by Adam Croft
‘Why don’t they just change the law, then?’
‘Because all the money would disappear,’ Culverhouse said, answering for Ryan. ‘That’s their industry — they’re a tax haven. Let’s face it, they’re not exactly known for anything else as a country are they?’
‘Salt,’ Steve said.
‘Sorry?’
‘Salt. They export a lot of salt. And they make stuff out of turtles, too.’
Culverhouse stared at him. ‘Great. At least I know where to go next time I want a nice turtle-shell fireplace ornament.’
‘Tax free as well, probably.’
‘Frank. Did you manage to get any information on other missing Serbians who might have been en route to the UK?’
‘I called Interpol, and also the Serbian Embassy in London. They didn’t have anyone reported missing, at least not to them. But then again if you were going to try and make an illegal crossing you probably wouldn’t let your embassy know either, would you?’
‘No, but surely they must have told their family and friends?’
‘If they don’t report it, there’s not much that can be done. Even the boys we know were killed weren’t reported missing at any stage. Their families must know they’re likely to go off radar for a while, and just wait to hear back from them. It’s always going to be a big risk for them.’
‘Did we have any luck tracking down their families in Serbia?’
‘Not yet. The names Zoran Petrovic and Milan Nikolic aren’t massively rare over there. It’s like being called John Smith and Barry Jones over here. For all we know, they might not have been their real names.’
‘We need to put the focus on that, then,’ Culverhouse said. ‘If we can trace their families, we can speak to them and find out more about the boys. There might well be something there that can help us. We can find out where and how the ringleaders are contacting these lads and picking them up. It’s more than likely this is a network with lots of fingers, and we’re going to need to make sure we can pick each of them off so we don’t lose any strands.’
‘Who’s going to go over there to speak to the families when we trace them?’ Steve asked.
‘Do you fancy a few days off and an all-expenses-paid trip to Serbia by any chance, Steve?’ Culverhouse said.
‘I wouldn’t mind.’
‘In that case, I’ll go on my own. Right. In other news, there is a planned dawn raid on the suspected brothel tomorrow morning at five-thirty. I’ve been given the go-ahead by the powers that be, who believe we have enough to go on to justify it. We’ll have armed response on the front line, as we fully suspect firearms will be on the premises, particularly after what Petrovic and Nikolic told us about their escape. Entry will be from the front and rear of the property simultaneously. Everyone inside will be arrested and detained on suspicion. We’ll sort the wheat from the chaff when they’re back at the nick. Then forensics will go in to do a full sweep and retrieve any evidence which might be of use.’
‘And the Chief Constable’s given full clearance for all this?’ Ryan asked, surprised.
‘I think he had a word in the ear of the Police and Crime Commissioner,’ Culverhouse said, glancing at Frank and Steve.
‘Blimey. And there’s me thinking there were huge budget cuts. He must have seen the PCC coming.’
‘Not too far from the truth,’ Frank murmured.
Steve sniggered, and Culverhouse shot him a look.
‘I’m pretty sure Mr Singh will be pleased to get his property back. Particularly after he hears what it’s been used for.’
‘I just can’t believe the neighbours never suspected anything. All sorts of people coming and going at different times of the day. Surely they were suspicious?’
‘No-one takes any notice of their neighbours nowadays, Frank. You’d be amazed what goes on behind closed doors.’
Culverhouse’s phone started to ring.
‘Culverhouse,’ he barked, answering it.
‘Jack, Charles Hawes. I’ve just had a call to say that Martin Cummings is in the building. He’s on his way up to see me. I thought you might like to know.’
‘Right. Give him my love, won’t you?’
53
Martin Cummings sat down in Hawes’s office with an air of humility that he’d never shown before. Hawes watched him, waiting for him to speak. He wasn’t going to give the man the benefit of doing half the work for him.
‘It’s done. It’s on,’ Cummings said, eventually.
‘What happened?’ Hawes asked.
‘I gave him a piece of paper with a note written on it. In with a bundle of notes. It said the police want to raid the premises and help the lads working there, and if he wanted help he should indicate it by pocketing the cash.’
Hawes leant forward. ‘Let me get this straight. You’re aware of an active police investigation into this place, yet you walked in there and gave cash to a male prostitute?’
‘I had to. I couldn’t just go in there with a bit of paper. It’d look odd. I had to do the sort of thing I’d normally do.’
‘And did you…’ Hawes made a gesture with his hands that told Cummings he wasn’t going to verbalise it.
‘Like I said. It had to look normal.’
Hawes slumped back in his chair. ‘Jesus bloody Christ.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Cummings said. ‘He wants our help. He wants to cooperate.’
‘Sorry. Our help? You do know you’re not an active part of this investigation, don’t you? You do realise you’re not actually a police officer?’
‘I know, but I am the Police and Crime Commissioner.’
‘For now.’
Cummings sighed. ‘I told the local party chairman. She was devastated.’
