she was after was somewhere near to the docks, so shouldn’t be too hard to find.
*
An hour later and the sat nav was sending her car around in circles while driving her up the wall. It was obviously in need of an update, though to be fair; Preston Docks were docks in name only, nowadays. The old docks had obviously undergone extensive redevelopment, with retail parks, motor parks, a multiplex cinema, pubs, a marina and some fairly exclusive-looking apartment blocks. After Christine had driven around the entire complex once, a fact she only realised as she traversed the same swing bridge for the second time, she finally found what she was looking for. One small cul-de-sac of mainly commercial outlets, but with a handful of terraced properties at the bottom. She could see the boarded-up house at the end and reckoned the others would probably be sub-let flats.
Christine backed up and turned her car around and parked it, facing out at the end of road. The street had a dingy look about it, which clashed with the rest of the docks, but she didn’t want her personal car being obviously linked to her. She walked down the street and could see that her initial assessment looked correct. There were four houses separate to the boarded-up residence; two opposite and two to one side. She received no answer at the first three and it was hard to assess whether anyone was in either of the upstairs or downstairs flats, as all the curtains were closed.
She checked the time: 2.30 pm. If the flats were all inhabited by students, they were either out at university, or not; but regardless considered this time the middle of their night. A knock at the last flat confirmed the latter as the occupant, a bleary-eyed twenty-something, answered the door and gave mainly single-syllable answers that all sounded like grunts. Christine doubted he’d have noticed an alien invasion, let alone a working brothel and subsequent police raid. She thanked him for his time, even though she was sure that was another concept he probably knew little about. As she walked away, she suddenly felt middle-aged, even though she was only ten or so years older than the lad. Had she been remotely like that, at college? Probably.
Anyway, while she was here she may as well have a nosy. The front door and windows of the former brothel were covered in plywood so she headed down the side alley, which led into a rear passageway and gateway. This in turn led into a small yard at the back of the property. It was probably the entrance of choice when the place was open. She took a couple of photos with her smartphone; it would help her recreate the mood of the place when she wrote her notes later.
Even the back of the property was boarded, like the front, except that the rear door was hanging off its hinges — courtesy of the local youths, no doubt. She felt her heartbeat quicken as she walked inside, and she wasn’t really sure why. She wouldn’t need to use her phone to capture or retain the mood of the interior. The kitchen area had obviously been just that, and the attached dining area looked as if it had been a communal space with long bench seats. She shuddered at the thought of the cattle market the room had obviously been. Punters standing where she currently stood, before making their choices of frightened, no doubt drugged, enslaved young women.
The front room was divided into two by a sheet, with a mattress on the floor of each half. She got the picture. No need to go upstairs; it would no doubt be more of the same. The dimly-lit place was starting to make her itch, time to go. She was about to retrace her steps when she noticed that the front door was on a Yale-type lock.
It was only as the door clicked shut behind her that she realised she had been holding her breath, and she exhaled before sucking in a lungful of cool fresh air. She could only imagine what hell those poor women had been put through. She was about to turn back towards her car, when her peripheral vision caught movement nearby. She swivelled, to see a man in his fifties approach and stop very close to her, as if she was in his way.
‘Shit, what happened here?’ the man asked. He was fat, unkempt and wearing a tight-fitting suit that looked as if he hadn’t taken it off since it did fit him, which Christine reckoned would have been a long time ago. He also looked somehow wrong: she was on her guard.
‘Don’t you read the newspapers or watch the news?’
‘I don’t know you, do I?’ he said.
The question threw her. But before she could answer, he carried on. ‘Not from round here, I’m a rep, and have not been in this area for a couple of months.’
Christine was unsure why that would explain anything. And then — it did. She felt queasy. Her fears were confirmed by the man’s next remark.
‘If you are working, I’m looking for business.’
She didn’t know whether to hit him or to vomit on him. She quickly considered whether she should tell him who she really was, in the hope of asking him about the management of the place, though she suspected he wouldn’t know anything useful. Even if he had ever seen Boldo, he probably wouldn’t have realised. This revolting creature would doubtless only ever have had one thing on his primitive mind during his (numerous, no doubt) previous visits..
‘If you have to think this long, I guess not,’ the creature said.
‘Sorry, just collecting something while I can still get in, it’s my day off,’ Christine said with a strained smile.
‘No worries, I’ll try the other place.’
She tried not to look stunned.
‘Maybe see you there some time, when you are working?’ the creature said, before winking at her and adding, ‘Money’s no object; not now, and you’d be worth it’. He then turned and headed back up the street.
Christine considered what he had said about ‘the other place’. The value of getting off her arse and out of the newsroom was paying off, yet again. She kept a distance behind the man, and noticed that beyond her Mini was a large white van. The man headed straight for it and got into the driver’s seat without a backward look. He was obviously focused on just one thing — again.
