by Jay Nadal
“Perfect, I’ll have my usual.”
“Spanish omelette and chips?”
“What else," asked Abby. “You know me, creature of habit.”
***
Munch coffee shop was a small cafe situated a few minutes’ walk from the station. It was a popular stopping off point for many officers who wanted to grab a quick sandwich or hot meal. It was a less risky option than the limited choice from the station canteen.
From the outside it could of been be mistaken for an Internet cafe, with its row of white contemporary plastic dining chairs positioned along the front window. The cafe was clean and modern looking inside, with white walls topped with green painted borders. Clean lines continued with a contemporary feel to the dining tables and chairs situated in small huddles. An aroma of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air, together with the various aromas of hot food that wafted occasionally from the kitchen towards the back.
After ordering, Scott and Abby grabbed a table towards the far left wall. Whilst sipping on her latte, she looked up to see a pained expression on Scott’s face. “Guv, off the record, is something bothering you? You seem preoccupied since yesterday.”
Staring at his coffee, the trail of steam wafting up towards him, the smell of freshly percolated coffee stirring his senses, he felt lost. Over the past few years, he had tried hard to cover the cracks in his soul and the pain that seeped from them. “It’s just been hard the last few days, Abby. Seeing Libby and her short life destroyed like that hit me hard. I went to see Becky and Tina. That just wiped me out,” he mumbled.
“Yes, I can imagine,” she offered. Usually she was quick with her words, and always knew what to say, but in this situation, words failed her. “I look at Sophie, and I know I’d be lost without her. Yes, she can be a pain in the arse, and she’s always glued to her phone. Getting a conversation out of her is like getting blood out of stone. She’s still my flesh and blood though … she’s still my little girl.” Abby didn’t know if her sympathy was reassuring him or making him worse.
“Listen, Guv, it’s important not to bottle in. I don’t know if I can be of any help, but when things get you, you can always give me a shout. Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”
Scott knew Abby was trying to offer some sort of support in her own unique way. She was good officer, and a good friend too, someone he trusted implicitly both personally and professionally. He wasn’t about to make a scene and start blabbing, even though he could feel the emotion rising from the pit of his stomach. The swirling mass threatened to engulf him again as his vision blurred. “I appreciate it, Abby. I know all the officers are finding this case hard, but as a parent it makes me angry that shit like this still goes on.”
They paused for a moment as the waitress arrived with their food, thanking them as she left. Abby sighed. “Yes it is fucking shit. It’s bad enough when you’ve got the exploitation of women, but when it’s kids, it makes me sick.”
“Yup,” was Scott’s solitary answer as he tucked into his hot New Yorker melt.
Sensing the DI didn’t want to talk about it anymore, she changed tact, “What do you make of Johnny then?”
“He’s a slippery bugger, I get a strange feeling he seems to enjoy the power trip he gets from pulling younger girls.” He paused for a moment wiping his mouth before taking a sip of his coffee. “He has to be connected to Libby’s death. He’s seen on CCTV footage having an argument with her the night before. He now has another girlfriend in tow and there are too many similarities. The gifts, similar ages, and those identical tattoos, anyone would think he’s branding them.” Scott shrugged.
“Well, he’s not being entirely true with us, is he?”
“No, we need to bring him in for further questioning this afternoon. You can come in with me on the interview with the landlord and get Raj to pick up Johnny for us. That way when we’ve spoken to the landlord and Johnny this afternoon, we’ll have a clearer picture concerning the last few hours of Libby’s life.”
Chapter 6
The warm June afternoon sunshine greeted Scott and Abby. With a full afternoon of interviews to get through, they trudged back to the station both relaxed and tired from devouring their lunches.
The pair instantly turned up their noses at the strong, pungent smell that hung in the air as they strode in, the origins of which seemed to trail back to Mike’s desk. He looked up to see Scott and Abby glaring at him.
“What?” he shouted.
