Dark Game: A gripping crime thriller that will have you hooked! (Detective Kelly Porter Book 1)

by Rachel Lynch

  ‘I don’t know, Mrs Cork. I just need to ask as many questions as possible to get an idea of why Anna has gone off like this. Did she have a boyfriend?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has she ever expressed any desire to move away?’

  ‘No.’

  Kelly wondered how well Mrs Cork knew her daughter. It reminded her of her relationship with her own mother. She had never told her the truth about her whereabouts. If she had, she would’ve been banned from all the best parties and naked midnight swims across Ullswater. She doubted if many mothers really knew what their daughters got up to.

  She wished she could give Mrs Cork some sort of assurance when she left: a promise that Anna would come walking through the door at any moment, well and happy. But of course she couldn’t. She never could.

  She cast her mind back to her interviews at the Thwaite Hotel and decided to visit Kevin Cottrell next, also in Ambleside. But when she rapped on the door of his flat, there was no answer. She tried his mobile but it was switched off, so she popped a note through his door.

  As she walked back to her car, she called Mrs Joliffe’s number again, to no avail. It seemed that she was getting nowhere today, until a call came through from Eden House. It was DS Umshaw. Apparently there was a wrangle going on between the British and Bosnian embassies. Nedzad Galic, an ethnic Bosniak from Sarajevo, was wanted in connection with war crimes dating back to 1993, and Jovana was to be used as bait. The age gap between them raised eyebrows: Jovana’s husband was fifty two years old, but it might mean nothing. The Home Office was sending someone to interview her. The case might be off her hands before too long, thought Kelly.

  ‘What about Marko Popovic? Anything from Phillips?’ she asked.

  ‘No hit, I’m afraid, but I did speak to someone at the embassy who said that a lot of guys who fled the old Yugoslavia with something to hide changed their names years ago.’

  ‘Thanks, Kate. I’m done here. I’m meeting the Crawley son when I get back, so I’ll see you after that.’ She hung up.

  Each time Kelly had driven over Kirkstone Pass recently, she’d looked up to Caudale Moor and felt it beckoning her. Now she stopped at the Kirkstone Inn and got out of the car. The air was fresh up here, and it was a perfect day for hiking. She looked at her watch. What was it her father always said? If you have one foot in the past and one foot in the future, you piss on today. Fuck it. Her walking gear was always in her car, just in case, and now she took it into the inn and went to the toilet to change.

  From Caudale Moor, she had seven routes to choose from, and she could make the hike as long or as short as she wanted. She remembered being dragged up here, aged seven, by her father. Every bloody weekend they’d have to climb something, but it was only now that she was learning to appreciate it. If she ever had kids, she’d drag them up here too.

  The ascent wouldn’t be overly taxing – the inn stood at fifteen hundred feet, so it was an easy walk to any of the surrounding summits – but she hadn’t come up here for a challenge. She’d come to focus and clear her mind. During any investigation, one of the most common problems was sheer overload. They’d reached a point in this one where they had so much information that Kelly could feel herself going round and round in circles, and it wasn’t just a matter of taking a day off: that wouldn’t help. She needed peace, and she could think of nowhere better than up here.

  She was on the summit of Caudale Moor in under twenty minutes and decided to carry on to Hartsop Dodd. She felt her fogginess clearing and it strengthened her attention to detail. She stopped on top of Hartsop Dodd, and as she sat looking down on Brothers Water, flanked on all sides by crag and fell, her thoughts turned to the girl with the red hair. She saw her bouncing up and down on Colin Day and wondered where she was now. She was the key to all of this. She wondered how quickly the lab was working to match the hair samples, and made a note to befriend someone at the lab, a small outfit in Carlisle. Maybe a conversation with the chief coroner would hurry things along.

  It was time to go and meet Dave Crawley, and after her diversion, she believed herself ready to face him. Her feet pounded the steep rocky path, and she felt her blood pump satisfyingly and her breathing quicken. She hadn’t been out on a proper fell walk for perhaps five years, and it felt good. Sometimes, abandoning work for a couple of hours was just what was needed to zero in on what was important.

