Randle turned to him. “You’re working the airport.”
“Yes, sir. There’s a gate that was cut through with wire cutters, near the runway.”
“A long way from the plane with the bomb,” replied Randle.
“Now we know that our original suspect isn’t in the frame, we’ve been focusing on this gate. We think someone connected to the explosion gained access this way, or used it to leave the scene.”
“Go on.”
“We’ve obtained camera footage, from a nearby house. The CCTV from the airport had been tampered with.”
“Suspicious in itself,” said Lesley.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” said Randle.
“The video shows people leaving the airport via that gate,” said Dawson. “Twenty minutes after the explosion. We think it accounts for the missing women and children from the Wizz Air flight.”
“Hang on,” said Silton. “The Wizz Air flight was from Romania, not Pakistan.”
“I know, sir,” said Dawson. He pulled at his tie. “But those people are still missing. And we’ve got images of people we think might be them leaving the area in a van.”
“Show us,” said Randle.
Dawson nodded at Mo, who approached Randle with a USB stick. Randle took it off him and plugged it into the port on his laptop.
The room sat in silence as they watched indistinct images of unidentifiable people, largely concealed by trees. They seemed to be climbing through something and then getting onto two vans, which drove away.
“These images are crap,” said Lesley. “They aren’t solid evidence.”
“No,” said Mo, “but we also have forensics.”
Lesley turned her gaze on Adi. “Come on then, Adi. Complete the picture.”
Adi walked to the front and brought up a photo on the screen.
“This is the gate that was cut through. There was little in the way of forensics on it, we tried to identify the brand of cutter but the cuts were too rough. And the tarmac in the area meant no usable footprints. It had been dry, so no mud transferring from footwear.”
“Something gives me the feeling that’s not all you’ve got for us,” said Lesley.
Adi nodded. He clicked the mouse and another image came up. “This handbag was left near the gate.”
Lesley raised an eyebrow. “A terrorist who drops her handbag?”
Dawson raised a hand. “Wait till you hear this.”
Adi glanced at him. “We found fingerprints on the bag, but none of them matched anything on file. But we did find some hair inside, and we’ve analysed the DNA.”
“Well, put us out of our misery, then,” said Lesley. Beside her, Randle was quiet. Ian shuffled in his chair.
“There are two distinct sets of hair,” Adi said. “One from a woman with short dark hair, and the other from a man, with light brown hair. The woman was nowhere in the database. But the man was.” He brought up a close-up of the hair follicle and pointed at it. “This hair belongs to Trevor Hamm.”
Someone at the back whistled. Zoe exchanged glances with Mo, whose eyes gleamed. It still didn’t make sense, but the forensics wouldn’t lie. They had a link between the New Street and airport attacks. Zoe clenched her fist on her knee: this was the breakthrough they needed.
“Sir,” she said, looking at Randle. “Does this change my chances of getting a warrant to search that hotel?”
“I can’t tell you that yet, DI Finch.”
“But…”
“Don’t rush me. We still don’t understand if there is a link between the Wizz Air flight and the Pakistan Airways flight.”
“There’s something else, sir,” Sheila said.
Randle stared at her. “What?”
“A man we were tracking, who we suspected might be behind a new gang. Umar Abidi. Pakistani national, working through members of the community in Birmingham. We found out this morning he was on the flight.”
“The one from Karachi?’
Sheila nodded. “We’ve been working with Pakistani intelligence, as far as we can. He was on it, but he’s disappeared.”
“You think Abidi had something to do with the bomb?”
“Not with planting it, sir. But he could have been the intended target.”
“A whole plane, for one man?”
Sheila looked drawn. “The international gangs can be brutal.”
“So where is he now?” Randle leaned forwards.
“Like I say, gone. Probably back to Pakistan.”
Randle shook his head. “Follow it up. Find out where he is. And keep me informed, yes?”
