by Jay Nadal
He sat in his study contemplating his next step, glancing down the hallway to make sure that he was alone before dialling the number. It rang for what seemed ages before he hung up. He dialled again, cursing under his breath. “For fuck sake man, answer the phone.”
On the second occasion, he got through. “Listen, we need to speed things along. There are too many people snooping around. And frankly, someone in my position can’t afford for that to happen. Do I make myself clear?”
A hoarse voice interrupted. “You seem to forget exactly how beneficial this relationship is to you. I’m sure a man in your position can influence things in a way that, shall we say, that takes the pressure off you? You’re a well-connected man.”
“I don’t need the unnecessary attention. Sort it.”
“Don’t worry, my friend. We are nearly finished. The final processes are taking place now. As far as I am concerned, it is business as usual. But I need something in return.”
“What? I’m already sticking my fucking neck on the line for you. It’s all right for you, because you’ll be gone soon. But I need to cover my tracks.”
“I need your assurances that you will protect me. I, too, don’t want the attention of your authorities. I need safe passage from this country.”
He sighed as he listened to the man’s demands. “You have safe passage; I’ll organise it now. All the channels will be open. You’ll be gone before they even have time to realise. Then I suggest we slow this operation down. We need to find a new avenue into this country.”
The line went dead.
27
Tired and hungry, Scott left Abby as the acting SIO for the evening. He’d had enough. He didn’t get much time off, so took the opportunity when Abby had suggested that he knock off early.
“Well, I must say this is a lovely surprise, babes,” Cara said as they sat perusing the menu. Scott had turned up at the mortuary to take Cara out for dinner. He sat in her office just clearing some emails from the office phone whilst she finished writing up the results from her final post-mortem of the day. She furiously tapped away on the keyboard, keen to complete her paperwork and make the most of her evening with her man.
They had chosen The House Restaurant in The Lanes, regarded by many Brightonians as their best-kept secret. Known for their friendly and welcoming atmosphere, it was one of Brighton’s more popular eateries. The outside impressed Scott the most. It was a converted, double-fronted Victorian residence with plenty of aged character and charm. Set over two floors with dining areas dispersed off a central staircase, it still felt like a lived-in residence. The moment they walked in, he felt as if he’d walked into someone’s home dining room.
The smell of food wafted around them. Cutlery rattled on plates, glasses clinked, and the sound of conversations melted into the ambient background.
Despite having just come from work, Scott couldn’t take his eyes off Cara as she enthusiastically scanned the menu. It didn’t matter what she wore, she always seemed to pull it off. Grace, elegance, sophistication, and sultriness were all words that sprung to mind as he looked at her. Her dark hair flowed in curls over her shoulders and down her front. She was a beautiful woman, and he never tired of looking at her.
She glanced up and caught his eye. “What?” she asked.
Scott smiled lovingly and shook his head. “Nothing. I could just look at you for hours.”
“Ah, bless you, Scottie. You must be blind. I’m just little old me.”
He reached out and placed his hand on hers. “You’re more than that. I do love you.”
“And I love you, Scottie, but enough of the slushy stuff. I’m starving,” she said with a playful wink.
“You’re always starving,” he teased.
Cara paused for a moment. Her eyes scanned Scott’s face. He looked tired and weary. She knew him well enough to know that he was trying to remain upbeat, but she could see through his smokescreen. “You do look tired. We could have just had a night in and a microwave meal? You looked stressed out.”
Scott sighed and blew through his teeth. “I am stressed. The job has that effect. It’s been a tough few days. Of all the cases that we could have dealt with, we’re dealing with the shit murder of two young boys…and in the most awful way. I won’t lie to you, the images of those boys are stuck in my mind. I can’t begin to imagine what their lives were like before, and what they went through at the end. I would love to say that they didn’t suffer, but from what I’ve discovered, pain isn’t something they suffered, they experienced something much worse.”
