by Vicky Newham
I told him about Rosa’s parents being helped to escape from the Warsaw Ghetto by Christian Poles.
‘Ah. That makes sense,’ he said. ‘What about Tomasz though?’
‘Rosa seems to have adapted to life here. Maybe she doesn’t mind?’ I couldn’t help thinking about Mum and the difficulty she’d had adjusting when we arrived over from Sylhet in the eighties. How she’d clung, all her life, to Bangladeshi customs, to her mother tongue, and how anglicised she found me. ‘From what I see, it’s pretty common for things to change from one generation to the next. It depends on who people mix with and marry.’
We’d stopped now to get a takeaway coffee from a stand.
Dan passed a tenner to the barista and we shuffled along the pavement to wait for our drinks.
Mum was still on my mind. She’d barely changed since living in the UK. ‘I wonder why some people adapt and others don’t.’ I remembered the times Jasmina and I came home from school and found her in a ball on the floor, in the dark, beside the sofa. It was an image which had lodged in the folds of my memory. ‘My mother still doesn’t speak English. Key words but nothing more.’
Dan seemed surprised. He collected our drinks. ‘What about your dad?’
The question caught me unprepared. Dan knew that Dad had left us when we were kids. The truth was I had no idea what he was like now. ‘Dad’s English was always better than Mum’s, and when we arrived in the UK he kept saying how important it was for us to become bilingual.’ I felt the knot tightening in my stomach. I cleared my throat, keen to change the subject. ‘I think we have to consider Marta a suspect, don’t you?’ I hoped Dan would pick up on my cue. ‘She’s certainly got a motive for removing Simas from Indra’s—’
The vibrating of my mobile interrupted our conversation. It was Alexej.
‘OK,’ I said, once he’d briefed me. ‘We’re on our way back.’
Dan’s eyes were on me.
‘LfA has claimed responsibility for organising the flash mob.’ I lobbed my coffee into a bin, hoping that this would be a productive lead. ‘And the tech team have traced the owner of the domain address. Have a guess who LfA was founded by?’
Dan, 6 p.m.
‘Any previous?’ Maya asked as they walked up the front path of Agnieszka and Olaf’s terraced house in East Ham.
‘Nothing,’ Dan replied, thinking back to the information he’d read about Agnieszka’s husband. ‘Strozyk came to the UK in 1985. School in Plaistow. Tower Hamlets College after that. Studied accountancy here, and runs his own business in Upton Park.’
A dumped couch sat on its haunches against the garden wall, rusty springs protruding and a gaping burn hole in the seat.
Olaf opened the front door within seconds of Maya ringing the bell. ‘You made me jump. I’ve just got home.’ He clocked their warrants and his face flushed pink. ‘Has something happened?’ He had a strong Polish accent.
Maya introduced them. ‘We need to ask you a few questions about LfA. Can we come in, please?’
‘Wow. That’s a blast from the past.’ His expression shifted to relief, and he stepped backwards to let them in. ‘Of course. I was just about to head over to the shop to visit Agnieszka and the kids.’ He led them along the hall, loosening his tie as he walked.
It was a family home, with all the things Dan missed. Underneath the adult coats, each of their three children had a peg for their clothes and bags, and a plastic box for their shoes. In the lounge, Dan began sizing up the room. Last night’s dinner. Lever arch files all over the coffee tables. This wasn’t children’s mess. Someone had created a system, a place for everything. Another was ignoring it.
‘We understand you set up LfA.’ Maya was watching Olaf closely.
‘A long time ago, yes. When I was at university.’ He waved his hand dismissively.
‘And the website, LfA.com?’
‘Yup.’
‘Are you still involved with it?’
‘Fat chance.’ He snorted. ‘Look at me.’ He patted his belly and, as he moved, Dan noticed the sweat under his arms. ‘Do I look like a man who’s got time to do campaign work? I work long hours and I’ve got three kids. I haven’t got time to wash my car let alone organise demonstrations and rallies.’ He snorted at the idea.
‘Who runs it now then?’
‘No-one. I let the payments lapse on the website.’
‘When was that?’
‘Several years ago.’ His face clouded over and his posture tensed. ‘Can’t remember exactly but I should have the details in my email somewhere. What’s this about?’
