Stolen: A DI Scott Baker Novel

by Jay Nadal

  Scott and Mike remained silent and continued to watch him. Scott knew from their extensive interview training that silence was a great asset. It made those on the receiving end increasingly nervous, and often led them to say things they’d normally keep to themselves, just to break the silence.

  He shrugged nervously. “I don’t know, I told you it’s all in the past for me.”

  “Johnny Wright a friend of yours?”

  Shaw stared at the floor, playing with an imaginary football between his feet. “Never heard of him,” he replied dismissively.

  Scott continued, “I thought you would have, he offers young girls to people like you. We need to know where.”

  Shaw’s hands were clenched tight by his sides, “I don’t know!” he protested, his voice rising. “I swear.”

  “Stop fucking holding back Shaw,” Mike snarled as he strode forward and was now nose-to-nose with the man, grabbing him by his shirt.

  Scott stepped in between the two men. Scott gave Mike a look to let him know that he was treading a fine line between turning up the heat and being on the receiving end of a disciplinary. Mike pushed Shaw back but continued to glare at him.

  Shaw, shaken by his encounter adjusted his shirt, “That’s assault you know! Everyone deserves a second chance. If I could help I would.”

  Scott took over rather than risk a formal compliant being levelled at one of his officers. “That might be so, but young abused girls don’t get one. I wonder what your neighbours would think of your second chance.”

  Shaw panicked even further, his breathing coming fast and short, his eyes wide and wild with fear. “Okay okay, I don’t know where, but I know a guy who said that if I was ever interested, which by the way I’m not, to give him a shout. I can call him now?”

  ***

  Having got the information from Shaw, Scott and Mike drove back to the station in silence for most of the way. As they approached the back entrance, Scott stopped by the door. “Mike if you ever pull a fucking stunt like that again, I’ll hang you out to dry … do I make myself clear?”

  “Understood, Guv. I’m sorry. Scroats like that need to be taught a lesson. Back in the forces, we dished out our discipline to sort out our problems. I can’t help myself sometimes.”

  “Well, you’re not in the army anymore. You and I need a chat after this case is over … or your career isn’t going to go far.”

  ***

  Scott mustered the team together around Raj’s desk for a quick update. He perched on the edge of his desk pushing aside empty food wrappings much to his frustration. A point not lost on Raj who shifted uncomfortably in his chair choosing to look at anything but Scott.

  “Right, we’ve got a possible lead in the Libby Stephens and trafficking case. Robert Shaw gave us a name and location. He said a man by the name of Ardit Gashi is running a house where they have up to four teenage girls available for sex. I’ve assigned uniform to head to the house to maintain observation from a distance until we move in.”

  The team nodded as Scott recalled the visit. There was a buzz and renewed vigour amongst those gathered. Finally, they were making some inroads into a case that they all felt fully committed to resolving.

  “Sian, Raj, anything to add?”

  Sian excitedly reached for her notes first. “Yes Guv. We’ve made a connection between Brighton and Birmingham. Our colleagues in Birmingham have intelligence that the trafficking of girls is run by an Albanian called Ramiz Hajdari. He was known to be associated with Jasmine Reed shortly before she died. He’s done some time for extortion, pimping and the supply of drugs. When he was arrested last time his phone traffic showed a lot of communications between himself and your man Ardit Gashi.”

  The news excited everyone huddled around the desk as a sense of urgency simmered amongst them. They wanted to go out and bust this operation wide open, but there were steps they needed to take first. More intelligence gathering for a start. Finding victims willing to talk. Only then could a strong enough case be built. They needed facts, not speculation.

  “We also had Manchester confirm that their suspect is another Albanian, Murat Ahmeti. They’ve not been able to nail him for anything; he’s been too clever at covering his tracks with multiple layers to his setup. Gang members who’ve been caught so far have been small fry, taking the fall for the big boys. But, again, phone records show messages between him, Ardit and Ramiz.”

  Raj added, “Do you think that Jenna Wade knows anything about the wider operation?”

