On Laughton Moor (Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop Book One)

by Lisa Hartley

  34

  Bishop sat at her desk, head in her hands as Varcoe silently placed a mug of tea at her elbow as she passed on the way to her own desk. Knight stood beside Bishop, frowning.

  ‘You did nothing wrong, you know, I would have done exactly the same.’ he said.

  Bishop lifted her head and stared at him.

  ‘He almost had her, if it hadn’t been for the seatbelt … I should have locked the door or stayed in the car.’

  ‘She’s fine, that’s all that matters, and on her way to a safe house.’

  ‘I’m going to get my arse kicked for this though, aren’t I?’

  ‘For protecting a witness, ensuring her safety?’

  ‘She ensured her own safety, I wouldn’t want to be in a fight with her.’

  ‘The DCI is just happy she’s still in our hands. It’s after five, let’s get to the conference room.’

  Bishop slowly got to her feet, noticed the tea and picked it up raising it shakily to her lips.

  ‘Thanks, Anna.’ she said, as the DC followed her to the door. ‘How did your Nick and Dave hunting go?’

  ‘Pretty well, we narrowed our list down to two Nicks, three Daves. Not sure how the others got on. Are you okay?’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry about me.’

  In the conference room, Knight was pacing in front of the assembled officers. Bishop and Varcoe found chairs, sitting down as he spoke.

  ‘Just to let you all know that we found the van driven by Milica Zukic’s attacker abandoned in a lay by just out of town. We think our man phoned one of his mates who picked him up. Chances are, he won’t be very popular when he tells his boss he could have snatched her but has come back empty handed, which is why Miss Zukic is on her way to a safe house as we speak.’

  ‘Shows she’s still important to them though.’ said Chris Rogers.

  ‘Exactly, even though they must realise she’s been with us since Steven Kent’s death and has had plenty of time to share all she knows.’

  ‘Do we think the attempt to grab her was planned, or did he just happen to be going to the lock up and recognise her?’ Sullivan said.

  ‘We’ve no way of knowing, though DS Bishop didn’t notice anyone following her. As it was just one man, I’d guess it was spur of the moment, he saw his chance and tried to grab it – and her. Little did he know he’d have a fight on his hands.’

  ‘Any chance of any fingerprints, trace evidence that could help us identify him?’

  ‘He was wearing leather gloves, a cap and a scarf over his face. I didn’t recognise him but I couldn’t swear I’ve never seen him before, I’ve no way of knowing. Miss Zukic’s going to be interviewed when she’s safe but she didn’t seem to know him, I didn’t recognise any names in what she was shouting.’ Bishop said.

  ‘Plenty of Serbian swearing going on too I bet,’ grinned Rogers.

  Knight asked Varcoe and Lancaster to update them on what they’d learnt that day, and then Rogers and Sullivan. Progress had been made and they were down to five men called Nick or Nicholas, seven Daves or Davids. Knight was quietly pleased, offering encouragement. He asked Varcoe to share what she’d learnt about the ownership of the property she and Bishop had visited, which she did to general approval. There wasn’t a copper in the place who would be sorry to see Dougie Hughes or any of his family behind bars. Knight calmed them down, warned them they were a long way from that. They still needed to find Ron Woffenden, plus chances of tracking down the man who’d tried to snatch Milica Zukic were slim. Still, it felt as though they were moving in the right direction. Sullivan and Rogers were going out again to attempt to track down a few more of the men on their lists before heading home for the day, while Varcoe and Lancaster were going to see Mike Pollard. As the room emptied, Knight called Bishop over.

  ‘Why don’t you call it a day, finish early for a change? You’ve got my spare key.’

  ‘I’ve got things to get on with, sir. I don’t want to leave when others are still working.’

  ‘It’s up to you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She turned away from him.

  Knight hesitated, then made his way to the incident room. Bishop was looking paler by the hour, and though he doubted she would ever admit it, he knew she was struggling. How long before DCI Kendrick noticed it too?

  Bishop stubbed her toe on the corner of her desk as she hurried around it to pick up the phone. It had been ringing since she stepped back into the CID office and she didn’t want to miss the call.

  ‘Ow, shit, bloody hell … Hello?’

  ‘Is that DS Bishop?’

  ‘Yes, speaking.’

