The chief constable stepped into the hallway, but went no further. ‘Arthur,’ he called out, ‘how are you doing in there?’
Moments later, Detective Inspector Dorward’s head and shoulders appeared round the doorway from the living area, clad in the usual protective tunic. ‘As well as can be expected, sir.’ He paused. ‘Jesus Christ, how many of you are there?’ he moaned. ‘I haven’t got enough tunics for you all. Look, his bedroom’s clear; the one nearest the door. Some of you wait in there, please.’
‘How do you know it’s his bedroom?’ Skinner asked.
‘All his stuff’s there.’
‘I suppose.’ He turned to his colleagues. ‘You three keep Arthur as happy as possible,’ he said. ‘I’ll take a quick look at the victim.’
As the three stepped out of the hallway, he moved to join the DI. Dorward opened his mouth, but he cut him off before he could speak. ‘No, Arthur, I’m not wearing a paper suit. My DNA’s on file if I leave any behind.’ He took care as he walked into the room, watching where he placed his feet, until he reached the dead man. ‘Do you know the full story of what happened here?’ he asked.
‘Aye, Chief. Montell and Cowan told me; I find myself a lot less sympathetic to this lump of meat than I might otherwise have been.’
Skinner leaned over the body. ‘Has the doc been yet?’
‘No, sir, but I don’t need anybody to tell me he’s fucking dead, or even what killed him. The pathologists can declare death, and join all the dots later on. I’ve got no doubt this was done manually, and I don’t see any possibility of an accident.’
‘No, me neither. Someone’s held him and snapped his neck.’
‘More than one person, surely.’
‘From what I’ve been told, no.’ Pause. ‘You are right, though, insofar as we can’t say that for sure until the pathologist gives us an exact time of death.’ He straightened up. ‘I’ll get out of your way, Arthur. You’re going to find loads of traces here, especially in that other bedroom. I want you to take special care over that. First and foremost we need to prove that the kid was actually kept here. Once we’ve done that, any of her abusers we can identify from the DNA database is going to be charged with rape, and with luck we will nail some. You’ll also find stocks of GHB, and who knows, maybe other date rape drugs. These were administered to the girl orally; if you can find a glass or cup with traces and her prints on it, also Jankauskas’s, that’ll help any prosecutions that might follow.’
‘Understood.’
The chief constable retraced his steps and joined McGuire, McIlhenney and Wilding in the dead Lithuanian’s bedroom. ‘Right,’ he said, briskly, ‘I don’t need to tell you guys that we have got some job on our hands. First we need to find this van driver, or whatever the hell he is. OK, I know we can’t rule out the possibility that Jankauskas died after he took the girl . . . what was her name again?’
‘Anna,’ Wilding volunteered. ‘Anna Romanova.’
‘. . . Anna, out of here, but the autopsy may do that for us. We also can’t assume that he acted alone, but Arthur may be able to tell us one way or the other. But we go for this man, big time, computer-generated image if we can get one, the lot.’
‘We should get one, sir,’ said the sergeant, explaining Sally Ross’s cartoon connection.
‘Good. Then find her, now, put her together with one of our programmers and see if she can come up with a likeness.’ He frowned. ‘But that’s not all. From what I’ve been told, there are eight other trafficked girls in this city, and we have to assume that they’ve all been forced into the sex trade, as Anna was. We need to find them, and we need to keep our fingers crossed that there aren’t even more of them out there. That means I want every one of Tomas Zaliukas’s massage parlours opened up, and I want it done within an hour.’
‘Does that mean we’ll need twelve warrants?’ McGuire asked.
‘Mario, we don’t need any fucking warrants. We now have clear evidence that serious crimes are being committed in these places, and that gives us the right to go in there forcefully. While we’re doing that, we’ll raid the homes of every one of the managers of record, simultaneously, and every one we catch will be arrested on suspicion of involvement in people trafficking.’
He stopped and looked at the Glimmer Twins. ‘Isn’t it fascinating, guys,’ he murmured, ‘that on the very day that Tomas Zaliukas took his own life, all this stuff started to blow up?’
‘Yes,’ McIlhenney conceded. ‘It’s as if he knew it was going to happen and couldn’t face the consequences when it washed over him.’
