Face Value: A Wright & Tran Novel

by Ian Andrew

  “If you’ve got ‘em, smoke ‘em,” Kara called and all seven of them glanced around.

  “Really, not one of us smokes anymore?” Dan asked and was answered by six shaking heads.

  “Well fuck me, aren’t we all fuckin’ saints now,” Dinger said, exaggerating his Scottish accent.

  “Yep, all fit and healthy, going bald and getting fat,” Eugene laughed.

  “Speak for yourself,” Sammi said.

  “I was actually talking to you,” he answered.

  Sammi raised her middle finger, “Happy to check your prostate any time.”

  “Mmm, I’ll pass,” Eugene chuckled, “You’ve got hands like a welder.”

  “I really don’t. It’s just the last time I held your cock it was so small it made my hands look enormous,” Sammi said with a superior smirk and Tien, Dan and Chaz nearly choked on their tea. When the laughter had subsided and Sammi had blown a mock kiss to Eugene, Kara knew it was time.

  “Okay, we need to start.”

  An hour later, and despite Tien’s best efforts, they hadn’t managed to narrow down which house near Epping Forest belonged to Illy and Yanina. But they had managed to construct a rough working plan that depended for its further refinement on the whereabouts of Yanina Bobrik.

  “Why can’t we just go back and talk to the kids again?” asked Chaz.

  “Because whilst they might be able to get his address they might spook him. If Zoe and Michael haven’t visited for years then a sudden desire to come see Uncle Illy might be strange,” Dan offered.

  “But given the circumstances, you know, the missing parents, Zoe might want to go round for a visit,” Chaz pressed.

  “I did think long and hard about it Chaz, but I’m not prepared to risk he gets even an inkling,” Kara answered. “I also don’t want to advise Zoe and Michael that a lifelong family friend might actually be holding their parents against their will until I have definite proof. If we need to involve them later, we will.”

  “Fair enough,” Chaz conceded.

  “Okay. Let’s make the call,” Tien said and handed Sammi a pre-paid phone. The room quieted, Sammi dialled the number and put the phone onto speaker.

  “Thank you for calling the Krasota Modelling Agency. My name is Francesca, how may I direct your call?” The efficient voice of the receptionist was tinged with the trace of practised elocution lessons or a happy circumstance of being raised in the mid-Atlantic.

  Samantha Davis was a native of Knightwick, a small village in Worcestershire. Her natural voice still carried the slight burr of the West Country despite having left to join the military years before. But the young Samantha had discovered by the age of ten that she could mimic almost every dialect of English she encountered. It was her party trick until she ended up as a Human Intelligence Operator at which point it became elevated to a very handy skill and on one occasion, a life saver.

  The voice she chose now to reply to Francesca was Kensington and Chelsea upper-class, old-moneyed English with rolling Rs and instant familiarity, “Oh hello Francesca. I’m calling to speak to Yanina. Oh I do hope I haven’t missed her. It’s such a bind if I have. Could you possibly be a dear and put me straight through, could you?”

  “May I say who is calling?”

  Francesca’s accent had kicked up a notch or two. She had gone from well-spoken middle-class to an attempt at matching Sammi.

  “Oh why yes my dear Francesca. It’s Tamsin. I work with Kate at Tatler. We simply must talk to Yanina. I’m looking for a fresh face and all the one’s I’m being shown are so tired. I must have a new look for our cover. Have I missed her?”

  “Oh no, certainly not, I can put you-”

  Sammi nodded. Tien and Kara yelled out loudly, “Tamsin, Tamsin, come at once, you must come at once.”

  “Oh Francesca, are you still there darling?” Sammi asked.

  “Yes,” the eager receptionist had almost yelped her reply.

  “Oh dear sweetie. I’ve been summoned. I have to run. Please be a love, when does Yanina leave for the day?”

  “She normally stays until at least five. Shall I get-”

  Sammi nodded. Tien and Kara yelled out again.

  “Oh darling! I must go. Now tell Yanina not to fret I shall call her today before she heads off. Oh, I must run. You’ve been a treasure. Ta ta.” Sammi ended the call and the six others gave a round of applause. Sammi gave a mock curtsey in response.

