by Susan Lewis
‘Hi yourself. How are you? I had a dream about you last night.’
‘How was I?’
‘Sizzling, but don’t let it go to your head. Now, is Laurie there? I need to speak to her, pronto.’
‘You’ve missed her, I’m afraid. She’s gone to pick her mother up from the station and her mobile’s right here in front of me. Anything I can help with?’
‘Not unless you know the name of the guy I’m supposed to be meeting. It’s the one who’s been working with her on this story about the Indian women. It’s gone clean out of my head, and I can’t find it in my notes.’
‘It’s Barry Davidson,’ he told her. ‘You’ll like him. He’s a good cockney lad.’
Shouting over the wail of a police siren as it sped past, she thanked him and had just rung off when a slender man with a mere shadow of hair on his scalp and a neat gold ring in one ear came loping up the steps behind her.
‘Sherry?’ he said, holding out a hand to shake.
‘You must be Barry. Good to meet you.’
‘Laurie not turned up yet?’
‘She can’t make it, so I’m afraid it’s just us.’
‘That’s cool. She’s told me all about you. Welcome on board. The house we want isn’t far. Can’t guarantee anyone’ll be in, there hasn’t been the last two times I tried, but it’s definitely the address Karima Ghosh gave Laurie for Daya.’
‘Is the doctor expecting us too?’ she asked, as they started along Whitechapel Road with its iron-grilled shopfronts, dilapidated, soot-blackened buildings and litter-strewn pavements.
‘He is. Not for another half an hour though.’
‘If it’s OK with you, I’m going to ask him to go over everything again, as though I know nothing,’ she said. ‘That way I should get a clearer picture.’
‘No problem. He’s a decent bloke. You’ll like him.’
A double-decker bus roared past, drowning her next words. She waited for the noise to fade, then said again, ‘Tell me more about the owner of the workshop, Eddie Cribbs.’
‘First up,’ he answered, ‘it’s not wise to mention his name too loud round here, you never know who’s listening. He’s a big noise, with big ears and more reach than BT. But to answer your question, he’s a bit different to the crime bosses of old, in that he’s into protection, gambling, prostitution and all the rest of it, but he’s also, I have on good authority, heavily into computers and the Internet. Runs all kinds of porn sites, might even be into filming the stuff, I don’t know. He has a right upscale suite of offices over in Canary Wharf that they call the control centre, which seems about right considering how many people he has working for him.’
‘It’s a lot?’
‘You could say that, but like anyone in his position, he’s got his core team. Or his board of directors, is what I think he calls them.’
‘Any idea where he lives?’
‘He’s got a couple of places, but his wife and daughter are in a dirty great big mansion out in Epping Forest. The daughter goes to some fancy boarding school down in Kent. Here’s where we turn,’ he said, grabbing her elbow and tugging her round the corner into Brick Lane, where the local merchants were rolling up their shutters and opening up shop for the day.
Sherry smiled at one or two as she passed, and was pleased to be smiled back at, big, white-toothed grins and even an occasional traditional bow. ‘Have you come across anything about Mr C. that puts him in line for people-smuggling?’ she asked, as they turned another corner.
‘Not specifically, but it’s the in thing these days. Everyone wants a piece of the action, or everyone in his sort of world, and I can’t imagine someone like him being left out in the cold.’
‘What about the Turkish and Albanian gangs that are supposed to be controlling it in the UK?’
‘Can’t answer that. Maybe he’s in bed with them, or maybe he pays them to stay off his patch. No doubt he’ll have something worked out. Here we are, this is where Daya’s supposed to live.’
Sherry stopped outside the red-brick terraced house with white lace curtains at the downstairs windows and peeling yellow paint on the front door. There was nothing at all to make it stand out from any others in the row, though she noted immediately the inconsistency with Karima Ghosh’s story – there were no front steps to this one, or any of the others, that Daya could possibly have fallen down. In fact the houses opened right on to the pavement. A stupid mistake, but a fortunate one for them.
As Barry knocked she looked along the street to where a woman in traditional Moslem garb was loading boxes into the back of a car, and an elderly Asian man in a pristine white kurta and embroidered cap was hobbling along on a stick and the arm of an obliging young woman. Her mind was just drifting back to last night’s dream when Barry said, ‘Bloody hell, someone’s there.’
