Faraday helped himself to a refill, spooned in more sugar, aware that this was the link he’d been after. Suttle had already established that Lou Sadler rented the stables from Skelley. It was therefore reasonable to suppose that these two knew each other. They were business people. They were used to operating on the margins of what was legal. And Faraday could well imagine Sadler offering some kind of discount on her escort girls when Skelley was trying to win new business. That’s the way these people worked. If you spotted an opportunity, you could share it. And if you suddenly found yourself in the shit, then all you had to do was pick up the phone.
Faraday smiled and reached for a pen. He was still scribbling himself a note for the Outside Enquiry D/S when he heard a light tap at the door. He looked up. Meg Stanley.
It was barely half past six. She was on her way across to Upcourt Farm from the hotel and had intended to drop a summary of last night’s forensic developments on Faraday’s desk. Since he was here, she could go one better.
She confirmed that the examination of the caravan was virtually complete. As Suttle had suspected, someone – presumably Oobik – had given the place a thorough clean prior to repainting. Tiny shreds of fabric where the floor met the sheet-metal sides of the caravan indicated the recent removal of a carpet, and there were confirmatory screw holes along the edges of the floor where someone had removed lengths of carpet gripper. Neither the sink trap nor the chemical toilet had yielded anything of forensic interest, nor were there any traces of blood, hair or skin scrapings. In summary, she said, an impressive job.
‘But definitely a clean-up?’
‘Yes. The CSI told me about the B&Q receipt. If we need to, we can match the new paint in the van to what’s left in the tin. That means the clean-up happened last week after the purchase time.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Oobik bought two rolls of dustbin liner. There are twenty sacks on each roll but we can only find thirteen sacks left. That means he must have used twenty-seven sacks. Which is a lot for a bit of carpet and whatever else he wanted to get rid of.’
Faraday extended a hand for the summary. She handed it across.
There was more, she said. At first light the CSI was going to make a proper start on the area outside the caravan, but last night, under floodlights, he’d had a preliminary look round.
‘And?’
‘Interesting. There are three outhouses. Two serve as stables, the other one is a kind of garage for the boat trailer. The CSI had a good look at the last one and thinks there might be two sets of tyre marks. Nothing evidential, but indentations. He looked outside too and got the same impression.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning we might be dealing with two separate items. The trailer obviously and something else, maybe a small car.’
Faraday nodded. The Corsa, he thought. If you wanted to hide it, an outhouse like that would be perfect.
‘One other thing, Joe.’ Stanley still hadn’t finished. ‘It’s pretty exposed up there, and the caravan is tied down at each corner. We’re talking guy ropes, basically, secured to anchor points. I took a shot of one of them.’ She nodded at the summary. ‘It’s on page seven.’
Faraday found the photo. It had been taken at night. A big metal eye had been sunk into a crude concrete block. A rope secured through the eye disappeared vertically out of shot.
‘How much do these things weigh?’ Faraday was trying to imagine them.
‘They’re heavy. They have to be.’
‘Too heavy to carry?’
‘No way. Not if you’re someone like Oobik.’ She gestured at the photo again. ‘Now turn over.’
Faraday went to the next page and found himself looking at another guy rope, secured this time to a thick iron stake.
‘This is from the caravan too?’
‘Yes. And the really interesting thing is the grass around it. Here.’
She dug around in her bag. The sight of a magnifying glass put a smile on Faraday’s face. She passed it across.
‘Take a look at the grass,’ she said.
Faraday did what he was told. The outlines of what could have been a block were clearly visible.
‘You’re thinking someone’s taken the block?’
‘Yes, definitely.’
‘When?’
‘It has to be recent.’
‘How recent?’
‘Not more than a week. The pattern’s survived because it’s winter. In summer we’d have lost it within a day or so. Too much growth.’
