At the house the big gates were open. The car she recognised as the one at the golf course was parked in front of the garage. She hoped Robin Turner wasn’t there, but there was another vehicle in the wide drive. When she saw the white van, Tanya paused; she felt a frisson of excitement. They had looked for a white van from the beginning; they had found one but it had led to nothing except a minor crime. She parked her own car outside, out of sight, and walked back, turned into the drive and went up to the van. She peered through the driver’s window, shining the torch on her phone into the dim interior. There were a couple of cans thrown on the floor, a fleecy jacket screwed in a heap on the passenger seat, and on the floor, in the footwell was a black travel bag.
The door was unlocked. She had no search warrant. She glanced around. The garden was empty, but in the house, she could see the glow from the window at the side – the room where she had interviewed Peter Baker and later, his widow. She leaned into the vehicle. There was a piece of plywood screening the rear.
The bag was partly zipped. She took a pair of thin, blue nitrile gloves out of her pocket and pulled them over her fingers. It had begun to rain again, and the damp and her nerves made the task unusually difficult. Once she had her hands covered, she pushed a finger into the gaping top of the holdall, sliding the zipper open. There was a flimsy waterproof jacket on the top; she pulled it out. The front and the sleeves were stained, dark smears and patches, brown against the blue. Under the jacket, there were tools, some of them she recognised, some she did not.
Tanya wanted the bag and even more, she wanted the jacket because she was sure she knew just what the stains were. If anyone found out she had touched them under these circumstances, then they would lose all of their value as evidence. She stuffed the jacket back where she had found it, took a photograph with her mobile phone, moved the zipper back to where she thought it had been and closed the van door. She photographed the number plate and a couple of dents and rust spots on the bodywork. At least they would have some record.
Crouching low against the garden wall she moved to underneath the window of the sun room. Inside she could see Tricia Baker and a bulky, tall man. His hair was shaggy and dark. He was dressed in jeans and a short leather jacket. They were facing each other across the small table. Tricia Baker wagged a finger at him, but he was not cowed and as she watched, Tanya saw him sneer and shake his head.
She crawled nearer. Their voices were raised in anger.
“You have to get rid of them all. Just do it, this has all gone wrong and I’m not carrying the can for you. This was never what we agreed,” Tricia Baker shrieked. “None of this was what we agreed. I know what you’ve done, I know all of it and I will drop you in it without a moment’s hesitation. You’re a monster. Peter was right about you; he saw what you’d done to that poor man. How could you do that? You’re an animal. I should have listened, but I couldn’t believe it.”
Tanya heard the woman begin to sob. “Now get out of my house and get rid of them all. Today – tomorrow at the latest. I want this over with. I demand that you make this all go away.”
“Is not possible. You know is not possible. You think I just wave bye bye, and off they go. No, is not easy. I have to make them listen. I have to show them what will happen if they talk. Why they must not mention my name. I have to make them fear me, show them how long is my reach. It will take about two weeks and then they will be gone, and also, I will be gone. And you...” He paused and leaned closer, his voice a low growl so that Tanya couldn’t make out the words. He turned away as he finished speaking and walked towards the door.
“No,” Tricia shrieked, “no, that’s not good enough. Bogdan, if you don’t get them out of here in the next couple of days then I’m going to the police. I’ll tell them you threatened me, tell them that you threatened my husband. They’ll be interested then; they already know he didn’t kill himself. I’ll tell them everything. Get my place clear of your strays and weirdos in the next two days or I’m going to the police.”
He strode back across the room and reached out to grab Tricia by the hair. Her knees bent as he pulled her head backwards. He leaned towards her, speaking low and urgent in her ears. Again, Tanya couldn’t hear what he was saying. She turned to run for the front of the house, she had to get in there before there was yet another casualty. Her feet went from under her, slipping on the wet gravel, and she slid onto the flower border at the side of the drive. As she tried to stand, her feet caught in the tangled branches of a ground-covering shrub. She fell again, rolling in the wet earth under the dripping plantings. Cursing quietly, she scrambled back to her feet and staggered forward.
