It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
When her grandmother, Noni, had died a couple of weeks ago, she was supposed to inherit the lean-to and the people of the village were supposed to look after her until she was deemed able to do it herself. That’s how it was done in her village.
She’d been asleep when the men had come. They had put a hand over her mouth and carried her out to a car, a knife sticking against her ribs warning her to be quiet. From the car she’d been put into a van, driven for a long time, and then placed inside the container with nineteen other women. They were all older than her, though. Elvie was only fifteen.
Nita Thress, another girl in the container, had quickly befriended Elvie, talking to her and telling her it would all be all right. Nita was older than her, and Elvie had happily let her take charge. But Nita was now ill. A lot of the young women were.
Elvie didn’t know how long they’d been inside the container, but it had been long enough for the women to drink almost all the water, and empty the tubs of rice and vegetables, even after they’d gone slimy and started to smell. Now the container was starting to smell like death. There were no blankets to keep them warm in the decreasing temperature, no fresh water to keep them hydrated, and no toilet. They had all been defecating and urinating, and it had got to the point where it was no longer confined to one specific area.
Hearing Nita moan for water, Elvie climbed to her feet, ignoring the pins and needles in her legs from being pulled up to her chin for so long. She grabbed one of the few cups and went to the last bucket with water inside. It held about an inch at the bottom, and Elvie had to use her hand to scoop a little into the cup. She took a small sip for herself, then walked back over to Nita. She picked up the girl’s head and held the cup to her parched lips, allowing her friend to drink the last dribble.
Elvie placed her hand on Nita’s head, checking for a temperature as her grandmother had done when she was small. Nita’s head felt hot and sweaty as she thrashed beneath Elvie’s touch.
The fear she’d felt at the start had faded. Now Elvie just wanted to get to wherever she was going. She had an ache in her head that had been a constant for days. Her hunger had eased today, and she felt tired. Whatever was coming she would deal with when she got there. She missed her Noni terribly. Her gran would never have let anything happen to her. Laying her head on top of her knees, she started to cry silently.
Footpath Along the River Wear, Durham – 2 November
Wallace Pemberton was following his normal route. He’d been to the corner shop to pick up his newspaper, as he did every day, and had progressed down the road and onto the footpath that ran alongside the river. His West Highland terrier, Poppet, was eagerly sniffing every plant and bush as they made their way leisurely along.
It was still dark, and the path was deserted: the joggers and dog walkers not yet braving the early morning. But Wallace liked the dark, and the walk kept his ageing muscles from seizing up. At almost ninety years old, his hearing was starting to fail, and his eyesight wasn’t the best, but he was definitely fitter than your average old man.
He had his paper tucked under one arm, his jacket collar was pulled up around his neck and the flat cap sat perched on his balding head keeping the skin warm. Poppet’s lead hung loosely beside him. Not that she would ever run off even without the lead. The dog was almost as old as he was, in dog years at least.
The sun was just starting to think about rising, and the sky to the east changed from black to blue slowly; Wallace was just approaching the cathedral. It stood on the opposite side of the bank to the path, lights illuminating the walls and turrets. It had stood for nearly a thousand years and was one of the main tourist attractions in Durham. He had visited once as a young man, trying to impress his latest flame. They had walked all the way along to the lovers’ chair and shared their first kiss. So long ago he couldn’t even remember when. Her name had been Lacey, and she’d ended up his wife so his wooing had obviously done the trick. Lacey had passed on several years before, but Wallace always thought about her when he passed the cathedral. He missed her a lot.
‘Love you, Lacey,’ he whispered with a nod as he passed.
The route Wallace took wasn’t short; it was probably five times longer than just using the normal streets to get home. But it was a nice walk, the odours of wild garlic and aniseed ripe in the spring and summer, and the crisp smell of winter approaching at this time of year. The leaves had started falling from the trees the month before, and Wallace trod carefully, mindful that he might slip.
