by Lisa Hartley
Knight nodded grimly.
‘Maybe Pollard had pissed our friend off more than Kent had.’
A deep sigh from Bishop.
‘Or he’s getting better with practice, knew just where to hit this time.’
There was a pause. Knight sat up straight.
‘We need to establish what links Craig Pollard with Steve Kent. I’d like to think we’d have stumbled across that fact without our helpful murderer leaving us another calling card. Has a photo of Kent gone to Pollard’s parents, his brother?’
‘Yep, the one that’s on his driving licence. It’s a few years old but I wanted them to see him as soon as possible. Hopefully, we’ll come across a more up to date one in his flat somewhere.’
‘Have you got a copy?’
Bishop rummaged through her papers and handed one over. Knight considered it.
‘He doesn’t seem to have changed much to be honest, not that he was looking his best when I saw him.’
‘What else could Jo Webber tell you after the PM?’
Knight explained what the pathologist had said.
‘We keep coming back to the question of why Kent stopped the van. Milica Zukic said they stopped very suddenly, then she heard him shouting. There could have been a vehicle blocking the road, pretending to have broken down?’
Knight nodded.
‘If that’s what happened though, why didn’t he wait until Kent was bending over the engine and then smack him one? Although, I suppose he’d have ended up with bits of brain and skull all over the engine, and if he is forensically aware … ’ Bishop’s voice trailed away.
‘He wouldn’t want to take the chance when he’s been so careful, plus there would be no guarantee Kent would stop, especially when he had his passenger locked in the back of the van, not that our murderer would have known that. We still need a name for our anonymous caller especially if Mike Pollard recognises Steven Kent as the Steve that was Craig’s mate. Maybe he was right when he said Nick? We’re waiting on the analysis of Milica Zukic’s clothes, but I don’t think we’ll find any blood or anything to suggest she killed Steve Kent, even if it would have meant she could escape. Where would she go? She doesn’t speak enough English to be able to blend in, and she knew Ivona, this man she calls the “Vuk” and gang would come looking for her.’
‘It seems a bit strange she hasn’t picked up more English though, if she’s been here a few years?’
‘She said she wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone though, didn’t she, although she must have said a few words to people she worked with. They might have been Serbian too though I suppose, taken in by the same people who brought Zukic here. Did you speak to Intelligence?’
Bishop nodded, screwing up her face.
‘Just now. I spoke to a DI, Foster’s his name, he’s going to call me back. I wasn’t able to give him much to go on, just the names Ivona and Ron. There’s a member of his team working over here on another assignment, he said to go and speak to her but I’ve not had a chance yet. We could try to narrow down the area Zukic could have been held, but … ’
‘But it would be mainly guesswork, given how little she can tell us. They’ve been clever, threatening her, keeping her separate from the other girls, transporting her in vans so she couldn’t see road signs or landmarks.’
‘Bastards.’ said Bishop, with feeling. Knight nodded agreement.
‘If they’ve moved Zukic, surely they will be moving the other girls too? Did Foster mention any raids that might be a reason for the sudden panic, maybe Ron and Ivona were tipped off?’
‘I asked him, he’s going to do some digging.’
‘Do we have any locals whose card you’d mark for this sort of thing?’
‘People trafficking? Most wouldn’t be seen dead getting involved, code of honour and all that, but … anything organised around here usually has one man behind it, and I do mean well behind it, he usually keeps his head down these days. Dougie Hughes.’
Knight blinked a few times.
‘Hughes?’
‘Yeah, you know the type – local boy, dragged up on the worst of the back streets, place so rough even the dog shit wears knuckledusters. He has bigger ideas, starts by grafting on building sites, saves enough to buy a van, drug dealing all the while, sets up a legit firm of builders. Still dealing, takes on a few blokes, now branches out into plumbing, buys some warehouse space, takes on a few more blokes, doesn’t deal himself now he has minions to do it for him. Throws himself into the legitimate stuff, sets up a taxi firm, a club, a betting shop. Hairdressing salon for his Mrs to work in, beauty parlour, money flooding in, building the big shopping centre in town, the man’s a walking stereotype. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got his sticky fingers in this somewhere, probably owns the courier firm Kent worked for if we can dig deep enough. He might have a bit less cash floating around these days, economic situation and all that, maybe he’s moved into dealing people as well.’
