by Emma Tallon
‘And that jumped-up bitch Riley?’ Michael asked. He was fuming that she had dared to take his brother like that. It was a new level of disrespect that they could not just ignore. ‘What are we going to do about her? We can’t let her get away with that.’
‘We won’t,’ Freddie answered calmly. He shot Sammy a private look, then focused back on Michael. ‘You leave that to me. When this is all over, she’ll pay her dues.’
Sammy nodded imperceptibly. He and Freddie would deal with that together. He didn’t know what Freddie had in mind yet, but that could wait. They had to find the girl first.
Freddie shifted his attention to his other brother. Paul was still perched in the same place, biting one of his fingernails. He looked to be deep in thought, his body and expression tense.
‘You’re very quiet, Paul,’ Freddie stated.
Paul focused in on Freddie. ‘Yeah. It’s just a lot to take in. How on earth are we supposed to find this girl, when the whole police force has failed? This is London. She could have been taken for any number of reasons. She’s been missing for a week already. Chances are she’s halfway across the world right now on the black market.’ He shrugged. ‘As much as the filth are useless on most fronts, they have the access and equipment to try most avenues. What do we have?’
Michael turned in his chair to face Paul. ‘Did you hear what Freddie just said? He got taken off the fucking street, Paul! By that stupid bint of a copper! Does that not bother you?’
‘Of course it does,’ he answered, annoyed. ‘But Freddie will deal with that in good time. I’m a bit more worried about the state of our futures riding on finding this girl. I don’t think we can do it, Fred.’ He turned back to his older brother, shaking his head. ‘I really don’t. We need to think of a way of getting Hargreaves under the thumb, make it so he can’t fix us up or touch Anna. That’s what we need to be focusing on.’
‘You have very little faith there, Paul.’ Freddie studied him curiously. He was surprised at the dismissive attitude towards finding the missing woman. It wouldn’t be easy, but that didn’t mean it would be impossible.
‘I just think we should be using our time and resources to put Hargreaves back in his box, rather than running round like idiots on a fool’s errand.’ He held his hands out. ‘That’s my opinion. But obviously I’ll go with whatever you decide. It’s your circus.’
‘Yeah, he’s made it my circus, my monkeys and placed my fucking nuts on the line. So with that in mind, I’d like arses in gear and ideas on the table, OK?’ Freddie directed a hard stare at Paul, who put his hands up in surrender.
‘You’re the boss.’
‘Right. Let’s get started.’ Freddie breathed out a heavy sigh and rubbed the tiredness from his eyes. He could sleep later; right now he needed to get the ball rolling. ‘The reason we’re doing this cannot leave this room. Neither can the details of my little adventure in the back of Riley’s van.’ Everyone nodded. Showing any sign of weakness or lack of situational control was an invitation for trouble for a man in Freddie’s position. ‘As far as anyone else is concerned, I’m looking for this girl to speed up the process of getting the police away from the club. That is what you’ll spread. Should be bought no problem. Now this is what the pigs have covered so far.’ Holding up his hand, he counted on his fingers. ‘They’ve combed our CCTV both in and outside the club and found no leads. Though we do know that it doesn’t cover everywhere – there are a few blind spots. They’ve tried tracking her phone, but the signal last showed at the club. They think the battery died. They’ve even tried tracking her keys – apparently they had some sort of GPS fob on them. They were found in the bin on the road out front with her purse, just out of camera sight. Purse still had all her money in it. The friend has been interviewed – she’s useless. Bouncers were busy, saw nothing – not even when I asked.’ Freddie’s bouncers knew to keep anything they saw to themselves when police came sniffing. This time, though, they really had seen nothing and had already told Freddie as much. ‘They’ve snagged her laptop. That’s clean – she ain’t seen a day of trouble in her life. She’s engaged to some toff. He’s devastated – police don’t think he had anything to do with it. They checked her work out. She works for a children’s charity, running their PR and events. Seems to be an all-round likeable girl.’ He held his hands up in defeat. ‘There seem to be no leads, nothing to follow.’ He dropped his hands onto his lap with a slap and looked around at the three men listening to him. ‘To me, it doesn’t sound personal. So she’s either been taken to order, or some twat’s taken a liking to her and pinched her off the cuff. Problem with these theories, though, are that neither quite match up. If she was taken to order, the plan would be too well set up to accidentally take someone so high profile. Too stupid. If she was taken off the cuff, how would the geezer know exactly how to stay off all cameras in a central London location and dump everything that could be traceable to her en route? Too clever.’
