‘Did you work on the slave labour case?’ asked Cooper.
But Sharma shook his head. ‘Some of our officers at Peartree were responsible for arranging for him to be flown home to Slovakia safely. But the gang masters weren’t operating in our area. We had to pass the inquiry to West Midlands.’
‘Interesting case, though,’ said Cooper.
‘It has raised some issues for the force to consider.’
That was true. In fact, it was a case that had brought home very graphically the existence of modern-day slavery. Cooper had a briefing on his desk from the Modern Slavery Helpline, which listed all the signs to watch out for. People who looked malnourished or unkempt, who seemed unfamiliar with their surroundings, who avoided eye contact and appeared frightened of strangers, who had no identification and few personal possessions, or who travelled at odd times, being collected and dropped off for work on a regular basis late at night or early in the morning.
And this wasn’t just another briefing that had no relevance to E Division. Some of the isolated farmsteads out here in the hills of the Peak District were exactly the sort of places where trafficked slave labour might be employed, and no one would have any idea what was going on.
He supposed it was one of the issues Diane Fry’s unit would be concerned with at EMSOU. They would aim to bring the traffickers and slave masters to court as part of their remit to tackle organised crime.
‘Dev, it was good of you to come to Gavin Murfin’s leaving party last night,’ said Cooper. ‘I’m sorry if Gavin was a nuisance at all.’
‘A nuisance?’
‘Well, he can say the wrong thing at times, especially when he’s had a few drinks.’
Sharma shrugged. ‘There was no problem between us.’
‘According to your record, you’ve served in Peartree and Normanton, and some of the other inner city areas of Derby,’ said Cooper. ‘All very culturally diverse.’
‘Yes, there’s a much higher percentage of the population who belong to the Asian communities. Much higher than in this division, I mean.’
‘Hindus are in a minority, though, even in the Asian communities.’
‘My family are from the Punjab,’ said Sharma, ‘where Hindus are also a minority.’
‘Really? You mean there’s a majority of Muslims?’
‘No, all the Muslims left the area after Partition and went to Pakistan. The population of Indian Punjab is majority Sikh. About 60 per cent.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
Sharma shrugged. ‘It was a convenient place for my grandparents to come from. It’s not too remote or isolated. It’s near enough to the National Capital Region and New Delhi. My family were lucky to have access to the best opportunities. Including the chance to make a life here in Britain, without starting out as illegal immigrants or asylum seekers. We have never been poor.’
‘Why the police, then?’
Sharma didn’t answer at first, and Cooper wondered if he had gone too far and was being too intrusive. Perhaps the management of human resources wasn’t one of his greatest talents.
‘Do you mind me asking these questions?’ he said.
‘No,’ said Sharma. ‘I understand. You need to know your team.’
The detective sergeant’s face remained expressionless. And despite his words, Cooper began to feel even more uncomfortable. Someone else might have politely told him to mind his own business by now. But Dev Sharma was being excessively amenable and polite. Coldly polite.
‘I wanted to serve my community,’ he said.
And that made Cooper relax a little. He was reassured by the familiar phrase. Serving the community. It was a phrase that appeared in much of Derbyshire Constabulary’s public relations material, was mentioned in almost every quote from a senior officer in a newspaper report. It was the force’s unofficial slogan. The badge said, ‘Vis Unita Fortior’: ‘United Strength is Stronger’.
‘There was a programme in Derby to reach out to the Asian community,’ said Sharma. ‘Police officers came to my school and talked to us. I don’t know why, but the job appealed to me. My parents didn’t approve, but they came to terms with my decision.’
That was more like it. Cooper could empathise with the rather conflicted urge.
‘Have you experienced any problems at all during your service?’ he asked.
‘Racist attitudes, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘From the public, or my fellow officers?’
Cooper hesitated, worried that he was on delicate ground again. But he was aware of some recent incidents in the area. Racist graffiti had been sprayed on the wall of a cave in Dovedale, one of the Peak District’s busiest tourist hot spots. And just this winter someone had drawn a swastika in the snow on the bonnet of a car in New Mills.
‘Well, either,’ he said.
‘Very little, to be honest,’ said Sharma. ‘And I don’t suppose you’ve experienced many problems here in the past? I haven’t seen any other officers or civilian staff from ethnic minorities since I’ve been in E Division.’
‘No, that’s true.’
Cooper winced as he recalled stories told by some of the older officers who remembered serving with a black officer decades ago. From all accounts, he’d been treated very badly. But times had changed, even in Edendale.
‘Well, as far as the public are concerned, it won’t be a problem,’ said Sharma. ‘The further away from the front line you work, the less racism you encounter. When you’re dealing with a serious incident, people want your help whatever your colour.’
‘One last question,’ said Cooper.
‘Yes?’
‘Are you a vegetarian?’
Sharma shook his head. ‘In my form of Hinduism we can eat fish and even chicken. No cows, obviously. They’re sacred.’
‘Of course.’