  Scott shook his head, “I doubt it; Jenna refuses to believe that she’s part of this process. She’s convinced that Johnny loves her. He’s given the kind of affection she’s never experienced in her life. So much so, that in a few weeks’ time when he asks her to sleep with other men as a favour to him, she’d probably do it. Before she knows it, she’d be addicted to drugs, dumped by Johnny and introduced to a wider network of sexual predators in Manchester or Birmingham.”

  “So, what now?” Mike asked.

  “We’ve got the address Shaw gave us in the Crestway. I need Abby to organise and brief a tactical entry team to meet us there. I’ll update the DCI so she’s aware of what we’re about to do.”

  Raj had pulled up an aerial view of the property on Google maps, allowing the team to study the location and plan their approach. Scott leaned in and pointed to a spot on the map.

  “This is the property we are targeting. It looks like it’s in the middle of row of terraced houses, so entry and exit points will only be front and back.” Scott leaned in even further to get a better view and then pointed to a patch of open land behind the property. “There’s a potential escape route right there. Abby, arrange for a dog unit to cover the rear. It looks like they can get there through Hinton Close,” Scott added, tracing his finger along the screen to the green grassy area behind the row of houses.

  Abby gave Scott a single nod in acknowledgement. “When are we going?”

  “In the next 30 minutes, timing is crucial. I’ve got uniform sitting with Shaw at the moment to stop him from warning them about our arrival. Any other news?” Scott asked looking around those gathered.

  Raj cleared his throat, “Whilst we’re here and I remember, the searches have come back clean so far on the Newland case. She was well respected at work by her boss and colleagues. Always punctual, spoke about her family. She had a Facebook profile, posted on there once a week or so, and had thirty-four Facebook friends that I’ll start working through. The only thing out of character was when she raced off after receiving a call about 12-12.30 p.m. She grabbed her bag, told her boss her daughter wasn’t feeling, and she needed to pick her up.”

  “And did she?”

  “No, Guv; her daughter’s school confirmed that Lucy was in school all day.”

  Scott nodded his approval, “Good job Raj, keep me informed. The press appeal has gone out today, so you should get a response hopefully. You and Sian can man the phone lines.”

  Abby raised her pen, “I went to see Jenna Wade again today. She was caught sneaking out of school to meet Johnny Wright who was waiting for her at the gates. He rang earlier to meet her. He said he wanted to see her because it was important.”

  “Important? What’s so important suddenly? What did he say?” Scott replied with concern, his eyes narrowing as he pinched his chin.

  “He just told her he wanted her to meet some friends.”

  The team exchanged nervous glances. It was clear Jenna was being lined up to be moved onto the next stage of the traffickers’ plan.

  Chapter 12

  Scott, Abby and Mike left the station in convoy for Hollingdean, followed by the tactical entry team and a dog unit. Their adrenaline was pumping; the team was on edge and the urgency to get a result was at the forefront of their minds.

  As they turned into the Crestway, their approach was silent. The last thing they wanted to do was announce their arrival, or stir up unwanted attention that would tip off those in the house. They positioned
themselves a short distance from the property in Thompson Road, whilst they waited for the dog unit to take up its place at the rear of the property. There was a small parade of shops opposite the target house, which meant that there were more members of the public milling around than Scott would have liked.

  In any situation such as this, the first thing he needed to ensure was the safety of the public as they raided the house. From the position of the house in proximity to the shops, Scott was confident that members of the public were a sufficient distance away to not come into harm’s way.

  Scott smiled quietly to himself. He wasn’t sure what they’d find inside. He was hoping to find some girls as well as the men controlling them. If anyone decided to make a run for it from the back of the property, they’d come face to face with a forty-kilo German Shepherd police dog racing towards them at twenty-five miles per hour. You’d either have to be very brave or very stupid to take on a trained police dog, he thought.

  Scott’s phoned chimed at the arrival of a new message. Reaching for his phone, he was pleased to see it was Cara asking him out for dinner tonight. Just seeing her name on his phone left him with a warm glow that filled the empty void that had been missing from his life. The fact she was asking him out for dinner, flattered him. He thought for a moment about a suitable response, knowing it was time to take their relationship to the next level. He hesitated for a few seconds before hitting the reply button.