‘Someone called the police today,’ Maya explained, ‘and said that LfA was responsible for the flash mob in Brick Lane yesterday. Do you know who that might have been?’
‘No. Co ten pierdolić?’ His gaze was loose for a moment.
Dan wondered if he was trying to make sense of the news or prepare excuses.
‘How can they be responsible? LfA was a socialist organisation not a . . . a . . . I don’t know what.’ Olaf unbuttoned his cuffs and began rolling his sleeves up. ‘Did this person say the flash mob or the fire?’
‘We were hoping you might tell us.’ Dan’s kept his tone solemn.
‘I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, Sergeant. I don’t know anything about the flash mob, or the fire, other than what I’ve seen on the news. I was at work all day yesterday until 6 p.m. and I certainly haven’t been making phone calls to the police.’ He fished in his trouser pocket for his mobile and swiped at the screen. ‘I should have the renewal failure email in my Gmail. Gówno. Bloody phone. Battery’s dead.’ He cursed under his breath. ‘Do you want to come through to the kitchen and I’ll plug it in?’ He strode past them and out into the hall.
The kitchen was wall-to-wall white cabinets, leaving little room to move. Fitted at floor and eye level, so as to provide maximum storage, they covered the entire circumference of the room. Each child had their weekly activity timetable stuck to the fridge-freezer.
Olaf plugged his phone into a mains charger. ‘My laptop’s at the office. I’ll be able to start it up in a minute or two.’ He glanced round the kitchen as though he didn’t know what to do. ‘I’m trying to get my head round all this. Someone from LfA has claimed responsibility for the flash mob? That’s preposterous. Or a hoax. LfA doesn’t exist anymore.’
‘We’re going to need to see that email, buddy,’ said Dan.
Olaf thumbed at his screen which still didn’t seem to be responding. ‘Jezusa Chrystusa.’ He flung the mobile back on the worktop.
‘While we’re waiting for your phone, can anyone vouch for you being in the office all day yesterday?’ Dan leaned against the worktop.
Something flashed across Olaf’s face. ‘You mean, do I have an alibi?’
‘If you like.’
‘Yes. My PA, Sara Baranska.’
‘We’ll need her address.’
‘Of course. Ah, here we go. Bloody thing’s starting up at last.’
While they were waiting, Dan continued to assess their surroundings. On the worktop by the microwave, crayons and pens were stacked neatly, and colourful drawings clustered above the timetables. Plastic containers of cereal sat in rows next to the toaster, and a toddler’s drinking beaker was on the draining board.
Across the room, Olaf was fiddling with his phone.
‘You sure you let the payments lapse?’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ snapped Olaf. ‘I’ve got the email. I know I have. It’s just that I’ve got so much spam in my inbox, it’s a nightmare finding anything.’ Several minutes passed while he continued to swipe at his phone screen. ‘Would you like me to forward it onto you? No point wasting time.’
‘Who was the site hosted with? That’s got to be the easiest way of searching.’ Dan was itching to take the man’s mobile and do it himself.
‘Oh, it was only a cheap one. Got it on special offer. Web4U, I think it was. Something like that. Paid ten upfront. Here we are. Oh. No, that’s no
t it.’ Olaf pushed the phone away from him to get a better view. ‘That’s strange . . . ’ He repeated the gesture. ‘I can’t seem to . . . I must’ve deleted them when I ran out of space on my Gmail account. I can’t find any emails from Web4U.’
‘That’s a coincidence.’ Dan knew his voice was impatient. ‘Because your website is still active and has been promoting all sorts of criminal activities. As things stand, it’s still currently registered to you. How do you explain that?’
Olaf’s face froze.
Maya, 6.45 p.m.
Back at the station, Dan and I hurried to the incident room for briefing. The office stank of leftover pizza and stale coffee. On the large plasma screen, Carly, the Sky News reporter, was standing outside a large red brick building, facing a camera. It was the converted Synagogue in Belvedere Street, and children and teens were trailing in and out as she spoke. Above her head, a large Star of David had been carved into a strip of cream stone.
‘I’m here at the busy Coley Youth Centre in Brick Lane . . . ’ she said into her microphone.