For a moment Cooper had a mad idea of taking Sharma to Bridge End Farm to meet his brother. Matt worshipped cows too, in his own way. Not just because they helped to earn him a living, but because of their personalities, so he said. Cooper wondered how the two of them would get on. It was actually quite hard to imagine.
But then he looked at Sharma and thought he detected a suggestion of a twinkle in his brown eyes. Cooper relaxed a little. Like Gavin Murfin, he was probably trying too hard.
‘There’s a restaurant in Edendale where they specialise in fish dishes,’ he said. ‘The Mussel and Crab in Hollowgate. We should go for a meal one night. You and me.’
‘Bonding?’ said Sharma
‘If you like.’
Sharma nodded. ‘I’d be happy to do that.’
Cooper watched him, hoping for a bit more response, but not getting it. Dev Sharma was about as impenetrable as anybody he’d met. This was hard work.
He looked at Sharma’s personnel file again.
‘I see you live in the Normanton area of Derby too,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that a bit of a journey to get here in the morning?’
There was silence for a moment, which made Cooper look up. Sharma’s face was impassive, but the silence began to grow uncomfortable.
‘It can be a problem to have someone living so far out of the area,’ said Cooper, feeling some explanation was necessary. ‘If traffic is bad around Derby, you may be delayed getting to work.’
‘I know,’ said Sharma. ‘But I suppose I might say that it isn’t as far as travelling in from Nottingham.’
That gave Cooper a jolt. He felt himself flushing with anger at the softly spoken jibe. But Sharma’s face was still calm. There was no smirk or disrespectful stare to accompany the comment. He was just making use of a bit of information he’d gathered. And letting his new DI know that he was aware of his relationship with a member of the East Midlands Special Operations Unit. Most junior officers would just have kept it to themselves, or gossiped about it behind his back. But Sharma had come straight out with it.
In a way it was impressive. Not least because it demonstrated that Sharma had found o
ut more personal detail about Cooper than the other way round, even in his short time in E Division. And Cooper felt he might actually have deserved the remark. His questions had perhaps become too intrusive, out of a genuine curiosity. Handling people could be so difficult to get right.
‘Look, I know you’re probably not going to be here in Edendale for very long,’ he said.
Sharma raised an eyebrow. ‘Why do say that?’
‘I imagine you’re destined for higher things. You’ll be moving on. Promotion.’
‘Eventually perhaps. But . . .’
‘What?’
Then Sharma smiled a genuine smile for the first time. ‘I think I’m going to enjoy working with you as long as I’m here.’
12
Windmill Feed Solutions was based on a modern industrial estate on the outskirts of Stockport. The company’s surroundings contradicted the bucolic image on their trucks. There wasn’t a windmill in sight – only a vast DIY distribution centre, some smaller factory units and a slip road onto the M67.
Cooper drove past the giant hoppers for raw materials and parked his Toyota near the mill. Through enormous double doors, he could see workers filling storage bins and stacking pallets of feed. Some of them wore masks against the dust swirling in the air from the milling process.
Inside the offices he was met by the transport manager – a man called Bateman, middle-aged and tired-looking, with black-rimmed glasses he kept taking off to rub at his eyes.
‘Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, Mr Bateman,’ said Cooper.
‘I can only spare a few minutes, I’m afraid. This a very busy operation.’ He looked out of a window onto the yard, where a lorry was backing up to one of the loading bays. ‘We have a fast turn-around. We deliver Monday to Friday, with a one-to-three-day delivery service from point of order. Even when we’re not delivering, the mill is still in production. It never stops out there.’
‘Your driver, Malcom Kelsey,’ said Cooper. ‘What can you tell me about him?’
‘Yes, Malcom Kelsey,’ said Bateman. ‘Everyone calls him Mac. He’s been with us for nearly ten years. Started off driving vans, then did his HGV training and got his Category C licence. One of our best drivers.’
‘Really? No problems with him in the past?’
‘Not much. Well, not really.’
‘Could I see his personnel file, please?’
Bateman looked uncomfortable. He replaced his glasses and opened a manilla folder, then closed it again.
‘These are confidential details, of course. I willingly gave one of your officers a copy of Mac Kelsey’s schedule of deliveries for Monday. But personal information is rather a different matter, I believe.’
‘Mr Kelsey is missing, sir. Given the evidence, we’re treating his disappearance as suspicious.’
‘I heard he was assaulted in his cab. Is it true, detective inspector?’
‘We’ll know for certain when we’ve completed our inquiries. In the meantime we really need your cooperation. I need to inquire into Mr Kelsey’s background circumstances.’
Bateman sighed. ‘I can’t see that it’s relevant.’
‘Deciding the relevance of any facts isn’t really your job, sir. It’s what I’m here for.’
‘Questions of confidentiality still apply,’ said Bateman. ‘I can’t let you have the file, but I can share with you some of the less personal details perhaps.’
He opened the file again and stared at the first page, as if he hadn’t seen it before. But Cooper felt sure he’d studied it carefully as soon as he got the first phone call.
‘Well, it’s true to say there have been a few minor incidents.’
‘I would be very interested to hear about them.’
Still Bateman hesitated. ‘Our drivers are all fully trained to industry guidelines of course.’