  ‘DI Foster. I’ve got a couple of names for you.’

  Bishop thought fast. ‘DI Foster, of course. Thank you.’ She fumbled for a pen and scrap of paper. ‘And how do you spell that … Okay, that’s great, thanks very much.’

  Two names, at last. She leant forward, hands poised over the keyboard. Her mobile started ringing in her bag, and she rummaged for it. Her eyes widened when she saw the caller’s name.

  ‘Hello, Louise?’

  ‘Catherine? I can hardly hear you.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m in the office, you know the signal’s not great.’

  ‘I thought you were going to call?’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. I’ve had a crap day.’

  ‘And you’re still at work?’

  ‘It’s only just gone six Louise, of course I am.’

  ‘I only asked.’

  Bishop sighed.

  ‘I know you did.’

  ‘So I won’t see you tonight?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s fine, give me a ring when you can fit me in.’

  Louise hung up. Bishop stared at the phone. So much for a new start and being understanding, Louise, she thought. She scrolled through her emails until she found Claire Weyton’s phone number and typed a text message, her heart pounding:How about that drink tonight? She quickly placed the phone face down on her desk, almost afraid to read any reply that Claire might send. What are you doing, Catherine? She concentrated on her monitor, but found no records for either of the names Foster had given her. She picked up desk phone again, called down to the incident room and told Knight about her conversation with Foster.

  ‘Why don’t you go home and I’ll see what I can dig up on them?’ Knight said.

  ‘I’ve already said … ’ Bishop glanced at her mobile as it beeped – a text message. She snatched it up, held her breath and read the message:Any time x ‘Then again, sir, you might have a point. It’s been a long day. You will let me know what you find?’

  ‘If you’re up when I get in.’

  ‘I might go out for a few hours, meet a friend.’

  ‘Oh, I see. I’ll send you a text.’ Knight said hurriedly. He paused. ‘I know I’ve said this before, but be careful.’

  ‘I will. Thank you.’

  Bishop put the phone down, already typingOn my way, where? X

  35

  Dave Bowles was in bed, curled on his side, mind racing. What could he do? Nick would know, Nick would come for him. He could be outside now, walking down the path, opening the door. He listened, eyes roaming the room. Nothing. Maybe it wouldn’t be tonight. He should have gone to the police years ago and confessed. Maybe it would have been all right. It was too late now though. They would blame him, he knew it. He would have to wait until whoever had killed Craig and Steve found him too, unless he could think of another way quickly.

  36

  Bishop saw Claire immediately, sitting alone at a table in the corner, sipping a glass of red wine. She stood as Bishop approached.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘It’s okay, I’ll buy.’

  ‘No, please, let me.’

  ‘Same as you is fine then, thanks.’ Bishop stammered, hardly aware of what she was saying. Claire smiled and went over to the bar. Bishop watched, her stomach churning. What are you doing? What about Louise? She igno
red her own voice in her head as Claire came back to the table and handed her the wine. Bishop took a gulp.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.’

  ‘I know, I finished early.’

  Claire nodded, knowing better than to ask. There was a silence. Well, this is awkward, Bishop thought, glancing around the pub. She took another swallow of wine. It wasn’t a drink she would usually have chosen, but it didn’t taste too bad. She was very aware of Claire’s thigh close to her own, the smell of her perfume. All at once, Bishop had an urge to tell Claire everything, the messages left by the murderer of Pollard and Kent, the photograph taken through her own window, her worries and fears, the plight of Milica Zukic and the others in the house. Louise …

  ‘Catherine?’

  Bishop looked up.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You were miles away.’ Claire’s voice was gentle.

  ‘I’m sorry, I just … ’

  Here goes she thought, her hand seeking out Claire’s where it rested on the bench between them. Smooth, warm, slightly larger than her own. She stroked her thumb over Claire’s fingers, felt her respond, heard her quiet intake of breath. Claire moved closer, her fingers entwining with Bishop’s. They sat quietly, savouring the moment. Claire drained her wineglass.

  ‘Can I get you another?’ Bishop said softly.

  Claire looked into her eyes.

  ‘Shall we go?’

  Bishop gazed back. This was the moment when she had to choose to stay on the path she’d always taken, or make the leap. She knew she had no choice, that this was going to happen however much she tried to persuade herself it couldn’t. She nodded gravely, and Claire smiled.