“Sir.” Sheila looked at Mo. “But the two groups, they could have been working together. Trevor Hamm would have wanted Abidi out of the picture.”
“You think Hamm’s capable of something like this?”
“Honestly, I don’t. He’s too small-time for that kind of thing. But he could have been working with whoever was behind it.”
Randle stood up. “All of you, carry on as you are and wait for further instructions.”
Zoe watched as Lesley sat back in her chair, her face pale. She looked tired. She turned to Randle. Was she going to challenge him?
Zoe waited but Lesley said nothing. Randle strode out of the room, Silton at his heels.
The room was abuzz, people discussing the consequences of what they’d just heard. Lesley stood up.
“Oi! Calm down everyone, and show some bloody professionalism. You heard what the man said. Get on with it.”
Zoe walked to the door with Ian, who wasn’t meeting her eye. He kept tugging at his fingernails.
Connie was in the corridor, shifting from foot to foot, biting her lip.
“Boss!” she cried when Zoe emerged.
“You’ve heard,” Zoe said.
“Heard what?”
“Come on. I’ll fill you and Rhodri in.”
Connie shook her head. “No, it’s not that. I’ve got something you want to see. We’ve got the man on camera. Close up.”
“Which man?”
“The man who shoved the bomber off the escalator.”
Chapter Seventy-One
Sofia had spent the night in the same bed as Trevor. She slept badly, flinching every time he moved.
At last he woke and left the bed. She stared up at the dark ceiling as he showered in the en-suite. When he emerged, she turned towards the window and pretended to be asleep. She only allowed herself to breathe again when he’d gone downstairs.
She was a prisoner here. This house was luxurious, she’d been overwhelmed by the soft carpets and plush curtains when she’d arrived. Mrs Brooking cooked her delicious food, even if it wasn’t always the kind of food she really wanted, and did all the washing and cleaning. Trevor gave her money to buy clothes she would never have dreamed of wearing at home.
But none of that changed the fact that she couldn’t leave. Yesterday she’d had to hide in the boot of a car to do something as simple as look for her sister. When she’d questioned Trevor about the children on Sunday, he’d locked her in the spare room.
He had her passport. He had her credit cards. She was trapped.
She smelled cooking from downstairs: Mrs Brooking making Trevor his favourite breakfast of eggs and bacon. It would kill him one day, all the greasy food he ate. She sniffed the air, pushing down the nausea in her stomach.
The front door slammed. Sofia turned to look up at the ceiling, her heart pounding. She slid out of bed and went to the window. This room was at the back of the house, overlooking the long garden and the pond full of koi carp. The window was locked.
She pressed her ear to the glass and heard a car engine. Trevor was leaving. He was going to work.
What now? Could she get past Mrs Brooking, escape from here? If she did, where would she go?
She couldn’t do anything in her nightdress. She walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower, glad of the hot water on her skin. She closed her eyes as it washed over her, trying not to cry
.
She could see her sister’s face in her mind. At home, when she’d told her she was leaving for England. That she’d find a way to bring her here, too. Two nights ago, across the table at dinner. Andreea was feisty, rebellious. She fought with their dad non-stop. At dinner on Monday she’d been subdued. She’d sat with her hands in her lap, barely speaking unless she was asked a direct question. She’d kept glancing at Trevor the way a frightened dog looks at its owner.
What had Trevor done to her, to make her like that?
Sofia stepped out of the shower. She pulled on jeans and a sweater and crept downstairs. She had to get past Mrs Brooking. She knew the city was to the north, she’d paid attention when Kyle had driven her places. The airport was the other way, not far. Could she run there, get herself a plane ticket? Could she tell the authorities she’d been kept prisoner?
They’d never believe her. If they saw this house, if they spoke to Trevor. Mrs Brooking would back him up, so would Kyle.
She was never leaving.
Sofia lowered herself to the bottom step, her head in her hands. She wanted to die.
She jerked her head up as the front door opened. She leaned back, nervous.
