Blacklight

by J M Dalgliesh

  The accent was former eastern bloc, Balkan he guessed, seeing as that was where his employer originated. Which of the former Yugoslav states in particular, he didn’t know but nor did the Vice Squad, not for certain. Durakovic arrived in the UK on a Kosovan passport but beyond that, no-one had any details.

  “Nice place,” Caslin said, looking around as they walked.

  “Indeed, it is. Grade II listed, architecturally designed and built in the mid-Nineteenth Century, and extensively refurbished since Mr Durakovic acquired the property, three years ago.”

  “Busy man,” Caslin offered, as they bypassed an impressive contemporary kitchen, descending to lower ground level. The entirety of the basement area was given over to an office, bedecked in hardwood flooring with striking modernist fixtures and fittings. Evidently no expense had been spared. From here they walked out onto a rear terrace. Surprisingly secluded, bearing in mind their location, and set within a mature, landscaped garden of trees and raised terraces, sat Anton Durakovic. Another aid rose and stepped away. Caslin spotted at least three others, spaced periodically around the gardens. Stern faces, furtively glancing around the grounds as well as beyond the perimeter walls.

  “Inspector, please join us. Would you like a coffee or perhaps something cooler?” Durakovic greeted him with an easy smile, noting Caslin’s perspiration. The woman sitting to his right inclined her head in Caslin’s direction. Caslin returned the greeting with one of his own but declined the drink, preferring to stand. “You English with your polite reservations,” Durakovic stated, the smile broadening. Caslin was unsure whether the comment was a compliment or a slight.

  “Well, this isn’t a social call,” he said politely.

  “Then what is it that I can do for you?”

  “Melissa Brooke,” Caslin said. The blank look on his host’s face gave away little. “She works for you, Mr Durakovic.”

  “It is not a name that I recognise.”

  “Spare me the games. I’m really not in the mood. We both know you have your fingers in many grubby little pies, no need to dance around it.”

  “You are very…how should I put it…direct,” Durakovic said, the smile fading.

  “So my DCI keeps telling me. Melissa Brooke,” he repeated. “Please feel free to be just as…direct.”

  “Then I shall, Inspector. My wife, Danika,” he indicated the lady next to him, sipping at an espresso, “looks after our ladies.”

  “The call girls,” Caslin offered.

  “Escorts,” Durakovic’s smile returned.

  “I believe that Melissa has resigned,” Danika said. Caslin took the measure of her. She was dressed in a business suit, high quality too, judging by the cut. Her hair was cropped short, jet black and she had a Mediterranean skin tone to accompany her movie-star looks. Glancing up at him, he couldn’t read her through the classic sunglasses, obscuring her eyes.

  “We both know that you don’t get to resign from enterprises, such as yours.”

  “What exactly do you think that we run here, Inspector?”

  Caslin ignored her question. “Why do you think that she has resigned?”

  “She didn’t turn up for work, at the weekend.”

  “She was working Friday.”

  “Was she?” Danika replied, returning to her coffee.

  “What is this about, Inspector?” Durakovic asked. “I am a very busy man.”

  “Well you should be. Racketeering, fraud, drugs and prostitution are arduous pursuits at the best of times,” Caslin said, eyes fixed on his host, a man clearly unused to being addressed in such a manner. Caslin didn’t care. “Sorry, did I leave anything out? Money laundering, perhaps?”

  “What is it that you want?” Durakovic said, all semblance of charm vanishing from his demeanour.

  “She’s missing and the last person seen with her was one of your drivers.”

  Danika flinched, almost imperceptibly but Caslin registered it. Durakovic sat back in his chair, appearing to relax and letting out a deep sigh.

  “Now that is unfortunate, if it’s the case?”

  “It is,” Caslin reiterated. “I want to speak with him.”

  Durakovic looked to his wife. Caslin couldn’t see her response for she was sitting side on to him and facing her husband. Durakovic stood. With an open hand he indicated for Caslin to walk with him. He led him onto the gravel path that wound its way through the gardens. Caslin remained silent and nothing was said for a minute or two. Once out of earshot of his entourage, Durakovic spoke.