  “Okay, so we’ve got her fixed. Now all we need to do is figure the rest out,” Kara said. It took a further hour for them to improvise a workable action plan.

  “This is pretty thin,” Sammi said.

  “It is,” Kara agreed. “But is it enough to be feasible?” She looked around the room. All of the team were frowning slightly, but they all gave a nod to confirm their agreement. “Then we do it and figure the rest out when we get more to work on. Sammi, book us a base of operations somewhere near to the forest. Tien, get as much kit as we have here. We don’t have time to make this pretty.”

  Tien raided her supply locker and issued all of them with pre-paid smartphones cross programmed with speed-dials for each other. She also issued ear pieces and cuff mics for the digital radio system that they would carry but caveated it with the warning that it was only good for short range work. She knew they knew but it was always worth the reminder.

  After giving Sammi, Chaz and Dinger a laptop each and tethering them for Internet access she cleared the rest of the miscellaneous electronic equipment from the locker. Unlatching the four metal shelves she handed them rearward to the waiting team and pressed a small latch on the now bare back panel. The whole of what had been the rear of the locker hinged right to reveal a hidden series of shelves holding an array of specialist equipment gathered by Kara and Tien over the years. Some of it was legal to own and some of it less so. Some had been gifted to them and some they had ‘liberated’.

  “Nice,” said Chaz peering over Tien’s shoulder, “Are they Fourteens?” he asked referring to the night vision devices on one of the shelves.

  “Yep,” she said and stood back. “Help yourselves, but I want it all returned when we’re finished.”

  Once they had taken all they needed Kara led them back downstairs, “Any questions?”

  She was answered with silence.

  “Right, see you all later,” she said and went out the door with Dan. Tien and Eugene went next, Sammi and her team left last. Toby and Jacob stayed in place.

  Chapter 19

  Thursday Afternoon. Huntingdon

  Martina Costa’s hands were trembling, her dark hair, damp from sweat, clung to her coffee-coloured Mediterranean skin and her expression was like the proverbial rabbit in headlights. Police Constable Pia Giovanni sat next to her talking in a low but distinct tone. The rising and falling cadence of the Italian language struck Tony Reynolds as a beautiful incongruence to the otherwise austere drabness of the interview suite.

  He was watching, along with Mason, Pop and John McKay, on a live feed piped into the monitoring room that sat next door to the interview suite. He didn’t have a one-way mirror like all the American TV shows but instead had a twenty-six inch TV screen and a handheld camera controller. With no indication in the interview room itself, other than a small green light to show the interview was being monitored, he could zoom in on suspects as they answered the questions posed to them. More often or not it wasn’t the Interviewing Officer or their colleague sat next to them that saw the inconsistencies, the changes in body language or the deliberate concealments of a suspect but rather the monitoring officer via the screen in this room.

  Giovanni had been briefed to inform Costa of why she had been asked to come to the station and what was going to happen from here forward. Reynolds had left them alone in the hope that a familiar accent and the friendly disposition of Giovanni might calm down the increasingly distressed Costa. The Police Constable indicated to the camera she had done as requested. From what Reynolds could see it hadn’t seeme
d to change Costa’s demeanour much at all.

  “Right, on you go,” said Reynolds and Mason led Pop into the suite.

  Reynolds moved the camera angle to take in the whole scene as Mason and Pop took seats opposite Costa and Giovanni.

  Despite having video monitoring the interview suite also continued to use audio recordings as well. Mason turned to the control panel on the wall and pressed record.

  “I am Detective Sergeant Gary Mason, also present is Detective Constable Colin Oldman, Police Constable Pia Giovanni and Miss Martina Costa. If you could please identify yourself for the purpose of the tape.”

  “Detective Constable Colin Oldman,” Pop said.

  “Police Constable Pia Giovanni, Police interpreter,” Pia said before turning to Costa and explaining what she needed to do.

  “Martina Angela Maria Costa.”

  “Miss Costa, you have not been charged with any crime at this time. You voluntarily came to the station so I could continue to question you with the aid of a Police interpreter. Is that correct?” Mason waited for Giovanni to translate. Costa nodded rapidly.