Knight said softly, only just audibly, ‘Sounds like a Hughes I know.’
‘Sorry, boss?’
‘It’s okay, carry on, just thinking out loud.’
‘He has property that could be used, the warehouse space Zukic mentioned, the club, the betting shop, – they could all be used to find punters for the poor buggers that are brought into the country, or for cheap labour to work in with not many questions asked, or to transport people.’
Knight was chewing his thumbnail again.
‘Plenty of opportunity, yes. Can you see him doing it?’
‘Oh, yeah. He’s the type, but he knows how to keep his nose clean. We’ve never really been able to send him down for anything yet, he’s bloody clever, and of course the more money he’s got, the better the people are that surround him, protect him, advise him, know all the tricks and loopholes.’
‘It’s all supposition though. Do we have anyone closer to him?’
‘You mean an informant?’
Almost imperceptibly, Knight nodded. Bishop shook her head regretfully.
‘No, sir, not that I know of.’
‘We could get Milica Zukic to have a look at him, she might have seen him at some point? I know it’s unlikely, but it’ll only take a few minutes. Otherwise … ’
‘I’ll sort that, sir, get some mugshots of a few of the local well known pervs and kerb crawlers, see if Milica can recognise any, might give us a handle on the location of the house she was held in, at any rate?’
‘Fine. We should have the full post mortem report later, we’re waiting on Mr and Mrs Pollard and Mike to see if they know what could link Craig Pollard to Steve Kent if anything. DC Varcoe’s going to try that teacher at Pollard’s old school again today, see if she can give us any more names, Anna may as well show her the picture of Kent too. Hopefully West Yorkshire will get some info from Kent’s sister?’
‘Hopefully. I gave them Pollard’s name, she might remember him.’
‘We’re bound to have some journalists sniffing round before the day’s much older. There’ll probably be a press conference. We’ll keep the messages out of it, or try to of course. I don’t think Milica Zukic’s name should be mentioned either, if we can help it.’
‘We’re definitely not considering her as a suspect?’
‘Obviously we can’t rule her out completely, but as we’ve said, I don’t think so. There’s no way she could have killed Pollard either, if her story is true.’
‘Do you think it might be to our advantage if we let the press know there was a possible witness in the back of the van that Kent was driving though? Not mention a name, as you say, but…’ asked Bishop.
‘Try to rattle our man you mean?’
‘Just a thought.’
‘It’s a good idea. No doubt DCI Kendrick will want a chat soon anyway, I should think he’ll want to handle the press conference, probably the Super too.’
Bishop rolled her eyes a little, and Knight pretended he hadn’t noticed.
‘A double murder … we d
on’t have many of those around here, the press will be panting for some information. Might even make the national news. Good job the DCI has his suit handy.’
‘With all the buttons attached.’
20
Keith Kendrick was still making his presence felt in the incident room as Knight opened the door. Kendrick spotted him immediately and beckoned to him. Knight managed a half smile and joined Kendrick and Cuthbert in the middle of the room.
‘DI Knight, just the man. How are we doing?’
Knight told him.
‘Superintendent Stringer and I will be holding a press conference at four this afternoon. The Super will want to talk to you before then, I’m presuming we expect to have some results from speaking to the Pollards and the rest?’
‘Yes, I would hope so. What about Milica Zukic?’
Kendrick raised his eyebrows.
‘What about her? I see the need to keep her safe … it would be a feather in our cap to shut down a gang of people traffickers, pimps and forced prostitutes as well as solve the Pollard and Kent murders. Wouldn’t be a bad way to introduce yourself to Lincolnshire, Jonathan.’ Knight made a neutral sound that Kendrick chose to interpret as acquiescence. ‘We’ve had hundreds of journalists wanting to know what’s going on, they’ll have to wait though. Let’s hope we have something concrete for them by four so we don’t have to cap in hand asking them to help us out.’