He was just walking past the weir, when something caught his eye. It was trapped in the tumultuous water rolling at the weir itself, and it looked like clothing. Wallace pulled the hard glasses case from his inside pocket and placed the lenses over his eyes. The water ragged the object about a little more and suddenly, Wallace realised it wasn’t just clothing. It was a dead man. He should know; he’d seen enough of them during the war.
Wallace felt a pain start in his chest and move down his arm. He struggled to draw breath and the pain increased. He tried not to panic, he’d had a heart attack a few months back and had ended up being fine. His legs gave way, and he sank to the ground with a soft sigh. Remembering what he’d been told last time, he coughed hard. Drawing in a shaky breath, he coughed a few more times. His newspaper floated off in the morning breeze as he freed the newfangled mobile phone from his pocket. His grandson had insisted he carry it with him on his walks. Now he just had to remember how to use it.
The pain intensified, and he coughed again. Pushing 999 and the green call button, he steadied his breathing to respond as the operator asked which service.
‘Police and ambulance, please,’ he gasped.
‘This is the police, sir, how can I help?’
‘Dead body … weir near the cathedral … need help.’ Wallace was trying his best to stay conscious, and he forced another cough from his tired lungs.
‘Sorry, sir, did you say there’s a dead body in the weir near the cathedral?’
Wallace grunted in reply, ‘send police … and ambulance.’
The call handler must have known something was wrong and asked, ‘is the ambulance for you, sir. Do you need help? You sound very breathless.’
‘Heart … attack.’
Wallace couldn’t say any more. The phone slipped from his grip and hit the concrete floor with a clatter. The call handler was still calling ‘sir’ as Wallace finally succumbed and slid backwards, his eyes closing and his head lolling to the side, his breathing raspy and shallow.
Poppet knew something was wrong; she’d sat down beside him the minute he’d fallen. Now, she threw her head back and howled mournfully.
Chapter Two
Marlo’s flat, Sunderland – 2 November
T he heavy buzzing from the bedside table invaded Marlo Buchanan’s sleep and tried to pull her into the land of the living. Doing her best to ignore it, she pulled the pillow round to cover her ears and tried to force her mind back into the dream she’d been having. But the buzzing persisted.
Groaning, she reached an arm from the warm confines of the duvet and blindly felt around for her mobile phone. It seriously cannot be time to get up. I’ve been in bed like ten minutes. There’s no way that’s my alarm.
Finally finding the phone, she pulled it towards her and cracked open one eye to glance at the caller ID. Seeing who it was, she swiped across the screen and mumbled, ‘Go away. I’m sleeping,’ before hanging up. She hadn’t even had a chance to put the phone down when the knocking at the door started, softly at first but then louder. She would swear she could hear someone talking through the letter box too.
‘Christ, what’s a girl gotta do to get some sleep around here. I get in at 2 a.m. and I’m getting knocked up at just after six? Jesus Christ, I’m actually gunna kill her,’ grumbled Marlo as she pushed the duvet off and got to her feet. She grabbed the hair bobble off her bedside cabinet and tied her dark hair in a loose bun as she walked through
the flat.
She unlocked the front door and opened it slightly before turning and heading towards the kitchen.
‘You forgot,’ accused Deena Davis, her hands on her hips in mock anger.
‘Obviously,’ said Marlo with an eye roll at her friend. Then realising she might actually be offended, Marlo added, ‘Sorry, I was out late at a search last night and our jog just slipped my mind. I’ll make you a special coffee on my machine to make it up.’
Marlo’s eyes narrowed in on her friend, then widened suddenly. ‘Bitch! You’re not even dressed for a run. You weren’t going anyway!’
‘Wondered how long it’d take you. Where’s my coffee?’
Marlo made it, and the pair made their way through to the living room.
‘So, if we weren’t running, why on earth were you banging at my door at this ungodly hour?’
‘I wasn’t banging. And it’s not ungodly, it’s almost 7 a.m. You’d have been up soon anyway. I’m on 8 a.m. start today.’
Marlo acknowledged the statement with a nod and took a sip of the hot coffee, sighing as she savoured the sweet caramel hit. That coffee machine was one of the best things she’d ever bought.
‘We still on for trying that new cocktail bar tonight?’ asked Marlo, suddenly remembering what day it was.
