The Cabal (#16 - The Craig Crime Series)

by Catriona King

Manchester.

  “This is the list?”

  Jake’s eyes widened as he read the computer printout. Instead of the fifteen names of dead or disappeared women that Davy had collated there were at least as many more. Thirty-one sex-workers had either vanished or been killed in the space of eight weeks.

  The tired looking inspector nodded, gesturing towards a map up on the wall.

  “That’s only in the North and Midlands. Norfolk, Kent and Devon and Cornwall forces have reported at least five more, and God knows how many London will have.”

  Jake did the sums quickly in his head. A possible forty-plus sex-workers had been affected in the last two months, and even allowing that a few might have been victims of random perpetrators the picture it painted was as scary as hell. If the majority were madams like Veronica Lewis then whoever was behind this had been targeting established escort organisations to get them to cooperate, and killing anyone who’d said no. He asked the question to be answered by a nod.

  Ellery pressed a switch and the names on the computer separated into groups.

  “OK, the names clustered together all worked for the same escort agencies. The top name is the madam running it, and the others her partners or longest serving girls. You’ll see from the dates of their disappearances that there’s a gap of a few days between each name, as if someone was taking the time to pick them off one by one.”

  Or make each of them an offer in turn, which if they refused would lead to their death. Jake frowned, realising what it meant. It fitted Liam’s theory that one group was taking over established escort agencies, offering the madam and her top girls the chance to run parties for their specific purposes, and if the women refused they were killed. The ruthlessness of their opponents was in no doubt.

  Jake tapped on a name. “Zoe Donnat. She was reported disappeared and then reappeared, so what can you tell me about her?”

  The inspector shook his head, puzzled. “That one’s a mystery. She was the third to disappear from that area of Norfolk, and the team there had presumed her dead, then she reappeared suddenly on an abandoned airfield but wouldn’t tell them where she’d been.”

  “Assaulted?”

  “A few cuts and bruises, and there were restraint marks on her ankles and wrists, so it looked like she’d been held somewhere. I can get you her file if you like.”

  “And a car as well, please. I’m going to Norfolk.”

  ****

  High Street Station.

  “Well, that was a whole lot of useless, boss.”

  Craig really couldn’t argue with him. Their conversation with Ray Mercer had been punctuated with expletives, and threats of an exposé on police brutality as soon as the journalist was freed. Craig leant against the viewing room glass.

  “What do you think, Jack?”

  The sergeant dragged his eyes away from the man about to give him aggro when he returned him to his cell and gave Craig a jaundiced look.

  “I think you’d better hurry up and let the old hack out.”

  “He’ll be out tomorrow, but he’ll still be gagged from writing his article until we’ve closed the case. The Journal too. Judge Standish issued me a belt and braces order. I don’t want them slipping the news out through some loophole.”

  Jack folded his arms and sat back. “Well then, I’ll just house and feed him till you give me the word tomorrow, then I’ll kick him to the kerb. I take it you want Wilberforce now? He’ll be easier. He was lippy to start off with but now he’s crying for his mum.”

  Liam gave an evil smile. “Just the way I like them.”

  Craig nodded the sergeant out and took his chair, watching as an obscenity mouthing Ray Mercer was nudged from the interview room and one minute later a burly, sweaty faced man of around thirty was led in. Craig nodded Liam to move and within seconds Jack was back on his side of the glass.

  Craig glared at Mark Wilberforce for a moment, until he judged that the man was about to cave, then he turned on the tape machine and sat back in his chair, nodding Liam on.

  “Right now, Mister Wilberforce.”

  It was a step up in politeness from ‘Right, you little scrote’, Liam’s normal affectionate greeting for those he deemed to belong to the criminal class.

  “Why did we find your prints on the bottom of a wall bed on the Travis Estate when you live on the Demesne? And before you say you were visiting a friend, or even that you were in said bed, obliging some misguided female, let me remind you that we know that apartment to have been untenanted since two thousand and ten. So…?”

  Despite the fact Wilberforce had already given them Harrison Craig had expected him to save face by obfuscating for a moment, or at least to defiantly shake his head, but there was none of that. Almost before Liam’s mouth had closed the young man leaned in close to the tape and began shouting at a rate of knots.