Faraday nodded. This, he sensed, was hugely significant. First the suggestion of a car in the outhouse. Then the need for all those dustbin liners. Then the clean-up. And now the removal of a hefty chunk of concrete with a handy fixing on top.
‘OK.’ He leaned back, hands clasped behind his head. ‘So how do you read this?’
‘What do I think happened?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded towards the pot. ‘Coffee first?’
*
Winter arrived at Misty Gallagher’s in time for breakfast. She was in the kitchen, wrestling a collection of pans from the dishwasher. Alone in the house, with the central heating at full blast, she made do with a silk dressing gown. Recently she seemed to have lost the belt.
‘How did you get in?’ She gathered the dressing gown around her.
‘You gave me a key, Mist.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yeah. You want it back?’
She gave him a sharp look, then shook her head.
‘Come here,’ she said. ‘Give me a kiss. Tell me we’re friends again.’
Winter put his arms around her. She let the gown hang loose and held him tight. She said she’d missed him. She said they were too old to worry about all the stuff that might or might not happen. He made her laugh and he wasn’t bad in bed when he made an effort, and to be honest they’d had some good times so what, exactly, was the problem?
Winter laughed. She never failed to stir him.
‘What are you after, Mist?’
‘You, my love. Do you think you can manage it? Just one more time?’
She caught his hand and put it on her breast. Then she kissed him properly before sinking to her knees. Winter watched her kissing him through his trousers. He’d never been quite sure what love meant but moments like these might be quite close.
‘Here or upstairs?’ She was looking up at him.
‘Your call, Mist. But you’d better stop doing that.’
She took him up to the bathroom, ran a tubful of hot water, tipped in a generous slurp of scented bubbles, soaped him like a baby until Winter smelled of pine needles.
‘I’ve always wanted to fuck a lumberjack,’ she murmured, giving him a little squeeze.
She led him, pink and newly towelled, through to her bedroom. The bed was still warm from her body. At Misty’s insistence, Winter lay back while she dribbled oil between her breasts. Then she knelt between his open thighs and planted a row of kisses across the swell of his belly, swooping lower and lower until he shut his eyes and began to move against her. He felt her breasts on either side of him, cupping him, and after a while, longer than usual, he gave in and let it happen.
‘Good boy.’ He opened his eyes. Her face was inches from his. ‘Better now?’
She fetched a tray of coffee and croissants from the kitchen. This could be Paris, Winter thought, except better. They were sitting side by side under the duvet, like an old couple on a bench enjoying the view. Winter wondered whether he should feed the seagulls.
‘You need to know about that bonfire you had,’ he said instead. ‘Baz gave you a hand. We’re talking about the week before last. Lots of smoke. Baz got changed afterwards and left his gear here. You stuffed it in a bag and gave it to me on Saturday. You got all that?’
‘No problem, Mr Lumberjack.’ Misty’s fingers were at work again under the duvet. ‘You want to do it again? Properly this time?’
It was nearly half past sev
en before the Outside Enquiries D/S stepped into Faraday’s office. Expecting Parsons to turn up any minute, Faraday fetched a spare chair from the incident room. The D/S, a veteran, had been a probationer on the Isle of Wight and knew it well.
Faraday was looking at the check list on his clipboard. It wasn’t very long.
‘So what have we got?’
The D/S gave him the headlines. Enquiries along Mrs Percival’s street had drawn a blank on movements in and out of her house in the small hours of Sunday morning. No one had been awake after midnight and no one could remember any disturbance. Further along the Newport Road, the same house-to-house team had visited every property within sight of Upcourt Farm. Oobik and Sadler were familiar figures to various neighbours. Oobik was a permanent fixture on the farm and Sadler arrived often, always in the red convertible, mainly at weekends. As far as last week was concerned, no one reported anything out of the ordinary. The weather had been dreadful, too wet and windy to venture out, and most afternoons it had been dark by five.
‘Little red Corsa? First thing Sunday morning?’
‘No chance, boss. One thing though.’
