by Les Cowan
Both slept badly that night. Gillian couldn’t help dwelling on the truly terrible fate of these naive, too-trusting girls who had spent all the money they could raise – or steal – just to buy into a life of misery and humiliation. She also kept going over her presentation for errors and assumptions. This was not the ideal way of preparing for a big event. In David’s case, it was a question of how to take matters forward since it would depend on him as the one free to return. He had managed to get the last seat on Tuesday’s flight, thanks to Skyscanner, but what if McIntosh wasn’t interested, couldn’t be contacted or, worse still, was himself on the wrong side of the law? Then all the risks that Tati must have taken smuggling out her cry for help and all the impact of Elvira’s story would just be water down the drain. Blatov and Lubchenco would get off scot-free and the girls under their control would either simply be moved to another town or something worse that he didn’t want to imagine.
First thing in the morning he sent McIntosh an email. Thank goodness Gillian had had the professional curiosity to ask about references and sources, which had prompted him to give her a card as they left the meeting. He let things lie while they had breakfast then he gave Gillian a kiss and sent her off to do battle with Regional Languages around the Celtic Fringe. Finally, unable to wait, he tried McIntosh’s mobile. The poor man would hardly have had time to get his first coffee of the day and switch on the computer. Surprisingly he answered almost immediately.
“DI McIntosh.”
“Hello. This is David Hidalgo. I don’t know if you remember but we met briefly at a case conference last week. You were doing a presentation about prostitution and people trafficking.”
“I remember very well. Your colleague Dr Lockhart was the only one in the room the slightest bit interested.”
“Well, I think I could count myself in that group as well.”
“So that makes three of us out of fifteen. What can I do for you?”
“Actually, I’m not entirely sure where to start. It’s about the PGC investigation.”
“Or non-investigation, you could say.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, just a bit of a moan. Don’t let me bother you with it. It’s just that this is my area of professional interest and it looks like the largest scale operation of trafficking, false imprisonment, and forced prostitution we’ve ever come across in Scotland and one of the largest in the UK, and there seem to be absolutely no reliable leads as to how we can take things forward. In fact, everything we have had seems to have either ended up against a brick wall or been so thoroughly screwed up as to make it worthless. Forgive me. I shouldn’t be bending your ear with my complaints.”
“Not at all,” David said, relieved at how the conversation was going. “That actually has a bearing on why I’m phoning. There have been a few developments you might be interested in.”
“Go ahead. I am.”
“Just before we do that, can I just ask if this line is entirely secure and if we can both speak freely? Some of what I’m going to say I would like to be for your ears only at this stage.”
“Yes, I think so. I’m working from home all day today. I’ve got a meeting with my PhD supervisor next week and there’s quite a lot of writing-up to do before then.”
“After you’ve heard what I have to say, you may want to reschedule that appointment.”
“I’m all ears.”
Since McIntosh had already voiced some frustration, David thought that might be the place to start. He briefly explained where he was and why, then talked about how he and Gillian had felt about the official reluctance to see Mike Hunter’s death as anything other than an easily explicable suicide. Then there was the failure to move sooner on Blatov and Lubchenco. Next the obvious insecurity of police computers, the shot through his bedroom window, and finally the disappearance of PGC’s funds apparently due to an internal mix-up between specialist sections. And how did PGC know the money was about to be sequestered anyway? Perhaps he was speaking out of turn but it all just seemed like too many coincidences and muck-ups. Then he described the email from Andrei and phone call from James Dalrymple coming so close together and agreeing on so many details. McIntosh listened patiently with only the odd question for clarification or expression of agreement. Finally David got to the point.
“I’d really much rather not be saying this,” he said. “But Gillian and I have spoken about it at length and we can’t see any other conclusion. The investigation seems to have either been blocked or bungled in a variety of ways and the two girls, Tati and Elvira, are openly accusing CID and uniformed officers of being complicit in what’s going on and actual users of the service – if I can put it that way. We were both impressed with your presentation in the meeting and couldn’t think why you would be bothering to put so much effort into the subject if you didn’t actually care about the issue. In the light of that, I’ll be open with you: we’ve decided to come to you with our concerns and just hope you’re not a bent bobby too!”
There was a moment’s silence at the other end of the line and David wondered if he’d gone too far and blown it. When McIntosh spoke he was obviously choosing his words very carefully.
“First of all, David, if I can call you that, thank you for the trust you have put in me. I’ll do my level best not to let that down. Secondly, I can assure you, if you’re willing to believe me, that in no way am I personally implicated or complicit in what we’re talking about. In fact, I feel like I’ve been banging my head off a brick wall for years trying to get this sort of stuff taken seriously. The matter of ‘bent bobbies’, as you put, is obviously extremely sensitive. Careers have been broken many times by allegations that turned out to be unfounded. The consequences of real corruption that never came to light are a little harder to evaluate! Next, I have to admit what you say makes a lot of sense from where I’m standing. I’ve been frustrated in terms of what’s been happening but didn’t actually have any tangible red light until now. What you’ve brought is a series of allegations from members of the public – victims if you will – and that can’t be ignored, even by anyone attempting a cover-up. That sets wheels in motion much more effectively than if I’d simply been moaning about lack of action. So thanks for that.”
