On Laughton Moor (Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop Book One)

by Lisa Hartley

  ‘Is this you?’

  ‘Yes, arrived here in this morning’s post. I stayed with my ex the night before last, when I didn’t come back to your house. I heard running feet behind me as I walked down her street, rushed up to the door as he passed. I didn’t get a look at him, but he must have been following me. I remember a flash of light, that’ll be when he took the picture. Now he knows where Louise lives. I’ll have to warn her.’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll be in danger; it sounds as if he could have attacked you when he took this but he didn’t. All the same, we need to be careful. Are you sure you want to keep working on this? You can always go to a safe house too until we catch him.’

  ‘And play Scrabble with Milica Zukic? I want to find him, sir.’ Bishop hoped she sounded surer of that than she felt.

  ‘Right. We’ll keep this to ourselves for now, but we need to be vigilant.’ Knight didn’t like it, but he also didn’t want to lose Bishop from his team. The DCI wouldn’t like it, but …

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Milica Zukic should be arriving any minute, I want her to have a look at that house you and DC Varcoe were at, find out if it’s where she was held. I want to find out as much as we can about Woffenden, Ivona, all of them, plus who’s really in charge. Did we find out who owns the house?’

  ‘No, but Anna’s still on it. She came in early to get on, she knows it could be crucial.’

  ‘I wish we knew where Woffenden’s gone, he hasn’t left the country but that’s as far as we know. He seems to be the key, he could lead us to the people that run the whole operation. I’ve started some discreet enquiries about Zukic’s uncle too, but I’m not sure how far we’ll get with them. We can’t be too obvious, especially since they’ve flown the nest once already.’

  ‘That was only one property though, there must be more.’

  ‘No doubt, but I don’t want to cause any panic, or put Milica Zukic in any more danger than she is already.’ He deliberately tried to keep his voice casual. ‘What do you know about Dougie Hughes?’

  Bishop blinked, confused.

  ‘Dougie Hughes? I told you, sir, he more or less runs the area.’

  ‘What about personally?’

  ‘Personally? I’m not sure what you mean?’

  Knight shook his head in exasperation.

  ‘Neither am I really. As I said Hughes is a name I heard in London, more than once, and I thought there could be a connection.’

  ‘Personal … Well, Hughes’ wife is called Bernice, she runs a hairdressing salon, as I told you before. Lots of hair, red nails and lipstick; high heels and tight leopard skin make up most of her wardrobe. Just how you’d expect a gangster’s wife to be. Looks like a character in a film, or a soap opera. They’ve got a son, Richie, good looking but stupid, spent most of his life wondering which way everyone else went, I think.’

  Knight leant back.

  ‘Ever heard of Paul or Malcolm Hughes?’

  Bishop frowned.

  ‘No, but what…’

  Knight stood up.

  ‘It’s probably nothing. If you haven’t heard of them, don’t worry about it, that’s what I wanted you to say.’

  Bishop followed him out of the office, puzzled.

  ‘But if they’re linked to the case … ?’

  ‘They’re not, at least I don’t think so. If they are, you’ll be the first to know.’ Knight strode ahead, leaving Bishop to follow, feeling slightly annoyed. How could she work with him if he kept secrets from her? Talk about dangling a carrot, fishing to see what she knew and then shutting up shop. It wasn’t fair, and she didn’t think it very professional either. However, she trusted Knight without quite knowing why. She hurried forward into the small room where Milica Zukic, PC Roberts and Knight were already waiting. Zukic smiled shyly.

  ‘Hello, Miss Zukic.’ Bishop said, with a polite smile, not expecting a response and was startled to hear the reply:

  ‘Good morning.’

  Knight grinned at her, and Roberts beamed proudly.

  ‘I’ve been giving Milica a quick English lesson.’ she explained. ‘Just a few phrases that might help her.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Bishop. ‘I’m impressed. You don’t speak Serbian though Nat?’

  Roberts shook her head.

  ‘No, but there’s no need to. It’s surprising how much you can say with mimes and drawing, pointing, that sort of thing.’

  They were interrupted by the arrival of Dr Whelan, the interpreter, who came bustling in, greeting them all loudly and complaining about the weather, reminding them it wasn’t long until Christmas and wasn’t the price of petrol scandalous.