‘What’s that?’
‘There’s an elderly woman who lives on the farm. Her name’s …’ his eyes went down to the clipboard ‘… Eva Gonzalez.’
‘And?’
‘It seems she’s got a dog, big old thing. She takes it out for walkies every morning, goes up the field where the sheep are, has to keep it on a lead. Our guys pinned her down to last week. She says from Monday through to Wednesday there was a biggish boat trailer out on the grass in front of one of the outhouses by the caravan. She’d never seen it there before, which is why she remembered.’
‘And the outhouse itself?’
‘The door was closed. She couldn’t see inside.’
‘And Thursday?’
‘The trailer was back inside. With the door half open.’
Faraday was drawing the timeline. The burned-out remains of the Corsa had been reported pre-dawn on Thursday morning. Perfect.
He looked up, nodded at the clipboard.
‘What else have you got?’
‘All negatives, I’m afraid, boss. We’ve knocked on doors in that apartment block of Sadler’s. Half of them are empty – second homes or holiday lets. A couple on the floor below pass the time of day with her. Think she’s fine, no problem. We’ve also been looking for that inflatable of hers. We’re assuming it’s registered in her name. Since start of play we’ve done just over half of the Cowes marinas. So far, nothing.’
Faraday scribbled himself a note. This would need to be an early question for Sadler in interview. He looked up again.
‘Done?’
‘Yep.’
‘Good.’ He sorted through his paperwork until he found the intel summary on Martin Skelley. He slid it across to the D/S.
‘There’s a delivery firm called Freezee. It’s all in the report. We need to know if and when they had any vans over here last week. If so, we need full details: driver, drop-offs, ferry bookings, the lot. OK?’
‘Priority?’
‘Urgent.’
‘I’ll get it actioned, boss.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Right away.’
Faraday reached for the phone. Both of the D/Cs in the intel cell were already at their desks.
‘Is D/S Suttle with you?’
‘No, boss.’
‘Who’s going through those accounts we seized from Sadler?’
‘Me, boss.’
‘Got a moment?’
The D/C was young, scarcely three years in the Job. Prior to joining up she’d worked in a building society and knew her way around financial paperwork. Her name was Coleen. She needed to lose a lot of weight.
‘How are you doing?’
‘Fine. Assuming the data’s OK, this woman kept excellent records. Very neat. Very thorough.’
‘And what does it tell us?’
‘She’s got a good business here. The spreadsheets map it all out. Lots of growth over the past couple of years and pretty ambitious forecasts after that.’
‘How many girls?’
‘So far I’ve identified thirteen. The standard rate is £200 an hour. Twenty quid of that goes to the hotel for the room hire and Sadler seems to take 40 per cent off what’s left. The girls get to keep the rest.’
‘Is that standard? Generous? Mean?’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ A hint of colour in her cheeks. ‘I’ve no idea.’
Faraday was doing the maths: £110 an hour felt like a decent rate.
‘We’re in the wrong job, Coleen. Ever think that?’
‘No, boss.’
‘So how many tricks are these girls turning?’
‘On average you’re looking at a couple a day, sometimes more. So most of the girls would be on around £220-plus a day. Some choose to take a couple of days a week off.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ He was looking at the buff folder on her lap. ‘What about Luik?’
‘That’s the problem, boss. She doesn’t appear to exist.’
‘There’s no mention of her at all?’
‘None.’
‘Why do you think that is?’
‘I’ve no idea. Maybe Sadler sanitised the files before we got to them.’
‘Would that be easy?’
‘The way the software’s set up, yes, it would. But why bother when we know she exists?’
‘Quite.’ She hesitated, a tiny frown of concentration on her face. ‘Go on.’
‘There’s another name I recognise.’
‘Which is?’
‘Oobik.’
‘Really?’ Faraday blinked. ‘And he’s on the payroll?’
‘Yeah. Exactly the same pattern as the girls. Couple of clients a day. Good steady earner.’