Cara gave Scott’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know, babes. If I’m honest, it’s affected me too. But thinking about it isn’t going to make you feel any better. You need to catch who did this, it’s the least you can do for them. Listen, you’ve taken the night off. You need a break. So let’s try to park work to one side and just focus on us.”
Scott heard the truth in her wise words. Anyone in their positions needed to switch off, and feel normal like most of the diners sitting around them. Cara ordered the wild mushroom risotto, and Scott the fillet steak.
“Spain seems like a long time ago, doesn’t it?” Cara asked as she poured her second glass of wine. The first had gone down with very little effort.
“It does. It’s almost as if we never went.” He laughed to himself.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking about that day we hired a car, and we drove to Ronda up in the mountains. The road had so many tight bends and sheer drops that you felt ill. We had to pull up so that I could take over the driving. I just remember you sitting in the passenger seat with your eyes shut and head tilted back, thinking that you would throw up any minute.”
Cara crossed her arms in mock annoyance. “Well, I suffer from car sickness, and it couldn’t get much worse up there.”
“And then when we were in Ronda, you peered over that big bridge in the middle of town, and looked down at the one-hundred-and-twenty-metre drop into the bottom of the gorge and nearly fainted.” Scott burst out laughing.
Cara shook her head. “Ha ha, very funny. I’m glad to see that taking the piss out of me amuses you so much. That’s blown your chances tonight if you thought you’d get some.”
Scott tried his hardest to stifle his laughter. He was only teasing her.
They spent the best part of three hours at the restaurant, just relaxing and enjoying each other’s company. They ripped through two bottles of wine, enjoyed their meals, shared a few jokes with the waiters, and they had been normal.
Swaying as she came out into the fresh salty air, Cara grabbed hold of Scott’s arm and buried her face in his neck and whispered, “Thank you for such a lovely evening.”
Scott had consumed a few glasses, too, and finished off the night with a brandy. He left the car in town, and flagged a nearby taxi to take them back to his place.
28
An early morning run had been just what Scott needed to dust the cobwebs off from the night before. He had left Cara asleep in bed as he ran down to the seafront to meet Abby. He rarely had time to share moments like this with her. Both of their diaries were hectic.
Even though they worked shift patterns, they rarely stuck to them. A ten p.m. finish would often roll through to midnight, especially if they had a prisoner in and needed to get the case to CPS. A four p.m. finish would often be translated into a six or seven p.m. finish. Such irregularities in their working hours would throw their personal and social lives out.
He felt sorry for Abby. Adam and Sophie, her children, were often cared for by grandparents. As much as she’d like to be home more often, the pressures and perils of being a single parent meant she couldn’t afford them the time and energy they deserved. However, neither child seemed to mind.
Sophie who was fifteen going on eighteen, spent most of her evenings holed up in her bedroom exchanging messages on Snapchat. Because of her age, more and more of the messages were focusing around the hot topic of boys. S
ophie was taking more of an interest in make-up, spending an inordinate amount of time on her nails, shaping her eyebrows, and experimenting with make-up. Sure signs that she was fast approaching adulthood.
Abby’s little boy, Adam, approaching twelve, did what most boys of his age did. Spent every waking minute on his Xbox, oblivious to anyone else in the house. Adam only ventured out of his room to grab a can of Coke and a bar of chocolate, or a few biscuits before retreating to his sanctuary.
Moments like this when they went running together really helped to cement their friendship. It was more of a serious run for Abby and a jog for Scott. He would do most of the talking. Abby on the other hand, would push hard, pushing her body against the clock. She was a masochist in Scott’s eyes.
With the days already starting to shorten, a semi-darkness cloaked the seafront as they pounded the pavement. Early morning commuter traffic weaved its way past the grand facades of famous hotels. The impressive, white, Victorian frontage of The Grand hotel, synonymous with Brighton, passed on their left. A landmark known to all, it had stood there for over one hundred and fifty years. The hotel illuminated like a large Christmas decoration as large spotlights cast a multitude of light and dark shadows across the front.