She reached the corner as the front door smashed back against its hinges and the big man strode down the steps, dragging Tricia Baker with him. She squirmed and struggled in his grip, but she was no match for him. Tanya’s handbag was in the car, her PAVA spray was in there, along with the expandable baton, always kept in the passenger footwell. She had nothing to protect herself, or to help the other woman.
If she revealed herself, if she called out or maybe even rushed him, it might distract the thug, but that would be all. She didn’t think she could beat him in a physical fight, normally perhaps, but she was ill and weakened. She drew in a deep breath, ready to yell at him to stop because she couldn’t just watch and do nothing. Then she stopped. He could be armed – she remembered the bullet hole in the chest of the dead girl in the lake. This wasn’t just her, there was another soul at risk and given his size and obvious anger, the odds were against her.
She needed backup.
She crouched against the wall in the shadows as he opened the rear doors of the van and pushed the screaming Tricia Baker inside. Then, as he pulled away and turned out of the drive, she ran to her car.
As she pulled into the road, her eyes were fixed on his rear lights glowing through the drizzle, one was faulty. She pushed her hand into her pocket for her phone, then the other pocket. She scrabbled on the seat, kicked her feet around the footwell. There was no phone. She remembered the fall, the roll on the sopping ground, and she thumped her hands against the steering wheel in anger and frustration.
Chapter 67
As she followed the white van along the darkening roads, Tanya’s mind raced. She struggled to recall the images viewed on Google Earth. If the man called Bogdan was heading for the factory, then Paul Harris was near there. He was driving a pool car which would have a radio, they could call for help. If he wasn’t heading there, her situation was pretty dire.
She didn’t recognise any of the roads, but it was obvious they were heading out of the built-up area. She muttered pleas under her breath. She had twisted her ankle when she fell, adrenaline had hidden the pain until now. The dull throbbing grew with every movement of her foot. Sharp shards of pain shot through her leg. It wouldn’t have to matter. When they got wherever he was leading, she would have to act; somehow, she had to act.
The streetlamps had ended some time ago and there was the risk he would see her headlights and suspect she was following him. The roads were empty on what was a wet and inhospitable Sunday evening; just the two of them rushing through the landscape. But then, why should he be worried? He didn’t know she had been at the house. In any case, there was no choice. She couldn’t risk letting him pull too far ahead, she couldn’t lose him.
She was still unsure about just where they were, and the geography of the area was not clear in her mind. There were large houses set back from the roads, long drives, and floodlighting. Now and then they passed smaller cottages and she could see farm buildings but nowhere were there factories that she recognised.
Then he began to slow. She pulled back further. He didn’t indicate – why should he on this deserted stretch of highway? – but she watched as the van turned into a side road. She drove past the junction. If he had been aware of her then it would reassure him, but it gave her a chance to glance down the narrow road which was illuminated by his headlights. In front of him was
a wire fence and a pair of gates, beyond that was the dark shape of a large building. The wooden sign they had been able to read on the Google street view was unreadable but recognisable. He had come to the factory.
She should try to find Paul Harris but it was difficult to relate the view they had seen on the computer with these real roads in the dark. She could drive around until she maybe found the road leading to the house and hopefully the caravans. But then, she wasn’t certain this was even the right place. Or she could just drive down to the factory and hope that there would be a way to bring Tricia Baker out of danger. Then she could call for the back-up she would need to arrest Bogdan. At the very least she could take the woman to safety.
She peered around her, visibility was awful, and she assumed that Paul Harris would have had the sense to hide his car from anyone at the farm, so it would be hidden from her as well. There really was no other option, no time to waste. She turned down the narrow road and pulled across the front of the gates. If he tried to drive away, she had at least sealed off one means of escape. Of course, there could be others. She grabbed her PAVA spray can and her night stick and stepped out into the darkness. As her foot hit the floor she gasped with the pain in her ankle, hopped forward a couple of steps and then forced herself to walk, pushing through the pain.