‘All being well. I’m due to get off at four but have a dentist appointment scheduled in at five. Then have to go home and put my face on, so say meet there about seven ish? That’s provided I don’t wind up being kept on, of course. The dentist must think I’m a complete piss-taker. I’ve rescheduled the appointment twice already, once more, and he’ll probably take me off the books. You know what the dentists are like nowadays.’
‘Yeah, it’s hard to get in. But you need to. No putting it off this time. That tooth needs pulling! How is it today, anyway?’
‘The same. Took some codeine this morning to ease it off. Hopefully, the dentist’s gunna just whip it out and save me more misery. What’re your plans for the day?’
‘At work ’til five. We’ve got a buyer coming to look at the boat. Wish the force weren’t selling it, it’s a lush machine. Shame we don’t get much opportunity to use it. All this cost cutting’s a nightmare. Did you see the briefing the other day about the potential cuts? I thought this was all over and done with a couple of years ago, but we still have to lose another five million over the next year.’
‘Yeah, they’ve put us all on the “at risk register” again. Crime scene investigators are still not classed as frontline staff, which is ridiculous. Half the time we’re at the scene before the cop gets there these days. It sucks.’
‘Sorry, honey. Am sure you’ll be fine though, you’re an old hand now. Hasn’t Cass put you forward for the crime scene manager training?’
‘Yeah, she’s fab bless her. There’s four of us been put forward. I’m just keeping my fingers crossed. Johnny got accepted for the arson investigation course last month so hopefully he’ll be out of the running for the CSM one; but you never know. You know what Hartside’s like. He’s a complete prick.’
‘Hate to say it, but bosses usually are. Especially ones like him with their head so far up their own arse they can practically see daylight.’
Marlo’s phone interrupted their conversation with a loud buzz. Seeing it was her sergeant, she swiped and answered.
‘Buchanan … yup, OK, Sharpie. See you in a bit.’
She didn’t even need to explain. Hanging up the phone, she watched Deena curl her legs up underneath her.
‘Yes, I’ll lock up when I leave, and no I won’t forget to wash the cups. Go to work, Marlo.’
Marlo grinned at her friend and made her way to the bathroom. At least it’s a late call in.
Container Truck, Washington Industrial Park – 2 November
The truck braked hard, jolting Elvie from a disturbed sleep. She rubbed her eyes, trying to rid them of that feeling of sandiness. She glanced down at Nita who was laid beside her. Nita’s skin was pale and clammy and there was a thin sheen of sweat over the girl’s forehead. She occasionally whimpered as the fever tried to tear her body apart.
There was no water left now. Elvie’s tongue felt swollen and cracked inside her mouth. The initial gnawing of hunger that had started when the food had run out was now nothing more than a dull ache. Her eyes were heavy and hot; she really didn’t feel too good.
The smell in the container had intensified overnight and Elvie suddenly leant over herself and heaved. There was nothing to come up, but her body kept heaving. When she sat back up, her eyes were glassy with tears. She hated being sick.
Elvie knew that some of the other girls had died, releasing their weak hold on whatever life they were heading into. She envied them in some ways. They were free, not cooped up in the stinking container where the only light was artificial, and the only warmth was each other. She cocked her head to the side, listening. The truck was no longer moving.
There was a loud clatter as the container doors were suddenly wrenched open. Two men leapt inside and started kicking at the girls on the floor.
‘Pataas,’ they said as their toes connected with ribs and legs. The men obviously didn’t know much Filipino; their pronunciation was all wrong, but ‘pataas’ was up, and ‘pumunta’ was go. It was all they needed; they weren’t paid to chat.
The girls who didn’t move, whether through illness or death, were left behind. They would be dealt with later.
Elvie was more scared than she’d ever been. She had to get Nita up. She moved to her knees and shook her friend hard. Eventually, Nita opened her eyes, struggling to focus. She felt rather than saw Elvie’s fear and turned to pull herself to her knees. Elvie helped her up, taking pretty much her full weight as Nita leant into her.
‘Pumunta,’ said one of the men, nudging them towards the open doors.