  “It wus a pig who asked me to git the place! Seed he needed a safe house for sum undercover cap working on a drugs bust. Seed they’d been infiltratin’ sum gang and-”

  Craig waved him down before he burst a blood vessel.

  “Who was this pig?”

  Much as it pained him to use the word it seemed like the quickest way through.

  “Harrison. Slimy bastard.” He’d got that right. “Had me wurkin’ fer him since I wus a kid. Seed he’d slip me fifty if I dun OK.”

  Liam picked up the questioning. “And Harrison told you it was about drugs?”

  Wilberforce nodded. “Seed it’d tuk them months to get intee the gang, an’ their agent might huv tee lie low, so he’d need sumwhere.”

  He? Mark Wilberforce had never met Beatrix Hass!

  Liam had an idea.

  “When were you expecting them to use the place?”

  The snout shrugged. “Dun’t know. It’s been ready since January. Cud huv been ony time.”

  Damn. Craig wanted to punch the wall, knowing exactly what it meant.

  He switched off the tape and signalled Jack to return Wilberforce to his cell. When the snout had gone he turned to Liam, shaking his head.

  “You know what this means.”

  “Harrison was planning well ahead? Maybe he set the flat up in January because he didn’t know exactly when they’d take McManus out.”

  Craig scoffed at him. “He set up a safe-house six months in advance? I don’t think so.”

  Liam’s pale eyes widened. “You’re saying Harrison wasn’t involved in McManus’ shooting?”

  Craig thought quickly. “OK, let’s think this through… What if Harrison really did set up the safe house for a drugs undercover agent? And then someone else found out about the place and decided to use it as part of the McManus plot? They could have tipped Hass the wink.”

  Liam was sceptical. “What are the odds Karl Rimmins wouldn’t have told us if they’d been working a drugs undercover Op on the Travis?”

  “He mightn’t have known. Karl’s only one of six sergeants on the Drugs Squad, and maybe the operation was kept at inspector level and above.”

  Liam spotted a massive hole. “OK, then, so why did Harrison then bury the stuff about the sex parties that Tony Moorfield passed to him?”

  Craig frowned, wracking his brains. If there had been a drugs op going down on the Travis in January and Harrison’s setting up of the safe house was legitimate, then could someone else have found out about the place? Either through there being another cop involved, or through Harrison opening his big mouth? Harrison being indiscreet wasn’t a crime, but Liam was right, none of this explained his burying of the sex-party information two months before, unless… Harrison had been leaned on by the same people at Stormont who’d leant on Sean Flanagan. Perhaps Flanagan had even OKed it. Much as he hated to admit it, Terry Harrison might actually be innocent.

  He voiced his thoughts reluctantly and to Liam’s chagrin they made sense, then the D.C.I. spotted a glimmer of hope.

  “If Teflon’s at the party tonight then all bets are off, boss. He wouldn’t be there unless he
was up to his ears in the whole thing. Sex, drugs, intrigue, and the assassination plot.”

  Craig nodded, considerably less hopeful than his deputy.

  “Agreed. But it’s a big if.”

  ****

  The C.C.U. 1.30 p.m.

  When Davy had answered Craig’s query with a grunt the superintendent’s assumption that he’d been on to something was right, and when the analyst resisted Nicky’s coaxing to come for lunch, preferring to keep working, Ash also knew that something big was about to break.

  The junior analyst wasn’t what you would call competitive, or not what he would anyway, but deep beneath Ash Rahman’s colourful haircut and strange taste in clothes lay far more ambition than his quirky image would allow him to admit, and at Davy’s undoubtedly impending moment of greatness it started to rear its ugly head. The good thing was that Ash’s ambition didn’t manifest itself in doing his workmate down or trying to sabotage Davy’s work, but by spurring him on to work harder and deny himself lunch as well.

  By one-thirty when Craig and Liam reappeared and other well-fed staff members were lounging slug-like at their desks, the analysts’ efforts had begun to bear fruit. But before they could bask in their genius in front of an audience Craig’s office phone rang and he went to take the call.