Abby used the opportunity to update Scott on the overnight developments, which by the sounds of it, wasn’t much. She added that she had left by ten, leaving Helen to follow up on some potential leads before clocking off at midnight. Whilst she had Scott alone, she quizzed him on his night out with Cara.
There wasn’t a better place to run in Scott’s opinion. The buzz of Brighton to his left, the calm and tranquillity of the sea to his right, the location could only be surpassed by trails through the Sussex Downs. They ran as far as Palace Pier together before Scott double backed on himself, leaving Abby to continue her run to the marina and back. Without Scott slowing her down, Abby could pick up the pace and push herself even further. A grimace and sweat trails raced down her temples, evidence of the pressure she placed on herself as she disappeared into the distance.
With a stiff black coffee in one hand, and a slice of cold toast in the other, Scott talked to each team member in turn as he caught up on the case.
Every member had this case as well as other smaller cases to deal with. Scott’s need to do a review of each case meant many hours poring over each case file, and the action points that each officer had undertaken.
Scott pulled a seat alongside Helen. Her usual two-piece suit and blouse had been replaced by a pair of skinny jeans, white Converse trainers, and a long-sleeved white top. With flame-red hair pulled tight in a ponytail, she looked young, trendy, and vibrant. Helen had transitioned seamlessly into the team.
She’d arrived at a difficult time for Scott and the others. Shy and unsure of her position within the team, she had grown in confidence in the weeks following her arrival. Her key qualities quickly came to light. Tenacious, hard-working, methodical and above all else, a team player. They were key attributes that he had highlighted to her in their PDP meeting, an opportunity for senior officers to look at the personal development plans of their teams. She had outlined both her five- and ten-year plan, which included going for her sergeant’s exams before pushing for inspector. In Scott’s opinion, he knew she would achieve her goals.
“Guv, I was looking into the backgrounds of the pastors. And I thought I’d have a look at the whole issue of asylum seekers coming on to our patch. Don’t ask me why, because we’ve had no issues around asylum seekers in Brighton before.”
Helen flicked through pages of scribbles that she had made the night before. “I looked at some of the cases over the last few months, and uniform had quite a few run-ins with illegals who had been sleeping rough and begging on the streets. But nothing around asylum seekers. Then Raj said something around how the dossers always end up in hospital as overdose cases, or drunk. So I had a look at hospital admissions at the Royal Sussex.”
Scott crossed his arms, unsure as to the direction that Helen was taking, but admired her abstract thinking.
“Anyway, I spoke to the Sussex. In the last twelve months, they’ve had seven adults admitted with pain in their abdomens. They’ve had more than that admitted, but I’m referring to refugees claiming asylum or illegals. The interesting point here is that when they were x-rayed, they seemed to have things deposited in their bodies. And by that I mean things up their rectum’s or in the vaginal cavity.”
Scott narrowed his eyes. “Smuggling? Drugs?”
Helen shrugged. “Sounds like they’re mules.”
“What happened to them?”
“Of the seven, three had internal bleeding. All seven refused any further treatment and discharged themselves, despite the pain. Hospital records noted that all individuals could hardly speak any English, and looked terrified. Security staff tried to stop them leaving, but couldn’t. I think frequently police were called, but the individuals had already disappeared by the time officers arrived.”
“Have you got any intel on what happened to them in the following weeks?”
“Five are unaccounted for. Two, a male and female, were found several days later after each of their visits. Both were dead. The female was found in Dymchurch in Kent, the male found near Folkestone.”
Scott’s mind raced as he considered the implications. Why were they in Kent?
“Post-mortem findings confirmed that the female had severe lacerations to her vaginal cavity, and the male had severe trauma to his rectum. In fact, it was more savage than that, Guv. Most of the area around his rectum had been cut away.”