The security cameras that should’ve been watching the industrial estate had been disabled earlier in the night. There was no one to see or hear as the girls were herded from the container into nearby vans in the car park of the abandoned factory. Years ago, it had been one of the most productive factories in Washington. Now though, the only thing it was used by was the rats and pigeons.
Elvie clutched Nita tightly, knowing if she let go then her friend would fall. There was no one to help them to the ground. Elvie leant her friend against the side of the container and clambered down, wincing as the glass shards on the tarmac cut into the soles of her bare feet. She reached up and helped Nita to the ground, flinching as the men jumped down beside them.
‘These two aren’t bad. I can put up with the stink if there’s a nice warm mouth round my cock,’ said one with a sneer.
‘Boss lady said no touching,’ said the other one, looking bored. He put up with the same or similar on every transportation.
‘Come on, no one would even have to know,’ whined the first man. He wasn’t well built, verged on skinny in fact. He was well dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, his hair neatly styled. In contrast, the other was well built and muscular, also dressed in the same uniform of sorts. He lost his temper suddenly, one hand wrapped around the skinny man’s throat and he threw him against the back of the truck.
‘No … Fucking … Touching.’
The skinny man gasped and nodded, trying to catch his breath. As he was released his hands instinctively touched his neck, almost as if he were checking it was still there. He watched the other man make his way to the driver’s side of the Transit van, and only able to vent his frustration one way, he gave Elvie a sharp kick.
Elvie gasped as hot pain seared up her thigh. Why did he do that? I didn’t do anything. Tugging Nita alongside, she climbed into the back of the van. Only one of the other girls from the container was inside, huddled in the far corner, looking as afraid as Elvie felt. The doors slammed shut behind them, and within seconds the van left the car park.
Dive Team HQ, South Shields – 2 November
By the time Marlo arrived at the di
ve team’s headquarters, her appearance had changed completely. The dishevelled, ‘just got out of bed’ look had been banished and replaced with something more functional. Her hair was swept up in a tight bun, and her figure disguised with the loose folds of the nondescript black T-shirt and combat pants that made up her work uniform. The coffee had kicked in making her look like she’d been awake for hours.
She made her way down to the wet room at the base of the stairs. The room wasn’t actually wet, it had a waterproof coating all over the floor, and drains strategically placed around. When the team came back from a dive, this was where the equipment was stored and cleaned. It was also where the team would congregate.
True to form, the dive team sergeant, Colin Sharp, looked up as she entered.
‘Hey, Marlo. Since you’re first here, you’re lead diver. Check your gear. We’re taking the small RIB,’ he said, referring to one of the rigid inflatable boats used by the team for rescues. ‘It should be big enough. The body’s in the weir at Durham Cathedral. River’s high ’cos of the rain. Body’s probably snagged as the report from the cop on scene is that it’s not moving from the weir.’
‘Have we got a rendezvous point?’ asked Marlo, as she checked her mask and lines.
‘Yeah, the RVP is at the small car park next to the cathedral. DI Ali McKay is running point. The guy who handled that murder in Sunderland a few months ago, the one that got away?’
‘Oh great, so we’ve landed some tit who probably doesn’t know his arse from his elbow?’
‘Now that’s no way to talk about Mac,’ joked Doc, entering the room and receiving a punch to the arm from Mac in response. Mac and Doc were like chalk and cheese. Complete polar opposites, but they got on like a house on fire. Mac aptly nicknamed from a shortening of his surname, MacDonagh, and Doc after an incident involving the rescue of a dog from a pond while he was walking the beat. He’d given the dog mouth-to-nose resuscitation and the nickname Doc Dolittle was his reward.
All the team had nicknames. Marlo’s was Buck, a shortening of her own surname, though some cops would dispute that if asked. The sergeant was known as Sharpie. The only member of the team that didn’t have a nickname was Connor Maynard, the crew’s youngest member at only twenty-seven years old. He’d transferred into the force a couple of months before with full qualifications and breezed through his entrance interview. Once in, he’d been seconded to the dive team when a spot became available.
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