  How about I cook us dinner tonight, 8pm at mine?

  She didn’t need to think about his suggestion; a swift yes was her response.

  Scott gave her his address in Rutland Gardens and signed off with:

  Can’t talk, on an op. x.

  Can’t wait xx, came her reply.

  Prior to their arrival, officers watching the property reported that a male had entered about thirty minutes earlier, and was just leaving the property as they arrived. Scott concluded that it was a punter and requested that the uniformed officers pick him up once out of sight of the house on suspicion of sex with a minor.

  The strike had been organised for 2 p.m.; with five minutes to go, the urgency to move was mounting. Silence prevailed in the car, the outside noise drowned out by the throbbing pulse in Scott’s head. The sun was streaming in through the windows raising the temperature inside the car.

  “I’m fucking sweltering in this tin can!” Mike fumed to no one in particular. His comment met with silence from Scott and Abby.

  Scott keyed his radio, “Two minutes - everyone in position and ready to go?”

  “Confirmed, Guv,” came two replies from the tactical team situated in front of them and the dog unit. Scott shifted in his seat as the stab jacket hampered his movements and made it unbearably hot, his shirt sticking to his back.

  With one minute to go, Scott looked over to his left at Abby and Mike, “You ready?” They both nodded, anxious to get on with the raid.

  As the second hand hit twelve, Scott gave the command, “Go, go, go.” The van in front grunted in action and moved off at speed, turning left into the Crestway, with Scott on their tail. Abby and Mike held onto a grab handle with one hand, the other on a door handle ready to exit when they stopped. The adrenaline coursed through Scott’s veins. His muscles tightened as he gripped the wheel hard, his whole body taut and ready for action; his heart pounded, threatening to burst through his chest.

  The commotion of them pulling up caused a few onlookers to stop and stare as both vehicles emptied in seconds, with all nine officers racing to the front door. Scott and his team stood aside as a burly tactical entry officer led the way. He had ‘the red enforcer,’ a sixteen-kilogram steel battering ram that officers used to gain entry into properties. Two other officers followed him, equipped with sledgehammer and go bar, which resembled an oversized crow bar.

  The wooden door and frame offered little resistance. It splintered and collapsed as more than three tonnes of kinetic energy smashed through it. The door flew off its hinges, the remaining uniformed officers pouring through the opening, trampling over the debris shouting “Police! Stay where you are,” as they dispersed in all directions. Mike followed some of the officers through the ground floor as they made their way from room to room, shouting “Clear,” as they found nothing. Scott and Abby thundered up the steps as three officers scoured the first-floor rooms.

  Scott’s attention was drawn to a commotion coming from a back room where officers were shouting, “Get down, get the fuck down!” As he reached the room, officers were dragging a man back through an open window. An overweight, scruffily dressed man, in a grey jumper, dirty blue jeans and burgundy leather jacket had opted to run the gauntlet with the K9 than take on two officers racing towards him. Fortunately for him, he was being wrestled to the ground before being searched and cuffed with a cable tie.

  “Good job, lads,” shouted Scott as he strode towards them. He knelt down to see the man’s face contorted with anger, spittle erupting from his mouth as he screamed obscenities at being restrained. “I’m arresting you on the suspicion of the control of a prostitute for monetary gains; you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you rely on in court. Anything you do say can be given in evidence … now get this shit out of here.”

  His was sidetracked for a moment as Abby called out for him from further down the hallway. Confusion clouded his perspective as another shout echoed through the first floor, “We’ve got another one.”

  Not knowing where to go first, he came back out into the hallway and headed into a room on the opposite side of the landing. Abby was perched on the end of a bed, her arm around a thin, emaciated girl. Scott’s emotions swirled around inside of him like a turbulent winter storm, a mixture of sadness and anger colliding with a sense of relief.