Chapter 68
He had unlocked the gates and then pushed them together after driving through. A heavy chain and padlock dangled loose. Tanya pushed them open just enough to slide between and then closed the gap behind her, wrapping the chain between the bars. Block off any mean of escape – it was rudimentary training.
The building was a huge metal shed. There was a nasty smell in the air and as she drew nearer it caused her to alter her breathing. There were huge bins ranged beside the walls and the stink was unspeakable. The stench was of death, so she had to look. On the floor beside one of the bins was a dark object, her eyes were drawn to the chicken’s head, small and pathetic in the falling rain. She lifted the lid; feet and heads and innards were piled inside in ghastly heaps. She recoiled but it was too late to stop the revulsion in her stomach and she bent with her hand against the cold wall, retching and coughing.
There were many dark piles of equipment, pallets and boxes, the things that you would expect around an industrial unit and she moved through them. Behind the first building was a second one. Faint light leaked from around the doorways and beneath the roof. From inside there was the sound of life in the quiet of the night.
Towards the rear of the larger building, metal steps led to a door on an upper floor and beside that was a window. Harsh, white light gleamed through the rain and out across the fields. It might be a security office but the fact that Bogdan had brought Tricia Baker here made it unlikely, so it was probable she had found them.
In the shadow of the building, she walked towards the stairs. There was no plan in her mind. He was a powerful looking individual, he could be armed with a gun. He probably wouldn’t need a weapon to overpower her and there was little to no chance of Tricia Baker being much help. Still, duty pushed her on. There was no way the body count was going to increase if there was the slightest chance that she could stop it.
Her soft trainers made scuffling noises on the metal steps and, reaching the narrow landing, she crouched below the window. Her throat was dry, the headache had returned, and her ankle was on fire. Tanya lowered her head for just a moment and wiped a sleeve across her rain-drenched face.
Slowly and carefully she unbent enough to see. He was in there. Tricia Baker was slumped on a black leather chair, her face tear-stained and terrified. Bogdan was sitting on the edge of the desk holding a gun in his hand. Tanya didn’t have enough knowledge to identify it and the type of weapon was meaningless anyway. It would be enough to do terrible damage to a soft human body; it could very well be the one that had already killed. She felt her stomach turn but drove back the fear – there was really no option, she would need to do something.
She leaned to the door and slowly pushed down on the metal handle. She heard the click of the lock, loud in the night. She pushed, just enough to move the latch across the strike plate. She took a deep breath, uncurled to her full height and with the night stick in one hand, her can of spray held before her, she kicked at the door. It flew back bouncing off the interior wall with a rattling thud and the two people in the room spun around towards her. Tricia Baker screamed as Bogdan raised the weapon and the roar of gunfire filled the small office.
Chapter 69
Tanya flung herself to the ground as she burst through the door and the bullet flew harmlessly into the night. Later she would wonder where it had ended up, but right then she was scrabbling to stand, flailing with her stick. It connected with Bogdan’s powerful shoulders, but he shrugged off the assault. She pulled back again and aimed for his hand already raised, ready to shoot a second time. She was aware of Tricia screeching in the background and the yelling from the thug, but it was peripheral – all her effort was concentrated on the weapon and her feeble chance to disarm him.
She brought the stick down with all the power she could manage. As she did, she sprayed the can into his face with the other hand. The angry roaring changed to a yell of shock and pain and she swiped, downwards and sideways with the baton. The gun flew from his grasp to skitter across the floor. She moved nearer, still spraying. He lashed out blindly, knocking the PAVA from her hand. He drew back his arm and, moving instinctively, he punched towards where he thought she was. She swivelled away, and the blow landed against her shoulder. She grunted with pain but did not fall. She raised her stick one more time and lashed it sideways across his face. The yell this time was louder, more of a shriek, and he covered his eyes with both hands. She pressed on, striking again at the side of his head.