  “Can you please answer for the purposes of the recording Miss Costa?” he said.

  Reynolds noticed that Mason’s voice was smooth, controlled, efficient; yet that didn’t lessen the impression of how brutal it sounded when compared to Giovanni’s version of the same sentence repeated back.

  “Sì,” Costa said, the nervousness of the young woman perfectly framed in the tremor surrounding the single word.

  “Yes,” Giovanni said.

  Reynolds figured that the afternoon was going to be a long drawn out affair.

  *

  Moya Little and Anna Walsh were waiting in the same casual seating area of Rocky’s Nightclub as the unidentified couple had sat in on the CCTV. Although open on a Thursday, Friday and Saturday night the Club’s main doors were still firmly shut in the early afternoon. Other than a few bar staff doing stock checks and a few cleaners making their last rounds, the place was empty. A non-descript door tucked into the far corner of the bar area opened and a tall man of about thirty, wearing a very smart business suit, came through and headed in their direction. He walked with a slight swagger. Nothing too extravagant, nor in any way arrogant. Just a confidence that seemed to exude from him and was somehow reflected in the tailoring of his jacket, the crispness of his shirt and the neat knot of his tie.

  “Hi, I’m Steve Lyttle, the Duty Manager. How can I help?”

  Both women stood and showed their warrant cards.

  “Umm, that’s a coincidence. I’m Detective Sergeant Moya Little,” she said aware of the slightest of smiles the man had given her.

  He bent forward and looked at her warrant card. “Ah but mine’s spelt with a ‘Y’ which is good. It would have been terrible to find out we’re related,” he said and gave the cheekiest of looks to Moya. She stifled a laugh but before she could respond in any meaningful way Anna took up her defence.

  “I’m sorry Mr Lyttle but what did you say?”

  Steve turned and looked at the woman who matched him for height. He raised his hands in mock surrender.

  “It’s okay,” he peered forward to look at her warrant card, “Detective Constable Walsh. I merely meant that had we been related I couldn’t ask the Detective Sergeant out on a date. Wouldn’t be fitting for cousins, now would it?”

  Moya again stifled a sudden urge to laugh and watched as Anna seemed to flounder, completely lost for words. Deciding that her near-namesake could probably charm the birds from trees, Moya took a breath and, as Anna still hadn’t responded, moved the conversation on, “Well, I shall take your flattery as a compliment Mr Lyttle and I shall also ask my young colleague not to lift you up and bodily throw you across the room for being cheeky. Would you care to sit down and have a look at some photos for us? We’re trying to establish the identity of some people that we found on the CCTV recordings your owner gave us earlier in the week.”

  “Certainly, I’d be delighted,” Lyttle said and sat opposite Moya.

  Anna stayed standing and placed two gloss prints on the table.

  Steve picked up the top one that showed the blonde walking through the foyer. “No idea, can’t see her face. She could be one of hundreds.” He set it aside and picked up the picture of the couple that had also been taken in the foyer. “Haven’t a clue who the woman is but the bloke is Paul Harris”

  Moya sat forward, “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. Huntingdon’s a small place in the scheme of things. Me and Paul went to school together. Out at Hinchingbrooke.”

  “Do you know where he lives?” she asked.

  “Afraid not. Like I said, we went to school together and still acknowledge each other on passing but I don’t think I’ve properly spoken to him for years. He’s okay like, no dramas with him. Just not in each other’s circle of friends really.”

  “What about where he works?” Moya asked hopefully.

  “I’m pretty sure he used to be out at Lola Cars, you know the Formula One setup that went bust?” Moya didn’t but nodded like she did to keep the momentum going. She could find out later and looked up to make sure Anna was taking notes. “But I’m not too sure where he is now. Sorry,” Lyttle said and Moya got the impression he was being genuine. She looked at him and saw, like her, he wasn’t wearing any wedding band on his finger. He was about the same age as she was, well presented, handsome’ish and confident. Above all, confident. But not overly so.

  “Do you know if he’s married?” she asked.

  “Mmm… I don’t think so, although… I wouldn’t swear to that. We’re not even Facebook buddies so I don’t really know,” Lyttle said and gave a tight, half-smile.

