by Conrad Jones
‘Gus,’ he lied. He glanced in at the living room. Very tidy and very empty. The television was on but there was no volume.
‘Do you take sugar in your tea?’ she called after him.
‘Two please, Martha,’ he said, climbing the stairs. The bedroom doors were open and he checked each one quickly. There was no sign of anyone else living there. He used the bathroom and sighed with relief. There were two toothbrushes in a glass, one blue, one pink. She kept his toothbrush, he thought. Sentimental value. Grief and letting go can be powerful emotions. The poor old dear. He washed his face and patted it dry with a clean towel. That cleared the cobwebs from his mind. He felt a bit more human. A drink and something to eat would bring him back to full power.
‘Have you had any breakfast?’ Martha asked. ‘I can do you a bacon buttie if you like?’
‘That would be great, Martha,’ Carlos said, coming down the stairs. ‘It’s truly kind of you. My mother’s name was Martha, you know,’ he said smiling.
‘Was it really?’ Martha asked. ‘Where is your mother?’
‘Germany,’ Carlos said. ‘She was a doctor. Retired now.’
‘I thought you weren’t from around here,’ Martha said, putting some bacon into a small frying pan. ‘I could tell by your accent. I thought to myself, he’s not from around here. What brings you to Anglesey?’
‘My wife is from here. I met the love of my life at University,’ Carlos said. ‘Alison Jones. She’s a vet.’
‘Is she a local girl?’ Martha asked, sliding bread into the toaster.
‘Oh, yes. Holyhead born and bred. All her family are from here going back generations. They used to run the Vic pub many years ago.’
‘Oh lovely,’ Martha said. She passed him a mug of tea. The smell of bacon and toasted bread filled the air. ‘Here you are. That will warm you up. How do you know Harold?’
‘He’s a friend of a friend,’ Carlos said, slurping his tea. It soothed his parched throat. He looked at all the plug sockets above the worktops. ‘Do you use a mobile phone?’
‘Pardon?’ Martha looked confused. ‘Harold said you worked with him.’
‘Yes. But we were introduced by a friend,’ Carlos said. ‘Do you use a mobile phone?’
‘Yes. But I can’t get used to it,’ Martha said, buttering the toast. She took the bacon from the frying pan and placed it on the toast. ‘Do you want brown sauce?’
‘Do you have any red?’
‘Red sauce on a bacon sandwich?’ Martha frowned. ‘Maybe that’s what you have in Germany. I only have brown.’
‘Brown is fine,’ Carlos said. ‘What type of phone do you have?’
‘Sampson,’ Martha said.
‘Samsung,’ Carlos said, chuckling. ‘Can I borrow your charger please?’
‘Yes.’ Martha put the sandwich on a plate and put it on the kitchen table. ‘It’s in the living room plugged in next to my chair,’ she said. Carlos walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. It was decorated in the eighties and had remained there, trapped in a time warp. The carpet was a floral nightmare which boggled the senses. The television was on. Martha must have been watching it when he knocked on the back door. She’d muted the volume. Carlos looked at the headlines on the screen. A reporter was standing on the Newry Beach, the fairground in the background. The circus tent and Ferris wheel dominated the picture. He read the headline and his guts twisted. ‘Take a seat in there and I’ll bring this into you and fill up your tea.’
‘Thanks,’ Carlos said. He plugged his phone in and the charger icon appeared. ‘Do you mind if I turn the volume up?’