  The peaks gave panoramic views of the whole of the Lakes, and she stood with her hands on her hips regaining her breath before beginning to circle back. As she reached her car, she realised that she was smiling. Everything was clearer than before, and she jumped into the driver’s seat and headed back to Penrith.

  Chapter 32

  George stayed way beyond the end of his shift to speak to Gabriela. He was fond of her, and couldn’t help feeling protective. When he told her that the detective had come to the hotel looking for someone called Darren, she went pale.

  ‘What is it? Do you need to speak to the policewoman? I have her card here, look,’ he said.

  ‘No, George, it’s all right.’ But she took the card anyway.

  ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’ he asked softly. She wrung her hands, and he knew she wanted to share something. ‘A problem shared is a problem halved,’ he added.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Her English was good, but there were certain phrases she didn’t understand.

  ‘It’s an English saying. It means that if you get a problem off your chest, it feels better.’

  ‘Off your chest?’

  He laughed. ‘It’s another saying.’

  ‘You have lots of sayings, George.’

  ‘Don’t you have them in Poland?’

  ‘Yes, but they aren’t strange like yours.’

  ‘Do you plan to go home someday, Gabriela?’

  ‘Yes, George. Always.’

  ‘You must miss your family.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ She looked away before turning her gaze back to him. ‘You saw the man, George. Is it him?’ She gestured to the photo of Darren Beckett that DI Porter had left with him.

  ‘I really can’t tell. The policewoman said it was an old photo. It could be the same man.’

  ‘But the name. Darren. I’ve heard it before. Nush used it the last night I saw her; she said that if Roza came back, I should tell her Darren.’

  ‘Tell her Darren what?’

  ‘Nothing, just say Darren, she said. One word.’

  ‘Here,’ George said. ‘The detective left these as well.’ He showed Gabriela photos of a watch and a ring, and Gabriela’s neck turned pink. She was sure now what Darren was after. But how did he know?

  ‘We need to tell Mrs Joliffe,’ said George.

  ‘No.’ Gabriela was firm.

  ‘Why?’ George was surprised.

  ‘It would only cause trouble. She might blame me.’

  ‘I don’t know, Gabriela. I’m not sure I can keep any of it from her. It’s her hotel.’

  ‘No it’s not. It belongs to a man called Colin Day. I’ve seen the paperwork. What do you think I do all night? I need something to read. It’s the man who died in the hotel down the street, I read a newspaper about it. It was the same day Nush disappeared.’

  ‘Now you’re being dramatic. You really have been tucked away haven’t you?’

  ‘George, will you promise not to talk about this? Please,’ she pleaded, and he softened.

  ‘I’m not sure. Mrs Joliffe will want to know what I said to the police. I can’t change that.’

  ‘Yes, but about Darren?’

  ‘But it might not be the same man… All right, I’ll keep it to myself, but if he comes here again, I’m calling the detective.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  George went home. He was unhappy about leaving Gabriela alone at night with an open door. But he was dog tired, and he was working seven days back to back this week. Besides, there were other guests and staff at the hotel, so she wasn’t really on her own.

  * * * />
  After George left, Gabriela photocopied the photos and hid them under a file until her shift was over, when she could add them to the contents in the envelope under her bed. She was jumpy all night. She took more notice of who came through the door, and she kept the mobile phone given to her by Mrs Joliffe in her pocket at all times, along with the policewoman’s card. She knew which one she would try first.

  She recognised most of the faces now, and she studied the girls more closely, just in case. Her memory was excellent and she could draw minute details that anyone else would forget. She remembered the meal she had cooked when Nikita had been born, and the names of all of her elementary-school teachers. When she played the game with her mother where she had to memorise items then look away, she always won. She’d been four years old. At three a.m. a man walked into reception whom she didn’t recognise, and she froze. Her heart pounded but she collected herself. He wasn’t as old as the usual residents and he didn’t look affluent. She didn’t know what the girls were paid, but all the men wore suits and boasted pot bellies, indicating their plentiful lifestyles. They wore gold watches and carried expensive briefcases, and when Gabriela looked out into the car park, she saw BMWs, Mercedes and Land Rovers parked like a row of cash machines.