‘Mmm. Looks that way, doesn’t it? Too bad he’s not around to tell us.’ Pause. ‘But fortunately, someone else is. Neil,’ he said, ‘you’re in charge of the massage parlour operation. Get the managers’ addresses from the city council’s licensing office. Pull in uniforms from every city division; use Ray, Becky Stallings and the four officers you have here, and get the job done.’ His eyes shone. ‘While you’re doing that, Mario and I have another job to take care of. We’re going to pick up Valdas Gerulaitis, this Snowman as Montell and Cowan say the girl called him, and light a fire under him.’
Thirty-seven
‘Yes, I met with him, Pops,’ Alex replied. ‘I don’t think he enjoyed our discussion, but he cooperated. But beyond that, I can’t talk about him. You know that.’
‘You can’t talk about Valdas Gerulaitis, your client. But you can help us trace Valdas Gerulaitis, wanted by the police for trafficking teenage girls from Estonia to Scotland for the purpose of prostitution.’
‘What!’
‘You heard me. Have you seen today’s edition of the Evening News? There should have been a piece in it about us trying to identify a young girl who was found drugged in Leith yesterday.’
‘Yes. I saw one of the office copies; I read that story.’
‘She’s one of them. Anna Romanova, a nice kid, according to Griff Montell and Alice Cowan, lured from a convent orphanage in Tallin, thinking she was going to be a housemaid in Scotland. Her description of the shitbag who recruited her matches your client to the very head and shoulders, so they say.’
Sat behind his steering wheel, he listened on his mobile to his daughter’s breathing, on hers. ‘What do you need?’ she asked, after a few seconds.
‘Are you still in the office?’
‘Yes.’
‘An address, that’s all. His phone’s ex-directory. There are places we could go to find out, but if you have his home details that would be quicker.’
‘One minute.’ She was gone for around half that time. ‘He lives in Cramond,’ she said. ‘No street number, just a name. His house is called “Vilnius”, and it’s in Poacher’s Close.’
‘I know where that is; not far from Tomas Zaliukas. He was in Gamekeeper’s Row, and of course his place had to be called “Lietuvos”, hadn’t it.’
‘Pops, when you arrest this man, will you be holding him?’
‘By the balls, as tight as we can, but I don’t know for how long.’
‘What about his wife?’
‘No reason to. Why do you want to know?’
‘I’ll have to arrange a replacement for Valdas, to take over his book-keeping. Even if you have to release him, I’m going to suspend him. I’ll ask the firm’s auditors to send me someone along, and I don’t want her getting in the way.’
‘Do you want me to tell her not to go to the office tomorrow?’
‘No, I’ll do that myself. If you let me know when you’ve left the house with Valdas, I’ll call her then.’
‘Will do. So long.’
He ended the call and slid his gear stick to D. As he drew away from the kerb, he told McGuire of their destination. ‘Will he still be there, boss?’ the head of CID mused. ‘If he’s seen the News as well, and read about the girl, won’t he have realised we’d be after him once she’d started to talk?’
‘Could be,’ Skinner agreed, ‘but he was in his office three hours ago, when he had his m
eeting with Alex. I reckon if he was going to do a runner, he’d have been gone by then. You heard what I said to Alex; it’s no certainty we’ll be able to keep him in custody for any longer than a day. He must be confident, and I may know why.’
‘Why should he be? Why shouldn’t we be able to charge him and have him remanded?’
‘Work it out, man,’ the chief said as he headed for the western outskirts of the city. ‘At this moment, we have the testimony of one girl that Gerulaitis was her procurer. That won’t be enough. If we’re going to convict him, we’ll need corroboration; the word of a fifteen-year-old who’s spent the last three months drugged isn’t going to be enough on its own. We’ll need at least one other girl to back up Anna’s identification . . . assuming that she’s able to pick him out herself when we stick him in a line-up. Trouble is, at this moment, we only have her. The more I think about it, the fact that he was in his office as usual this afternoon gives me an uncomfortable feeling that when Neil’s crews knock down all those doors, they might not find much worthwhile behind them.’