  “I can see that you are a man of black and white, Inspector Caslin,” he began. Caslin didn’t comment. “For me, there are many grey areas. These are where I do my business. That is what I am, a businessman.”

  Caslin glanced across at him. “Your point?”

  Durakovic smiled. “It is not good for my operation to have policemen sniffing around, visiting my home. It unsettles the true balance of things.”

  “Don’t commit crime and you won’t,” Caslin replied flippantly.

  “Business, Inspector. Now, regarding such,” he continued, “should I have trouble with an employee, it is far more beneficial for all concerned, if I take care of it internally.”

  “Beneficial for whom?” Caslin asked.

  “For all parties,” Durakovic stated forcefully. “The employees, the management, the taxpayer.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Anton Durakovic stopped and turned to face him, his expression conciliatory, “The man whom you seek is an employee. As such, he is part of our family, as are all my employees. When one of our family goes missing, we endeavour to find them. If another steps out of line, then it falls to me to punish him.”

  “You’re also looking for Melissa?”

  “And the driver.”

  Caslin was momentarily thrown, he hadn’t expected that. That is, if it was true. “I want the driver’s name.”

  “Inspector, I will be more than happy to provide it,” Durakovic offered generously. “You should know however, that many of my employees originate from abroad, often living under the radar.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Despite our best efforts, they can turn out to be illegally seeking employment. We try to vet them as best we can, but they have very sophisticated documentation these days.”

  “I wonder how they obtain that?” Caslin said lightly.

  “You may find it is a fake name. That is all. I will provide it nevertheless. I wouldn’t want you to think I was giving you…how should I say…the runaround.”

  “Perish the thought. What with you being a concerned citizen.”

  “Poor attitude can only be tolerated for so long, Inspector.”

  This time it was Caslin who stopped them walking. Turning to face Durakovic, he met his gaze. It was cold and unyielding. “Should I take that as a threat?”

  “Helpful advice,” he said with a straight face. “My associate, Karl, will provide you with the name that you seek. Please excuse me, for I have much to do today.”

  With one flick of his hand, a man appeared swiftly alongside them. The newcomer indicated for Caslin to go with him, which he did. They left Durakovic alone in his garden and returned to the house. A slip of paper was handed to him as he was shown to the door. Without ceremony, he was out on the street, the door closing behind him. Unfolding the paper, he read the name. Marco Handanovic.

  Taking out his phone he opened up the contacts, trying to decide between Hunter and Holt, questions or misery? He opted for Hunter’s incessant questioning and dialled her mobile. She answered quickly.

  “Sarah, I need a lift.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Just up the road, the Elmbank Hotel but I’m sweating.”

  “Give me five.”

  He hung up. Spotting a break in traffic he jogged across the road, heading for the hotel. Once there he stopped in the shadow of the building, removing his jacket. Going over the meeting with Durakovic in his mind, he considered what he knew
. The reality was that he couldn’t be sure of the authenticity of anything spoken in that conversation. The man had a wealth of expertise in criminality behind him. Were they searching for the same people and if so, could Caslin get to them before he did? Moving in their own circles, it was conceivable that the web of contacts at Durakovic’s disposal, plus his resources, would indicate Caslin may lose the race. The Balkan gangster had one thing going for him that no-one disputed, a fearsome reputation as someone not to cross.

  Caslin figured that should Durakovic turn out to be on the level, even only slightly, he had a greater problem on his hands than that of a missing girl. How did the driver fit in to the equation, what were his motivations? Had he crossed the line and gotten too heavy handed with Melissa? One thing was certain; you didn’t want Anton Durakovic hunting you down. The thought process halted as DS Hunter drew alongside. He got in and she pulled off before he managed to put on his seatbelt.

  “Bloody hell, steady on,” he chastised her, struggling with the belt as she accelerated back into traffic.

  “Sorry, Sir. But we’ve got to get over to Harrogate.”