  Knight politely interrupted him and explained what they were going to do, then stood back whilst Whelan told Milica, who listened intently. Bishop noticed her clothes were new, jeans and a red hooded sweatshirt with a white T shirt underneath, black leather boots. She sidled up to Roberts, who explained that she’d been instructed to take Milica somewhere for some new clothes, been given the money to do so. They’d bought toiletries too, all from the nearest supermarket, and Bishop and Roberts agreed Milica’s appearance was much improved. Milica had spoken to her parents and also her sister, which had calmed her. Roberts also said Milica seemed much happier, less frightened than she had yesterday, and she looked less pale, more confident, smiling at Knight as he opened the door and led them out to the car. Bishop drove them to the address, and Milica peered cautiously through the window. She nodded firmly; this was the place. Bishop drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She didn’t understand what Knight had hoped to gain from this. Yes, they now knew this was definitely the place Milica had been held, if they understood her correctly, but did that knowledge move the case forward? Not that she could see. Had they really needed Whelan? Knight seemed pleased though, smiling at Zukic and Roberts. They headed back to the station, Bishop parked the car and went back up to the CID offices, still slightly bemused. Varcoe called her over.

  ‘I think I might be getting somewhere, Sarge.’

  Bishop hurried over.

  ‘Really? Show me.’

  Varcoe pointed to her computer screen. ‘The house is owned by a company, Central City Solutions. Another company owns that company, which is again owned by another – you get the picture. Anyway, long story short, the company behind all of them is R & D Maintenance.’

  ‘Sounds like two odd job men.’

  ‘I doubt they’ve ever done any odd jobs in their lives, just dodgy ones. The R is Richie Hughes, the D his mate Damien Spencer. I bet it’s just a sham company, set up to hide whatever else they’re involved in and we all know what that’s likely to be.’

  Bishop’s face lit up.

  ‘So Dougie Hughes is involved, I bloody knew it.’

  ‘It was a dead cert really, but you can bet we won’t be able to prove it.’

  ‘And Richie Hughes and Spencer will say they’d no idea what the place was being used for, they just let to a company who let it to another one and so on.’

  ‘Same old story, but it’s a start.’

  ‘You better tell DI Knight what you’ve told me. I think he’s in his office. Great work Anna, I know this must have been really tedious.’

  Varcoe smiled and went off to find Knight. Bishop glanced at the clock on the wall; if she was quick, she could have a sneaky cup of tea and a doughnut.

  The canteen was quiet and Bishop sat at a corner table, sank her teeth into the doughnut and closed her eyes. She restrained herself from moaning out loud, but the temptation was there.

  ‘You look like you’re enjoying that.’ a voice said.

  Bishop opened her eyes, mouth still full. Claire Weyton stood in front of her, mug in hand, grinning mischievously. Bishop attempted to smile back, couldn’t, and had to make do with a lop sided leer.

  ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’

  The mouthful of doughnut finally disappeared and Bishop was able to speak.

  ‘Of course I don’t mind, why shoul
d I mind?’ Calm down, she said to herself. Claire sat opposite, took a sip of her drink.

  ‘I still haven’t found any more details about the people you were asking about. I think DI Foster has been in touch?’

  Bishop snorted.

  ‘Yeah, for what it was worth.’

  Claire smiled uncertainly.

  ‘I didn’t mean … sorry. I just meant that you’ve been much more helpful.’ Bishop backpedalled. Mentally, she kicked herself. Very smooth, she thought. There was a short pause.

  ‘You look tired.’ Claire observed.

  ‘Thanks.’ Bishop grinned.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…’ Claire blushed, fidgeting with the handle of her cup.

  ‘It’s okay, I must look tired, I definitely feel it.’

  ‘We always feel guilty, you know, going home at five thirty when all of you are still hard at work.’

  ‘There’s no need to, we signed up for this job knowing it would mean long hours, weekends. You get used to it.’

  ‘It must cause problems in your personal life, though.’

  Another snort from Bishop.

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘Have you … do you have a partner?’

  Claire sounded hesitant, almost shy, not confident and knowing as she had before.