Thirty-eight
‘I need every uniform you can spare, Mary,’ said DI Becky Stallings. ‘Neil McIlhenney told me this comes from the big guv’nor himself. We have five of these places on our patch, and we have to get into them right away. On top of that, three of the managers live close to the premises and we have to pull them in.’ She frowned at the superintendent. ‘It seems bloody heavy-handed to me, but them’s the orders.’
Mary Chambers smiled, grimly. ‘Make no mistake, Bob Skinner is heavy-handed, more so than anyone I’ve ever met, and I spent a good part of my career watching heads being split open in Glasgow, maybe even splitting one or two myself. But his judgement is also the sharpest I’ve ever seen, so if he says that something needs doing, you don’t stand around doubting him, you get on with it. Eight hits to make,’ she mused. ‘Do we expect resistance?’
‘Jack and Sauce say that all the massage parlours they’ve seen have “Closed” signs on them, so they should be OK. They’ve already been into the one in Leith and found no surprises. We’re to enter the rest, check that they really are empty and secure them for forensic examination, that’s all. The homes are different. Who knows what’s going to happen when we knock someone’s bleedin’ door down? Especially when the guy behind it’s a Lithuanian brothel-keeper.’
The superintendent checked the duty roster that lay on her desk. ‘Who’ve you got?’ she asked.
‘McGurk and Haddock are on their way back here now. I’ve got one other DC but that’s it.’
‘OK. I can pull in all my patrols and send three people to each of the parlours. As for picking up the managers, I suggest that you and your DC, and Jack and Sauce, take one each.’
‘Fine, but what about the third?’
‘I’ll do that myself. I’ll take Charlie Johnston for back-up.’
‘Charlie?’
‘I wouldn’t trust him to anyone else.’
‘I understand that, but still . . .’
‘It has to be him, Becky. That’s how strapped I am.’
‘So be it, then. Neil wants everybody in place by eight o’clock, ready to go on his signal, so that we lift all these guys at the same time . . . that’s assuming they’re all at home.’
Chambers scowled. ‘Eight o’clock,’ she muttered. ‘That fucks up my social life. I’m supposed to be meeting my other half tonight. Never mind, there’ll be another time. At least you don’t have that problem.’
‘No,’ Stallings agreed. ‘I know exactly where my other half will be at eight; banging on a Lithuanian’s door just like me.’
‘You’ll be able to compare notes later,’ said the superintendent. ‘Give me the addresses, and let’s get our small army on the march.’
Thirty-nine
‘Poacher’s Close must be about as secluded as Edinburgh gets,’
Mario McGuire remarked, as Skinner approached the right turn that led into the cul-de-sac. ‘No through traffic, big plots, only four houses in the whole street; you won’t be right on top of your neighbours here, unlike most of the rest of the city.’
‘There can be too much seclusion, mate,’ the chief replied. He turned into the roadway, and drew to a halt, switching off both engine and lights. ‘It’s built into most people’s psyche. Look at you and Paula; you live in that nice big duplex of yours, you’ve got neighbours next door, and below you, all the way down to street level. These people live literally under the same roof as you, but how many of them do you know?’
‘We know Paul and Edith Applecross, the folk next door, well enough.’
‘Oh yes? Do you ever invite them in for supper, or for a drink even?’
‘Well, no, but . . .’
‘Do you know what her maiden name was? Or how long they’ve been married?’
‘No . . .’
‘How about the floors below? There’s what, seven of them, four flats on each, twenty-eight households, yes? How many of them would you say you know? Not intimately, just to say “hello” to.’
‘Hardly any,’ Mario admitted. ‘But we never see them, unless we meet them in the lift.’
‘No, you don’t, do you? Man, for all you know, half a dozen of those flats could be rented out to Vietnamese gangs, and used for growing marijuana under hydroponic lights.’
‘Christ, I hope not!’
‘Me too,’ he chuckled, ‘but that’s what seclusion is. It’s a state of mind rather than a question of location. That said, when Sarah and I lived in that house near to Fettes, I couldn’t stand the fucking place. The neighbours were jammed right up against us, and they were nosey bastards. It took us no time to move back out to Gullane . . . at least it took me no time; I never really asked her.’