  Abby had wrapped a blanket around a girl no older than fifteen or sixteen. Judging from her thin, scraggly, gaunt face and her sunken eyes framed in dark circles, she could have passed as young as twelve or thirteen. Abby looked up at Scott with a look of revulsion and despair written over her face. As a mother, maternal instincts kicked in, an overwhelming desire to shield and protect the girl as she stroked her untidy, greasy hair.

  Abby quietly mouthed “Kelly from Manchester,” as the girl stared at the carpet. Her thin white blouse loosely done up with two buttons, her naked small breasts partially visible. A short black mini-skirt tightly wrapped around her pale bruised thighs, adding to the lengths her captors had gone to, to make her look sexy, attractive and older. Scott’s anger was threatening to consume him like a dark swirling black mass, objectivity fast being replaced with red mist. He wanted to head back into the other room and kick the shit out of the prisoner they’d detained.

  Fucking evil scum.

  Scott dragged his gaze away from the trembling girl sitting on the bed to see Mike standing in the hallway. His eyes narrowed, fixed on the girl, telling Scott that he was no doubt imagining the vile acts that had gone on in this dingy, dark bedroom. The carpet was dirty and stained; with what, Scott could only imagine to his horror. A solitary double bed the only furniture in the room, a small plastic bin by the side of the bed contained tissues and used condoms. Blue curtains hung loosely from a pine curtain rail that shielded the outside world from the abuse that took place in the room.

  The whole property had the air of degradation. Unpainted plastered walls, dark wooden doors, bare frames and skirtings and what little carpet covered the dirty floors had been left to rot, just like the whole house. A pungent, musty smell hung in the air, assaulting his senses.

  Scott tapped Mike on the shoulder. “You okay?”

  Mike just nodded, anger etched into every muscle of his face, his teeth gritted. He pointed towards an adjoining room, where another officer stood.

  As Scott peered around into the third room, his eyes were assaulted by another horrifying image that led to a sharp intake of breath.

  Shit, it was another poor soul.

 
Mike was over Scott’s shoulder, sighing. “I want to run the fuckers over, put them in a room with me and make them breathe their last breath.”

  Mike must have read Scott’s mind, as he too was sickened and seething as to what they saw.

  On a double bed lay another girl, each hand secured to the bed frame with handcuffs, her tiny wrists red with painful welts where she’d struggled. Her eyes were partially closed; Scott couldn’t determine whether she was unconscious, drugged, fatigued or choosing to blot out her experiences. Another officer from the entry team was already cutting her free with bolt cutters. Scott knelt beside her.

  “You’re safe now,” he whispered, “I’m Scott, I’m with the Police, what’s your name?”

  The girl’s eye’s flickered as she attempted to focus. Scott gently wiped away her sweaty, long blonde dirty hair that clung to her face. Her cheeks red and sore, her eyes were now a dull distant blue, which no doubt once sparkled in happier times. Her face was pale and lifeless, the worry and sadness had robbed her features after being prematurely thrust into a life she wasn’t expecting. She parted her cracked lips, her mouth dry through dehydration, she gently mouthed, “Sabina.”

  Judging from the tone of her accent, Scott suspected she wasn’t from the UK.

  “Sabina, we’re here to help you, how old are you and where are you from?”

  She took a few moments to lick her lips. Scott quietly asked Mike to get her water whilst he waited for her to answer. He turned his attention back to the helpless child lying there. Sabina’s eyes swirled around the room, her senses escaping her. Perhaps she’d deliberately chosen to switch off, to avoid the pain and loneliness she must have endured.

  “I’m Sabina Lunga, I’m fifteen … from Albania.”

  Fuck!

  The reality hit Scott as he bowed his head. This had turned from domestic trafficking and prostitution, to an internationally organised crime ring.

  ***

  Scott leant back in a chair in custody as the suspect was booked in. He’d left the property in the hands of scenes of crime officers who’d be combing through the bedrooms, gathering up the dirty, bloodied and semen-stained sheets, as well as the use condoms. With any luck, there’d be sufficient DNA evidence to allow them to pinpoint those who had visited.