The Body Dealer (A DI Erica Swift Thriller Book 5)

by M K Farrar

  Mrs Gibbs seemed to sense Erica’s discomfort as she gave a small smile. “I’ll leave you to it and take the chance to grab a cup of tea. It’s revolting stuff here, but better than nothing.”

  “I can stay for a little while, if you want to nip out to one of the local cafés for a proper cup,” Erica offered.

  “That’s kind of you, but I’m sure you have more important things to do. Remember, I know what your job is like. There’s never really any time off.”

  She was right, but Erica didn’t give in that easily. “I can spare half an hour.”

  She patted Erica’s arm. “The hospital cafeteria will be fine.”

  “Okay, but I’ll sit with him until you get back.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you. Try not to tire him out too much.”

  “I won’t.”

  Erica wasn’t sure how pleased Gibbs would be to see her anyway. It wasn’t as though they didn’t get along, exactly, just that they were very different people in very different places in their lives.

  Mrs Gibbs left her and walked down the corridor, her shoes squeaking on the hospital floor.

  Erica sucked in a breath and stepped into the room, half hiding behind the flowers.

  Gibbs lay propped up in the hospital bed.

  The left side of his face was drooped. He saw her coming and tried to raise a smile, but the droopiness only became more noticeable, his lips not lifting, the corner of that eye remaining uncreased.

  “Swift, what are you doing here?” There was a slight slur to his words, and she tried not to notice or focus on the side of his face with the damage.

  She placed the flowers and card on the table next to his bed.

  “Came to see you, of course. Believe me, I don’t come to these places for a day out.”

  “Me neither. Hate the bloody smell of them. The food is terrible, too.”

  “I’m sure someone can sneak you in a burger,” she said with a smile.

  He rolled his eyes as best he could. “Saturated fats. A no-no from now on, apparently. Basically, I now have to give up anything that tastes good or is any fun.”

  “You’ll be a new man.”

  “I was just fine being the old one.”

  “The old one landed you in a hospital bed.”

  “Okay, okay. Enough of the lecturing. I have a wife to do that.”

  Erica laughed. “Fair enough.”

  “How’s things at work?”

  “We had a new case come in this morning. A body burned on the canal path.”

  “I assume you’re lead investigator on the case. You’re acting DCI now.”

  She blinked in surprise. “Yes, I am. Did Superintendent Woods call you?”

  “No need. We’d previously discussed who would take over if I was unable to perform my duties.”

  “You had? And you mentioned me?”

  “Yes, of course. Who else would it be?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I just hadn’t expected it.”

  “You’ll do a good job, Swift. I don’t doubt it.”

  “You’ll be back behind your desk quickly enough. I won’t even have time to warm the seat,” she said kindly.

  He gave a small, reproachful laugh. “I doubt that but thank you. Tell me more about the case.”

  “I’m not going to talk work with you. You’re supposed to be resting.”

  He threw up a hand. “I am resting. Look at me. I don’t even get out of bed to take a piss.”

  She didn’t need the details of that. “Your wife won’t be impressed if she comes back and discovers we’ve been talking shop.”

  “She doesn’t need to know. We’ll tell her we were discussing homeopathic remedies, or meditation, or something.”

  Erica arched an eyebrow. “Do you really think she’ll believe that?”

  “I don’t care. Tell me about work. Take my mind off all this misery.”

  She wasn’t sure discussing a burned body was taking anyone’s minds off misery, but she got his point.

  “Okay. A woman discovered a burning body while she was out on an early morning dog walk. We don’t know who the victim is yet. Forensics have sent DNA off to try and narrow things down, but we believe she’s a young woman. We’re checking any recent missing people who fit the profile. We have a white van on camera which we believe was used to move the body and dump it there. We’re assuming the fire was started to hide the identity of the victim, or the way she was killed, or both.”

  He tried to purse his lips in thought, but the result was a slightly disconcerting sneer. “Has the pathologist tried to get a DNA sample?”

  “Yes, she thinks there was some retrievable DNA in the tooth pulp, but we’re waiting on the results to come back.”

  “Good. That should tell you more. Witnesses?”

  “No one other than the woman who found the body, but there are officers going door-to-door, in the hope someone saw something. On the side of the canal where the body was dumped, its mainly industrial buildings, but on the other side there are expensive luxury flats.”

  “They pay all that money to look at a bunch of warehouses.”

  “True,” she said. “Anyway, nothing’s come up yet, and the white van we caught on CCTV had fake plates.”

  “So that probably is the vehicle that was used to move the body,” Gibbs said.

  “That was our thinking, too. If we can find that van, we’ll have a lot more to go on. Digital forensics are blowing up the images, too, so we can try to get a better look at whoever was driving.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got everything covered.”

  “I think so.”

  Erica fought a wave of imposter syndrome. They believed in her enough to offer her this role, and she was good at her job. She deserved to be the one to step into Gibbs’ shoes.