David let himself breathe a sigh of relief. There’d be many fences still to clear but he’d at least got over the first hurdle without falling.
“What now?” he asked simply.
“What now is that I have to put my thesis to one side and get on the blower. Anyone doing academic research such as mine within the force is required to have an internal mentor. As it happens mine is Douglas Forsyth.”
“Sorry, that doesn’t mean anything. Should it?”
“Forgive me. Living in the bubble we expect everybody to know. Douglas Forsyth is Divisional Commander for Edinburgh. Big Boss. Head Honcho. He has a special interest in this and has always been very supportive. He’s said to me that with him being so sucked up into policy and strategy, mentoring some academic work that has implications for direct policing keeps him connected with issues on the ground.”
“So, yet another reason why you might not have been flavour of the month among the career cops around the table last week.”
“Got it in one,” McIntosh said, and David could hear the wry smile in his voice.
“My impression so far is that Douglas is a man of very strong convictions – and very happily married too, as far as I know. There is no way I could see him as being tied up with this sort of thing. Actually, I think you’d get on well with him.”
“Are you going to approach Douglas Forsyth?”
“Today’s Monday. According to what you’ve told me, Tati’s shopping trip – if it happens – is going to be in three days’ time. We haven’t got long. You’re coming back to Edinburgh, I suppose?”
“Early flight from Santiago tomorrow – first I could get. Change at Heathrow, then in Edinburgh about 11.30 or so.”
“Right. I’ll meet you
at the airport; we’ll take it from there. I’m glad you called. But I think I’m going to have a busy day and it won’t be writing!”
The rest of Monday Gillian spent registering for the conference, finding the various venues, listening to the tedious, predictable welcoming speeches (with translation) from the Head of Department in Santiago, the Chair of the local Gallego Language Society, and the Alcalde on behalf of the Ribadeo Town Council. Then they were free from mid-afternoon. They ate in Casa Villaronta in Rua San Francisco, which they’d been told was the only place to get really authentic pulpo a la gallega – the real deal in local octopus. Wandering round the town arm in arm afterwards, they bumped into a couple of the English chatters from the night before and were happy to sit and natter, minds off PGC, Tati, Elvira, and whatever plan McIntosh was cooking up. Finally, they paseoed a bit more down by the Marina, then a few more drinks later and a light supper before early to bed. Big day for both of them tomorrow.
David didn’t have any problem picking McIntosh out in the sea of faces waiting at International Arrivals. The two men acknowledged one another with a brief nod, paired up, and found a space just beyond the melee of family members and business connections. After a brief introduction and handshake, McIntosh turned to his right and introduced a figure David hadn’t noticed up to now.
“David, this is Dr James Dalrymple. In between other things, yesterday I took a run out to South Queensferry and met Dr and Mrs Dalrymple and Elvira. I have to say I’m very impressed with the courage and resilience she’s shown after all she’s been through. You’ve done a fantastic job, Doctor, in getting her back to full health. She obviously feels very safe with you, which helps her talk more freely to us.”
Dalrymple simply nodded.
“So, we have a meeting waiting for us. Gentlemen, shall we?” With that they headed out the main concourse sliding doors, across the complicated network of lanes, walkways, and crossings that fronts Edinburgh International Airport, then finally into the multistorey car park. They collected McIntosh’s unmarked police BMW, swung down three floors, then out onto the link roads and finally the trunk road into town.
“We’re using a mothballed office in Corstophine,” McIntosh informed them. “It’s been pretty full-on since we spoke yesterday. I won’t bore you with the details except to say we have a team drawn from a couple of different divisions – officers handpicked from the top. Some working in internal affairs – anti-corruption to you and me – and some people-trafficking specialists. They’re good people. And maybe needless to say, this whole operation is off the radar. Officially I am relieved of everyday duties and now working as a staff officer to the Divisional Commander. Nobody is any the wiser than that. Everyone that was at the case conference thinks I’m off the PGC case altogether. We have a mix of DIs, DSs, and DCs. I’m in nominal command acting directly for the Divisional Commander but we’ll be running this in a pretty flat way. Hope you can cope with that meantime.”
David counted six around the table in a largely bare room on the ground floor of an anonymous set of offices just off the main street in Corstophine village. Four men and two women all in plain clothes each had a buff folder in front of them and were chatting quietly when McIntosh, David, and James Dalrymple came in. David and James each got a plastic beaker of coffee with UHT milk straight from the carton, then were introduced to the group. Rather pointedly, McIntosh did not mention the names of any of those gathered. If he had seemed at all diffident or defensive as he’d presented his findings in the case conference there was no sign of that now as he began the briefing.