‘How is Sarah, by the way?’
‘Single again; she had a boyfriend, but she chucked him. Too bad; Mark and James Andrew liked him. He used to take them to baseball games. My boys have been in the New Yankee Stadium, and it’s only been open for a year.’
‘Another guy taking your boys out on trips? That didn’t give you any problems?’
‘Why should it? If anyone had a problem, it was Sarah, although God knows why.’
‘She’s still happy in New York, though?’
‘Yes, she’s fine. She’s being a proper doctor again, and that’s what she wanted. But enough of that; she’s enjoying her job now, just as I’m going to enjoy this.’ He reached for the handle and was on the point of opening the door, when a fire appliance swung round the corner, missing his car by a matter of inches. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he roared. ‘A few second later . . . I’ll ram that driver’s helmet up his arse!’
‘I may assist,’ said McGuire ‘but where are they headed?’ As he spoke, the tender turned into a driveway at the road’s end, to the right. The street lighting was poor, but good enough to let him read the names on signs at the entrances to the two nearest properties, and neither was ‘Vilnius’.
Simultaneously they leapt out of the car, and began to run. They had gone only a few yards when a second tender roared past them.
‘They’re going to Gerulaitis’s place right enough,’ Skinner shouted. He led the way into the driveway, past the sign that bore the name of the Lithuanian capital city. The crew of the second vehicle was deploying as they reached them. ‘Where’s the fire?’ the chief asked, as two firemen ran past him carrying hose ends, looking, he guessed, for the nearest hydrants. If either heard him, he was ignored.
The Gerulaitis home was a large bungalow, with bay windows on either side of the entrance door and dormers above. None showed any sign of fire. ‘What’s happening?’ the slower-moving McGuire exclaimed, as he caught up.
‘Plenty, given the speed of those guys with the hoses. Whatever it is, it’s round the back.’ As he spoke, there was an explosion, mixed with the sound of breaking glass. In the same moment, a red halo seemed to surround the house, framing the lines of its roof.
‘What do we do?’
‘
You stay here. Act as if you’re back in uniform; don’t let any neighbours in and, just as important, don’t let anybody leave the scene.’
He headed round the side of the house, following the last firefighter, just as a third tender arrived, drawing up in the entrance to the driveway. The back garden was fenced off, but there was a gate, which lay open. He stepped through it, feeling a blast of heat as he did, and saw organisation emerging out of chaos. There was a rectangular conservatory built on to the rear of the bungalow, covering most of its width. It was ablaze and its windows had blown out. As he watched, the fire crew split into teams. Two more hydrants must have been found on the other side of the garden wall, for four hoses were concentrated on the blaze, while other fighters, with axes, hacked the remaining glass from the shattered window frames, making a safe passage for their colleagues to advance into the fire.
‘Hey, you!’ It took a few seconds for Skinner to realise that the cry was directed at him. ‘Will you please get to hell out of here,’ a whitehelmeted man yelled as he walked towards him.
He shook his head, and reached into his jacket for his warrant card. ‘Sorry,’ he shouted back, above the roar of the flames and the rushing sound of the high-pressure jets, ‘I have an interest here; I’m a police officer.’
‘I don’t care if you’re the fucking chief constable,’ the man retorted.
‘As it happens I am the fucking chief constable.’ He brandished the card. ‘See? Now back off, for I’m going nowhere. I’ll keep out of your way, don’t worry,’ he glanced at a name on the man’s protective clothing, ‘Assistant Divisional Officer Hartil.’
‘This is a volatile area, sir,’ the ADO persisted. ‘I can’t put you at risk.’
‘You’re not putting me at risk: I am. Look, I’ll stand as far away as I can, but I want to see what’s happening.’ He walked across to the furthest corner of the garden, beside an ornamental pond. Its surface was frozen; at first the firelight seemed to dance crazily on the ice, but as he watched, it began to fade, as the fire and rescue teams edged their way into the seat of the blaze, bringing it under control. In less than ten minutes the fire that he could see was quenched, although he could still hear the hoses playing indoors, the scene illuminated by lamps that the crew of the third tender had set up on stands on the grass.
20 - A Rush of Blood Page 16