  Movement came at the door, and Pamela Gibbs walked back in. She looked between them. “I hope you haven’t been talking about work,” she scolded. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

  “Not at all,” Gibbs lied. “We’ve been talking about meditation and chakras.”

  His wife rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to lie, at least make it a believable one.”

  They both laughed.

  Erica suddenly felt as though she was sitting in on a personal situation—an intimate moment—and she got to her feet to leave.

  “I’d better get going. Lots to do, you know?”

  Gibbs nodded. “I know. Hopefully, I’ll be out of here soon, but feel free to pop by if you need to run anything by me. Just as a sounding board, of course. I know you’re more than capable.”

  “Thanks, sir. I appreciate that. Hope you’re feeling better soon.”

  She ducked her head in a nod to Pamela and left them to it. They were lucky, to have each other. Her heart stuttered at the memory that she wouldn’t have that now. She was facing a future alone.

  She left the hospital and picked up Poppy from Natasha’s.

  “How was work?” her sister asked as she gathered Poppy’s things together.

  “Long, and strange. I got a promotion, in a weird kind of way.”

  Tasha’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “A promotion?”

  “My boss had a stroke. His boss has given me his job, at least on a temporary basis until my DCI is ready to return to work.”

  “How long is that going to be?”

  She shrugged. “Honestly, no one knows. We just have to wait and see.”

  “Will that mean you working even more?”

  Erica was conscious that her sister did far more than her fair share and she couldn’t ask anything more of her.

  “No, the super knows all about my home life. He’s aware that I can’t put in any more hours than I already do.”

  “You already do plenty,” Natasha said, a slight disapproval to her tone.

  “I know, and I appreciate everything you do for my little family. I wouldn’t be able to get through each day without you.”
<
br />   She gave a smile. “Nah, she’s a pleasure to have. Besides, there are already three here, one more doesn’t make any difference.”

  Erica gave her sister a hug then looked to her daughter. “Ready, Pops?”

  “Ready,” she chirped.

  She took Poppy’s stuff and drove them home. Pulling up in their driveway, she turned to her daughter, unexpected nerves crawling around her stomach.

  “How would you feel about Shawn coming for dinner one night?”

  Poppy twisted in her seat to face her. “Really?”

  Erica grinned. “Yes, really.”

  The little girl fist pumped the air. “I think it would be brilliant.”

  “You do?” Erica was surprised at her enthusiastic response.

  “You never have any friends round, Mummy. I have friends come to Aunty Tasha’s all the time, but you never have anyone.”

  Her heart clenched. “I’m sorry we don’t have your friends over at our house very much.”

  Poppy shrugged one narrow shoulder. “I don’t mind.”

  “But you don’t mind about Shawn coming to dinner?”

  “No, I think it would be fun to have someone else eat with us. I like it when it’s just us, but other people are good, too.”

  Erica squeezed her daughter’s skinny knee. She seemed to have shot up over the past year, so she was all legs and ribs—not an ounce of fat on her. “And then we’ll have one of your friends over for a playdate. Deal?”

  Poppy stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

  Erica went to shake it, but Poppy snatched it away, giggling.

  “Hey,” Erica protested.

  “It’s just a joke, Mummy.” She stuck out her hand again, but did the same thing when Erica tried to shake it. “Got you!”

  “Oi, you! Cheeky.”

  She grabbed Poppy around the middle and tickled her until she squealed with laughter. Erica found herself laughing along with her daughter, and the worries and stresses of the day melted away with it.

  Chapter Eight

  Linh and Chau had dozed in the huge blue plastic bins until the engine had started up. The driver must have had enough sleep and had got back on the road again, and now the lorry bumped and jolted beneath them.

  They’d had a bottle of water each when they’d scrambled on board, but that had been many hours ago, and the water was long gone. From the acrid stink of the confined space, she knew some of their fellow passengers hadn’t had any choice but to urinate where they sat.

  All she’d known was fear and adrenaline for weeks now, but they were finally into the last part of their journey.

  Where were they? Had they reached the Channel Tunnel yet? That was going to be the most dangerous part. Linh Phan had been warned that the border control did checks on both sides, that they had giant machines they put the lorries through, and they had dogs that would sniff out any stowaways. The idea of the dogs scared her more than the machines. She could picture the barking, the crying and screaming of her fellow passengers, the angry shouts of the border police as they were hauled from the back of the truck.

  If this failed, she didn’t know what she would do. She didn’t even have money to return home—not that that was even an option. This was her chance, and she wasn’t only doing it for herself.

  At her side, her daughter let out a sigh and cuddled in closer. She had her arm wrapped around the girl’s shoulders. Chau was thirteen years old, but she could pass for nine. Years of only having the basics to get by, with Linh giving up meals to make sure Chau had enough, only for her to still be hungry and still not grow, broke her heart.

  Then this opportunity had landed in her lap.