I paused to listen briefly, hoping the coverage would be helpful.
‘ . . . where there’s increasing concern amongst parents and volunteers about children being groomed into taking part in flash mobs. The police say these gatherings, which typically involve spontaneous music and dancing, may conceal criminal acts, and are involving children as young as ten.’
‘Bloody pond-life,’ Dan muttered.
‘We’ve long been familiar with the idea of grooming being something which paedophiles do,’ Carly continued, ‘but the police tell us that the same behaviour is being used in places like this,’ she gestured to the building behind her, ‘to lure children and vulnerable adults into breaking the law.’
‘Let’s hope this helps to get the message across,’ I said.
I left the broadcast and approached the board.
Alexej had written up the key developments.
- UnSub
- Kenny, Artem, Indra & Marta
- LfA
- Who are Frazer & John?
- Ali’s address
‘Jackie’s on her way and said to start without her.’ I pointed at LfA on the board. ‘Let’s begin with Agnieszka’s husband, Olaf Strozyk. Does his alibi check out for Friday?’
‘Yes.’ Dan got in first, his face tight with determination. ‘His PA confirms he was in the office all day and was still working when she left at six.’
‘What I don’t understand is, the fire was yesterday. Why wait a day and then call in?’ The photos of the burnt-out shop stared back at me from the board. Two lives had been snuffed out with the strike of a match. ‘The analysts still can’t identify the caller so there’s nothing to suggest whether the person actually represents LfA, or whether they’re trying to drop LfA in it.’
‘Is there no cell site data from the phone call?’ Shen’s eyes shone with hope.
‘No.’ Alexej had been following this up. ‘The voice sounds female but whoever made the call used voice distortion software and put it through a router so that the location bounced every few seconds.’
‘That’s not an amateur.’ I felt my heart sinking. ‘That’s someone who knows their technology.’ Olaf had been hopeless with his phone when we interviewed him, and hardly fell into the tech-savvy category. ‘I can’t see why Olaf would make the call himself when it drops him in it.’
‘The thing is, most people use anonymous usernames on the internet, so it’s hard to establish who’s responsible for what.’ Alexej was checking his screens. ‘Going on their company records, LfA seemed legitimate when Olaf was in charge. “Based on socialist principles . . . peaceful protests . . . affordable housing for everyone” . . .’ He was reading off his monitor. ‘They didn’t oppose all development, just gentrification.’ He was shaking his head. ‘I know people behave recklessly at university but given Olaf was planning to train as an accountant, he’d have been a bit silly to have got involved with anything criminal, surely?’
‘I agree.’ Dan was jabbing his finger at the image of Rosa’s son-inlaw. ‘And people hijack group names and identities all the time, so someone could be organising criminal activities and using LfA as a shield and Olaf Strozyk as a fall guy. Once we’ve received confirmation that he let the website lapse, we can rule him out, I think.’
‘What about Artem?’ I asked. ‘We know he has form for arson.’ I put my mug down. ‘There’s a difference between setting fire to a tumble-down shed at the bottom of someone’s garden and burning down a three-storey shop though, and it was ten years ago. Is that enough to make him a suspect for setting light to the soup shop?’
‘It was still arson.’ Dan’s tone was unequivocal.
I faced the team. ‘I think we have to consider him a possible suspect but not our prime one. I don’t see him as a pyromaniac and he’s not stupid enough to risk his livelihood.’ The female fire victim was bothering me. ‘I’m pleased the public has taken our appeal for information to heart. Any news on our UnSub?’
‘No,’ Alexej replied. ‘Not good news about Sophie Williams, unfortunately, either. We haven’t traced her mother yet so we can’t rule her out as our UnSub. I’ve spoken to the lab. The UnSub’s dental records don’t match with any on the database, and because her body was so badly burned, they’re still having trouble extracting enough DNA strands.’ He stopped. ‘On the positive side, they’ve got her corpse now so they’re continuing to take samples and test.’
It was what Dr Clark had warned about.
‘We need to speak to Indra again,’ Dan said. ‘If she knows who one of the women was that her husband was having sex with – as the shop-keeper told us – this woman could be our UnSub. Do we know when the doctors will let us speak to her?’