Christine reached her car and let the van turn out of the side street before she started the engine. That way, she hoped he wouldn’t see her following him. She risked losing him, but hoped her Mini would soon catch up. By the time she got to the end of the cul-de-sac she was starting to panic, as she saw several cars drift past the junction. But she needn’t have worried. She turned left, and as soon as she cleared the swing bridge she could she the back of the van, four or five cars ahead. She relaxed as she calmed her driving down. She wished Vinnie was with her, he would be good at this surveillance malarkey.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
By the time Vinnie and Harry arrived at Preston’s crown court it was nearly 2.30 pm. They were met by a CPS lawyer called Jill. Smart, professional, in her late thirties. She ushered them into a witness room before she spoke.
‘We haven’t got long; the judge is waiting in his chambers with prosecuting counsel, Mrs De Marco.’
‘Is she fully briefed on all the issues?’ Harry asked.
‘As briefed as I am, but I’m hoping you may have more information?’
Ignoring her question for the moment, Vinnie asked, ‘Is she match fit to deal with such sensitive issues?’ It would sound an unprofessional question to some, he knew. But he also knew that many barristers we
re not totally au fait with the issues relating to informants. Some tended to concentrate on the evidential issues.
‘She’s the brief chosen by your special ops department, if that answers your question,’ Jill said. And it did. Special ops was the secretive unit that deployed undercover operatives, and the issues at hand were of a similar nature. It was a relief.
‘Well?’ Jill asked.
‘Sorry, yes, we have some new evidence to assist the judge. Just put me under oath in there. No time to brief you now,’ Vinnie said. And before Jill could answer, a black-robed usher walked in. Probably a retired cop, Vinnie thought, many were.
‘Sorry to interrupt, but His Honour will see you now,’ the usher said.
‘There you go again,’ Harry whispered to Vinnie, as they both followed Jill out of the room.
‘It sort of just slipped out,’ Vinnie replied.
‘No out-and-out porkies this time, Vinnie, and I mean it,’ Harry said.
Vinnie new he was right, he’d got away with lying to the judge last time, or at least said something that now turned out to have not been a lie, but he couldn’t risk a second go. He could give his account under oath rather than just through the barrister, which would afford the words a greater weight, even if most of it would be hearsay. He’d just have to think of a new way of putting it across; one that would add value. He just wasn’t sure exactly what that would be. He’d have to think fast.
They were shown into the judge’s private office at the rear of court 10, which was where this judge usually presided. It was the same room in which they had initially briefed the judge on Sadiq. A large room, with two chairs in front of the judge’s large mahogany desk, but this time it had two further chairs set to one side at right angles. Harry and Vinnie took these. The barrister, Mrs De Marco, was already seated and was joined by Jill, who was carrying an inordinate amount of paper of which she was struggling to control. The judge was seated without his robes or wig, but was wearing the usual attire of white shirt and neckerchief.
‘Please, Mrs De Marco, remove your wig, we don’t need to stand on ceremony in here,’ the judge said.
‘Thank you, Your Honour,’ she replied.
‘And please, all stay seated.’
‘Sir.’
‘So, where are we up to with the defendant, Sadiq?’ the judge asked.
Mrs De Marco cleared her throat and succinctly brought the judge up to speed, as Jill had obviously briefed her. Jill looked over at Harry and Vinnie, and Vinnie nodded that her brief was accurate. She’d summarized all that had happened and the fact that Sadiq was willing to give evidence for the Crown in any future proceedings against Babik, Grady and Fletcher.
‘As I see it, we have two issues to consider here. One, whether Sadiq has been of any real and quantifiable assistance to the police and two, should any of the information now in the hands of the prosecution be disclosed to the defence?’ the judge said.
Just hearing the judge say the words ‘disclosed to the defence’ sent a surge of fear through Vinnie’s heart.
‘I intend to deal with matters in chronological order. Firstly, I can see no quantifiable evidence thus far that is of assistance to the police. Notwithstanding any offer by the defendant to give Queen’s evidence in the future. That future has yet to occur, and being fully cognisant of the fact that any such future evidence by Sadiq may provide grounds for him to seek leave to appeal any sentence imposed by this court, I have to procced on facts as they are known.’
‘Your Honour, I would expect no less,’ Mrs De Marco said.
‘Don’t get me wrong, no judge enjoys seeing an appeal adjudge differently to their original decision, but in this case I would willingly accept such future deliberations in confidence that we can only act now on what we see. I’ll even put a note on the file to that effect. I am also aware that no text under R v Piggott has been produced, unless you know different?’
Mrs De Marco turned to Jill, who in turn turned to Vinnie and Harry. Even in here there is a pecking order, Vinnie thought. Harry, as the senior officer, spoke.
‘No, Your Honour, there has been no request for a text from the defendant, and even if there had, it would contain no information.’