He fell to the floor and it seemed she had him, but he rolled over, stretching to sweep the floor with both hands. When he pushed to his knees, he held the gun. He was facing away from Tanya now, waving the gun blindly in front of him and Tricia Baker was directly in his line of fire. As she saw his finger move on the trigger guard Tanya yelled out, raised the baton and brought it down hard on his wrist. The gun barked loud into the night, but the bullet this time hit the wall. He was still not disarmed.
She dropped the stick, grabbed his hand with both of hers and bent backwards, sharp and sudden, as hard as she was able, every bit of her strength concentrated on that one action. He screamed again as the gun hit the floor and she kicked it aside. Bogdan was bent forward now, groaning and holding his broken wrist. Tricia Baker fell from the chair and grabbed the weapon. She backed against the wall and stood in terrified silence, tears streaking down her face, the gun held in both shaking hands in front of her.
Tanya glanced back and forth between them. She closed her eyes for a fleeting moment and then, in desperation, spun towards Bogdan. Two steps forward and then with as much power as she could summon, she brought her knee up into his groin and watched as he crumbled to a gasping, retching heap on the office floor. Before there was chance for him to recover, she grabbed his arms. The crepitation as she moved the damaged wrist, bone on bone, made her nauseous, but she dragged his hands behind his back and around the leg of the heavy metal desk. Pulling handcuffs from her jeans pocket she snapped them over the thick and swelling wrists.
After a second to catch her breath she stood to face the other woman who was sobbing now, the gun lowered in front of her but still gripped in both hands.
“Give me that, Mrs Baker. You don’t need it now. Just give it to me.” Tanya reached out and pried the weapon away. “I need your phone.”
The woman stared at her uncomprehending for a moment. “He killed my husband. Poor Peter, he was so badly shaken when he found the body at the golf course. Then when he saw the image of the other one, the girl, he knew. He’d seen her at the factory. I told him not to look at the papers but he couldn’t help himself. He confronted Bogdan and told him to leave. He should never have done that. He was so very frig
htened that he wouldn’t come back to work. He wanted us to run away. But I couldn’t, you see that don’t you,” she said.
“When they came for me, to bring me home.” Her tears were flowing freely now.
Although she needed to call for help, Tanya didn’t want to interrupt. She let her speak.
“I knew. I knew something awful had happened. I thought it was true when they said that he killed himself. I felt so guilty. Then when you came and said he was murdered. Well, it was obvious, wasn’t it? I didn’t know what to do,” Tricia continued.
She reached and grasped hold of Tanya’s arm, the thin fingers claw-like where they dug into soft flesh. “I told him he had to go. I cancelled the staffing contract with him. He mocked me, told me how he’d done it. Replayed it for me, said that I would be next. Poor Peter, he must have been so very frightened. I’ve been scared, and today I was going to run, but he came to the house.”
She looked down at the man on the floor, his eyes glazed with pain, and she spat at him. “You’re nothing more than an animal – vile and brutal. I rue the day I ever heard of you.” With that final word, she slid to the floor and curled her knees up towards her chest and sobbed.
Tanya knelt in front of her. “I need your phone, Tricia.”
She seemed to come out of the fugue; she shook her head. “No, I don’t have my phone. There!” She pointed to the desk and the landline on the top of it.
Chapter 70
It was a multi-departmental operation to sort out the backlash. Paul Harris had found the farm, and when he saw just what faced him, he tried to call Tanya. He had peered through the farmhouse windows, saw movement in the gloomy interior. He knocked on the door, but they were locked inside – frightened and confused individuals on thin, filthy mattresses; a number of young women locked in old, dilapidated caravans, the toilets draining into holes in the ground underneath. The ghastliness of it overwhelmed him.
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