‘I’ll be honest with you, Martin: I couldn’t give a tuppenny toss. As far as I’m concerned, you made your bed and now you can lie in it. And as long as there’s no one else in it with you this time, I’m happy.’
Cummings was silent for a moment, then he spoke quietly. ‘So what are you going to do?’
Hawes looked at him. ‘I’m sure you’ll understand I can’t give you that information, Martin. For obvious reasons.’
‘For the time being I’m still the—’
‘For the time being, Martin, you’re nothing. And once you’ve announced your intention to step down from your role you’ll be less than nothing. Don’t get me wrong: I appreciate you doing your bit and helping us move this investigation forward, but please don’t be mistaken by thinking you have any rights or privileges here.’
After the way Hawes delivered his words, even the irrepressible Martin Cummings could be under no illusions that this was very much no longer his show.
The PCC sat there for a few moments longer, Hawes clearly able to see that something further was troubling him but wanting to leave him to speak in his own time.
Cummings took a deep breath, which was punctuated by the rippling sound of a man on the verge of tears.
‘I’m scared, Charles,’ he said, as his eyes became red and glassy. ‘I’m scared for myself, I’m scared for my family. I don’t know who these guys are, I don’t know who runs the show. I don’t know what they’re going to do to me.’
‘Martin, you’re doing the right thing. We’ll do all we can to protect your safety, but I really don’t think you’re in any danger. Look at it logically. The head honchos will know that Zoran Petrovic and Milan Nikolic went to the police. They’ll know that there’s a possibility you’d have information about major investigations. But you went back there last night. If I was them, that’d tell me there was no way you could have known about any investigation. Why would you incriminate yourself in that way? The logical explanation is that you only found out after the raid, which is when you shat your pants, realised there was a chance your name could be linked with the place and stepped down from your position in order to protect yourself. Even if it gets to court, there’s absolutely no reason why your name should come up. We acted
on witness statements given by Nikolic and Petrovic, plus the boys inside who we’ll interview to following the raid and whatever evidence we find in there. Believe me, Martin, this sort of thing was bound to come out eventually. At least this way we can control it and limit the damage to you and your family.’
Martin blinked and nodded as a tear ran from his eye.
54
Jack had been looking forward to an early night tonight. The dawn raid on the suspected brothel meant he’d have to be up and at work for three-thirty in the morning. But when Chrissie had texted him to ask if he could pop over to her place to talk about stuff, he knew he should oblige. He’d tried to smooth things over with Emily, but she had just brushed it off, the same as she always did. She had a habit of keeping away when she didn’t want to talk about stuff, and had been coming home later and later. He couldn’t say much: he knew exactly where she got that from.
He’d tried to explain that he had no idea Chrissie was Emily’s headteacher, and that Chrissie had no idea Jack was Emily’s father, but it hadn’t done any good. He supposed it was mainly embarrassment on Emily’s part that had led to her reaction. No kid wants to think of their dad and their headteacher getting involved with one another. He’d tried to tell her they weren’t together and hadn’t done anything, but that didn’t help either. She clearly had her own impression of what had been going on and wasn’t going to be swayed from that.
In the end, he’d invited Chrissie over to his. He knew Emily wouldn’t be back until late anyway. A large part of him was worried about her being out at night, but he knew there was very little he could do about it. She was with friends and she was safe. The alternative was that he’d push her away and she’d end up either with her mother or her grandparents again, and that wouldn’t be good for anyone. He had to trust her and treat her as if she was older than her years. In many ways, she was. She’d more or less brought herself up, and that brought her a real air of maturity.
Chrissie arrived shortly after six — not bad for a teacher, Jack thought — and they sat down in his living room with an unusually muted cup of tea, as opposed to the usual glass (or bottle) of wine.
‘Listen, about the other night,’ Jack said, hoping to apologise for Emily.
‘Honestly, don’t worry about it. I should’ve said something before. It’s just… work’s got in the way of so many things in the past, and I didn’t want it clouding what felt like a good thing. I really didn’t expect it to cause more harm than good.’
Jack nodded. ‘I know exactly what you mean. That’s why I didn’t talk about my work either. It sort of… takes over.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I’m a police officer,’ he replied, deliberately not giving her any further detail unless she asked for it.
‘Oooh. What kind?’
He could see he was going to have to be open, whether he liked it or not.
‘Detective Chief Inspector. Serious and Major Crimes Unit.’
‘Blimey. No wonder you didn’t want to talk about it. That must be… stressful.’
‘That’s one word for it, yeah,’ Jack replied, keen to change the subject. There was something in particular he’d been dying to ask Chrissie ever since the night he found out who she was. ‘What’s Emily like at school?’ he asked, getting straight to the point.
Chrissie sighed and put down her cup of tea, in the way only a teacher could.
‘Honestly?’
‘Yeah, honestly. I think we’ve had enough of keeping things secret for a while.’
‘Well, honestly, she’s not too bad. We have a lot worse, especially considering everything she’s been through.’ She must have seen the look on Jack’s face. ‘She was living with her grandparents up until recently, so we knew there wasn’t a conventional family setup.’