‘So you’re saying that whoever took her has left no trace of her at all on security cameras that night?’ Michael asked.
‘Nah, none. So they knew what they were doing. It’s almost impossible to stay off those cameras all the way. But why her? That’s what makes no sense.’
Sammy changed position and frowned off into the distance. He screwed his mouth to one side as he pondered. Paul folded his arms and huffed.
‘So now we work for the police. Great hard men we are.’
‘Shut up, Paul,’ Freddie snapped, losing his temper. ‘I’ve had a long fucking day, and I ain’t got one ounce of patience left.’ He stood up and pointed at Paul, leaning over the table. ‘I don’t like this any more than you do, but it’s fucking happening, so wrap your bonce around it, suck it up and get on with it. I don’t want to hear one more word from you, unless it’s actually useful.’ He sat down heavily and took a deep breath. He didn’t need this shit. Not from his own brother. Paul held his stare, his expression serious. After a tense minute, he broke the silence.
‘I’ll go scout about, see if anyone has heard anything. I’ll start with the local estates. They won’t have spoken to the police. Someone might have seen something. Call me if you need me somewhere.’ He picked up his Barbour jacket and walked out of the room.
Sammy stood up and yawned. ‘If she was picked up for trafficking, Viktor Morina should know something about it. He’ll be in one of his dens now, but I can sort out a visit tomorrow,’ Sammy offered.
Viktor was one of the more prominent Albanian faces in South London. A dangerous man at the best of times, he was known to have a very volatile nature. He could be laughing with you one minute and smash a bottle over your head the next, especially if he’d been drinking. At this time of night it was practically suicide to try to meet up with him. He would be heavily drunk, surrounded by a small army of followers in one of his brothels. The best time of day to try to speak to him would be late morning, when he would be almost fully recovered from the night before and ready to conduct business with anyone he needed to.
Freddie curled his lip. He disliked Viktor; didn’t agree with the way he ran his business. But it wasn’t his concern. The Albanians stuck to their own territories and Freddie ignored them. Freddie had no qualms about Viktor running whorehouses. He owned some himself. What he did have a problem with was how Viktor got his girls.
In Freddie’s own houses, the girls were hired properly. They came of their own free will. They were looked after, protected and could leave at any time. It might be illegal, but no one was suffering. It was just business. Viktor on the other hand abducted his girls, got them addicted to heroin and forced them to work in poor conditions. They were mistreated, malnourished and were unwilling victims. Freddie had always turned a blind eye. They weren’t on his turf, and he wasn’t out to save the world. But he didn’t like it either.
Sammy was right though. If anyone had taken her for use or sale of her body, Viktor would know about it. As well as his whorehouses here, his firm was link
ed to a chain of them across Europe, and he was also known to sell women directly to wealthy Arabs.
‘We’ll go together. Pick me up at ten.’
Sammy nodded and picked his phone up off the coffee table. ‘See you then. Later, Mickey.’
Michael narrowed his eyes. He hated being called Mickey. ‘Michael,’ he corrected curtly.
‘Sorry, mate, I’ve known you so long I forget sometimes. Night, guys.’
He left the two of them there. Freddie laughed at his younger brother’s seething expression.
‘He don’t mean it, come on. We called you Mickey for years – it’s a slip of the tongue.’
‘Well, I don’t like it,’ Michael’s tone was icy. A cold, strange look flashed across his face. Freddie caught it and paused.
‘Alright,’ he said carefully, watching Michael intently. ‘No need to get your knickers in a twist.’