‘Not at all,’ Martha said from behind him. She handed him the plate. ‘This is terrible news,’ she said. Carlos turned the volume up. The reporter was talking about the rape and murder of Michelle Branning. He felt sick but bit into the bacon buttie anyway. The taste was amazing. His senses reeled as he swallowed the first mouthful of food, he’d eaten for over twenty-four hours. Raped and murdered. Raped and murdered. Murdered, echoed through his mind. ‘She was a lovely looking girl, so petite. Like a little angel she was. I heard a woman earlier saying they used to call her Tinkershell like the fairy because she was so tiny. What a crying shame.’ Carlos finished the sandwich in minutes. He swigged the fresh cup of tea and reassessed his situation. The girl was dead. That was not the best news by a long chalk. His head was spinning with the news. Michelle Branning had been murdered. This had turned into a nightmare. The police would assume he was responsible and they would be hunting high and low for him and they would be pointing the finger of guilt at him. ‘They say they’re looking for a man who is associated with the fair but isn’t employed by them,’ Martha said, parroting the news reel. ‘What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know, Martha,’ Carlos muttered, glued to the screen.
‘Either he works on the fair or he doesn’t. They’re always bad news these travelling types. Trouble always follows them and the crime rate goes up wherever they are and comes back down when they’ve gone. That can’t be a coincidence, can it?’ Martha said, nodding wisely.
Martha stopped talking and stared at the television. Carlos inhaled deeply as a photograph of his face appeared on the screen. Wanted, Carlos Vincentia. Martha covered her mouth with her hand, shocked. She sat in her armchair and looked at Carlos. Carlos shook his head and frowned.
‘That’s you, isn’t it?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid it is.’
Chapter 29
Benaim Bronski was sitting in his truck wondering how so many things could go so wrong, so quickly. A long conversation with a representative from high up in the Karpov business had told him to clean house or be cleaned. The police would have connected him to Mary Adams by now. There was no doubt about that. The stupid bitch had completely flipped out when she realised what he was up to. The women he wanted her to hide in her trailer, were downstairs in the cellar. It clicked that they were being held captive, trafficked not rescued. It was like flicking a switch. One minute she was cautiously compliant, the next she was threatening to call the police. That was the one thing he couldn’t allow to happen, so he’d grabbed her to calm her down and she banged her head on the wall. That was that. She became hysterical, banging on the patio doors and the people on the beach saw her. Stupid bitch. He’d pulled her back but she punched him in the balls, so he pushed her but underestimated his own strength. She smashed through the glass as if it wasn’t there and tumbled over the balcony. That was the beginning of the end. Everything was starting to unravel.
He had to irradicate anything that connected him to her death in that house. The Telfords were gone, silenced forever. The greedy bastards. They wanted it all their own way and tried to take their ball home before the game was over. That’s not how the game was played. He hadn’t meant for them to die like that but he couldn’t change it now. He didn’t know he was about to be arrested and remanded in custody. That was unfortunate for them. Not that he would lose any sleep over them. They had a good run for a while and all good things come to an end at some point. There was no hard evidence against him apart from the Holyhead woman. She was an eyewitness, who could place him leaving the scene of the crime. Kelly Williams and her boyfriend Jack Henderson would have to be silenced permanently. He wasn’t sure if the boyfriend had seen him but he had to assume he had or that she would have described him. His burns were too distinctive to ignore. They were unique. She was sent a message and hadn’t said anything to the police yet and he needed to keep it that way. It was only a matter of time. Everything else would hinge on what they found on the Vincentia brothers and what they coughed up in interview. The fucking idiots. He couldn’t believe he could be brought down because they were drugging women for a shag. If he went down, the Karpovs would have to take him out or risk him squealing for a lighter sentence. Everyone was out for themselves if the truth be told. Honour amongst thieves was bollocks. There was no honour to be had from this, only survival. Survival of the fi
ttest or the dirtiest as the case may be. It was time to be as dirty as possible to survive.
He saw a vehicle across the motorway. A pickup pulled onto the site and flashed its headlights three times. He flashed his in reply. David Prost got out of his pickup and walked towards the bridge from his side of the expressway. Benaim climbed out of his truck and walked to the bridge from his side. They met in the middle. Four lanes of traffic roared beneath them. David looked nervous and frightened. Benaim reckoned he was lost without the brothers to guide him. He was always one step behind them, lurking in their shadows.
‘You look like you’re going to cry,’ Ben said, shaking his head. ‘You’re not going to cry, are you?’
‘No,’ David said.