“Hi everyone. We all know why we’re here so I won’t waste time repeating it. There are essentially two matters pertaining to the criminal conspiracy known as PGC. One is the internal issue of what connections there may be between serving officers and PGC, particularly in the light of allegations made by the two girls known as Tatiana and Elvira – and, I might add, in the light of certain features of how the case has been conducted. However, this is going forward in parallel and not for us to deal with in detail today. In relation to the primary investigation, since we have had great difficulty in making any progress on the number and whereabouts of any of the PGC houses and their occupants, it is imperative that we take full advantage of the only lead we have, which comes from Tatiana and her potential shopping trip. So that’s what we’re going to be talking about for the remainder of this meeting. Oh, and by the way, we have pretty up-to-date images of both men thanks to the activities of the church, which maintained a website.” McIntosh tapped his laptop trackpad and took the lens cap off the projector. Smiling photos of Max and Mikhail, whom David recognized, were projected up.
McIntosh continued.
“There are a lot of unknowns in this and it may end up being another dead end; however, we’ve got to give it our best shot. The gist of the matter is that Tatiana believes it likely that she will be taken on a shopping trip out of the house and into Edinburgh – she thinks on Thursday, in the afternoon. She only knows the shop as ‘Sally’; however, looking at what shops there are on Hanover Street and, shall we say, the nature of what goes on in the PGC houses, we think it pretty likely we’re talking about Sally Winters, a lingerie and erotica shop at 29b, Hanover Street.”
McIntosh tapped his computer again and popped up an image of the shop taken from Google Street View.
“Twenty-nine B is on the right-hand side going up Hanover Street just next to a Santander Bank and before Rose Street,” he explained. “Hanover Street, if you’ve forgotten, links Princes Street and George Street just opposite the Royal Scottish Academy. Copies of all the photos are in your packs.”
“So, if Tatiana does go shopping on Thursday afternoon, on the face of things, it wouldn’t be too difficult to identify her, intervene, pick her up, and detain anyone with her. Elvira has, courageously, agreed to be on site to identify her friend and make sure we know who the minders are.”
“But that only gets her. What about the rest of the girls and the other houses?” David asked.
“You got there just before me,” McIntosh replied. “What about the rest of the girls and the other houses, indeed. We can’t just pick her up and throw anyone with her into the slammer. They might tell us their entire life stories but they may not; it may take time. According to Elvira there is a deep sense of unease among the strong-arm guys right now, as if there’s some sort of showdown coming.”
One of the unnamed team around the table spoke up.
“And do we know why Tati will be shopping? Seems a bit of a risk to take?”
“Good question,” McIntosh replied. “According to Elvira, as well as individual clients, the houses stage what are called ‘Specials’ from time to time. A Special could be just for a single individual involving a number of girls and some other kind of additional services, but generally speaking it’s a group event. Apparently student graduations, a significant birthday, a stag night, or even a retirement do can be the occasion for a Special.”
David groaned and shook his head.
“That makes it sound like hiring a bouncy castle,” he muttered. McIntosh pressed on.
“Friday nights are Special nights and clients often pay double what they’d be paying for what we might call ‘normal’ services. The girls are expected to look good and put on a good show. And for that, apparently they might need, shall we say, ‘unusual’ underwear, costumes, and other equipment. Sally Winters is a legitimate business. There isn’t any suggestion I’m aware of that they are at all connected to what PGC does. But they are a stockist of exotic lingerie and what they call ‘sex toys’. That includes bondage gear, electrical appliances, and lots of other things – stuff a Special night might involve. Elvira has also told us that Tatiana is considered something of a star attraction, so apparently Blatov likes to make sure she’s looking her best. This seems to mean a trip to Sally Winters every now and then. Items of clothing have to be tried on to make sure they fit, etc. They can hardly order online with all the
identification, payment, and delivery issues that would involve. You get the drift.
“So, to go back to the problem – what we need from this is not just to get one girl out and pick up one strong-arm minder. We want to know where each of the houses is, to get all the girls out, to apprehend all of the principals and their associates, and wrap up the entire operation. Serving officers implicated will be another matter and apparently the money has now walked so that may be hard to trace. But that’s the brief. That clear to everyone? Anything to add?”
“Yes,” David spoke up. “I’d just like to say how refreshing it is to be in an environment where the girls are the top priority for a change. So, from that point of view, I’m pleased to be involved. And of course I’ll help with any information I have that might be useful. But beyond that, I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing here – or Dr Dalrymple, for that matter, if you don’t mind me speaking on your behalf, Doctor?”
“James, for goodness’ sake,” the older man muttered. “But yes. I’m not a policeman and I’m not really planning on being part of a shoot-out at the OK Corral. Once this is all over I am certainly going to be taking some action on my own behalf to get this issue brought higher up the agenda, but for the time being, you know everything I know. So I’m really not sure what more I can add.”
