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

by M K Farrar

  The translator did her job, and Linh replied in her own language, shaking her head.

  “No, sorry, she doesn’t know where it is. They are put into the back of a van each time they’re brought in to work, so they can’t tell the direction they’re going in. She believes it takes around fifteen to twenty minutes to get from the house to the hotel. She can give a description of what she can see from the back of the house, though.”

  “We can do a circle around the hotel,” Erica suggested, “expanding out that distance in all directions. If she knows what it looks like from the house, she might be able to pick it out from Google Maps.”

  Shariff nodded. “Worth a try.”

  Linh said something else to the translator; she was clearly distressed.

  The translator turned back to the two detectives. “She says they were both made to give blood samples when they first arrived. She said it felt wrong when it happened, but she didn’t feel she could refuse.”

  Blood samples? That fitted Erica’s suspicions.

  “Who took the sample, Linh?” Shariff asked. “The same people who took you to and from the hotel?”

  Linh shook her head and replied.

  “It was a different man,” the translator said. “He was in his forties, and smartly dressed in a suit. He seemed kind and concerned, and that’s why she allowed it, but she wishes she hadn’t now. He told her they always checked new arrivals for diseases to make sure they weren’t infecting everyone else since they all lived in such close proximity to one another.”

  Erica could see how that would sound convincing to a person who’d only just arrived in the country and didn’t understand how things worked.

  “She came into the country in the back of a lorry, together with about five other people. She thought they were going to die.”

  Linh had started to cry silently, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “We’re doing everything we can to find your daughter, Linh,” Erica tried to reassure her.

  A knock came at the door, and Shawn stuck his head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve been going through the CCTV footage at the hotel and there’s something you need to see.”

  “Now?” she checked.

  “It won’t take a minute.”

  Erica apologised to the other women and left the room. DS Shariff was more than capable of handling the interview without her.

  “How did you get on with the other women she’d been working with at the hotel?” she asked Shawn.

  “None of them want to talk, understandably. It’s not their daughter who’s gone missing. We can threaten them with deportation, but right now it’s going to take some time to get through them and find all the relevant translators. Seems they’re from all over.”

  Erica had feared as much. “Linh is the most cooperative one we’ve got, so let’s focus our attention on her.”

  She stopped at Rudd’s desk. “Can you take a laptop into interview room two and see if you can figure out the location of the house the women were being kept in. Draw a circle about a twenty-minute drive around the hotel. Use Google Maps to get a satellite view and see if she recognises anything. We might be able to pinpoint the house that way. How far can you get in London in twenty minutes first thing in the morning? No more than two miles, if that.”

  “That’s still a big search area,” Rudd said.

  “Yes, but it’s all we have right now.”

  Rudd nodded and scooped up her laptop. “Yes, boss.”

  Eric left Rudd to work with Linh and went to where Shawn was sitting at his desk.

  “What have you got?” She stopped behind his chair and peered over his shoulder.

  “This is a still of the CCTV from the hotel lobby. Recognise her?”

  She did, instantly.

  Angela Hargreaves.

  “Her daughter is on the transplant list. Something tells me the daughter is going to make a miraculous recovery in the next few days.”

  Shawn twisted his head to look at her. “You think the Vietnamese woman’s daughter has been kidnapped to be a transplant donor for Angela Hargreaves’ daughter?”

  “That’s exactly what I think. I bet if we look at her bank account, we’re going to see a large payment going out from there, if it hasn’t already.”

  “We might be able to trace it,” he said, “assuming you’re right.”

  She was certain her hunch was correct. “Let’s bring her in again. She’s connected to this, I’m sure she is.”

  “What about Superintendent Woods?”

  “I’m doing my job. I’m not going to let him stand in my way.” She hoped she was doing the right thing. By disobeying a direct order, she might find herself looking for a new job. But she wasn’t wrong, she was sure of it. “How did you get on with the rest of the CCTV footage?”

  “I’ve gone through the footage from the hotel floor where Chau Phan was last seen. Someone seems to have caught her attention from the stairwell, and she went willingly.”

  “Someone she knows then?” Erica said.

  He nodded. “Quite possibly.”

  She twisted her lips, thinking. “They’ve only been in the country a short while, so how many people would she know? They’d either have to be someone she was working with or else someone she was living with.”

  “Or perhaps the driver of the van?” Shawn said. “There aren’t any cameras on that part of the stairs, but I did find this.” He clicked the mouse to bring up some grainy black-and-white footage of a man carrying what appeared to be a large bag of laundry slung over his shoulder. His face was hidden, both by the bag and a baseball cap that was pulled down low over it. Chau was small and skinny for her age—she doubted he’d have been able to carry a well-fed British teenager around as though she were no more than a bag of laundry.

  “You think Chau is in there?” she asked Shawn.

  “I think it’s possible. To any observer, he would have looked exactly as he must have intended—like a worker collecting laundry from a big, busy hotel. He headed out to the rear of the hotel, but the cameras at the back have been disabled.”