  “Craig.”

  Jake McClean’s voice came down the line.

  “I think I’ve got something, chief. I’m in Norwich in Norfolk, and I’ve just interviewed a woman called Zoe Donnat.”

  “The sex-worker who reappeared?”

  “That’s her. It’s a long story, but she’s finally admitted that she was kidnapped and threatened that unless she agreed to run kinky sex parties and invite a specific list of local politicians and businessmen, she would go the same way as her old boss. When she agreed they dumped her alive at an old airfield.”

  Like Veronica Lewis but substituting a wood.

  “Who kidnapped her?”

  “They never gave their names but she said they were from Europe somewhere.”

  “OK, what exactly did they ask her to do?”

  “The same as Lewis. Run parties at different anonymous venues, with drugs and kinks. The parties have been going on for two months, sir, stepping up in frequency in the past few weeks.”

  Craig considered for a moment. Hartnell was the only English survivor that they knew of, but it was likely that parties had been happening all over the country with the same aim. It was time for the sergeant to come home.

  “OK, good work, Jake. Get the next plane back, but first I want you to call D.C.I. Andy White in Drugs on the North Coast and ask him to check something for me. Quietly, please, and let me know what you get.”

  When he’d finished the call, Craig walked back onto the floor, ordering the post-prandial dippers to wake up.

  “OK, Jake’s just confirmed a similar party scenario in Norfolk to the one we have here with Lewis and there are likely to be a lot more. Escort agencies across England have been high-jacked to run parties over the past few months, with any workers who didn’t cooperate being disappeared or killed.”

  He scanned the group until his gaze fell on Aidan Hughes. “Speaking of that, what happened when you met with Veronica Lewis, Aidan?”

  Hughes smiled. “She’s agreed to cooperate, chief. She’ll take Kyle along tonight as her body guard.”

  Liam sniffed. “A puny one.”

  The spy was unoffended. “Brains not brawn, Liam, that’s what the ladies love.”

  Craig ended the inevitable war of words before it started. “That’s enough, you two. Good news, Aidan. Well done.”

  Hughes shrugged. “She wants this over as much as we do. It was only fear that stopped her telling us before. They threatened to harm her son if she squealed, but I’ve promised that we’ll keep him under watch.”

  “OK. Good. Put some uniforms on him. Discreetly, please. Right now-”

  He was cut short by Rhonda raising a hand.

  “Yes, Rhonda? And everyone, can you stop raising your hands, please. This isn’t school.”

  He nodded the D.C. on.

  “Well, it’s just one thing, sir. Why did so many of the girls in England refuse?”

  “Refuse what?”

  “To cooperate. If they were being threatened with death, surely they would just have agreed to run the parties? If they were only as we’ve been told.” She frowned, wrinkling her pale forehead. “It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  By the widening of eyes and the silent ‘oh’s being formed it appeared that it didn’t make sense to many of the team, including Craig. Rhonda was right and he could have kicked himself for missing it. Liam saved him the effort.

  “She’s right, boss, you totally missed that.”

  “First prize for stating the obvious, Liam. But well spotted, Rhonda. There’s obviously something more unsavoury going on at these parties than Veronica Lewis has chosen to admit.”

  Aidan shook his head. “Maybe not, chief. It might just apply to the ones on the mainland. Remember we haven’t had any dead sex-workers turning up here, just a disappeared Lewis.”

  Craig thought for a moment and then nodded. “OK, well whatever it is we don’t have the time right now to find out. It must be bad for so many women to refuse on pain of death, so my guess is we’re looking at children, animals or snuff movies. Andy, ask Jake to liaise with England on that, once tonight’s party’s over. OK, before we move onto tonight, Liam will update you on our assassin’s escape route and how we’ve handled the press.”

  As Liam reported Craig sat down beside Annette, whispering. “Anything on Harrison?”

  A sharp shake of her head said no.

  “So where is he now?”

  “Playing golf up in Antrim with his mates. Some accountant and a GP. He spent last night in his apartment with a takeaway.” She grimaced. “His life’s almost as exciting as mine and Mike’s.”