  She’d told the men she had no money, but they’d assured her that was all right. Once she got to the UK, they’d find a job for her, and she’d be able to work off what she owed. You could earn so much money over there, they’d assured her, that she’d not only be able to pay off her debt, but she’d also have plenty of money left over to buy food. The accommodation was taken care of as well. They’d warned her that it would be cramped in the London house, but that would be fine—she didn’t mind sharing. Compared to how they’d lived recently, she was sure it would practically be luxury. A big, London home, with red-brick walls and glazed windows. Maybe, one day, after they’d put down some roots, she could figure out how to get Chau into school. Getting her into school would be a risk. It would make the authorities notice her, start to ask questions, and they might send her home again. After everything she’d gone through to get them there, she worried about doing anything that would get them sent back again. Even worse was the possibility the authorities would separate them, and she wouldn’t know what had happened to Chau.

  Through all of this, the thousands of miles travelled, the hunger and fear, that had been her biggest fear—the possibility of being separated from her daughter.

  “Are we nearly there yet, Má?” Chau asked in Vietnamese.

  She didn’t need to tell her daughter to whisper. Even with the near constant grumble of the engine around them, they couldn’t risk being heard.

  “Nearly. Only an hour or so away from British soil.”

  It was the shortest part of their journey, but it was also the most dangerous. This was the part where they’d be most likely to be caught.

  Her daughter stiffened beside her. “That’s really close.”

  “Yes, my love.” She planted a kiss to the top of her silky-soft head.

  Someone would be there to meet them on the other side. They would open the lorry door and let them out. The possibility that no one would come weighed heavily on her, but she tried not to think about it. They wouldn’t just be allowed to die in here, would they? What would be the point in that? She reassured herself that she owed money to the people who’d brought her here, and she wouldn’t be able to work off that debt if they left her to die in the back of a lorry. She was more worried about her daughter than herself. Her daughter was everything to her, and she’d literally risked both of their lives to give her a future. She imagined her getting an education, learning the language fluently, getting a good job. Maybe one day she’d even meet a good British man and they’d have a family. Then Chau’s children would be British born and no one would be able to threaten to send them back. It seemed so far removed from sitting in this stinking crate, not even across the channel yet, but it was a dream she clung to.

  Banging against the side of the lorry echoed through the container. The tension in the crate instantly increased; her daughter stiffened beside her and sucked in a breath. It was pitch-black. Linh had only caught a glimpse of her companions when they’d climbed on board—mainly men, which worried her, but also a couple of women. She didn’t know any of them and wondered where they were all from. They each had their own stories, lives that had been so hard they’d been driven to this common point. Would she be sharing the London house with any of them, or had they made arrangements with different people? Maybe she should talk to them and ask, but she was too frightened to open herself up. Besides, they probably wouldn’t understand her. She’d managed to teach herself a little English before leaving Vietnam, and had been picking some up along the way, but she still struggled to make herself understood. Chau had done much better in her learnings, her English improving exponentially even as they’d been travelling. Linh was so proud of her clever daughter, and it only confirmed to her that Chau deserved to be in a British school.

  Shouts came from outside, and she braced herself. Was this the point where they’d be discovered? The container they were in was in the centre of the lorry, with other containers, filled with, she assumed, whatever it was the lorry was hauling, offering them some protection. The scanner picked up on heat, but not all of the lorries were put through the checks. Besides, even the air was hot, and she’d be surprised if any scanner could pick their body heat out of the sweltering temperature of the air.

  The doors opened, and she squeezed her eyes shut. It was the first hint of light and
fresh air that she’d seen in hours. But she couldn’t appreciate it. Were they about to be found?

  Whoever was doing the checks that day must have decided they couldn’t be bothered to go through each of the crates the back of the lorry contained. The door slammed shut again.

  In the darkness, someone whimpered in relief.

  They weren’t safe yet. There would be additional checks once they’d got through the Channel Tunnel. She thought she should be more scared of the prospect of being beneath an entire ocean, but it was the least frightening part of her trip.

  She found her daughter’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “We’re nearly there. Our new lives are waiting for us.”

  Chapter Nine

  Angela Hargreaves had barely slept, unable to switch off her brain, tossing and turning all night.

  Finally giving up on sleep, she sat up in bed and picked up her phone. Maybe she could spend a little time online and reset her brain, and then she would try to sleep again. Even if she only got a couple of hours, it would be better than nothing. She had meetings back to back the following morning and was already dreading having to sleepwalk her way through them. Her colleagues knew about her daughter’s condition and that things were difficult at the moment, but she was still expected to function. She had constituents she represented, and she couldn’t let them down.

  Angela frowned at her phone. A new message request from a name she didn’t recognise had popped up. She normally avoided such things—though she made sure she used a variation on her name—just her first name and her middle name as her surname—so her constituents and members of the opposing party didn’t find her online and hound her, some people still worked out who she was. Something about the message made her check it.

  I’m sorry for the unsolicited message, but I saw your post in a medical group. You have my sympathy for what your daughter is going through. I may have a way I can help, however, and I wondered if you would like to talk?