‘No doubt.’
‘But we have an extensive range of vehicles in our fleet. We use curtain-sided vehicles to deliver bagged feed and they require more headroom than a bulk vehicle. Normally, we check with a customer whether there any access restrictions, or obstructions such as overhead power lines.’
‘Whose job is that?’
‘Well . . . mine.’
‘I see.’
Nervously, Bateman fiddled with his glasses before he continued. ‘Obviously, we have to be able to accommodate any access restrictions. So some vehicles have mechanical off-load where required. Our drivers are always available to stack products, as long as it’s safe.’
‘Safe?’
‘Ideally, we need an area off the public highway with sufficient space for unloading. But sometimes vehicles have to be unloaded at the roadside. It can mean drivers working where they’re in the way of other road users. Safety can be a major issue. You know what some of those farms are like out there, particularly in the hillier areas.’
‘Yes, I do know. So . . . ?’
‘Well, all right.’ Bateman cleared his throat. ‘Mac Kelsey had an incident near Marple, where he was alleged to have caused an accident by forcing a car to swerve when he reversed his forklift into the road. The car ended up in a ditch and the driver was slightly injured.’
‘How slightly?’
‘Only a few bruises, I believe. Perhaps a bit of whiplash. Our insurance covered it, but anything like that affects our annual premium, of course. A business like ours can’t afford too many extra overheads, especially if it can be attributed to our employees’ negligence.’
‘Was there a court case? Was Kelsey charged with anything?’
‘No charges were brought.’
‘Was Mac Kelsey ever accompanied?’ asked Cooper. ‘A driver’s mate. A trainee perhaps?’
Bateman shook his head firmly. ‘No, our drivers work alone. They’re not allowed to let anyone else in the cab. No lifts or hitch-hikers, anything like that.’
‘But it might happen, mightn’t it?’
‘I’m sure it wouldn’t. But if I found out, they would be in trouble.’
‘But if one of your drivers picked someone up, how would you know?’
‘Unless someone actually saw them and reported it,’ admitted Bateman, ‘the chances are I would never find out.’
Cooper made a note. ‘Anything else?’
‘And then there was the equipment damage,’ said Bateman.
‘What kind of equipment?’
‘The type of truck that Mac Kelsey drives has a Palfinger Crayler mounted on the tailgate.’
‘A what?’
‘Its own forklift. You see, we service a lot of farmers who still prefer the small twenty-kilo bags. They’re easier for manual handling. But they have to be delivered in pallet loads, so we operate a truck-mounted forklift. The trouble is, operating a forklift truck on uneven ground can cause an overturn. Kelsey had the appropriate training, but he overturned a forklift on a delivery one day. Another insurance job.’
‘So has Mr Kelsey been the subject of disciplinary proceedings?’
‘He’s had a couple of warnings.’
‘Recently?’
Bateman referred to the file again. ‘The forklift incident was two months ago.’
‘Who reported that?’
‘The customer did.’
‘A local farmer?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s a bit different from getting his lorry trapped under a bridge, though,’ said Cooper.
‘And that’s not the first time either,’ said Bateman.
‘What isn’t?’
‘Mac Kelsey getting stuck. He was suspended for a while when he got a vehicle trapped in a lane that was too narrow and couldn’t reverse out because he was on a steep hill. He nearly burned out that clutch trying to extricate himself. On that occasion we discovered that his satnav setting had been changed from HGV to car mode. We couldn’t accept that as an excuse, of course. An experienced driver should use some common sense.’
‘I see.’
‘Was that the case here?’
; ‘I don’t know,’ said Cooper. ‘Until just now it hadn’t occurred to me.’
‘Well, I’m glad to have helped a bit, then. Will you let me know the outcome? It might help us to avoid this kind of incident in the future.’
‘Yes, I’m sure we can do that.’
Bateman hesitated again, aware that something else was expected of him before he showed Cooper the door.
‘You should talk to Mr Kelsey’s wife,’ said Cooper. ‘I’m sure she would appreciate some support.’
Bateman jumped up. ‘Certainly, certainly. You’re quite right – that’s what we should do. I’ll get straight on to it, and see what we can do for her. A valued member of staff and all that. I’ll get her address from the file. You don’t need that, do you?’
‘No, we have that already,’ said Cooper, watching Bateman’s sudden enthusiasm for action.
‘Naturally you have. So, er . . .’ Bateman tilted his head on one side as he looked at Cooper expectantly. ‘Was there anything else I can help you with, inspector?’
‘Yes. Did Mac Kelsey have any enemies? Anyone you can think of who might have wished to do him harm?’
‘Well, no one here, that’s for certain,’ said Bateman. ‘The drivers all get on well, so far as they ever see each other. It’s a solitary job by its nature, of course. I’ve never heard any complaints about him from members of staff, or anything like that.’
‘Nothing you’ve heard about his home life, his relationship with his wife.’
Bateman shook his head. ‘Nothing at all, I’m afraid. Perhaps I haven’t been so much help, after all.’
The Murder Road: A Cooper & Fry Mystery Page 11