Michael blinked and sniffed. He looked away and puffed out his chest. Freddie hid a smile. He knew Michael had a big chip on his shoulder at being the youngest. He wanted to feel older. Harder.
‘What do you want me on anyway?’ Michael asked, changing the subject.
‘I’m not sure to be honest,’ Freddie answered. ‘It’s a bit of a dead ender at the moment. If you could just keep your ear to the ground, see if you can think of anything for the time being. I’m going to need more help with the day-to-day stuff. This is going to keep me busy.’
‘Sure, no problem. Keep me posted then. I’ll do the rounds in the morning and give you a shout after.’
‘Great. Off you go then. Get some sleep. ‘
‘Alright. See ya, Freddie.’ Michael pushed up off the chair with both arms. He straightened the sleeves of his jacket, then, giving Freddie a nod and a smile, he set off. The door closed and Freddie slumped back into his chair. He stared blankly at the black-and-white photo print mounted on the wall opposite. It was one of Thea’s. He sighed tiredly and rubbed his head. He felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. All he wanted to do was sleep. He hadn’t stopped, and his body ached for a shower.
Sitting up straight, he pushed those thoughts to the side. Sleep could wait. Katherine Hargreaves couldn’t.
16
The torchlight jerked Katherine awake. She opened her eyes and immediately squeezed them shut, the bright light causing her pain. She shuffled back on the mattress awkwardly, trying to half sit up and move as far away from her captor as possible at the same time. What time was it? Was it even night? She had no clue anymore. He must have come in while she was in a deep sleep. She hadn’t heard him arrive. The torchlight backed off as her captor sat in the chair a few feet away. She tried to get her bearings. The room swam, and she groaned weakly. A harsh, hacking cough made its way out of her lungs and her whole body convulsed.
Katherine wiped the sweat out of her eye with her forearm. It had been so hot these last couple of days. Or at least she thought it was a couple of days. She was unsure how often she was drifting in and out of this uneasy sleep now. She was very ill, this much she was sure of. Her skin was burning up and everything ached. She was sure it was something to do with the festering wounds across her ankles. The binds had been too tight for too long. Cutting through the flesh, they seemed to almost immediately breed infection there. The pain was intense and inescapable.
Finally adjusting to the light coming from the torch, her eyes rested on the rusting bucket just to the side of the bed. It had been put there for her to relieve herself in, but he only took it out when it was practically full. The putrid stench coming from it made her want to vomit, but she forced her stomach to relax. She couldn’t afford to waste what small amount of food she was thrown each day. Her lungs spasmed, and her body curled as her coughs reverberated harshly around the small space. The involuntary motion caused her legs to strain against the binds again, and they pressed cruelly into her open wounds. Pus seeped out of one side. Katherine cried out, unable to contain the agony as what felt like hot spears shot up her shins.
‘Please,’ she begged shakily, ‘please untie my legs. I can’t move anywhere – it will make no difference to you. Please…’ she trailed off, dizziness washing over her again. She lay back, her limp, greasy hair falling off her face. There was no answer, and he made no move to do as she had requested.
‘Why?’ she questioned weakly, hot tears of despair rolling back and disappearing into her hairline.
The silence continued.
She licked her dry lips, very aware of how furry her tongue was and how rancid her own breath smelled. She kept trying. ‘Could you at least bring me some drugs? Some penicillin if you can get hold of some, or some paracetamol at least, to bring the fever down? I’m no use to you dead. And if I keep getting worse, chances are I will die.’
Her body shuddered again and Katherine fought to control it. ‘You would have to… dispose of me if I die. And nothing stays gone forever. They always find bodies. There is always some evidence.’
He snorted, amused.
The torch moved closer and Katherine flinched. She never knew what to expect. The light focused down on her ankles.
Katherine narrowed her gaze, trying to make out any of the man’s features. He was always behind the light, but while it was pointed at her feet she could just make out a side profile. She peered forward trying to see, but as she did the light swung back around and glared in her face.
‘Argh!’ She fell back, squeezing her eyes shut.