Alexej looked up from his email. ‘As soon as they’ve got her bleeding under control.’
‘I feel sorry for Indra,’ I said. ‘She’s having a dreadful time.’
‘There has to be a number of people queuing up to take a swipe at Simas, surely?’ Shen curled a disapproving look. ‘Including Indra. I can’t say I’d blame her either. Although a quick chat and a good kicking would have been less drastic.’ She paused, as though she was re-thinking her comment, and was beginning to realise how difficult it was to navigete the complexities and darkness of CID.
‘I didn’t have you down as violent.’ Dan nudged Shen, his tone playful.
‘I’m not.’ She eyeballed him. ‘Unless provoked by a stupid man who can’t keep his dick in his pants.’
Alexej laughed. ‘Let’s hope no-one cheats on you then.’
We were all relieved to release some tension.
‘Before we move on,’ I said, ‘I’m still concerned that our UnSub may have dependents. Someone has got to be missing a daughter or a sister or a friend, surely?’ I took in the images of her waxy, blackened corpse on the board. ‘If she has an elderly relative at home or a kid, they may not be able to look after themselves or call for help.’ I felt the atmosphere change in the room and knew I’d hit a nerve with the team. ‘We’ve got to keep appealing to the public for information.’ We’d all done First Aid courses and knew how crucial hydration was. ‘It’s been two days now. Forget food. Without water, if she’s got anyone at home, relying on her, they could be close to death. We’re running out of time.’
For a few moments, everyone was still and there was a deathly quiet in the room.
‘If they rely on medication, even worse,’ Dan added, and the disturbing reality ricocheted around us.
Shen plonked her elbows on the desk and rested her chin in her hands. ‘Where now, Boss?’ Her voice was down-beat.
It was up to me to motivate the team and lead the way; to make sense of the mass of information and leads. But all we had was the next few steps, and an ever-increasing pile of questions. ‘Have we learned anything new about Hayes?’
‘Nope. We haven’t had one call about him,’ Alexej said. ‘I’m wondering if he’s changed his appearance
again.’ He was pointing at the images we had for him. ‘Alternatively, he could be doing time. The analysts are checking prisons.’
‘What if he’s gone abroad?’ Shen’s face was pinched.
‘I hope not.’ Jackie had just arrived. ‘I’ve just come off the phone with Manchester. We’ve had Kenny Hayes in our sights for several years. He’s a ruthless scumbag who will stop at nothing. His convictions are a drop in the ocean compared with what we suspect he’s been involved with.’
Her words sent a chill through the room.
‘I’ve got a list here of the aliases he’s used most frequently. He seems to like “Jimmy” and “Kieran”, and uses the surnames “Cox” and “Moore”. But he could be using anything.’
‘Uniform are taking Hayes’ mugshot out to some of the key flash mob witnesses and places where he might be lurking.’ Alexej told us. ‘With any luck, someone will recognise him and perhaps someone knows who Frazer is.’
I checked the clock. ‘I suggest we view Indra and Marta as our key suspects.’ I did a sweep of everyone’s faces. ‘Tomorrow’s tasks . . . ’
Everyone in the team braced themselves.
‘We’ll have to wait until we can see Indra. Shen, can you monitor incoming data on Kenny Hayes and John, please? And chase the analysts for the key messages from the H-2-H data?’
Shen gathered up her printouts and highlighter.
There was still a mass of film to view. ‘I’ll get some ops to help with the CCTV. Alexej, can you liaise with them, please? Dig up all the dirt you can on Artem Gudelis. Girlfriends, employees, fall-outs, the shed fire. Has anything happened between him and Simas?’ I paused. ‘Run a full check on Olaf too.’
‘Sure.’ Alexej spun his chair back to face his computer screens.
‘I’ll make sure the lab is prioritising the ID of our UnSub.’ It was seven fifteen. We still needed to know why Ali Kousa had lied about his arrival time at the flash mob. The analysts had found an address for him and Riad in Sophie Williams’ comms data. ‘Ali has to be at home now, surely?’ I said to Dan. ‘Shall we see what he’s got to say? This time I’ll tell Rima we’ll give her a call when we know we’ve got the right address.’