  ‘Morning,’ the man said.

  ‘Good morning, sir, can I help you?’ She studied his face to be sure, taking in as much as possible and committing it to memory. He was skinny and he smelled bad. His hair was mousy and unwashed, his eyes were bright blue, and he was roughly five foot ten tall. He kept his hands in the pockets of a black padded coat. He wore boots, but she couldn’t say if they were the same ones she’d seen under her door. But she was sure he was the man in the photograph, the man called Darren.

  ‘I’m not sure if you can. I’m looking for Nush,’ he said.

  ‘Nush?’ Gabriela’s heart beat against her chest.

  ‘Anushka. Red hair. Big lips.’ He grinned, and she could see his yellow teeth.

  ‘She’s gone,’ she said.

  ‘Really? Where to?’

  ‘I have no idea. She doesn’t work here anymore. I didn’t know her very well, I just remember the red hair.’ She’d added too much detail and piqued his interest.

  ‘I need to get into her room. She has something of mine.’ He grinned again.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, I really can’t do that. I don’t know who you are.’ She wondered if he could see the pounding pulse in her neck. She toyed with the idea of showing him the empty room, but she didn’t want to be alone with him upstairs.

  ‘Well, let me introduce myself. I’m Kieran, Nush’s boyfriend. She had something that’s mine and I’m not leaving until I get it.’ His demeanour turned sour and Gabriela sensed danger. She noted his use of the past tense and her gut turned over.

  One of the regular guests entered the hotel and smiled at her.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Peacock!’ she said enthusiastically.

  ‘Gabriela, good evening.’ He looked at Darren. ‘Is there a problem here?’ he asked.

  ‘Not at all. This gentleman was just leaving, weren’t you, sir?’ Gabriela said.

  Darren looked at the older man for a moment, then muttered something under his breath and turned towards the door.

  Once she was sure both men had left, Gabriela took the photo of Darren Beckett that she’d copied and quickly drew on more hair, a large jacket and gaunt cheeks. There, it was perfect.

  * * *

  Outside, Darren walked down the road, frustrated. But something about the receptionist’s name had jogged his memory. Nush had spoken of a girl called Gabriela. Miss Perfect, she’d called her.

  ‘She’s got it coming one day, Miss Perfect,’ she had said viciously.

  Well, maybe she had.

  Chapter 33

  Dave looked nervous. He wore a baseball cap and sunglasses, but this simply made him more conspicuous inside the café at the services. Kelly had to stop herself from laughing out loud when she spotted him, but decided to respect his tension rather than play off it. Besides, she was here on serious business.

  Katy Crawley, Dave’s wife, was a combination of unsophisticated brawn and powerboat jaw. Kelly had no idea why Dave had fallen for her and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. If Katy found out they were meeting in secret, Dave would be in serious trouble. Kelly wasn’t concerned for herself, but the man before her was different: he’d got used to being told what to do, and it pained her.

  She walked to his table and sat down with her coffee. His eyes darted around but eventually settled on her. He smiled and seemed to relax a little.

  ‘I’m sorry to put you through this, Dave. I wouldn’t do it unless it was important. I need to speak to you about an investigation I’m working on.’

  Dave sighed. He seemed relieved and disappointed at the same time.

  ‘I’ve reason to suspect that Crawley Haulage is hiring out lorries, which are then being used to transport illegal immigrants from Europe.’

  Kelly let the information sink in, she wanted to tread carefully. She couldn’t go accusing Dave and his father of smuggling or trafficking; besides, it was obvious that Dave wasn’t earning the lucrative sums associated with the trade. He was too depressed and downcast for that to be the case.

  Dave sat up defensively, but his tone remained nonchalant: a curious combination.

  ‘Really? That’s highly unlikely but our lorries do get contracted out all the time. It’s nothing new. My dad could be working with a whole host of companies all over the world. But I’m sure I’d know about it if this was really happening.’