  “All the better to hide the comings and goings of illegal workers, I’ll bet,” Erica mused.

  Hannah Rudd interrupted them, “Boss, I think we might know where the house is where the women are being kept, or maybe not the exact house, but the street. Linh recognises the back gardens of the surrounding properties.”

  “That was quick. Is she sure?”

  Rudd nodded. “She seems confident, yes.”

  “Good. Let’s not waste another second. The girl might be being held at the house. A minor is in danger. I want all available officers for this.”

  Erica liaised with Shariff, bringing her detectives from MisPer on board as well. Erica was glad to have her help. She didn’t know how many people they were going to find at the house, but considering the number that had come from the hotel, she suspected it was going to be substantial. She needed to call immigration, too, but right now the focus needed to be on finding the missing girl.

  WITHIN THIRTY MINUTES, they were at the row of houses. Linh Phan had been brought along to point out which property she’d been kept in—they didn’t want to risk raiding the wrong house—but she would stay in the back of the police car.

  They had the building surrounded, with police vans blocking either end of the alley the rear garden backed onto and blocking either end of the road out front as well.

  A brief survey of the house had shown it was a run-down, three-storey property. Incredibly, it was owned by the council, though how it had got into this state without any interference or complaints was beyond Erica. According to the council records, it was rented out to a man called Philip Price, but, other than this recent address, a couple of bills, and a bank account in the same name which the rent was paid out of, she couldn’t find anything else on him. She highly suspected she wouldn’t find him at this address either, and he was either dead, or had emigrated, or had never existed at all.
r />   The front door opened, and a man in his early twenties stepped out. He was engrossed in his phone and didn’t even look up until he’d had to take a step down the path. When he did, he clocked the police heading towards him, his eyes widened, and he almost dropped his phone.

  “Oh shit.”

  He turned and ran back to the house, slamming through the door and yelling to the other occupants, “Pigs are here. Fucking pigs are here.”

  The door hadn’t shut properly behind him, and it hit the frame and then swung open again.

  Two uniformed officers took after him, Erica, Shawn, and DS Shariff close behind them.

  The stink of the place hit Erica first—old rubbish bins, soured milk, stale urine. The second thing was the sheer number of people inside the property.

  “Police. No one is to leave.”

  Not that her warnings were paid any attention to. Movement came from every room, running up the stairs and into other rooms, as though they thought they could escape or hide from the police.

  “They’re heading out the back,” one of the uniformed officers shouted.

  Sure enough, they weren’t only trying to get out of the back door, they were also throwing themselves out of the windows to land in the patchy garden. It didn’t matter. Every escape route was blocked.

  One man ran out of a room and almost collided with her.

  He saw her and froze.

  “We’re looking for a thirteen-year-old girl from Vietnam. Her name is Chau. Do you know her? Have you seen her?”

  He stared at her with wide, terrified eyes, and she wasn’t even sure he understood her.

  There was no point questioning them at the moment—there would be plenty of time for that later. Right now, they needed to focus on finding the girl, if she was even here.

  DS Shariff instructed her officers, while others prevented people from leaving.

  “Swift!”

  Shawn’s shout.

  Erica hurried to the rear of the house where his voice had come from. He was standing at the open back door. He made way for her as she approached.

  “An old friend has made a reappearance.”

  She looked out to the run-down garden, overstuffed, torn black bags of rubbish, an old fridge lying on its side. A uniformed officer, PC Butler, sat astride a young man.

  “Bradley Webster,” Erica said, stepping out of the house. “I had a feeling we’d see you again, though I hadn’t expected it to be so shit.”

  He lifted his head and recognised her. “Ah fuck.”

  “You still going to insist you don’t know anything about a white van with the boxing gym sticker on the rear bumper?”

  He rolled his eyes and let his forehead drop back to the ground.

  Erica motioned to the PC. “He’s under arrest, take him down to the station.”

  The police officer clamped a pair of handcuffs around Bradley’s wrists and hauled him up.

  “I’ll be seeing you shortly,” she warned him.

  His shoulders slumped, and PC Butler marched him off to be put in the back of a squad car.

  Erica turned her attention to the house. DS Shariff emerged.

  “Any sign of the girl?” Erica asked.

  She shook her head. “No, no children here at all. We’re going to need to get immigration in. I suspect everyone here are either illegal immigrants, most likely used for cheap labour, or they’re British and involved with bringing them over.”

  Erica thought of Bradley. “It’s what they’re doing to them after they’ve brought them into the country that’s concerning me.”

  “You think this is linked to your case?”

  She nodded. “I’m sure of it. We’ve previously questioned one of the men arrested just now in relation to it.”

  “You think your victims might have come from this house?”

  “It’s definitely a possibility. If they’re illegal immigrants, it would explain why we can’t find any mispers who match their descriptions.”

  Shariff frowned. “What does that mean for the girl, Chau Phan?”