The judge nodded and then said, ‘Very well, I therefore order that I shall sentence the defendant tomorrow within the current sentencing guidelines, taking into account all facts of the case, the impact the offences have had on the victims, the public interest, and balancing it against any mitigation put forward by counsel for the defence. Now, on to the trickier second issue. Mrs De Marco.’
Mrs De Marco then explained in detail that Sadiq had alleged his wife had been kidnapped and was being held hostage by Babik — his former employer — to ensure that Sadiq gave no assistance to the police.
‘Any actual evidence of this?’ the judge asked.
‘Police enquiries have failed to locate Mrs Sadiq and she has not been seen by any of her neighbours, friends or relatives,’ Mrs De Marco said.
‘She may just be a private person, going about her private lawful business,’ the judge said.
Mrs De Marco then called for one of the officers to take the oath. Vinnie did so, and then Mrs De Marco asked him if there was any evidence.
‘Yes, Your Honour, when officers attended the Sadiq home address, they found the premises insecure at the rear. A mobile phone belonging to Mrs Amal Sadiq was found, lying on the floor near the rear door, and her handbag, purse and other personal effects were all found inside the premises. The lights were on as was the television in the front room,’ Vinnie said. He dared not look at Harry. He’d absolutely no idea about the lights or the TV, but nor would anyone else.
‘Ah, I see, thank you Inspector. That changes things. I am reassured therefore that Mrs Amal Sadiq has come to harm and I appreciate the police’s legal duty of care to do all they can in order to secure her safe return. I find the information supporting this, from DS Grady, unreliable and of little value, and hearsay as things stand. Regardless of its, or her, value as a potential witness, there is an issue. That issue being, that although I find nothing that would undermine the prosecution case that the defence should be made aware of, I do find that DS Grady is a probable witness, and as a witness, she may have evidence — however unreliable — that the defence are entitled to consider.’
Vinnie hadn’t seen this coming, but could see where it was coming from. As a potential witness, the defence were entitled to make enquires of Grady, even if she was a prosecution witness — which technically she wasn’t, because she had not yet provided a formal written statement. Which made matters even worse; technically she was available to be used as a defence witness, unlikely as that was.
So, the defence were entitled to be made aware of her existence, so they too could decide if she was reliable or not, and whether she could be a witness for them.
Mrs De Marco was straight back in. ‘But Your Honour, the identity, and even the presence, of police undercover officers, is almost always protected by the courts.’
‘Agreed,’ the judge said, then added, ‘but I have not been shown any evidence that confirms that DS Grady is an authorised undercover officer. Rogue or otherwise. We only have her word for that. Unless you know different, Mrs De Marco?’
Mrs De Marco shook her head.
The judge continued. ‘However, taking into account the evidence on oath by Detective Inspector Palmer, I am satisfied that in the absence of evidence to the contrary, Mrs Amal Sadiq’s life is in real danger. I come to this decision due to the circumstances police discovered at her empty home address, and the passage of time since then. She has not just nipped out, several days have now elapsed. Therefore, it is in the public interest that the information the prosecution wish to withhold is not disclosed to the defence, the greater public interest is thus served. I will keep this decision under constant review during sentencing, and if anything is said in court that causes me to revisit it, I will.’
Vinnie couldn’t believe it:
he had thought disaster was looming, but they had got what they needed.
‘I will, of course, expect to hear immediately if Mrs Amal Sadiq is found, and then I will revisit.’
‘What, may I ask, Your Honour, is the defence to be told?’
‘Counsel for the defence will be told that there has been a public interest immunity hearing. That there is nothing that undermines your case, or would assist theirs, in the event of any further disclosure. Therefore, there will be no disclosure. I will instruct said counsel in chambers that they are not to inform Grant Fletcher, or any agent of his, that there has been a hearing. Thank you all, I think we are done.’
They all trooped out of the judge’s office, except Mrs De Marco. Vinnie still dared not look Harry in the eye as they both thanked Jill for a job well done. They were just about to leave when Mrs De Marco popped her head around the door and beckoned Vinnie back inside. She asked Harry to wait outside, which didn’t go down well.
Vinnie walked back inside and as soon as the door shut, the judge spoke.
‘Court is no longer in session, Inspector.’ Vinnie nodded. The judge continued. ‘I find it highly distasteful that there is even the slightest prospect Fletcher is corrupt, but I expect you to do all that is in your lawful power to bring him to trial, if he is.’ He didn’t invite a reply, just looked down at paperwork on his desk, so Vinnie took the hint and didn’t answer. He followed Mrs De Marco out into the corridor, where he saw Harry waiting for him. He was a nice ruddy colour.
‘Thank you, Mrs De Marco,’ Vinnie said, as he could see that she was about to head off in the opposite direction.
‘My pleasure,’ she said, before leaning closer to Vinnie and whispering, ‘I thought your observations about the lights and TV were excellent.’ She half-grinned before turning and walking away.
Vinnie wasn’t sure exactly how to take her remark. But turning back to face Harry, he knew that his next words would be far less ambiguous.
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