  ‘To be honest, it’s a bit complicated. I did have, we lived together but she moved out around six months ago. Then, the other night, she sent me a text. I went round to see her, she was talking about us trying again, getting back together. The thing is, she moved out because of my job, she couldn’t handle the hours I had to work, like we’ve just talked about. She’s a teacher, so fairly regular hours, work she can do at home … ’

  Claire nodded in understanding.

  ‘Regular holidays … ’

  ‘Exactly. She was fine at first but she got more and more fed up with it, and in the end she more or less said it was the job or her. I hesitated, and she took that to mean I was choosing the job.’

  ‘And were you?’

  ‘I didn’t think someone who loved me would ask me to choose. Sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.’ Bishop shook her head.

  ‘Because I asked. I just … I thought maybe we could have a drink or something, when you’re not as busy of course, but if you’re getting back together with your ex … ’

  ‘I don’t know if I am, or even if I want to. I’m still in the same job, after all, and I don’t intend leaving it. The same problems will be there as far as I can see.’

  ‘Maybe you could work through them?’

  ‘We did try, I think Louise just lost patience and so did I, if I’m honest. In the end, I just thought if we were right for each other, we’d have worked harder to save the relationship.’

  ‘I can understand that.’

  ‘I would like to go out for a drink, if you still want to after what I’ve told you, of course.’ She sounded hesitant, even to her own ears, though it was the last thing she felt. Claire emptied her mug and pushed back her chair, her eyes never leaving Bishop’s.

  ‘I definitely still want to.’

  Bishop gazed back, felt her stomach dissolve.

  ‘You know the hours I’m working at the moment though … ’

  ‘I can wait.’ she smiled. ‘I need to get back, I’ll email you my mobile number. Take care, Catherine.’

  ‘You too.’ Bishop watched Claire take her cup over to the counter and exchange a few words with Sally who was working on the till, both ending up laughing. She’s bloody gorgeous, Bishop thought, shaking her head, not quite able to believe what had just happened. She had forgotten all about her doughnut and had a pleasant surprise when she realised most of it was still waiting on her plate. She saw Chris Rogers at the counter, loading his tray with a plate of lasagne and chips, a mug of coffee and a chocolate cookie. He spotted Bishop and headed towards her.

  ‘I’ve just seen Claire Weyton, was she in here with you?’

  ‘She was in here, yes.’

  ‘With you?’

  ‘It’s a big room, Chris, with plenty of chairs.’

  Rogers speared a few chips, pushed them into his mouth.

  ‘Ha. She was then. Bugger, I owe Simon a tenner now.’

  ‘Mind your own business.’ Bishop retorted, unable to fully suppress a grin.

  ‘We just want to see you happy, Sarge, that’s all.’

  ‘That doughnut’s made me very happy. See you later.’

  33

  Back in the CID room, Knight was standing with Simon Sullivan, studying a piece of paper. Knight beckoned Bishop over.

  ‘We’ve narrowed down the list of local Nicks and Daves to these. DC Sullivan and DC Rogers are taking half the list, DC Varcoe and DC Lancaster the other half. Hopefully by the end of the day we’ll have found our men, or at least have more of an idea who we can discount.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  Sullivan moved off and Knight turned to Bishop.

  ‘We need to check out the other postcodes on the list Kent’s sister gave us.’

  ‘Do you want me to do it?’

  ‘I’ve got a meeting with the Super and DCI Kendrick. You know I’ve told the team we’ll meet at five back here, do think you can make it around those postcodes before then?’

  ‘I’ll do my best, sir. Will Miss Zukic be with me?’

  ‘It’s tricky with her not speaking English and I don’t think we can ask Doctor Whelan to stay around, I’m not sure the budget would stretch to it.’

  ‘She could let me know whether she recognises a place or not though?’

  ‘That’s true. Okay then. She could always talk to a translator later, I suppose, if she can give us more information about a place. It doesn’t help that we’ve no idea what these places will be.’

  ‘I’ll just check my emails quickly and I’ll be on my way.’