Knight, who had raised his eyebrows at Kendrick’s “hundreds” of journalists, made the neutral noise again and tried to move away without appearing to do so. Kendrick noticed.
‘I’ll set up a meeting with the Super at three o’clock. Her office again, I’ll see you there.’
To the relief of Knight, Cuthbert and everyone else in the room, Kendrick marched out, slamming the door behind him.
‘Thank God for that.’ said Cuthbert. ‘Now, what was I doing before I was interrupted?’
Knight finally had the opportunity to wander around the room, absorbing everything. He’d seen little of DS Cuthbert before but Bishop had said he was a conscientious officer and the usual choice for the key role of running an incident room. Knight paused to read the notes on the whiteboards, Cuthbert watching his progress without appearing to do so. Knight, seemingly satisfied, wandered out of the room. Cuthbert, astounded, turned to one of the uniformed officers.
‘Did you see that? He comes in, struts around then saunters off, doesn’t even bother to speak to me! I’ve worked my arse off this morning to get this lot set up, and he just … ’
The PC tuned him out, concentrated on the screen in front of her. This had the makings of a long day.
Bishop peered around the open door. The room beyond was small, but was filled with so much clutter and boxes of files that at first she couldn’t see whether anyone was in there or not.
‘Hello?’ she called.
There was a rustling sound and a figure emerged from behind a bookcase. It was the woman from the briefing room.
‘Hello, are you looking for me?’
Bishop cleared her throat.
‘Claire Weyton? I spoke to DI Foster earlier, he said you might be able to help me. I’m Catherine Bishop, I think we met in the briefing room? I stood on you … ’
‘Good to meet you again.’ Claire Weyton grinned. She was a little taller than Bishop, not that it took much, with glossy dark hair and high cheekbones, her eyes that vivid blue. Bishop couldn’t quite believe she hadn’t noticed her around the station, but then if she had been working in this dungeon for the past few months, it was no real surprise. No one came down here unless they absolutely had to, it was like the land that time forgot. Claire Weyton held out a hand and Bishop shook it, Claire’s grip firm, her hand warm. Bishop blinked a little.
‘How can I help?’ Claire asked.
Pulling herself together, Bishop said:
‘I need any information you can find about a raid that may have been planned on a property that was being used as a brothel where trafficked women were being held.’
‘And this place is in Northolme? Nothing springs to mind, but I can check for you.’
Bishop waved a hand helplessly.
‘The problem is, we don’t know exactly where. It probably isn’t in Northolme, we think it could be somewhere else in the county. I have a few names that might help narrow the search down a little?’
‘Right. Well, I have my laptop set up over there, there’s just room for a desk, believe it or not. Shall we have a look?’
‘That would be great.’
They made their way through the mess, squeezing around the bookcase.
‘There’s only one chair, I’m afraid.’ Claire said, turning to look at Bishop.
‘Oh, it’s fine, you need to sit to use the computer.’ Bishop replied hastily.
‘Thank you. Let me just close all of this down,’ she said, her hands moving fluidly over the keyboard as she settled in the grubby looking desk chair. ‘Okay. You said you had some names?’
‘Yes, but if I’m honest, what I have is a little bit thin. I only have the name of one of the women who was working there, plus two of the people that were holding them: Milica Zukic, Ivona and Ron.’
Claire Weyton paused, gazing up at Bishop.
‘And that’s all?’ she asked gently. Bishop nodded.
‘That’s all,’ she confirmed miserably. ‘Sorry.’
‘Well, I like a challenge. I’ll write the names down then have a hunt around, see what I can come up with?’
‘Sounds good to me. Anything you can find that might help would be a bonus.’ Bishop stepped back, bumping into the bookcase behind her.
‘I’ll see you later then, DS Bishop.’
‘You will – and call me Catherine.’