‘You think he’s turning tricks too?’
‘Must be. Why not? Women pay for sex, especially older women. And he might tom for men too.’
It was true. In theory there was absolutely nothing to stop Two’s Company marketing male escorts alongside the girls. Suttle had described Oobik as a fit young guy with a bit of an attitude problem, but that was probably a turn-on to a certain kind of client. On the other hand, why would Lou Sadler be selling the sexual services of the bloke she was kipping with? Unless this too carried a certain kind of frisson?
‘Have you checked the website? Two’s Company?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And?’
‘He’s not featured. No mugshot, no details, no come-on – nothing.’
The photo of Kaija Luik lay under the pile of paperwork. Faraday fetched it out and gazed at it for a long moment. There was still something snagging in the deep recesses of his brain, something about the name Oobik, but for the life of him he couldn’t tease it to the surface.
Coleen wanted to know whether they were through. D/S Suttle had just arrived back from the mainland, and she had a mountain of stuff to sort out.
‘Fine, Coleen.’ Faraday nodded at the file. ‘Thanks for that. Tell Jimmy he’s on parade at nine with the interview teams, yeah?’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
TUESDAY, 17 FEBRUARY 2009. 08.39
Misty was proposing a day’s shopping in Guildford. Winter wasn’t keen.
‘What would I buy, Mist? I hate all that stuff. For one thing it costs an arm and a leg. For another I don’t need it.’
‘That’s because you live in Gunwharf. You’re spoiled, Paul. Factory outlets, silly prices. Guildford’s a cut above. You can escort me. You can carry my bags, buy me lunch, make me laugh.’
She was already playing with her car keys. Winter, with absolutely nothing to do, knew he was doomed. He’d tried to make contact with Lou Sadler but without any success. Odds on she’d been arrested, along with anyone else Parsons and Faraday deemed relevant to the inquiry. All he could do now was wait.
They rode north, Winter folded into Misty’s Mercedes coupé. Guildford was an hour away. After a while Misty aske
d him about Bazza. He’d known the question was coming but was still uncertain how to play it.
‘What about him, Mist?’
‘Have you kissed and made up?’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘I mean it.’
‘Why? Why is it so important?’
‘Because it is. Because you’re important, and Baz too in his funny little way.’
‘All friends? All mates together?’
‘Yeah. Exactly. Is that so terrible?’
Winter didn’t answer. For one thing he was uncertain how much of these conversations found their way back to Mackenzie. For another, he was genuinely perplexed by where events were taking him. Suttle, he thought, had put it rather well last night. You can’t rely on luck for ever, he’d said. And Winter, with some regret, was beginning to suspect he was right.
‘I’ve been trying to calm him down, Mist,’ he said at last.
‘Impossible. The man doesn’t do calm. Never did. Never will.’
‘Exactly, so where does that leave me?’
‘Sure … and me, and Marie, and Ezzie, and Stu, and all the rest of them. We’re a family, Paul. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?’
Winter shook his head, retuned the radio. Another mile sped by. At last he saw no point in not voicing what was on his mind.
‘Does the name Colin Leyman mean anything to you, Mist?’
‘No. Never heard of him.’
‘He’d like to think he’s a face from the old days, the 6.57 days. If you want the truth, they took the piss out of him most of the time, but I don’t think he ever understood that. He’s a sweet guy, a simple guy, takes stuff on trust. He’s putty, Mist, you can bend him any way you want.’
‘And?’
‘I bent him. Big time.’
‘Surprise me.’
‘Sure, but it didn’t stop there. Bazza got the hump. Had him taken out.’ Winter described the injuries, the careful application of extreme violence.
‘Horrible,’ she agreed. ‘Vile. Completely over the top.’
‘Exactly. And my fault.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I should have seen it coming. Not to me. To him.’
‘And you didn’t?’
Borrowed Light Page 31