  Craig smiled. “Minus the new born.” He rose again. “Thanks for that. Tonight should see an end to the surveillance, but it’s important that we know where Harrison is while the party’s on.”

  “No problem, sir. Amy’s babysitting.”

  “Mike working?”

  “No. He’s taking Doctor Winter for a drink. He says he’s pretty low for some reason.”

  Craig felt a sharp prick of guilt. He knew that he’d been neglecting John, but he would just have to wait for now. What they had to discuss couldn’t be rushed.

  He walked back to the whiteboard just as Liam was winding up.

  “Thanks, Liam. Right, I’ll get onto the logistics of this evening’s operation in a moment, but first, Davy and Ash, what do you have for us?”

  Instead of Davy speaking first he nodded his friend on. He knew Ash well, and he’d spotted the green-eyed monster rearing its head before lunch. The junior analyst jumped in eagerly.

  “I’ve got lots actually.”

  OK, so there was eager and then there was showing off.

  “The bullets. I’ve been searching the Interpol and FSB databases-”

  Craig interjected. “For searching read hacking.”

  It earned him a nod.

  “OK, so hacking, but I’ve got something. Not on the pistol but on the KSVK rifle. The same gun was used in a shooting in Minsk in twenty-fourteen and a second killing in Frankfurt last year.”

  Liam interrupted. “Any name on the shooters?”

  “Not definitive, but the FSB report mentions the Diebe im Gesetz. They’re a gang that was first founded in Stalin’s labour camps with their own laws and a secret language. More recently they’re thought to have been recruiting within German prisons. Apparently, the Russian mafia is very active in Germany.”

  Liam nodded. “Des told us.” He turned to Craig. “They could be pool guns, boss.”

  “What do you think, Ash?”

  “I don’t know about the pool aspect, but the rest might link in with Germany’s growing right-wing.”

  Craig made a face. “F
ascism and communism. What a marriage.”

  Davy shook his head. “Communism was replaced by capitalism when the Soviet Union fell, chief, and fascism and capitalism have worked together for centuries.”

  “Fair point. OK, what else, Ash?”

  The analyst tapped up a map of the British Isles on Nicky’s screen.

  “OK, so I was thinking about what else might be happening to increase the Leave vote, if that’s what this is all about. The sex parties, blackmailing powerful influencers etcetera will only get them so far, so they would still be playing tight odds, plus I can’t find any missing or dead sex-workers anywhere in Scotland or Wales-”

  Aidan Hughes cut in. “You’re saying the sex parties are confined to England and here?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “What does that tell you about our politicians?”

  No-one voiced their thoughts.

  “It’s on a far larger scale in England, obviously. Jake emailed to say he’s got over forty women missing or dead now.”

  Liam gave a whistle. “I thought there were just fifteen?”

  Davy answered him. “Some of the forces mustn’t have recorded them centrally yet.”

  Annette was shocked. “Forty dead sex-workers! That’s huge.”

  Ash shook his head. “That’s only some of them. Jake said they haven’t finalised the figures for London yet.”

  Images of women being abducted and killed on streets that he’d walked down for years filled Craig’s mind. He shook them away hastily and moved on.

  “I can’t imagine they’ve left Scotland and Wales completely untouched.”

  A glance from Ash said he was right.

  “You’d found something?”

  “Two somethings.” The analyst pointed at the screen. “Check this out.”

  As the group watched, a series of yellow dots appeared around Dundee and Glasgow, followed by more, until the whole of Scotland, as far up as Shetland, was scattered with them. A moment later a similar rash appeared over Wales.

  Liam looked puzzled. “What are-”

  He didn’t get to finish as Ash clicked on a dot outside Aberdeen and a video file opened on the screen. The team watched as a news reporter reported on an attack at a local army cadet training facility. A second click and there was a clip from the following day where angry locals, acting on the story that the attack had been carried out by Eastern European immigrants, protested outside the immigrants’ community club. More clicks across the country and they witnessed damage to a military base, a pipe bomb planted at an RAF club and a second at a war memorial, with angry residents protesting after each attack.