Claire Weyton smiled, already turning back to her computer. Bishop hesitated for a second, then made her way carefully out of the room.
Bishop peered through the hatch in the door of the cell she’d led Milica Zukic to earlier, feeling a little uncomfortable about doing so. Zukic hadn’t been arrested and there was no real suspicion that she done anything wrong other than believe the words of a relative she should have been able to trust. Zukic lay on the blue plastic covered mattress on her side, face to the wall, head pillowed on her arm. The custody sergeant opened the cell door, and Bishop entered, closely followed by the interpreter, Doctor Whelan, who had volunteered to spend the rest of the day working on his laptop in the station canteen in case his services were required again. From the jam on his jacket it also looked to Bishop as if he’d found the time to sample a couple of doughnuts whilst he was there; she’d fallen foul of their explosions herself more than once. Zukic sat up, startled, then turned so she sat on the bunk and smiled warily at them. She looked exhausted, thin and very young. Bishop held up the sheaf of photocopies she carried, and said to Whelan:
‘Please can you tell Milica I need her to look at these photographs and tell me if she recognises anyone? I might have more photos later for her to look at too.’
Whelan nodded eagerly and approached Zukic, smiling and waving his hands as he spoke. Zukic listened, head tilted to the left and then replied. Whelan turned back to Bishop.
‘She said that’s fine, she just wants to help. She wants to know what will happen to her.’
Bishop tried to add reassurance to the smile she offered Zukic.
‘I honestly don’t know, I’m afraid.’
Whelan spoke again to Zukic, who smiled thinly back at Bishop and stood up.
‘Do you want her to look at the pictures here, or … ?’
‘I think we need a little more room.’ said Bishop, glancing around the tiny cell. They always gave her the creeps. She led Whelan and Zukic back through to the main station, then to a small room that was usually a place for visiting solicitors to wait. Zukic dropped into a chair, looking expectantly at Bishop, who took the seat opposite. She held up the first mugshot, a balding, obese man who glared fiercely at the camera. Zukic shook her head.
This went on for some time. Bishop had only four photos left, when the one she held up to Zukic caused the young woman to stare, face paling. She leant towards Bishop, holding out her hand to take the paper. Bishop handed it to her, and she gazed at it, visibly distressed. Bishop waited expectantly, and Zukic spoke, her voice low and panicked. Bishop didn’t need Whelan to translate the word “Vuk”. Elated, she checked her notes. The man was Donald Woffenden, fifty one. He lived about twenty miles from Northolme. Don then, not Ron. This seemed far too good to be true. She asked Whelan to check that Zukic was sure, that this was definitely the man she called the Vuk, the man who she had met on her first full day in Britain, who had transported her to the house she had been forced to stay in. Zukic was emphatic, vehement almost – this was the man. Bishop leapt out of her chair, stuck her head out into the corridor and grabbed the nearest person, asking him to track down DI Knight. She quickly showed her remaining photos to Zukic, but again, more apologetic headshakes. Bishop didn’t mind, she had her golden egg. Knight appeared, expression confused.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Milica has just confirmed this,’ she waved the picture in Knight’s face, ‘is the man she told us about, the Vuk.’
Knight grabbed the photo, studied it.
‘She’s sure?’
‘Positive, sir, she’s certain.’
They both span around as footsteps hurried down the corridor towards them. It was Claire Weyton, a sheet of paper in her hand, her expression eager.
‘Sergeant Bishop? I’m sorry to interrupt, but I think I’ve found something. The man you called Ron? There’s a Don Woffenden who we suspect of being involved in that kind of activity – we’ve not been able to really get anything on him as yet, but … ’ She glanced from Bishop to Knight and paused as realisation dawned. ‘Oh. You already know, don’t you?’
‘Only just.’ Bishop reassured her. ‘Milica Zukic recognised him from a mugshot. I was going to come straight down to let you know.’
‘Do you want me to keep looking?’ Weyton asked them.
‘Yes, for now,’ Knight said. ‘Catherine will let you know if we get useful information from Woffenden – it might take a while to find him.’