Scott left Helen looking into those cases as he left the station to follow one of his hunches.
Dolores Carter had finished off one of the weekly community sessions that she ran for the Afro-Caribbean community in Brighton with her usual passion and energy. She threw herself into helping others. Scott hovered by the doorway as Dolores left. She exhibited a mixture of surprise and pleasure at seeing Scott.
“Hello, Inspector. I’ve been meaning to touch base with you. I’ve been pressurising the council, and our local MP Alistair Woodman to grant me access to the families that have been taken to the detention centre.”
“Any joy?”
Dolores shook her head in defeat. “Anyone would think I’m speaking a different language. Tried so many avenues and hit a brick wall at every turn.”
Scott offered a sympathetic nod. “You’re not the only one. I’ve been getting the same brush off. The Home Office swoop really felt like a kick in the nuts. It’s set back the investigation.”
Dolores couldn’t relate to the feeling, but understood the sentiment behind it, as she smiled.
“I won’t take up too much of your time. I just wanted to ask. Do you know of any refugees who have been paid to bring things into this country illegally?”
Dolores frowned. The nature of the question took her by surprise as she loaded a box into the boot of her car. “Um, I don’t know, to be honest. It’s not something I’ve heard of. You mean like drugs?”
“I’m not sure what I mean. To be honest, drugs seem to be the most likely option.”
They discussed the viability of something like that happening. Dolores went into some detail about the passage that many refugees take to arrive here, often by illegal or undetected means. The possibility of them bringing something into the country was an option. In Dolores’s opinion, the majority of refugees were genuine and desperate for a better life, and the prospect of being forced to be a mule of some sorts would be unlikely. She promised that she would get back in touch once she’d made a few enquiries.
29
Scott had rallied the troops around the incident board, keen to press on. A summary report from Matt Allen didn’t lighten his load.
“We can now confirm the name of the second victim. As expected, it’s Nathi Buhari, aged five. Swabs taken from his parents provided a DNA profile match. His parents have been informed, and they’re devastated. We’ve got a FLO with th
em at the moment. The left arm found on the beach near Palace Pier, is Nathi’s.”
“I guess at least his parents get some closure and can bury their child now,” Abby added.
Scott agreed. As much as they needed that confirmation, the news itself took the wind out the team. Another young life tossed away like yesterday’s rubbish.
Mike interrupted the silence. “Daniel Johnson’s registration hasn’t popped up on any ANPR cameras, Guv. If you know the area well, then it would be easy for him to stay off main traffic routes that have cameras. I’ve been examining the map. There are a couple of areas where I would go to ground if I wanted to. But there is one area that I thought looked promising. It’s a place north-east of Brighton. Towards Offham and not far from Lewes.” Mike moved towards the large map on the wall to identify these locations for the others.
“Most of the areas I looked at were close to roads, or farmland. There’s too much chance of being discovered by farmers. However, there are large swathes of dense woodland that run parallel to the B2116 between Offham and Plumpton. That place is as good as any to start looking. A stream runs straight through its centre. I reckon I could hide out for days before being found.”
Scott instructed Mike to take a couple of uniformed officers to carry out a provisional recce of the area in the hope of spotting Daniel’s van.
The press appeal hadn’t garnered any new information, despite a flood of calls from concerned parents. A few callers identified strangers that they hadn’t seen before or neighbours that they viewed with suspicion. No one had seen Xabi. For whatever reason, Xabi had disappeared into thin air. As it was, Scott was beginning to think that Xabi had been spirited away by those who protected him. Each call, nevertheless, would be followed up for closure if nothing else.
The appeal itself may not have gathered much new information, but it achieved the aim of being heavily reported by the local and national papers and TV stations. BBC Sussex featured the appeal in some detail, even down to dispatching a reporter to the sites where both bodies were found in order to bring live updates. Scott hoped that the press attention would keep the appeal in the public eye.
