by Rob Sinclair
‘You wait there,’ Dani said. She turned and moved out of the room. As soon as she stepped into the hallway it was like walking into a different realm. All of the tension, all of the terror of the lounge evaporated.
‘Come on, Dani,’ she said to herself under her breath.
She stepped into the kitchen, and to the door that led under the stairs. She opened it up and shone the torch into the cramped cupboard beyond.
At least there wasn’t a basement leading down in here. Dani really wasn’t sure how she’d cope having to go down there.
Sure enough, behind the stack of hanging coats, was the fusebox, and Dani saw the tripped switch straight away. She flipped it back into place and there was another clunk as the system came back to life. Not that the house was exactly bathed in light in that moment.
Dani moved back out of the cupboard and closed the door, then, out in the hall, she flicked on the lights.
‘No! Why did you do that?’ Brigitta said, standing in the lounge doorway, a hand up to shield her angry and sullen face as though the light was burning her. ‘I hate it like this.’
‘I just want to make sure everything is OK,’ Dani said.
‘Who are you?’ Brigitta said, shooting Dani a cold glare, though her hesitation and confusion remained.
‘Mrs Popescu, I’m Detective Stephens. We met the other day. Do you remember?’
She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t look convinced.
‘We were talking in the lounge a few moments ago? You were telling me about bones?’
‘Bones. What are you talking about? I’m phoning Victor.’
Brigitta turned and shuffled out of sight into the lounge.
‘That’s probably a good idea,’ Dani said.
Though she didn’t want to be here when he arrived. She’d had enough of this place, of Brigitta and Victor for one day.
She moved back into the lounge to see Brigitta with a cordless phone in her hand, heading back to her chair in the corner. The phone was shaking in her hand. Fear or just old age?
‘Vic. Yes.’ Then she babbled on for a few moments in lightning-speed Romanian. The only word that Dani made out was politie. Police. Brigitta put the phone down and glared back at Dani.
‘He’s coming now.’
‘Mrs Popescu, are you sure you don’t remember what you were saying to me? It was only moments ago?’
‘How did you get in here?’
Dani sighed.
‘I knocked a few times. You didn’t answer, but the door was open.’
‘Yes, well. Victor is coming now.’
She nodded. Didn’t stop. Her eyes moved from Dani to a spot somewhere on the far wall. She continued to nod.
‘I’m glad,’ Dani said. ‘He’ll be able to take care of you.’
Dani turned. She just wanted to go.
‘It’s not me that needs taking care of.’
Dani said nothing, just shuddered as she walked out and made for the front door.
Chapter 22
Ana sat shivering in the car. She’d been here, in the dark, for twenty minutes now. With the engine and the air-conditioning off, her warm breath had quickly fogged up the cold windows, so she’d now wound down the one next to her, making the interior of the cabin as cold as it was outside.
At least she had her thick coat on, the stolen phone hidden within.
She stared out at the block-like detached house beyond the car. She knew nothing about architecture, but the bland, grey three-storey buildings on this street, with their uniform proportions and flat roofs, looked as if they’d been designed by a bored child.
Ana had never been to this particular house before. Had never been to this downtrodden street before, though she knew exactly what she was looking at. Victor ran several properties like this in the area. Ana didn’t know the exact number – it wasn’t like she was a business partner of his – but she knew from the number of young women who passed through that Victor – along with his ‘associates’ spread through the region and beyond – had something of a mini empire.
What was Ana even doing here? All Victor had said when he came back into the warehouse, two hours after he and Alex had left, was that there was a problem. That he needed Ana to help him sort it out.
But so far she’d just been left in the car.
The unlocked car. She didn’t have the key. She couldn’t drive off. But she could step out if she wanted to.
She could run.
Why hadn’t she already?
A banging door wrenched Ana from those hopeful thoughts, and a moment later Victor came striding along the poorly lit path to the car. Ana took a large drag from her cigarette then stubbed it out and flicked the butt out of the window as Victor reached it.
‘You’re needed,’ he growled.
* * *
Ana said nothing as she stared. Felt nothing, really, which was quite surprising to her. And it wasn’t that she wasn’t shocked. She was numb.
She’d never seen so much blood. In fact she could scarcely believe it possible that a human body could contain so much.
Red splashes streaked the walls, the ceiling, the floor, which also had a large puddle growing beneath the grotty single bed.
The bed. Upon which lay the lifeless crimson-soaked body of Maria.
Even with all of the red that covered her, Ana recognised the young face. The woman – a teenager, really – had arrived in England all of twenty-four hours ago. Ana had been the one who’d basically stolen her freedom from her, and sent her on her way to this place.
Ana couldn’t explain why, but she’d looked through each and every one of the confiscated passports from yesterday. As though knowing the names and birthdays of these young women somehow brought Ana closer to them, somehow gave her more of a justification for the things she was doing. The things she was doing for Victor.
Ana jumped when he stormed back into the room, Alex in tow.
‘I don’t fucking believe this,’ he shouted. ‘One day she’s been here. All of that effort for nothing.’