‘Ah-ah-ah – naughty, naughty,’ he tutted as he backed away again. Katherine blinked in surprise. The garbled sound that came out of his mouth made her realise he was using something to mask his voice. He sounded like some sort of broken robot. Her quick brain processed this. Voice changers weren’t hard to get hold of. Any toy store held them in stock for children to play with. But the fact he was using one must mean he was someone she knew, otherwise why would he need to go to such lengths?
‘No peeking, Katherine,’ the deep, gravelly voice continued. ‘I don’t want you seeing my beautiful face and falling in love with me now.’
Katherine’s veins filled with hot rage at his words and, forgetting her fear for a moment, she bit back at him. ‘I could never feel anything for a monster like you,’ she spat, furious. ‘You aren’t a man – a real man doesn’t treat women this way. Doesn’t treat any person this way.’
She caught herself and bit her lip, suddenly realising who she was speaking to. She tensed, ready to be beaten – or worse.
After a heavy pause, her captor laughed. ‘So there is a personality in there after all. People never stop surprising you.’ He chuckled. ‘So, you don’t think I’m a real man, no?’
‘No, I don’t. I think you are sick and have no idea how to be a man or anything else worth being.’
‘I’m sick?’
‘Yes, sick. Whoever you are, you aren’t right in the head. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that you are clearly fucked in the head, and you know what? Whatever you do to me, they will find out. Because whatever else you are, you aren’t smart enough to get away with it. They’ll figure out it was you.’
Spitting this out with as much venom as her depleted energy would allow, Katherine finished off with a violent coughing fit before curling back up in the foetal position. She shook in terror as the torch came forward again. This time it pressed against her forehead as he uttered just one last word.
‘Good.’
17
Freddie and Sammy stood before a rundown bar in one of the grottier parts of South London. Freddie looked unimpressed, his hands in his trouser pockets and one eyebrow raised. Sammy grimaced and waited. He knew Freddie didn’t want to have to go in there and ask this low-life rat for information. But it was what it was.
What looked like it had once been black paint had peeled off the rotten wood of the front door. The wooden window frames were equally as neglected. The brick was pockmarked and adorned with graffiti.
‘Would you have that as your main ga
ff for business?’ Freddie asked Sammy, turning his nose up at the state of the building. ‘I mean… really?’ He gestured towards it with one arm, turning his palm upwards in question.
The pair looked totally out of place. Freddie was wearing his customary dark grey suit and white shirt, pressed to perfection. Sammy had forgone his suit today but still looked smart in beige chinos and a dark polo shirt. As ever, the polo shirt only enhanced how buff and fit he was. Freddie always joked that Sammy was really a Swedish bodybuilder in disguise, with his physique and pale blond hair. Now here they were, two sore thumbs in the wrong part of London. Freddie sighed heavily.
‘Right, fuck it. Come on then.’
As they reached the door it creaked open and a greasy, rodent-like man gestured towards the back. ‘Viktor says to come. He waits in back for you.’
Freddie and Sammy followed him through the dank pub, ignoring the pungent smell of stale beer mixed with BO and cigar smoke. The dark green carpet was clearly decades old, covered in stains with holes worn right through to the brick tiles underneath. Around them, seated at the tables, were clusters of men all staring at the newcomers with deep mistrust and dislike. Freddie pointedly ignored them and straightened his jacket. At the other end of the bar another door was opened, and they were led through a corridor to a large room at the back of the building. Freddie and Sammy entered and looked about them.
A round table sat in the middle of the dark, cluttered room. Shelves and side tables were covered in boxes and paperwork, and one small window let a few slivers of natural light in. Curls of smoke played in the light and hung in the air, where they were unable to escape. Sitting at the table facing them was Viktor.
Viktor stared at Freddie with an amused, cocky smile, and Freddie fought to keep his lip from curling in angry disgust. Gesturing with a scarred hand to the seats around the table, he nodded. ‘Please, sit. It must have been long, stressful journey from all the way up there on your golden throne, Freddie Tyler.’