With a small napkin tucked into the top of his collar, Mike attempted to stop the splashes from his chicken dhansak curry peppering the front of his white shirt. Mike shrugged in defiance, as Abby reminded him that he wasn’t at home. Going on to say that they would have the smell of curry-infused clothes by the time he was finished.
“A man’s got to eat; you’re just jealous,” was about as much as he cared to say. The temptation of dipping his naan bread into the dhansak sauce proved too alluring for him.
Scott escaped to the sanctuary of his office and pushed open a window. The smell of sea air was far more inviting. He threw his jacket over the coat hook on the back of his door and fired up his computer.
Time stood still as he gazed at the small double photo frame that sat discreetly beside his monitor. One, a photo taken on their honeymoon. A selfie he’d taken of them lying in a hammock one evening giggling. He smiled as he remembered how they attempted to pose for the photo whilst hanging on for dear life. The other, a picture of all three of them taken on the beach. He studied the innocence in Becky’s smiling face, her cheeks tinged red in the sun. She sat on the pebbly beach, a fast melting ice cream in her hand that dripped off her elbow. Innocent fun. Happier times. Happier memories.
***
The landlord of the Unicorn pub sat quietly in the interview room, shifting nervously in his seat, an observation not missed by Scott as he walked in, accompanied by Abby. Mark Renshaw was a large-framed man of average height, who appeared to enjoy drinking his profits judging by the shirt buttons straining to hold in his large beer belly.
Abby cautioned him and explained the reasons for the interview as she activated the voice recorder, his acknowledgment accompanied by jittery movements in the chair.
Having waived his right to representation, Scott leaned forward resting both elbows on the desk, his hands interlocked. He locked his gaze on Renshaw as Abby nudged a picture of Libby towards him.
“Have you seen this girl before?” Abby asked.
It was a moment or two before Renshaw looked down towards the smiling picture of Libby. He stared at her photo, his eyelids flickering, his jaw muscles tightening as each detail of Libby’s face bore into him. Scott knew the next thing that would come out of Renshaw’s mouth would be a lie.
“Can’t say I recognise her, to be honest.”
The officers exchanged a brief glance before Abby pushed forward a second picture of Libby. Her cold pallid, lifeless features staring back at him from the mortuary table.
Renshaw cleared his throat as he shifted with unease in his chair, his hand trembling as he held a cup of water to his mouth.
A tactic to buy himself some time to think.
He shook his head once, “No, still don’t recognise her.”
Abby pushed her trump card towards Renshaw. A still image of him leaving the pub with Libby. The image froze him to the spot, a large gulp giving away his guilt.
“Now, Mr Renshaw, shall we start again?” Scott said forcefully. He’d had enough of this prat wasting his time. “She was fifteen,” he said slowly and deliberately.
In a low murmur, Renshaw replied, “How was I supposed to know? I didn’t ask her age.”
“How much did you pay her?” Abby asked.
There was a lengthy pause before Renshaw sighed in defeat. “Look, I know her, she hangs around the pub looking for tricks. She came looking for drugs, I just helped her out.”
“In return for what?”
“She was desperate,” he replied defensively.
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“She must have been,” added Abby with a raised brow.
“Libby had no money, she wanted one last hit, she was pretty wired, scared almost. We went down the alley, did the deed, and I gave her the gear and left. I swear, that’s all.”
“How much did she want?”
“She wanted fifty pounds for a blowjob.”
“But you wouldn’t give her that much.” Scott questioned.
He nodded wearily. “I said I wanted a fuck for that much.”
“So what did you bargain it down to? What is the going rate for sex with an underage girl who’s desperate for drugs?”
A long silence filled the room as the quagmire he found himself in threatened to swallow him up.
“Sorry, I can’t hear you,” Scott shouted, his patience wearing thin.
“Twenty quid,” he finally admitted.
Scott and Abby exchanged a look of disgust.
“Twenty pounds worth of smack.”
Scott paused for a moment before commenting, “Your bruises have healed well.”