  Claire was staying in a hotel down by the river, close to the centre of town. They walked quickly, not touching, not speaking. Afterwards, Bishop couldn’t have said what route they took, if they saw anyone as they hurried along. Bishop’s mind was still filled with all the reasons why this shouldn’t happen, as well as the knowledge that it would. It was only as the door closed behind them and Claire reached for her, their mouths meeting urgently, that she felt herself relax. All her worries, temporarily at least, were forgotten.

  37

  In Kendrick’s office, Knight waited until the DCI had closed his mouth after a huge yawn.

  ‘Time I was at home, I’ll be turning into a pumpkin at this rate. It’s the end of another day, where are we?’

  ‘I think we’re definitely making progress, but … ’

  ‘Come on, don’t play the bloody mystery man with me, Jonathan. Tell me what you’re thinking.’

  ‘It’s just that the house Milica Zukic was held in is owned, ultimately, by a bloke called Richie Hughes,’ Kendrick made a noise that indicated disgust, ‘and more than once I came across the name Hughes in London, Malc Hughes. It just so happens he has a cousin called Dougie.’

  ‘Our friendly local self-styled gangster. Too much of a coincidence.’

  ‘Just what I thought.’

  ‘Dougie Hughes is a nasty, slippery bastard. I’m presuming there’s a family resemblance?’

  Knight’s left hand touched his right shoulder blade, then moved away ‘Yeah, sounds just like Malc.’

  ‘Involved in people trafficking?’

  ‘I’d heard rumours, but you know what it’s like – no one wants to point the finger.’

  ‘So what are you suggesting?’ Kendrick leant back in his chair, which groaned beneath him.

  ‘I don’t know. We could never bring Malc Hughes in for anything at all, and from what DS Bishop’s told me, you’ve had the same problem up here with his cousin.’

  ‘Exactly right. All sorts of rumours, no substance. We know, but we can’t prove it. We do have Miss Zukic in a safe house?’

  ‘Yes, as discussed with the Super.’

  ‘And we’ve narrowed down those lists of names?’

  ‘Only three Daves, two Nicks left.’

  ‘Sod’s law it’ll be the last ones we get to. Wouldn’t it have been a good idea to have more officers on it?’

  ‘I used everyone I could. We’ll get there.’

  ‘Fair enough. What do you suggest we do about Milica Zukic? She can’t stay here indefinitely.’

  ‘No, I think she’s keen to go back to Serbia.’

  ‘Can’t blame her.’

  ‘I’d feel happier if she stayed here at least until the Pollard and Kent murders are closed.’

  ‘The cost …’

  ‘Give me a few more days.’

  ‘Fine. A few more.’ Kendrick looked at Knight knowingly. ‘You want to have a crack at Hughes, don’t you? The whole family.’

  ‘Of course I do. Don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, I’d love to see them all sent down, but we can’t go barging in. They’ve got money, connections, and the power to make our lives very difficult.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  ‘So we go slowly, tiptoe around them, see what else we can find out. I’ll talk to the Super, tell her what we know. Has Milica Zukic said any more?’

  ‘She was able to tell Whelan exactly which lock up she’d been in. I’m not sure how she knew, but we’ll get the fingerprint people in there first thing tomorrow morning, see what we can find.’

  ‘How’s DS Bishop holding up?’

  ‘She seems okay. She had no idea who Kent was, she’s not been back to her house but I had Simon Sullivan call in there, with Catherine’s permission of course, nothing suspicious in her post, no more messages or photos. The only thing is, another photo turned up here today, DS Bishop going into a friend’s house the night before last.’

  ‘Christ, so he’s followed her? I thought the messages were left with the bodies?’

  ‘So far, but the photo was posted to her flat, this latest to the station.’

  ‘Of course. We don’t want any more. You’re sure Catherine’s not in danger? Sounds dodgy to me.’

  ‘She’s very keen to stay on the case.’

  ‘It might not be her decision. Let’s play that by ear, we’ll talk again in the morning about it, see if more photos turn up in tomorrow’s post. I’ve never known anything like it.’