Sherry turned and watched as the door creaked slowly open. A portly, middle-aged Indian woman, who barely reached Barry’s waist, appeared from the darkness. ‘Yes?’ she said, looking both cross and alarmed.
‘We’re looking for Daya,’ Barry stated. ‘We were told she lives here.’
The woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Who told you?’ she demanded.
‘Her boss, at the workshop. Mrs Ghosh.’
The woman’s eyes moved to Sherry. ‘Is Daya here?’ Sherry asked, stepping forward.
‘No. Her father take her back to India. She have arranged marriage. A nice boy. Good family. She’s not here any more.’
Well isn’t that convenient, Sherry was thinking. ‘But she did live here?’ she said.
‘Yes. She lived here.’
‘We wanted to make sure she was all right,’ Sherry explained. ‘We were concerned, after she went to see the doctor.’
‘She fine. She good now. I tell her you come,’ and stepping back into the shadows she closed the door.
Sherry turned to Barry, eyebrows raised. ‘Well, I wonder how much she was paid to say that?’ she mused.
‘A couple of hundred would probably have done it,’ he responded. ‘She didn’t even ask who we were.’
‘No. She was determined not to let us in either. Do you think she’s hiding something in there?’
‘I doubt it. She probably just wanted to get rid of us, before she said something she shouldn’t.’
When they reached the end of the street Sherry took out her mobile to update Laurie on what had happened. Getting the voicemail she left a message, while swerving to avoid a couple of boys zooming by on their bikes.
They were early arriving at Dr Patel’s surgery, which was on the first floor over a newsagent-cum-grocer’s shop, and behind a scratched, panelled door that provided a barrier between the evocative aroma of Indian spices drifting around the stairwell, and the unmistakable smell of disinfectant. The reception area was small and stuffy, with an assortment of old-fashioned toys stored in one corner, and a few women’s magazines piled on a table.
‘This way,’ a querulous-looking receptionist told them, holding a door open. ‘The doctor’s free, so he can see you now.’
As they walked in Dr Patel was already getting to his feet. He was a small man with a neat moustache and weary brown eyes that despite their troubles managed to exude a comforting amount of warmth. ‘I am pleased to meet you,’ he told Sherry, shaking her hand. ‘Please, come and sit down.’
Sherry sat in the chair he indicated, while Barry pulled another alongside. ‘You can ask the doc what you like,’ he informed her. ‘He’s OK with answering.’
Sherry’s blue eyes followed the doctor as he returned to his own chair. Why was she suddenly thinking about Elliot and Nick, she wondered. Where was her focus? The dream was over. How did she want to begin this?
‘Has there been any more news on Daya?’ she asked.
The doctor shook his head solemnly. ‘I am very worried what might have happened to her,’ he confessed. ‘As I told Barry here, there’s a chance she could be on her way back to where she came from, which is probably the
best we can hope for.’
Barry told him what had just happened at the address they’d been sent to.
The doctor absorbed it, but his only comment was, ‘Let us pray that is true.’
‘If she has a daughter, she could already be married, which would make a nonsense of what we’ve been told,’ Sherry said.
The doctor nodded agreement. ‘But we have no way of knowing the truth,’ he said.
Sherry opened her notepad. ‘If she is on her way back to where she came from …’ She looked up. ‘Do you know where that is, exactly?’
‘She is from Gujarat. Her language is a form of Gujarati. There are many Harijans there.’
‘Harijans?’
‘It is one of the lower-caste people. They used to be called the Untouchables. I’m afraid, if she disappeared, here, or in Gujarat, there are not many who would miss her.’
Untouchables, for God’s sake, Sherry was thinking. How could any human being in the world be untouchable? ‘Have you ever treated anyone else for the same kind of injuries?’ she asked. ‘I mean from that workshop?’
He shook his head. ‘It is the only time anyone has come here from that workshop.’
Sherry was about to ask another question when he said, ‘Before we continue, I think I should tell you that I have had a visit from someone who didn’t give his name, but he told me if the police came asking questions about Daya I was to contact him immediately. He left an envelope. Inside was two thousand pounds and a telephone number.’
