by Deborah Lucy
‘Look, there’s something else, something I need to tell you. I’m not meant to be here. I’ve been taken off the job so to speak, which is why I look like this, because I can’t be seen to look like I’m on duty. But I want to help you and there’s a chance we could get Megon back. So we’re probably going to have to do this together.’
‘I’ll do anything to get her back, you know that.’
‘You might have to.’ Temple sighed. ‘Paul, you might want to sit back down. The sighting of Megon confirms she was here last week. Hopefully they haven’t moved her already.’
‘What do you mean, “if they haven’t moved her” – who’s “they”? Where is she? Tell me!’ Having sat down at Temple’s request, Paul Wallace leapt back up on his feet. His emotions were going wild; he thought he was going to find her and here was Temple telling him that she was being moved around. By who? Who had his little girl? What did Temple know?
‘Sit down, Paul. I need you to be calm, I need you to be able to take this information in and stay calm, otherwise you can’t help me. You’ll be no good to me.’ Temple knew this was a huge gamble and at the moment, it wasn’t paying off. Reluctantly, Paul Wallace sat back down, looking at Temple intently.
‘Just tell me what the hell’s going on.’
‘Megon’s in some trouble. She’s been caught up in drug dealing, probably with dealers from the estate back in Hackney. She’s been ferrying drugs and money from London to Swindon and anywhere in between. There’s a name for it, county lines, you’ll have seen it in the newspapers. Drug dealers in London, or elsewhere for that matter, it’s all around the country. They advertise their goods via text to their client base and wait for their orders. The buyer responds and the dealer arranges with the courier to make contact with the buyer and arrange where they can pick up the drugs. This way, the dealer is not involved in the transaction. When the courier has sold all his drugs, he goes back to the dealer, gives him the money and goes out again with more drugs, waiting for the dealer to make contact. The dealers are using kids now as couriers. Kids like Megon.’
‘County what? Lines? What does that mean? And you’re saying that Megon is a courier, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Lines means phone lines, mobiles, and the kids being sent out into the counties, out of London. Yes, Megon’s been couriering. They attract the kids at the school gates, on estates, with promises of making money, big money. They use kids because they’re easy to manipulate, scare and control. They’re also less likely to be suspected of carrying drugs because of their age, and therefore not come to police notice. And because they’re kids, if they do get lifted, they are unlikely to be prosecuted.
‘And yes, she probably has earned herself a few hundred quid and she thinks it’s lucrative. Then at some point, they’ll be set up, robbed and they won’t be paid anymore; they’ll be working for free because they’re in “debt” and have to work for nothing to pay back what they lost, only they didn’t lose anything, it’s just another form of control to make them frightened. Fear is a powerful motivator, especially for kids.’
‘Why haven’t I heard of this? And where is she then?’ Paul Wallace held his breath. One minute he was near to finding Megon, taking her home, and the next he was being told of a new nightmare scenario of her being mixed up with drug gangs and drug dealing.
‘I don’t know where she is. She was with the girl I’ve been trying to find, China Lewis, the girl whose photo I showed you. China and Megon ran off together after they lost some drugs and money – now I suspect that people are holding China and another girl to get their money back. It’s what drug gangs do, a vendetta kidnap. So there’s every possibility they’ve got Megon too. I have a small chance of being able to get to China and hopefully Megon tonight.’
‘What if it doesn’t work?’ Wallace was hanging on Temple’s every word. His mind had pictures of Megon walking through the streets with drugs, being held against her will, kidnapped. How the hell had she got into this?
‘Then we’ll have another conversation. I’m hopeful, but as I say, I will need your help. We might just be able to pull it off.’
‘I want my Megon back. I don’t want her put in any danger.’
‘She’s already in danger, Paul. I’m going to do my best to get her back. I’ve got a vested interest in it too. The people who have China and Megon also have another girl I need to find.’
Paul Wallace let the information Temple was giving him sink in. He’d read about drugs gangs, he even knew of them on the estate and around where he lived, but that was the extent of his experience. He’d not touched drugs as a kid and he’d done his best with his own kids to make sure they weren’t interested. He hadn’t realised just how prevalent and embedded the problem was for children at such a young age.
Of course he’d heard about youngsters being offered drugs at the school gates, but being enticed or coerced into dealing – that was new. And they’d done this to Megon; his sweet little girl had succumbed to this. Why hadn’t she turned to him, told him, asked him for help? The thought of her being threatened and involved with such people turned his stomach. If they laid a finger on her, he’d kill them.
‘Just tell me what you want me to do.’
* * *
The boy was glad to be back on the train to Swindon. He was wearing Katya’s school blazer and because of his small size, it was a little too big. He kept his hand in his pocket, where he felt the knife Lordon had given him. He felt all around the handle of it, becoming familiar with its grip and feel, the curves of it, how it felt in his hand as he constantly gripped it, released it and gripped it again. It kept him alert; the train was warm and stuffy and the journey felt long.