  ‘Catherine got two names from Intel, people they believe were involved with the house Milica Zukic was held in. A man and a woman they were expecting to find when they raided the house, except of course the raid didn’t happen. I’ve spoken to a few people and I think the man could be harder to trace, but the woman is interesting, I’m wondering if she could be the Ivona Milica Zukic told us about.’

  ‘How could they have allowed them all to leave that house? Wasn’t it under surveillance?’

  ‘You’d have thought so. I don’t know the details.’

  ‘What’s this woman’s name?’

  ‘Jasna Dijlas.’

  ‘We still don’t know where she’s gone though?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And we don’t know if any of this is linked to Pollard and Kent’s deaths?’

  ‘Not for sure.’

  ‘Let’s concentrate on finding our man for those two first, keep this on the back burner for now. I want to get them as much as you do, but our priority has to be the murders.’

  ‘I know, but this … ’

  ‘Afterwards.’

  ‘Fine.’

  38

  Dave Bowles had no idea how long he’d been in bed. He would have to get up soon, if only to hurry to the bathroom before his bladder exploded. He reached for the bottle of whiskey and took a huge mouthful. One more wouldn’t hurt. Wincing as it burned, he clambered unsteadily out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. He managed to use the toilet without falling which seemed to him quite an achievement, then stumbled over to the medicine cabinet a previous tenant had fixed to the wall above the sink. A blotchy face stared back at him from the mirrored doors, eyes bloodshot, nose and mouth surrounded with dried mucus. Bowles could remember bawling like a baby at some point, sobbing out the years o
f pain and guilt. Managing to open the cabinet, he fumbled through the contents. Shaving foam, spare razor blades which he placed unsteadily on the sink, soap, shower gel and two packets of condoms, unopened and probably out of date. The paracetamol went next to the razor blades. Bowles turned on the hot tap, scooped some water into his hands and washed his face. It didn’t help so he repeated the process with cold water and that felt better, he could fool himself into thinking he was more alert, thinking straight. He would have to go out. Tottering back to the bedroom, he lost his balance and stumbled against the wall. Leaning there he started to giggle, a response that struck him as odd given his situation. Eventually managing to reach the bedroom, he sat on the bed and made several attempts to pull his jeans on before eventually succeeding. The walk downstairs would be tricky but he knew he’d have to do it, then out into the street and to the all night garage and the twenty four hour supermarket. Then he would decide.

  It was Nick Brady’s round and he’d have to buy it, he couldn’t admit to his mates he was worried about money. They’d already taken the piss when he’d told them he was jobless again. He leant on the bar, brooding. They all had jobs, not great jobs most of them, and they all did a fair amount of moaning, but they were working all the same. He didn’t want to take up his mum’s offer of asking around for work, but he might have to swallow his pride in the end. The job centre hadn’t been exactly helpful so far and he hadn’t seen much in the papers or online either. He bought the drinks and went back to the pool table where two of the lads were in the middle of a game, the others standing around watching. Brady thought he’d probably call it a night after this pint, he wasn’t in the mood. The walk home should clear his head, it had been cold but dry when he’d arrived at the pub and he had a lot on his mind. The police were making little progress in finding who had killed Pollard and Kent according to the newspapers, and Brady still wasn’t sure what to do. So far, he’d chosen to keep quiet and see what happened and it had worked except for the constant stream of questions in his head, the guilt and worry. He knew it was possible he was at risk too, but he wasn’t seriously concerned. He’d moved out of town after all and no one knew much about him here, even the blokes he was drinking with. Anyway, from what he’d heard, Pollard had been too pissed to fight back and Brady intended to be on his guard until he heard the police had their man. There was still the possibility that Pollard and Kent’s deaths had nothing to do with that day on the moor, or so Brady kept telling himself. It could be a coincidence and until Brady heard otherwise, he was staying out of it. He drained his glass, set it on the bar, said his goodbyes and made his way out into the night. Glancing up and down the street, he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets then removed them, realising it made him vulnerable. He hated feeling like this and even though it might be paranoia, he wasn’t going to take any chances. At least he was fairly well built. If he’d been only as big as Dave, he’d be more concerned. Unless he’d filled out since Brady saw him last, Dave’s small frame would surely make him an easier target. Brady started walking, almost slowly enough to convince himself he wasn’t scared.