‘Why the sad face?’
‘I feel guilty for running away but I didn’t know what else to do. The police were going to find Carlos and Claus and I panicked.’ David shrugged. ‘I called you because I thought you would know what to do for the best.’
‘What the fuck happened, David?’ Ben asked. He looked pissed off. His eyes were dark and brooding at the best of times but today his face was like thunder.
‘I don’t know, Ben,’ David said, shrugging. ‘The police came to the trailer looking for the brothers. There were detectives and uniformed police all around the van. Lots of them.’
‘What were they looking for, exactly?’
‘They said two women had been spiked and one was missing. And they said they knew we had seen them in a pub in the town. They searched the trailer for them and I told them the brothers were in the pub. They went to find them and said they would be back to talk to me later on. They told me not to go anywhere,’ he shrugged and lit a cigarette. ‘I shit myself and got in the truck. I didn’t want anything to do with missing women. That is bad news.’
‘She’s not missing anymore,’ Ben said.
‘What do you mean?’ David asked. ‘That’s good, surely. They found her?’
‘Haven’t you been listening to the news?’
‘No.’
‘They found her dead in the sea, idiot. She was stripped from the waist down, raped and murdered,’ Ben said angrily. David was speechless. ‘What the fuck was going through your heads drugging women in town?’
‘It is Carlos and Claus. They think it is like a game. I didn’t know this would happen,’ David said. ‘Sometimes they bring women back to the trailer but I never thought anything like this could happen.’
‘Women they have drugged?’ Ben asked, frowning.
‘Yes. They’re like zombies on that stuff they give them,’ David said. ‘Then they put them into a taxi and send them home like nothing happened. I told them they were playing with fire. I have nothing to do with this.’
‘Shut up,’ Ben snapped. David was going to protest but thought better of it. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t know what they were up to. You three were together twenty-four-seven. You knew what they were up to. Are you telling me you didn’t know what they were up to?’
‘I didn’t know anything about the woman being killed, honestly I didn’t,’ David said. He held his face in his hands. ‘I told you. It’s a game to them. They have gone too far this time. They will arrest them for murder for sure.’
‘Welcome to the party, idiot,’ Ben said. ‘The police will take that trailer and workshop to bits looking for DNA.’
‘If they search the trailer, they will find the compartment where we hid the migrants from Calais,’ David said. ‘They won’t be able to prove we smuggled them into the country, will they?’
‘They will find a lot more than that,’ Ben said, shaking his head.
‘Like what?’
‘Stuff that shouldn’t be there,’ Ben said. He studied David’s face to see if he knew what he was talking about. Carlos assured him David didn’t know everything and that they kept him in the dark. They called him the mushroom, kept in the dark and fed horseshit. ‘Stuff which is unbelievably valuable and doesn’t belong to me.’
‘What stuff?’
‘Grow up, David. What do you think I’m talking about?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t want to know.’
‘Tough because you’re in this up to your neck. They will find drugs,’ Ben said. David shook his head. ‘There are a lot of drugs in the lining of that trailer. They belong to extremely dangerous people. If they don’t get their drugs delivered to Ireland on Friday, they will want their money. If they don’t get their money, they will kill me and you and the Vincentia brothers and anyone related to us.’ David looked suitably frightened. ‘Do you have family in Dusseldorf?’
‘Yes. Father, mother and sister.’
‘They know where you’re from. They will kill them all,’ Ben said. ‘You need to get the drugs out of the trailer.’
‘What?’ David asked. ‘You said the police will be searching it.’
‘They will be looking for forensic evidence inside the trailer, not drugs in the shell. That will be the last place they look. As long as the shell remains intact, we can retrieve them.’
‘I don’t understand,’ David said.