Jack wanted to ask what Helen’s parents had told her, but thought it best to keep his stress levels down.
‘Seems stupid, doesn’t it? If I’d only told you my surname, you would’ve worked it out. I can’t believe neither of us managed to join the dots.’
‘Mmmm,’ Chrissie said, noncommittally.
After so many years as a police officer, Jack could tell when someone was keeping something from him.
‘What? What is it?’
‘Ah. Well… The thing is, Emily doesn’t actually use your surname at school. When she was registered, she was living with her grandparents. She uses theirs.’
Jack closed his eyes. It’s not that he was precious about his surname; he just felt disappointed and slighted that it had been felt necessary to completely ignore it.
‘So you know her as Emily Atkinson,’ he said.
‘Yeah. I wouldn’t have worked out the link even if I had known your surname.’
‘She never told me.’
‘She probably didn’t want to hurt you, Jack. We got word she was back living with her dad again, and she’s seemed… I dunno. Brighter. Happier. Her attendance record has improved, too.’
‘Attendance record?’
‘Don’t worry. I’ve said too much.’
‘No, apparently you haven’t said nearly enough. What’s wrong with her attendance record?’
‘Nothing much at the moment. It’s… Well, it’s approaching average now I guess. But it’s been poor in the past.’
‘When she was living with her grandparents?’
Chrissie nodded vaguely. ‘I guess, yes.’
‘So where’s she been?’
Chrissie shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. We spoke to her grandparents and they were under the impression she was at school every day. She left home in uniform at half-eight and came back in uniform at four.’
‘But surely it’s their responsibility to make sure she’s actually attending school, isn’t it? You should’ve come down harder on them.’
Chrissie sighed again.
‘Jack, it’s only in the past five or six weeks that her attendance has improved. I don’t know how long she’s been living with you, but we first got wind of it last year.’
Jack stayed silent for a few moments. ‘I see.’
‘Listen, the main thing is it’s improving. She’s happier, bubblier, she’s making new friends. I really don’t want to put any more undue pressure on her, and I’m sure you feel the same. I just think it might be good if you could perhaps have a word with her. As her father, I mean. It’s worth emphasising that she’s improved a lot recently, but… there’s still some way to go.’
Jack nodded and mumbled something under his breath.
55
Jack Culverhouse took a deep breath of the chill morning air. Even though it was summer, it had been a clear night and it would take a good couple of hours for it to warm up. The sun had barely been up an hour and, although it was forecast to be a warm and humid day, it was feeling distinctly chilly so far.
The police vehicles were parked around the corner from the brothel, out of sight of prying eyes and in a street which afforded them parking space. Culverhouse was spearheading the operation, which consisted of sixteen uniformed officers, including firearms-trained officers.
Before they’d left the station he’d gone through a full briefing with them, splitting them up into teams and pairs, before allocating them to positions. There would be a pair of officers to force entry to the premises by each door, who would make way for a tactical firearms unit to lead from the front. With areas cleared, constables would enter the premises to arrest and detain everyone found on site.
Jack had no idea what they’d find once they got inside. They had a rough idea of the layout of the property, both from the witness statements of Zoran Petrovic and Milan Nikolic, as well as the original floorplan provided by the landowner, Ranjit Singh. They very much doubted the inside of the building had been kept the same as it was fifteen or so years ago, but it was the best they had to go on for now. Even Martin Cummings had only seen two or three rooms in the building, so wasn’t able to give them much more information on that fron
t. It seemed the organisers had done everything they could to keep as much behind closed doors as possible.
The neighbours either side had been checked out, and CID were comfortable and confident that they weren’t involved or complicit in any way. That cut the chances of the perpetrators trying to escape into neighbouring buildings. With the front and rear entrances being raided at the same time, there should be nowhere for them to go.
‘Remember what we discussed,’ he said to the officers who were assembling by the police vehicles. ‘We know there have been firearms on the premises in the past and we fully suspect there will be firearms on the premises today. Any non-firearms-trained officers are to wait until they’re given the all clear from the firearms units. Is that understood?’
Culverhouse didn’t know any of the officers personally, although he recognised one or two of them. One in particular looked familiar — a young Asian officer who he’d come across a few times. He had a distinct recollection of seeing him chuck his guts up in a car park after discovering one of the Mildenheath Ripper’s last victims. That was a night that Jack Culverhouse didn’t want to think about. Too much had been lost that night three years earlier, and the town and its police force were still living with the repercussions.
They knew they were highly unlikely to find the ringleaders on the premises. There would probably be someone who had some sort of authority, but the real head honchos were unlikely to even live in the area. Still, taking the lower-hanging fruit was no bad thing. It would send a message to the people at the top, it would get the brothel closed down and there was the distinct possibility that one of the people arrested could be tempted to tell all and lead the police to the real perpetrators. As with all police work, their main priority was to protect and preserve life. Raiding the premises and rescuing the boys being held against their will would certainly do that — especially if recent events were anything to go by.