  It took another few minutes to tidy up the details and then Moya and Anna made to leave.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Moya said turning back, “If you think of anything else that might be of assistance you can ring the number on that card.”

  “Is this your number?”

  “No Mr Lyttle it’s not. It’s the operations room for the Tri-County Major Crimes Unit,” Moya said with mock severity.

  Lyttle reached into his suit pocket and handed over a card of his own. “Well perhaps, if I forget to call, or I don’t have anything to call about, you could check up on me? On Sunday perhaps?”

  She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Anna had walked on through to the foyer. “I might just have to do that. Duty of care and all that sort of thing.”

  “Exactly,” Steve Lyttle said and smirked in a boyish way that Moya reckoned was well practised but she still found incredibly attractive. She turned and caught up with Anna.

  “Everything okay Sarge?”

  “Yep. I think that was a result. Let’s go see what the Gov wants us to do.”

  *

  Once they’d sorted themselves out with coffees and teas, Reynold’s team and PC Giovanni settled in the operations room.

  “We’ve officially detained Costa,” he explained to Moya and Anna. “The charge clock’s ticking so Gary, John and Pop will have to find something of use otherwise we’ll have to let her go. We’ve nothing at the minute other than something’s not right and I want her where I can see her for now. The warrants for the search of her house are being signed off hopefully as we speak.”

  “What’s her story?” Moya asked.

  “She said she went into town on Friday night, met some friends, had a drink and went home early because she was feeling tired. That ties in with what we saw of her on the CCTV. Problem is that after that we have nothing. No one was at home, or rather her landlady didn’t see her come home. We don’t have the shoes she was wearing because she says the heel broke off one of them and she threw them out. She’s a black belt in a specialist self-defence form of martial arts and most of all she is really agitated. Way too keen to answer yes to everything she can yet not able to answer anything we need. Avoids eye-contact and is generally showing all the traits of someone trying to hide something a
nd doing it badly. So, we’ll wait for the duty solicitor to turn up and then we’ll have another go. Any other questions?”

  “Only if you managed to find out if someone was operating on our patch?” Moya asked.

  “Not a thing. I asked the Super to check it out at her level too and it all came back clean. So the blonde, if she’s doing surveillance, is doing it privately. Why’s that? Did you find something?”

  Moya let Anna take the rest of them through the identification of Paul Harris. “We ran his name and he shows up as living in Priory Grove, backs onto the cemetery and ties in with where we saw him heading on the video. Don’t have a work address for him, but if we aren’t going to be stepping on anyone’s toes we thought we could go to his house and see if anyone’s in. If not we wait for him.”

  “Yes, definitely,” Reynolds agreed. “But be discrete. If we assume that the blonde was hired to follow them then we might be wading into a civil divorce case or some other such nonsense that we don’t need to involve ourselves with. My guess would be that it’s probably his partner who’s hired someone to follow him so if she’s there you’re going to have to talk to her separately. Don’t lose focus that it’s the identity of the blonde we need.” Reynolds said it not for Moya’s benefit but for Anna’s. She, John and Pop were all in their first couple of years out of uniform and whilst they were shaping up nicely for the most part, he always liked to take the occasion to reinforce their skills.

  Anna and Moya finished their coffees and headed out. As the door was swinging shut a uniformed constable came in with the warrants Reynolds needed.

  “Right,” Reynolds said taking the papers and handing them over to Mason, “Go see if you three can find me some evidence.”

  Chapter 20

  Thursday Evening. Waltham Cross, Hertfordshire

  The Krasota Modelling Agency may have been a beauty by name but the address that claimed to be its International Headquarters was less than aesthetically pleasing. The office sat on the top floor of a small complex of shops that seemed to sag under the weight. The little row of outlets looked as if they had been stuck on as an afterthought to the front of the Pavilions Shopping Centre in the middle of Waltham Cross. On closer inspection it was obvious the modern centre had been built afterwards, right up to their back doors, like some large bully trying to edge them off their tenuous hold on the pavement. The gaudy façade of the Pavilions loomed over them from behind like a leering giant.