  “Why, what’s happened?”

  Hunter took her eyes off the road for a second, glancing towards him, “Tim Bermond’s received a text from Natalie’s phone.”

  Caslin took that in, understanding the nuance in Hunter’s choice of words as she negotiated the traffic joining the ring road, heading west. That wasn’t a turn of events that he’d expected.

  Chapter 10

  “Have you spoken to him, my father?”

  “Tim, it’s not as simple as-”

  “It’s my father, I’m telling you.”

  “Calm down,” Caslin said, appealing for his childhood friend to cool off. Upon reaching the Bermond residence, he found half of CID already present. Broadfoot and Inglis were overseeing the setting up of communications whilst Caslin and Hunter attempted to offer reassurance to the parents.

  “Well it’s because of him, it must be. Why else would they come after my family?” Timothy stated angrily. “Damn it, I’ll never be free with him still around.”

  That struck Caslin as a somewhat strange comment to make but he said nothing. Tasked with being alongside Timothy, from the moment of arrival, Caslin hadn’t yet viewed the text message and didn’t know when he’d get the chance. Catherine sat on the sofa, her eyes red and the skin of her face appearing blotchy in patches, all evidence of her emotional fatigue. Timothy paced the drawing room, in a perpetual state of agitation.

  “What did the text say?” Caslin asked.

  Timothy stopped and looked at him, whereas Catherine stared straight ahead with no change in her expression. “It said they had her.”

  “What else?”

  “To wait for instructions.”

  Caslin nodded and glanced towards Hunter. She stood off to the side of the room, notebook in hand, just in case. “Did they offer any detail, anything to indicate…” he let the question drop away, unsure of how to complete it.

  “That she’s still alive?” Timothy finished. Caslin met his eye. “No, nothing.”

  Catherine’s head sagged. Hunter moved to sit alongside her. Caslin found this a strange turn of events. If Natalie had been kidnapped for ransom, or another as yet undetermined motive, why wait until now to make their move? The story was all over the press and the police were heavily involved. Surely a kidnapper would want as little police presence as possible. He had never worked a kidnapping before but it seemed at odds. If, however, as Timothy declared, the idea was to pressurise or retaliate against his father, then standard rules may not apply.

  “You seem pretty certain, Tim. Is there something that you’re not telling me? If so, now would be a very good time,” Caslin asked coolly.

  “Just talk to my father.”

  Turning his back on Caslin, Timothy crossed to the bay window overlooking the garden. Caslin sighed quietly. Catching Hunter’s eye, he let her know he’d be back and left the room. Finding DCI Inglis in the expansive kitchen, peering over the shoulder of a technician, he touched his arm to draw his attention and led him away.

  “What is it, Nathaniel?”

  “This isn’t sitting right, Guv.”

  “How so?”

  “The timeline doesn’t make a lot of sense to me,” Caslin said.

  “I know, why the delay?” Inglis said. Caslin was pleased someone else was on his wavelength. “However, this is the only lead we have. Whoever sent the text certainly has Natalie’s phone. They most likely know where she is.”

  “Unless of course, they found it,” Caslin offered before adding, “or nicked it. With wall to wall coverage, it wouldn’t take a genius to find out whom the phone belongs to. With that said, it’s doubtful.”

  Inglis agreed but he was right, they had nothing else at that moment. They would wait for the next message and take it from there.

  “We’re hopeful we can get some idea of whereabouts by tracking where the message originated,” Inglis said.

  “Any details, yet?”

  “York centre.”

  Caslin knew that was pretty useless information. The chances of pinpointing the sender’s location, beyond a rough guess, were inconceivable. At least they knew their target was still in the area. They were joined by Kyle Broadfoot.

  “We need to keep this as quiet as possible, away from the press,” the DCS said.

  “That won’t be possible for long, Sir,” Caslin said. “Not with the interest they’ve been showing.”

  “I agree with Nathaniel, Sir,” Inglis added. “We’ll need to move swiftly.”