  “It’s not good. We’ll get a warrant and then have SOCO comb through the property and see if we can find any leads, but considering the number of people who’ve been tramping through the place, I’ll be surprised if they find anything substantial. People like Bradley Webster aren’t the ones running this show. There’s someone higher up the pecking order, and that’s who we need to pin down. Hopefully, now Webster can’t wriggle out of our questions he’ll give us a name.”

  “If he even knows one,” she pointed out.

  Erica blew out her cheeks. “True.”

  The people who ran these kinds of operations weren’t stupid. They kept their identities from the ones doing the dirty work. She thought of something. “We do have another lead, however, that I intend on following up.”

  “Good, I hope it helps. You’ll keep me posted about it?”

  “Absolutely. Same goes for you.”

  The two women shook hands.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  DS Shawn Turner hurried after his boss as she marched through the office.

  “I need to get a production order for the Minister of Care’s bank statements,” she said as she walked, “and an application made for her phone records.”

  Shawn frowned, worried about the route she was going down. “I thought Superintendent Woods told you not to go down that road.”

  “He did, but that was before she showed up on CCTV from the hotel as well. She’s popping up far too often for my liking, and my gut says she’s involved. If there’s nothing showing on the statements, then I can rule her out, but something’s telling me I’ll find what I’m looking for.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

  “A large withdrawal in the past couple of weeks, or a large bank transfer.”

  “A transfer would be useful,” he said. “We’d be able to trace it.”

  “Agreed, but these people are smart. I suspect they won’t have done that. If there’s a large amount withdrawn, however, she’s going to need to explain it.”

  “I can do the interview with Bradley Webster,” he offered.

  “Yes, do that. I need to go through Angela Hargreaves’ bank statements and phone records when they come through, and speak to Angela herself.”

  Shawn gave a brisk nod. He was more than happy to put a young punk like Bradley Webster through the wringer. “I’m on it.”

  Before going to the interview room, he got himself a refill on his coffee—he had a feeling he was going to need it for yet another encounter with Bradley Webster. He had no intention of offering Webster anything to make him more comfortable. As well as almost getting him killed back at the railway line, when he’d run in front of that train, the little shit had blatantly lied to them before.

  Shawn went down the corridor and stopped outside the interview room. He plugged in the keypad code and waited for the buzz. Then he shoved the door open with his elbow and hip, balancing the coffee in one hand.

  Webster looked up sullenly as he entered.

  “I’d say it was good to see you again,” Shawn said, “but I think we’d both know I was lying. Seems to me you’re quite keen on feeding us bullshit, though, isn’t that right, Webster.”

  He crossed his arms. “I don’t have to say anything to you. I know my rights.”

  “Good, but I have to read them to you anyway.” For the benefit of the recording, Shawn listed who was present, the time, date and location of the interview. “You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention something you later rely on in court. Anything you do or say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, I understand.”

  “You have the right to a solicitor, too, and if you cannot afford one, you have a right to free legal aid, and we can appoint you our station’s duty solicitor.”

  “I don’t want a fucking solicitor, especially not one who’s all matey with your lot.”
/>   “Very well, but you can change your mind at a later date.

  He scowled. “I won’t. I don’t trust none of you coppers.”

  “In which case, you can answer some questions for me. How about we start with why you were in a house filled with immigrants, who I assume aren’t supposed to be in this country.”

  Webster shrugged. “It was somewhere to stay.”

  “And how long have you been staying there?” he asked.

  “Dunno. Not long.”

  Shawn wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “You didn’t give that address when we questioned you a couple of days ago, though. You said you were staying somewhere different, and you clearly convinced your friend to lie for you, too. So why were you at the house?”

  “Like I said, I was staying there a few days.”

  “Who invited you to stay?”

  “A bloke I met down the pub.”

  “What was his name.”

  “Steve, or Mike, or something.”

  Shawn didn’t bother to try to hide his scepticism. “You’re telling me you went to live with someone who’s name you didn’t even know.”

  “Not live. I’m just couch-surfing. I’ll take whatever I can get.”

  “Didn’t it worry you that there were lots of other people living there as well, and most of them don’t seem to know much English?”

  “Why would it? I’m just grateful for a roof over my head.”

  “When we spoke to you last time, you said you were working. Is that still the case?”

  His gaze darted away from Shawn’s intense, steady one. “I do a bit here and there to get by.”

  Shawn clasped his hands together. “So, you can afford a gym membership, but you can’t afford a roof over your head?”

  “Well, yeah, have you seen how much it costs to live in London these days? It’s fucking ridiculous. My gym membership costs me thirty-five quid a month, and I get to use the showers whenever and for as long as I like. It’s money well spent in my mind.”

  “You could rent a room in a house,” he suggested. “You don’t need to rent a whole flat.”

  Webster snorted. “Even a room is like eight hundred quid or more, and you have to pay the first month upfront, plus a month’s deposit. They don’t just want your money, either. They want fifty references and your credit report. It’s a fucking nightmare.”