It was Trevor. He grunted as he saw her on the stairs.
“What are you doing there?”
“Nothing.” She stood up. “Is everything OK?” Trevor never came home this soon after going to work.
“Come with me,” he said. “You can see your sister.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
Zoe followed Connie along the corridor, pushing past the people who’d spilled out of the briefing room.
“Do you recognise him?” she asked.
Connie looked back at her and nodded.
“Who?” Zoe asked.
“You should see for yourself.”
Zoe jabbed her fingernails into her thigh, frustrated. She passed Mo, who gave her a puzzled look.
“Connie’s found something,” she said. “Come on.”
“I’ve got to follow up the airport lead,” he said. “Dawson wants me questioning people.”
“This won’t take a minute.”
Mo looked up and down the corridor. Dawson was nowhere to be seen.
“OK then,” he said. “But make it quick.”
Ian gave him an irritated look, which Zoe chose to let go. Ian was jealous of Mo. He knew as well as she did which sergeant she’d rather have on her team.
They hurried into the team room. Rhodri was at the board, pinning up a photo. He stood back, grinning.
“Boss.”
Zoe nodded at him, and approached the board. She took down the photo.
“Where did you get this?” she asked.
“The hotline,” Connie said. “A woman sent it in.”
“Why did she wait this long?”
“She was using a film camera. Only just had it developed.”
Zoe stared at the photo. “Who uses film these days?”
“She’s a professional photographer,” Rhodri said. “She said this was from a RAW file, whatever that is.”
“It means it’s uncompressed,” said Connie. “Easier to blow it up as big as we need.”
Zoe nodded. She handed the photo to Mo.
“He gets around, doesn’t he?” she said. Mo passed the photo to Ian, who looked at it but said nothing.
The photo was of a man on the escalators. He stood behind the woman in the green headscarf, his eyes on the back of her head, his expression intense.
He wore the grey hoody and black baseball cap they’d seen in the CCTV images, but the quality of this photo meant they could see his scarred cheeks and the nose that had clearly been broken more than once.
Zoe looked up. “Now we’ll get our warrant,” she said.
She pinned the photo to the board and eyed it. “Kyle Gatiss, you have been a busy boy.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
Zoe hurried back to the briefing room. The corridors were quiet now, people busy with their separate parts of the investigation.
She threw the door open to find Lesley sitting alone at the front, her hands clasped between her thighs.
“Boss?” Zoe ran towards her. “Are you OK?”
Lesley looked up. “Zoe.” She drew her hands up and shook them out. “I’m fine. What’s up?”
“There was a man, at New Street Station. He was behind the bomber on the escalator, he shoved her off it.”
Lesley raised an eyebrow. “And you’ve just identified him.”
Zoe slumped back. “How did you know?”
“I don’t get to do this job without knowing when a member of my team’s so excited she looks like her knickers might fall off. Who is he?”
“Kyle Gatiss.”
Lesley nodded, her eyebrows raised. “The same Kyle Gatiss you saw at the brothel.”
“The same Kyle Gatiss who works for Trevor Hamm.”
“It’s a link, Zoe, but not the strongest one. The brothel, for starters…”
“Someone was living there who knew the bomber.”
Lesley raised a hand. She winced. Zoe leaned in but Lesley waved her away.
“You’ve got a Facebook account, and a selfie. That’s not enough.”
“Ma’am. I’m sure if we bring him in for questioning, what he says’ll help us connect the two attacks.”
Lesley shook her head. She stood up. “He’ll get lawyered up. That Startshaw bugger. And he’ll say nothing. You can’t bring him in, it’ll just scare them off.”
“What, then?”
“The woman with the Facebook account. She might just talk to you, if you can track her down.”
“She gave her address as Curton Road. She isn’t there anymore.”
“But you think she’s at this Belvista place.”
“It’s a possibility.”