Ana felt sick at that. She knew exactly what Victor was thinking. Money. He didn’t care one bit about poor Maria, what she’d been through in this room, the life that had been forever torn away from her. He only cared about himself. The hassle he’d had in bringing Maria here, which was now all to waste.
‘Ana, stop staring into space like a damn statue. Clean this place up.’
Ana nodded then picked up the rubber gloves that lay on the edge of the bucket that was filled with frothy water.
As though water and soap was going to make this scene disappear.
‘Who was he?’ Alex asked Victor.
‘A regular. Jim, is all these idiots know. They’ve told me what he looks like, but they know fuck all else.’
‘Somehow we’ll find him.’
Ana had already gleaned a little of what had happened. Jim was apparently a regular user of Victor’s girls. A not at all uncommon type, sadly. The type who couldn’t get a girlfriend through the normal means, basically because he was an obscene and violent drunk. So he resorted to paying for sex. Only he knew, just like everyone else did, that he was an obscene and violent drunk, so he was made to pay more, and was generally happy to do so. And he was made to pay more for good reason, because every now and then the women he used would end up with black eyes, or cut lips or bleeding genitalia, when he took his life’s frustrations out on them.
Extra money. Not for the victims, but for Victor, for the hassle of him having banged-up prostitutes rather than pristine ones.
‘She was only eighteen,’ Ana said, unable to take her eyes off Maria’s body.
‘Forever young,’ Alex said.
That comment got him a glower from Victor. It really should have got him a boot down his throat. Ana would have kindly put it there herself.
‘You put her here,’ Ana said. She glared at Victor, who ignored her.
‘Watch your fucking mouth,’ Alex said.
‘Or w
hat?’ Ana said. ‘You’re going to call Jim out to get me? Beat the crap out of me? Cut me to pieces?’
‘Ana, you’re upset,’ Victor said, sounding way more calm than anyone else in the room. ‘But we will catch this guy. And we’ll make him pay.’
‘Make him pay? How much? Two hundred pounds? How much was Maria’s life worth to you?’
Victor shot over like a rocket, snarling. He grabbed Ana by the throat, took her off her feet and launched her up against the wall with a painful thud.
She grimaced in pain and gasped for breath.
‘Remember who you’re talking to,’ he said. ‘Remember where I dragged you from. You want to be back in a place like this instead? Being fucked every day by God knows who?’
Ana couldn’t have answered the question even if she’d wanted to.
‘Well, do you?’ Victor roared.
Ana shook her head, at least as best she could.
‘Now clean up this mess. I don’t want to hear another word from you.’
Victor let go and Ana clattered down into a heap on the blood-soaked floor. She glanced up to see Alex staring at her, a ghastly smile on his ghastly face.
‘I’m going to find him,’ Victor said. ‘And when I do…’
There was a knock on the front door downstairs. Ana heard chatter. Victor disappeared off to see who it was.
Ana pulled herself onto her knees.
‘Back where you belong,’ Alex said to her.
She ignored the jibe. She had nothing left to say to this man.
Moments later Victor arrived back in the room, trailed by two burly men, who Ana thought she vaguely recognised. Both were dressed in black, with thick leather boots covered in silly blue plastic covers, and leather gloves.
One of them whistled when he saw the sight, as though he was impressed with the gory scene.
Ana felt like launching herself at him and tearing a hole in his neck.
One of the men unrolled some thick plastic sheeting and he and the other grunted as they hauled Maria’s limp body off the bed. It clattered onto the sheet and the floor with a sickening thud and squelch. They rolled the body tight, casual as can be.
‘You know who did this?’ one of them asked.
‘Yeah,’ Victor said. ‘And you can be sure you’ll soon be rolling that bastard up too.’
‘If you can find him,’ Ana reminded him. She didn’t get any response.
Having finished wrapping, the two men casually hauled the plastic bundle up like it was nothing more than a rug. Like there wasn’t a young woman’s body in there.
‘Where to?’ one of them said to Victor.
‘Same place as the others,’ was Victor’s chilling reply.
Chapter 23
Just days ago Ana had been in Liverpool. Supposedly the start of her new life. Full of hope, even if that hope had been as brittle as glass. That time in the North, however fragile, had been six glorious months, out from under Victor’s sight and living her life as a free, ‘normal’ woman in another country, working in a job that utilised her intelligence and her skills.
Now look at where she was. Back by his side. In some ways she wished she was eighteen-year-old Ana again. The Ana who’d been duped into coming to England on the promise of a better life. That life had been a nightmare, but at least, even as she’d been abused, her conscience had been clear. Now she was nothing more than Victor’s wretched accomplice, actively responsible for the misery of others.
She watched from the window as the two men outside heaved Maria’s wrapped body into the back of their waiting van. Moments later they drove off silently into the night. To where, Ana had no clue, though Victor’s haunting words continued to swirl in her mind as she got to work.
Alex hadn’t stayed in the house much longer after that, though Victor remained somewhere – Ana could hear his raised voice below. He’d said he’d go to get some help for Ana in cleaning up the mess, but so far she was alone, on her hands and knees scrubbing away at the wall. The carpet was beyond saving, she’d already decided. She’d told Victor that, though so far he wasn’t listening.