  Bishop strode out of the station and onto the street, Milica Zukic at her heels. Glancing over her shoulder to check Milica was still with her, Bishop crashed straight into a tall, solid figure as she rounded the corner towards the car park.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Bishop said, steadying herself and glanced at the person she’d almost knocked over. She looked again as she recognised Mike Pollard. ‘Mr Pollard? What are you doing here?’

  Mike glared at her, adjusting his jacket and pulling his knitted hat further over his ears.

  ‘You could have broken my ribs, why don’t you look where you’re going?’

  ‘I asked you what you’re doing hanging around outside the police station, Mike?’

  Pollard was furious.

  ‘I wasn’t “hanging around”, as you put it, I’m on my way to a job interview, if you must know.’

  Bishop raised an eyebrow.

  ‘At the police station?’

  ‘No, not at the police station, you must be joking. I can do better than that. At a solicitor’s, not that it’s any of your business.’

  ‘All right Mike,’ Bishop beckoned to Milica Zukic. ‘It might be a good idea to surround yourself with people who know the law.’

  She marched off leaving Pollard gawping after her, his expression thunderous. Once in the car, she sent Knight a quick text explaining what had happened. It was time they had another look at Craig Pollard’s brother and probably his not so broken hearted girlfriend too.

  Bishop wanted to sing along to the radio as she drove, but didn’t want to subject Milica Zukic to her voice. Milica seemed happy enough though Bishop wasn’t convinced she understood where they were going. She seemed pleased just to be out of the station and Bishop could understand that. The first postcode took them to a village, a row of stone cottages, pretty and well maintained. Milica shook her head. She seemed to be looking wistfully at the scene and Bishop wondered if she was thinking of her home and family or was thinking about the life she could have had. She wanted to tell Milica that she was young, she could still achieve all she’d planned, but of course she didn’t have the word
s to do so. The next postcode brought them to another village and another headshake from Milica. Bishop was beginning to feel a little dispirited and hoped this wasn’t going to be a waste of time. It was a similar story with the next two places, a housing estate and a warehouse complex. Milica had obviously never been to either before. A half hour drive brought them to the location of the final postcode, and this time as soon as Bishop slowed the car down, Milica was sitting forward, alert. She nodded her head firmly several times, said a few words before remembering Bishop couldn’t understand. Bishop knew what she meant though – they’d arrived at a row of lock up storage units, bigger than the average garage attached to a house. She assumed this was where Kent had collected Milica. They’d have to call in Doctor Whelan to be sure, but what else could Milica mean? Bishop parked in front of the first lock up, turned off the engine and looked around. There was no one in sight. She turned to Milica, trying to say through mime that she was going to get out of the car, have a quick look around, and that Milica should stay where she was. Milica frowned at first, then smiled and nodded again.

  Bishop got out and wandered over to the first set of double doors. She wouldn’t have been able to get inside any of the doors even if she had wanted to, which, without a warrant, wasn’t advisable. She just wanted to walk around, make sure there was nothing suspicious. For all she knew, there could be frightened girls behind any of these doors. She stepped closer, listening, eyes searching, then heard an engine behind her and turned. A white van had appeared. It parked next to her car; the driver’s door flew open and a man leapt out wearing gloves and a baseball cap with a dark scarf covering his face, leaving only his eyes exposed. He ran to the passenger door of Bishop’s car, wrenched it open and reached inside, grabbing Milica Zukic’s arms and trying to drag her from the car. She screamed then shouted, struggling and kicking. The man realised her seatbelt was still fastened and tried to reach across her to undo it with Milica trying to push his hands away. Bishop stared, frozen, then ran back towards the car, shouting, ‘Stop, police, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ He looked wildly across at Bishop as she bore down on the car, struggling to yell into her Airwave handset for backup. She had no choice, but running towards a man who could be armed when she was alone probably wasn’t the best idea. Bishop was almost at the car, still bellowing at him that she was a police officer, Milica still fighting and screeching in Serbian, when he seemed to finally take in what Bishop was saying, abruptly dropped Milica back into her seat, sprinted back towards the van and scrambled in. His vehicle shot forward down the line of lock ups, hurtling around the corner at the end and out of sight. Bishop gabbled a description of the van into her handset as she wrenched open the driver’s door of her car and set off in pursuit, Milica still shouting and leaning forward hoping to see which way her would be abductor had turned.