Lesley sat down again. She took a few deep breaths. “Shit, Zoe. I probably shouldn’t be here.”
“Ma’am?” Zoe stared at her boss, her skin cold. It wasn’t like the DCI to show weakness.
Lesley screwed her eyes shut then opened them again. “Forget I said that.” She looked into Zoe’s face. “You tell no one, alright?”
“Of course I won’t. How can I help?”
“Walk with me, back to my office. If I need support, I’ll put a hand on your shoulder. Don’t do anything obvious, just take my weight if I need you to.”
“No problem.”
Lesley gave her a thin smile. “Thanks.” She stood and walked to the door. “There, that wasn’t all so bad.”
Zoe followed her boss to the door and opened it. She walked along the corridor towards Lesley’s office, hoping Randle wouldn’t be in it. Twice, Lesley slowed and placed a hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “Keep walking,” she hissed. Zoe walked slowly, careful not to make it obvious she was helping her boss. The strength she’d built up through years of karate made it easy to bear Lesley’s weight.
As they approached Lesley’s office, Ian appeared from round a corner. He had his phone in his hand, held out as if he were in the middle of a call. He gave Zoe a wary look and nodded at the DCI.
“Sergeant Osman,” Lesley said. “I trust you’ve been behaving yourself.”
He stiffened. “Yes, ma’am.”
Lesley chuckled. “Don’t let me keep you from your work.”
They reached the office and Zoe opened the door. David Randle was behind the desk, his hands clasped behind his head. He looked deep in thought.
“David,” Lesley said.
Randle stood and rounded the desk. He grasped Lesley’s arm and a frown crossed her face.
“Lesley, take a seat. I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be.” Lesley lowered herself into her chair. “Good to have my office back.” She gave Randle a pointed look.
He nodded. “Of course. I’ll let you get settled in. I’ll be back in half an hour or so, I can brief you.”
“See you then.”
Randle raised an eyebrow at Zoe as he
left the room. Lesley leaned back in her chair.
“Right.” She opened a drawer. “Let’s hope he hasn’t nicked my fucking biscuits.” She brought out a pack of shortbread. “Pah. All that’s left.” She looked at the door. “Not much I can do though is there, DI Finch?”
“Ma’am.”
Lesley held out the packet and Zoe took a biscuit. She watched as Lesley ate two then wiped crumbs off her hands.
“Right,” Lesley said. “Let’s work out a plan of attack. We need to get you into that hotel to talk to your Facebook woman.”
“Ana-Maria.”
‘That’s the one. D’you know what she looks like?”
“’Fraid not.”
“Surely her account has got photos on it, selfies?”
“Nothing.”
“Well that’s odd for starters. You sure Connie can’t dig anything up?”
“With respect, ma’am, it’s a private account.”
Lesley waved a hand, sending a biscuit flying into the corner. “I know, Zoe. Procedure, by the book. That’s me.” She fingered the back of her neck. “That was before.” She sighed. “OK, you don’t need a warrant to knock on the door. You can ask if anyone knew the bomber. Take a photo with you. No one’s going to tell you the truth, but you might spot something. These missing women and children, for starters.”
“The hotel’s big enough for them to be living here.”
“And if Hamm’s got them, they need getting out of there as soon as possible.”
“I’ll talk to DS Griffin. She can put surveillance on the house.”
“Do that. But don’t wait. If there’s kids in there, we need to get them out as soon as we can.” Lesley closed her eyes. “Poor buggers.”
Zoe nodded. She knew from the Canary case what happened to children that these men got their hands on. Four days had passed: plenty of time.
“I’ll keep you posted, ma’am.”
“You do that.” Lesley flashed her a weary smile. “It’s good to be back, Zoe.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
The Hotel Belvista was a large but shabby building on a wide road in Hall Green. It looked more dilapidated now, in daylight, then it had when they’d followed Gatiss here.
Deadly Terror (Detective Zoe Finch Book 4) Page 21