Renhsaw looked at Scott for a moment, caught off guard by the change in direction of the questioning.
“What do you mean?”
“The aggravated assault on you two months ago in the pub … pub all sorted now?”
“Err… yes,” he grumbled under his breath, as he glanced down unwilling to look either officer in the eye.
“Well, don’t worry, we haven’t closed the file yet. Our enquiries are still on-going. I’m sure we’ll find those responsible and why they targeted you,” Scott said in a harsher tone, his eyes boring into the top of Renhsaw’s head.
“We’ll need you to provide a DNA swab and fingerprint swipe to eliminate you from our enquiries, Mr Renshaw,” Abby added.
Her enquiry was met with a solitary nod from a dejected Renshaw. His shoulders hung low, his breathing coming in rapid bursts, desolation etched on the man’s face.
“For the tape, Mr Renshaw has nodded his head.”
Abby concluded the interview by advising Renhsaw, “Don’t leave town without informing us first, we may need to talk to you again.”
***
Time was fast escaping them today; Scott was desperate to get the team together for a debrief before the end of the shift. They agreed that Abby would visit Jenna again for another chat, and Scott would interview Johnny who was now waiting in an adjoining interview room.
As he made his way back into the next interview room, Scott’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Cara.
Hope all is well with you, you free tomorrow evening? X
Scott smiled to himself, quickly tapping out his reply.
Yep, 7.30 p.m. but might have to let you down at the last minute as have a lot on.
He dropped his phone back in his pocket as it buzzed again. He’d look at her reply later.
***
It was gone 7 p.m. by the team reconvened in the briefing room. Scott had been delayed by the arrival of an urgent job. A report had flashed up on his screen from the duty Inspector regarding a reported missing person. Any miss pers report was always actioned immediately. He scanned the details and found that the usual information threw up nothing of substance.
Christine Newland 43, married mum of one daughter, long brown wavy hair, lives in Tongdean Ave, Hove.
Left for work yesterday morning, employers confirmed to husband that Christine left work in a hurry following a phone call at 12.30pm, but she never came home.
Last seen leaving place of work in North Street, behaviour is out of character for her. She is always at home in time before her daughter’s return from school.
Drives a red Renault Clio FZ 05 GHT, which is missing.
Her mobile phone not being answered.
Reported missing by Alan Newland, Husband.
Scott tasked Sian with the follow up as soon as the debrief was over. He’d instructed her to do a risk assessment. In particular, to look at the usual things like self-harm, abduction, vulnerability, physical and mental health issues, and previous disappearances, etc. The husband needed calling too, in case she’d returned. If not, then she was to go round there. Scott had left her with a final instruction ringing in her ears as he had walked off, “And remember, if in doubt, think the worst until the contrary is proved.”
Despite Sian being new to the team, she’d proved more than capable of working off her own intuition. For that reason, he enjoyed the chance to push her as he did with most members of his team. The one exception being Raj, whom Scott felt was a bit of rough diamond that still needed closer supervision.
As he made his way to the briefing room, he reflected on the team’s current caseload. If they weren’t busy enough already, to have a miss pers now meant the prospect of having to split his resources or worst still, asking the DCI for extra resources from other teams. Even though it was a common request, Scott hated the idea of appearing inadequate or asking for help. In his mind, that suggested ineptitude and the inability to cope, neither of which he’d be willing to admit to.
***
The briefing room was filled with an assortment of aromas that assaulted Scott’s nostrils the minute he entered. Smells that seemed to fire off an embarrassing rumble from deep within his stomach. Raj had taken care of everyone’s dietary needs by ordering two large Dominos pizzas, a Hawaiian and a meat feast, plus garlic dough bites, which the team gratefully helped themselves to.
“Right gang, I’m tired, as I’m sure most of you are, so let’s get on with this and get home. Sian what can you tell us about any missing girls?” Scott asked standing by the whiteboard, a slice of pizza flopping in his hand.