Sherry’s eyebrows went up. ‘Subtle,’ she commented. ‘What did you do with it?’
‘It is here, in my desk.’ He reached into a drawer and slid the envelope across.
Sherry opened it, leafed through the twenty-pound notes, then made a note of the phone number. To Barry she said, ‘Has anyone told the police?’
‘Not that I know of,’ he answered.
She turned back to the doctor. ‘What about the little girl?’ she asked. ‘Daya’s daughter? Laurie said she mentioned her just before she had to leave. Did you manage to find out any more, such as whether the child’s here or still in India?’
‘I’m afraid I did not get the chance. I believe her sister is here though.’
‘Younger or older?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, what we do know,’ Sherry said, ‘is if Daya is only twenty, her daughter must be very young.’
He nodded agreement.
‘OK,’ she said, getting ready to take notes again, ‘I’ve read Laurie’s notes, and we’ve discussed it quite a bit, but if you don’t mind I’d like to go over it all from the beginning, starting with when Mrs Ghosh brought Daya in here, the first time.’
As he talked she wrote quickly, listening out for anything Laurie hadn’t already told her, but on the whole the accounts were the same, with the exception of the fact that Daya was due to come back to have her stitches removed on Thursday of next week.
‘It’ll be interesting to see if that happens,’ she commented, looking up.
‘I doubt it,’ the doctor replied. ‘But if it does, I’ll be sure to let you know.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And what about your mystery visitor who wants to know if the police come calling? Are you going to tell him you’ve spoken to us today?’
‘No-one has made that request, so I will keep it to myself,’ he replied, standing up as Sherry and Barry got to their feet.
After saying their goodbyes Sherry led the way back down to the street, where she waited for Barry to fall in beside her. ‘So it seems they’ve been in touch with the doctor, and with you, but not with Laurie yet,’ she said. ‘Why do you suppose that is?’
‘Messing with the press,’ he replied, ‘it’d be like waving a red rag. No, it’s us what’ll get leaned on, to stop us giving you any co-operation. But don’t let it go to your head, because if they need to get heavy with Laurie, or you, take it from me, they will.’
Laurie was on the phone to Rachel, talking about Andraya, when Sherry walked in with Barry. The office was considerably calmer than usual, with everyone else being away in India, so there was plenty of room to sit, and even a half-full pot of coffee on the machine.
‘It’s fine by me if she can’t make lunch today,’ Laurie was saying as she waved Sherry and Barry in.
‘But can you do it tomorrow?’ Rachel asked. ‘She really wants to meet you again.’
‘Why? I thought she didn’t like women?’
‘It seems she’s taken to you.’
Laurie screwed up her nose. She could think of others she’d rather impress, but it was flattering, she supposed. ‘Make sure she knows I don’t have any money,’ she warned. ‘Or not enough to reach her prices. Anyway, who’s the private showing for, that she’s had to cancel out on us?’
‘No idea, Chris didn’t say.’
‘Tell him to make a note of what she wears. I’ll be dying to hear. Sherry’s just walked in, I think we can put her down for a couple of the big ones. What are they, a million and a half apiece?’
‘Not quite. Tell her her invitation to the show is in the post, and thanks for reminding me. Don’t tell her I forgot.’
‘Sure. I’ll ask her if she’ll do a piece on the show. She’s still got her contact at Vogue, haven’t you, Sherry?’
Sherry nodded, giving no indication of guessing what was really going on.
‘Yes, I’m sure she’d love to join us tomorrow,’ Laurie added, ‘if she’s free. Lunch tomorrow?’ she said to Sherry.
Sherry shrugged. ‘Why not?’
‘All right, I have to go,’ Laurie said to Rachel. ‘Let’s talk in the morning to decide where to meet.’ As she rang off she turned to prop her feet on an open drawer and picked up her cup. ‘OK, I got your message about the arranged marriage,’ she said, as Sherry handed Barry a coffee then sat down with her own. ‘You’d have thought they could come up with something a bit more original, wouldn’t you? Anyway, what did you think of the doctor?’