  “Have we been through Natalie’s computer yet?” Caslin asked.

  John Inglis answered, “We carried out a cursory examination when IT arrived here today. She’s a studious one, apparently not very interested in mundane web browsing or social media. The guys will take it away for a more detailed review but looks like a non-starter.”

  “What about her grandfather? Has anyone looked into Sebastian Bermond?” Caslin asked. He considered now was as good a time as any to bring it up, seeing as the stakes had been raised.

  “What of him?” Kyle Broadfoot replied.

  “Tim alleges that this all leads back to him, or at least his past.”

  Broadfoot stared at Caslin. The man had a face for poker. “And what would you have me do with that information, Inspector?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it?” Caslin suggested. In his head he thought the reply would be yes it would, very much.

  Broadfoot looked at John Inglis and then back to Caslin. Before any response could be uttered, the house phone began to ring. The hive of activity intensified for a few seconds before calm descended, leaving the house in eerie silence. An apprehensive Timothy was escorted into the room. He took a seat at the breakfast table and hesitantly answered the phone.

  “Hello,” he said softly, his voice almost cracking under the pressure.

  “Listen carefully. Thirty thousand pounds is to be deposited into Natalie’s current account,” a heavily disguised but clearly male voice stated. “This is to be done by close of business today.”

  “That’s…not enough time,” Timothy stammered.

  “You’ll manage,” the voice stated.

  “I want to speak to my daughter,” he asked forcefully. “I need to know she’s okay.”

  The line went dead. All eyes turned to the officer hunched over a laptop, monitoring the call. He glanced up and shook his head, “Not a chance,” he said, answering a silent question. They hadn’t managed to trace the call. He shrugged, “We need more time, it was a mobile but at least we have the number.” Excitement rose at that news but Caslin guessed it would be a prepaid burn phone. Criminals were often stupid but in this case, he doubted so. Nonetheless, they would follow it up.

  “Why thirty thousand?” Timothy asked. His expression was one of bewilderment. “Is that usual?”

  “Certainly not a life changing sum, if you’ll forgive me,” In
glis said, the last towards Natalie’s father.

  “First instalment?” Broadfoot suggested.

  Caslin shook his head, “I think he’s clever.”

  “Go on,” Broadfoot said as all eyes fell on Caslin.

  Looking at the faces arranged about him, he continued, “It’s not an insignificant amount but one that I expect Tim could get his hands on relatively quickly. Am I right?” Timothy nodded. “This guy doesn’t want it dragging on, less chance of getting caught. The money moves in, I presume he has Natalie’s bank card and pin to access it-”

  “He must know we’ll be watching,” Broadfoot interrupted him.

  “Watching where, every ATM in the United Kingdom? If he’s savvy he can withdraw money at random, a bit at a time, and he knows we’ll keep the account open as we try to catch him.”

  “Taking the cash in dribs and drabs will drag it out, surely?” Inglis said. “That’s risky. On his part, I mean.”

  “True enough but,” Caslin looked over at his school friend, considering whether to say what he was thinking or not.

  Timothy stood firm, “I need to hear it, Nathaniel.”

  Caslin inclined his head, “I’m not convinced that money is the motive here. I reckon he could take it or leave it.”

  “Why do you say that?” Timothy asked, ahead of anyone else.

  “The ransom call has come so long after Natalie’s disappearance. If this was the plan, he would have got to you before you called us.”

  “Unless Mr Bermond moved faster than expected,” Broadfoot countered. “Then he’d have to reconsider the plan.”

  Caslin accepted the logic was just as sound as his own. “Good point.”

  “The fact he has Natalie’s pin and phone must be good news though, right?” Timothy said, grasping for a positive.

  “It gives us something more to work with. In the meantime, I suggest you raise the money,” Caslin said. The thought occurred that Natalie may have given over the pin code under duress. In that event, her presence would no longer be necessary. However, he chose not to voice that particular scenario.

  “You think I should pay?” Timothy asked, his tone not confirming which way he thought he should go.