  ‘We have a witness.’

  Dave’s eyes turned dark and Kelly felt his discomfort.’

  ‘I need your discretion, Dave. Have you ever heard of a company called Tomb Day?’

  ‘No. Who’s the witness?’

  ‘An illegal immigrant has said that she was brought here in a lorry carrying the name Crawley on its side.’

  Dave’s eyes widened.

  ‘We also have large sums of money being transferred to Crawley Haulage from this company Tomb Day. I wanted to give you a chance to explain.’

  ‘Christ, Kelly, what are you suggesting?’ His voice sounded panicked, and Kelly kicked herself for not making her enquiry formal and sending someone direct to the Crawley offices. Sympathy was hardly helpful during an inquiry.

  ‘How do you vet your drivers?’ she asked.

  ‘Er… the usual ways… references…’

  ‘And are the vehicles tracked?’

  ‘No, we can check mileage and speed, but we don’t track them as such. We do keep a log of which driver is supposed to do which route, though.’

  ‘OK, so could you get me a list of the drivers coming from Europe, via any route, back to Penrith on the day or night of the sixteenth of September? This one came from Budapest.’

  ‘That should be easy, yes.’

  ‘Good. And could you also let me know what each of those drivers was supposed to be delivering or picking up, and where?’

  ‘Er… yes, no problem.’

  ‘Thanks. That’s all I need for now. You do understand that I have to ask these questions?’

  ‘Yes. Of course. You’re so serious when you… what do you call it… interview?’ He changed the subject, catching her off guard.

  She laughed. ‘It wasn’t exactly an interview, but I know what I need so I just come out and ask for it.’ She instantly regretted the wording.

  ‘I know,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘It’s good to see you smiling,’ she said. ‘You were looking… well, down.’ He glanced away. ‘How are the kids?’

  The mention of his children lifted him, and he smiled again.

  ‘They’re great. Josh is fantastic at football and Courtney is a drama queen.’ They both laughed.

  ‘I’d offer you another coffee, but I guess you’d prefer to be here for as short a time as possible,’ she said.

  He looked at his watch, and Kelly followed his ga
ze momentarily.

  ‘I can stay a while. What brought you back, Kelly? I thought the big smoke was calling.’

  ‘It did for a while, and then a job came up here and I realised I missed the Lakes. London is suffocating. Don’t get me wrong, it was exciting for a while, but it was full on, case after case of lunatics stabbing and shooting one another, or worse.’

  ‘Isn’t that why you left here in the first place? Not enough murders in these here hills?’ He gestured behind him in the direction of the mountains and affected a sinister accent.

  ‘I’m beginning to think that there are plenty of criminals roaming round those hills. They’re the perfect place to hide.’

  ‘You’re not getting paranoid, are you? We’re all harmless folk up here.’

  She half smiled and wondered if she was indeed being paranoid. The last thing she needed as she settled back in up here was to make up dark deeds where there were none, but she’d stumbled upon something and she knew it. It was just a case of fitting together the pieces.

  Dave looked at his watch again.

  ‘So, do you think one of my drivers has a sideline in the white slave trade?’ He was teasing her and enjoying it, but Kelly spoke seriously.

  ‘Well, what if they were? What would you do about it? It’s a lucrative trade. Some studies reckon girls can be sold for as much as ten thousand quid each, if they’re taken to order.’

  ‘Oh, come on! Now you’re being ridiculous. With respect, Kel, don’t you think I’d know if a steady flow of sex slaves was being churned through my business?’

  ‘I thought you worked for your dad?’ she said. Kelly hadn’t mentioned sex or slavery.

  ‘Wait a minute, are you suggesting that if this is going on – which is ludicrous – my dad knows about it?’

  She’d gone too far. ‘No, I’m sorry, that’s not what I’m suggesting at all, but what I do know is that Penrith is full of haulage companies, the Lakes is full of illegal workers and plenty of places to hide them, and they don’t come in by aeroplane. I may have just uncovered the tip of the iceberg.’