Wiping her mouth with a paper napkin, “Social services only came back to me at 6 this evening. We have Jasmine Reed, aged fifteen from Brighton. She was in care but went missing from Tindale residential unit four months ago. She was fished out near Sherborne Wharf in Birmingham. She was beaten to death, with evidence of an overdose, according to toxicology reports.
Then we have Rishi Mehta, again aged fifteen. An Asian girl missing from Manchester, believed to in the Sussex area recently. I spoke to Greythorne High School in Manchester. She was last seen at the school gates five months ago and was in foster care. The school said that Rishi was sent home for breaking school rules for texting in class all the time. She was texting her boyfriend, but they couldn’t give me a name. There was evidence on her Facebook page that she was chatting to a guy from Brighton, but the account was fake and not been used since.”
“IP address?”
“Still looking at that, Guv.”
Scott hadn’t moved whilst listening to Sian, the response from the rest of the team likewise.
DCI Harvey had slipped in the door whilst Sian was covering her notes and eased herself into a seat at the top end of the table.
“Both girls were fifteen. Unconnected? Possible, but three girls aged fifteen missing on our patch or killed, that worries me.”
“Guv," Sian added, “Jasmine had a heart-shaped tattoo on her ankle with a love inscription in it.”
“What the fuck,” blurted out Scott. “Sorry, Ma’am.”
“Could they be linked to Johnny?” Mike suggested.
Scott nodded thoughtfully. “The tattoos are telling evidence and more than a coincidence. I re-interviewed Johnny this afternoon, but got little more out of him. Shame we didn’t have the social services information earlier today. I put it to him that after the row, he went back to track down Libby and got Jenna to cover for him? But he wasn’t budging from his story, so I need to put some more pressure on him. Abby?”
“I went to see Jenna again this afternoon. I tried to get through to her, but she just kept repeating that Libby was jealous. She reckons Libby took offence because they were together, nothing else. Despite telling her how Johnny plied Libby with booze, drugs and showered her with gifts just like he’s doing with her, she’s convinced we’ve got it all wrong. Jenna did let go a bit. She said Libby was saying all this mad s
tuff, but was sure it was Libby’s attempt to break them up.”
“What type of stuff?” Scott asked.
“That Johnny had got her into drink and drugs. He’d gotten her to sleep with other men, lots of men, she said that Jenna was next. And that they’d used her and moved her from place to place. Libby looked down and confused, she said she was going to put a stop to it. Jenna was adamant Johnny would never do that to her. ‘Johnny loves me,’ she kept saying defiantly.”
“She’s been brainwashed, Guv,” offered Raj.
“It’s not uncommon,” added DCI Harvey. “Vulnerable kids see some of these men as their saviours, their ticket to a better life. It’s often the first time anyone has shown them love and affection. They fall for it hook, line and sinker. And because of that, will say anything to protect them. It’s unlikely you’d get her to testify against him.”
Scott walked around the room, pacing slowly. “Well it’s possible he grooms them, uses them and then moves onto the next one. Just abandons them when they are of no use to him … but by then, they’re even more dependant and vulnerable. We must be missing something.”
“Like what?” Asked Sian.
“Libby was your average fifteen-year-old schoolgirl, and then within a year, she’s a drugged up kid, looking for sex to satisfy her cravings. Now that transformation happened for a reason and that reason points to Johnny.”
Raj interjected, “Why did she do a runner? What happened that freaked her out?”
His questions met with a muted silence from those around the table. Scott shook his head, the lack of clarity taxing his brain. “So Johnny’s grooming the girls, breaking them down, and making them so dependent on him that they’ll do anything for him, including sleeping with other guys. The girls are vulnerable, their self-esteem gets lower and lower, and their addiction gets stronger and stronger. And when he’s done with them for whatever reason, he moves them along, or discards them onto the streets to fend for themselves.”
Abby continued, “Inevitably ending up working the streets. That will explain the girls in Manchester and Birmingham, and when Libby threatened to blow the lid, she paid for it with her life.”