‘I think he’s honest, trustworthy,’ Sherry answered. ‘He didn’t tell me much that I hadn’t already heard from you, but I’m glad I met him.’ She glanced at Barry. ‘I think we’re probably all agreed,’ she said, ‘that there’s some kind of clandestine workplace where our friend Mr Cribbs is housing – or I should say, exploiting – a group of illegal immigrants.’
‘And given the nature of Daya’s injuries,’ Laurie responded, ‘we’re in no doubt of how he’s exploiting them.’ To Barry, she said, ‘Has Sherry told you she’s offered to go and meet Mrs Ghosh, as a buyer? She’s just going to take a look around, get a feel for the place, and the woman. Do you know someone with a boutique, or a market stall, who can lend her some cover?’
‘Probably,’ he answered. ‘I’ll make some enquiries.’
‘You know, I saw a documentary about this sort of thing once,’ Sherry said, appearing slightly strained. ‘Illegal immigration, forced prostitution … What’s done to those women is so horrendous … We saw that with Daya, so what I’m saying is, in some cases they’re not used as regular prostitutes, they’re given to the perverts, the really sick bastards who should be locked up and never let near a woman.’
‘And there could be a child involved here,’ Laurie said quietly, hating every thought in her mind now.
‘Maybe even more than one,’ Barry added.
‘I really think we should get the police involved,’ Sherry said.
‘I agree,’ Laurie responded.
‘I’ll go over there myself, when we’ve finished here,’ Barry said. ‘But we have to remember, all we’ve got at the moment is an Indian girl’s mysterious disappearance – and we’re not even sure about that, since we didn’t even know where she was in the first place …’
‘The doctor treated her injuries,’ Sherry reminded him.
‘They’ve got an explanation for how she got them, and while she’s not here, who’s going to question it? Who even cares? I mean, really.’
Sherry l
ooked at Laurie. ‘We do,’ Sherry answered, ‘and I for one am totally committed to finding these women.’
‘Me too,’ Laurie agreed.
They looked at Barry. ‘You know this territory far better than either of us,’ Laurie said. ‘Can we count you in?’
‘I wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t,’ he replied. ‘I was just giving you the lowdown on how the Old Bill’s likely to view it.’
‘Sadly, you’re probably right,’ Laurie sighed, ‘but try talking to them anyway. And as for the three of us, we should start by agreeing that no matter what aspect of this any of us is working on, at any time, we must remember always to keep the others informed.’
Sherry and Barry both nodded.
‘Can I use this computer?’ Sherry said, swivelling round to the one in front of her.
Laurie waved her on. ‘Do you think you can find out the registration number of Eddie Cribbs’s car?’ she asked Barry. ‘There’s a private detective Elliot sometimes uses who we can put on his tail.’
‘I’ll get on to it,’ he said. ‘But you won’t ever catch the bloke within a mile of those women, take my word for it.’
‘I don’t disbelieve you, but it could lead to something, so it’s worth a try.’
After he’d made a note for himself, Barry glanced at Laurie. ‘Leaping ahead,’ he said, ‘what if we find these women, what then?’
‘A lot could happen between now and then to determine that,’ Laurie answered. ‘We just need to make sure we don’t do anything to get them whisked out of the country, or worse, before anyone can get to them.’ She turned to Sherry. ‘What are you doing there?’
‘Reading about Harijans,’ Sherry answered, her eyes still glued to the screen. ‘Hari means god, and jans means people, so I guess you could call them God’s people. It was a name given to them by Mahatma Gandhi, it says here. However, like the good doctor said, they’re also known as Untouchables, because their occupations, such as cleaning toilets and carrying night soil, makes them so. They’re deemed the lowest of the low. So what I’m thinking is, that Mr Cribbs, or someone representing him, could be taking advantage of the social chaos in Gujarat, which still has major problems after the massive earthquake a couple of years ago, and with all the Hindu-Moslem fighting that goes on in that state, plus the poverty, starvation, corruption … Frankly, if you’re of the lower caste no-one’s even going to notice if you disappear, never mind care.’ She looked up. ‘They’re so poor they’d probably do anything for their next meal, and if someone’s offering to give them a better life …’ She shrugged. ‘There are all kinds of scenarios here. He could be paying someone to kidnap them, or their families could even be selling them.’