‘It’s simple. We need the drugs out of the trailer or we’re all dead.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I need you to listen very carefully. They will move the trailer to a secure compound. There are only two in North Wales. I’ll find out where it is being stored and you need to get some tools. You need to get to the trailer at night when the forensic teams have finished for the day, ring me,’ Ben said. ‘I’ll tell you where the drugs are stashed. You can cut into the skin with a power saw. I reckon it will take you twenty-minutes at the most to recover them. There are twenty packages in total. They weigh a kilo each, so you’ll need a rucksack to carry them.’ David looked as white as a sheet.
‘Are you listening to me?’
‘Yes. But I don’t think I can do this.’
‘If we can get them back, we have a good chance of getting out of this alive.’
‘What if I get caught?’
‘You will go to jail and the Karpovs will have your throat cut on the inside,’ Ben said. ‘You don’t want to think about what they will do to your mother and sister.’
‘No.’
‘What did you say to me?’
‘I said no,’ David said, shaking his head. ‘I’m not getting involved in smuggling drugs. I won’t say anything to the police but I’m not getting involved by moving them.’
Ben grabbed David by the legs and lifted him over the railings. David was dangling upside down, held by the ankles. The traffic screamed beneath him. His mind began to spin. He could hear Ben shouting at him but he couldn’t understand what he was saying. The blood was pooling in his brain, pressure building to bursting point. He could hear the blaring of horns and claxons from horrified drivers passing below. Ben dragged him back onto the bridge and squeezed his cheek hard.
‘Are you listening to me?’ Ben snarled. He slapped him hard across the face. ‘David!’
‘Yes. I’m listening,’ David muttered. ‘I think I’ve shit in my pants.’
‘You need to get in your truck and stay out of sight until I call you,’ Ben said. ‘Get a rucksack and wait for me to call you.’ David nodded. ‘Do you have tools on the truck?’ David nodded again. ‘Good. Do as you’re told and you’ll survive this and come out of the other side with some money in your pocket, understand?’
‘Yes,’ David mumbled. Ben turned and walked away and didn’t look back.
Chapter 30
Pamela Stone and her team were working their way through the Vincentia trailer. It was a DNA festival. She concentrated on the individual bedrooms, capturing samples unique to their occupant. Toothbrushes, and men’s underwear and a couple of used condoms, which were guaranteed to yield evidence linked to one person. Rarely were multiple samples taken from a toothbrush or condom. The evidence was bagged and tagged and rushed to the lab to be processed urgently. The police wanted the findings crosschecked with w
hat was found on the boat when the results were produced. They were still waiting for them. Processing the small samples of blood, semen, saliva and fibres was a painstakingly slow process as they couldn’t afford to waste any of the precious trace elements. There was enough for a couple of tests to be run and not much more. If the tests were faulty, they may not get a second opportunity. They had to be right first time. With the interior processed and its contents removed for further analysis, they began to investigate the structure of the vehicle itself.
Beneath the beds and seating areas were pods big enough to accommodate two people in each. The spaces had been lined with thermic board and insulation, which would mask the heat given off by a human body. If heat sensors were used on the trailer, which was highly unlikely, the chances were, they wouldn’t see anything untoward. There were no guarantees but there never were. The odds were stacked in their favour. They had been designed to take six beneath each divan and another four in the seating areas. Twenty-two berths in total. The manufacturing was precise and skilled. Pamela called Alan to tell him the news.
‘Hello Pamela,’ Alan said. ‘Have you found anything interesting?’
‘The trailer was occupied by three single males,’ Pamela said. ‘It’s awash with DNA. There’s plenty to compare to whatever comes back from the boat.’
‘How long are we looking at?’
‘Forty-eight hours minimum, even with a rush on them,’ Pamela said. ‘The traces from the boat are so minute, we have to be right with the first test. As soon as we have anything back, I’ll call you. Have you caught your suspects yet?’
‘Nope,’ Alan said. ‘We know they’re not in Ireland, which is good but they’re still at large. Their faces are all over the news. They can’t hide forever.’
‘We found pods in the trailer, welded beneath the beds and seating areas,’ Pamela said. ‘They’ve been insulated to avoid heat detection cameras. The fact they haven’t been stopped and arrested is testament to the fact they worked.’