‘You only need to do the basics,’ he’d said to her. ‘Surface clean while I arrange the proper job.’
Spoken like a true expert. Which was all the more horrifying.
And that was the main reason why, after several minutes alone, she stood up, took off the rubber gloves, and moved over to the chair in the corner – the blood-free corner – where her coat was neatly folded.
She performed the by now almost ritual-like process of unfolding the coat, finding the seam and tentatively and expectantly reaching in with her two fingers to draw the device out. She powered it up. Held her breath as she did so. Continued to listen to the voices and other sounds from below and above.
The door behind her was closed. She got up and moved over to it and peeked out into the hallway.
Noone there.
Then she delicately typed in three numbers as her heart raced in her chest.
Could she really do this?
She only let out the held-in-breath when the operator answered the call.
Too late. She’d couldn’t hang up now.
‘Police,’ Ana said, as quietly as she possibly could.
Then she gave the details, as blandly as she could. Body in a van. The registration number. Two men. Dangerous.
‘And please, let Detective Stephens know. West Midlands Police.’
Then she hung up.
Her chest heaved as adrenaline surged at her act of treachery. She turned the phone off. Footsteps thudded outside the room. Two sets, Ana thought, coming up the stairs.
She jumped up,put the phone away and refolded her coat and was just pulling the second rubber glove on when Victor pushed open the door and stepped inside.
He stopped and glared at Ana, then around the room, as though unimpressed with what he saw.
Ana looked to the man who walked in with Victor. He was short, plump, and carried a large plastic suitcase. He had plastic shoe covers on his feet, a large white plastic overall covered his body, gloves on his hands, something like a shower cap on his head, face mask over his mouth and nose. The only skin visible – tanned but heavily lined – was the narrow strip above and below his hollow and dark eyes.
For some reason Ana almost laughed at the sight. Almost. He looked… ridiculous. But also intensely creepy.
‘Come on,’ Victor said to her. ‘We’re done here.’
He reached out and grabbed Ana’s wrist.
The man with Victor took a deep inhale of breath as he looked around the room. Ana could tell by the rise of his cheeks behind his mask that he was actually smiling.
‘Let me know when you’re finished,’ Victor said to him.
‘Oh, I will,’ the man said in a jolly English accent. ‘But what a pickle, Mr Nistor. What a pickle indeed.’
Ana pulled away from Victor to grab her coat, then left the room in tow with him, feeling immediate relief as soon as she was out in the hallway, away from the sight and the smell of Maria’s blood.
But the relief was short-lived, because her mind was already tumbling with dark thoughts as she descended the stairs. The phone call she’d just made echoed in her mind.
She had no clue what would happen from here.
Had she just sealed her own painful fate?
Chapter 24
The chirping phone woke Dani from an unusually deep sleep. It took her brain several seconds to calibrate and remember where she was. Not at home. Home? The house in Sutton Coldfield had felt less and less like home every day recently. On the earlier drive back from the bizarre visit to Brigitta Popescu’s house, Dani had firmly decided that there was absolutely no way she was staying anywhere alone tonight. She couldn’t remember ever being so freaked out in all her life, even if it had all seemed like nonsense soon after she’d been away from there.
Regardless, she’d still needed to go back to the house to collect a change of clothes to take to the hospital
. There she’d once again struggled to get any real rest on the hard and awkward armchair next to Jason, but apparently at some point tiredness had still got the better of her.
Only to be rudely interrupted by her phone.
Which was still ringing. Had she fallen asleep again, just thinking about answering it?
She shook her head and pulled herself up in the chair and reached out for the phone. Jason was snoring loudly next to her, the drugs he continued to take to hold the pain at bay enough to keep him in a deep sleep.
The call went to voicemail just as Dani grasped the phone. She stared at the screen. Three missed calls, from a withheld number, all within the last two minutes. The time was a little after one a.m.
The phone screen lit up again with another call and the device vibrated in her hand. Dani hit the green button and pulled the phone to her ear.
‘Hello.’
She listened intently to the voice on the other end. Her attention and alertness increased almost exponentially with each word spoken.
‘I’m on my way,’ she said, already halfway across the room for her coat and bag as she ended the call.
* * *
Dani travelled alone the few miles towards the town of Brownhills, at the very northern tip of the West Midlands Police boundary with Staffordshire. She’d managed to rouse Easton from sleep at the first attempt, but he was housebound, looking after his sister’s children, while she remained out and about who-knew-where – most likely spending the night with one of the many men she had on some sort of drunken roster.
Back in central Birmingham, and every other large town or city up and down the country, the streets would no doubt be thriving with drinkers and club-goers at this time on a Saturday night – or was it Sunday morning yet? – but in the relatively far-flung, small town of Brownhills, the streets were dead, and as Dani drove on along the high street, where every unit was closed up, shutters down for the night, it was almost like a ghost town.
Until she passed over a roundabout on the nearby A5, where the flashing blue lights up ahead were like a beacon of activity, drawing her in.