He had no idea that he was being watched, that he’d been spotted at the train station and followed onto the train. All he could think of was getting back to Lordon and completing another task. It was draining. He was tired and needed to sleep. The sheer effort it took to be alert all the time and aware of his surroundings – who might be watching him, who might be after what he was carrying – was taking its toll. He hadn’t been alert when the men had stopped him and slashed him in the street. He’d been lucky then, he’d been able to run away, his small stature making him particularly nimble.
His wound had been itching today but Lordon had told him that was a good sign that it was already starting to heal and not to scratch it in case it broke open. Instead, he pressed it, which gave him a little relief. He was sitting next to a dozing woman and as he looked sideways and watched her head nodding, the motion of the train and the quietness of the carriage settled on him in a comforting way, and for a moment he felt safe. He felt his eyes begin to close and for one quick minute he drifted into a half sleep, only for his eyes to snap open at the sudden realisation of it. He was desperately tired but he had to stay awake. He pressed his fingers onto his wound through the jacket. The pain of it would keep him alert.
As the train stations rattled by and an announcement came that Swindon was the next stop, he gathered up the rucksack that he had stashed underneath his legs and stood up, straightening the jacket and buttoning it up. The woman continued to nod in her seat. His hand checked again on the outside of the pocket for the feel of the knife inside. He would tap his pocket many times for reassurance that it was still there as he stood and waited for the train to stop after it crawled into the station.
At last it ground to a halt and he waited while the passengers in front of him pressed the button for the door to open. He could now step into the cold fresh air. It was a little too cold and he shivered at first, keeping his hand gripped around his rucksack, once again checking for the feel of the knife through the jacket pocket. He mixed in amongst the other passengers as they moved off the platform and into the street.
Not long now and he’d be back. He could sleep. He walked down the road, focusing on getting back, completely unaware of the man following behind him. By now, he’d put the rucksack on his back and looked like any other
studious pupil from an expensive day school with his red and gold blazer. He reached the trap house and let himself in through the front door. He pushed the door behind him but before he heard the familiar sound of the catch closing, the door was pushed back open and he felt himself being lifted off the floor from behind.
Suddenly realising someone had come in behind him, he yelled out. He was no match for whoever held him. His rucksack was now off his shoulders and on the floor in the hallway. An arm was around his throat and he yelled out in pain again as his wounded arm was yanked behind his back.
Lordon appeared from the kitchen as the boy was being carried down the hallway by a large, strong man. The boy could see from Lordon’s face that this was trouble. As Lordon backed into the living room, the boy was flung forwards across the room face-first onto the settee opposite the door. The man who threw him there now stood filling the space in the doorway, holding the jacket. He was looking at it, looking inside for something. And then he found it. Katya’s name. Then he turned to them, holding the jacket up in his fist.
‘Where’s Katya? Where’s the girl whose jacket this is? Where is she?’ he demanded as his hand went to his pocket. He drew out a gun and pointed it at Lordon. Lordon was quick to speak, holding up his latexed hands.
‘She’s on a delivery! She’s on a delivery, I swear! She’s not here. She’ll be back.’
‘Where’s she gone? Where’s the delivery? Take me there.’
‘I can’t, I don’t know, I mean I don’t know where she’s gone.’
The man pointed the gun, moved forward past Lordon and looked into the kitchen. The work surfaces were full of the drugs he was cooking and cutting. The man grabbed Lordon, forcing him further into the living area.
‘You’re dealing this shit so you know where it’s going. Where is she? Where did she go? If you don’t take me to her I will shoot the boy right now in front of you. I’ll blow his fucking brains all up the wall.’ The man moved his arm so that the gun was pointing at the boy. The boy was now sitting up, frozen, white-faced and wide-eyed, transfixed by the barrel of the gun. Lordon instinctively knew the man would shoot if he didn’t do as he asked. He knew the look in the eyes.
‘All right! All right! Stop, stop. I’ll take you. I’ll take you.’ In the living room, the boy remained still and said nothing, watching what was happening. Lordon took off his blue latex gloves and threw them onto the floor as the man grabbed the collar of his jumper and threw him out into the narrow hallway. Neither Lordon nor the boy could match the man’s strength or sheer presence, and putting a gun in their faces ensured they did exactly what he told them.
‘You are going to take me to her. If you run, I’ll shoot you in the back. Take me to her and I’ll let you go.’ He shoved Lordon towards the front door; he fumbled with the latch to open it. They both went out, the door remaining open behind them. The boy was left shaking, his trousers wet through between his legs.
Chapter 33
Temple went with Paul Wallace to a local café where they ordered tea. As they sat in silence, Temple sent Sloper another text; this time it was a photo of his living room. Ten minutes later, he sent Sloper another containing a photo of his bedroom. While he was likely to have dismissed the first photo, Temple thought the others should have him rushing back home. Temple liked the thought of Sloper being in a panic about someone poking around his house.
Just as he sent the third photo, his phone rang. It was Gary Lewis. Temple got up and went outside, leaving Paul Wallace sitting at the table.
‘I’ve set up the meet,’ Lewis said.
‘Where and who with?’
‘It’s at eleven-thirty tonight. I’ll let you know where later.’
‘Who am I dealing with, Gary?’
Lewis ignored the question. ‘We’ll do an exchange by car – you bring the money, they’ll bring the girls. They want ten grand.’
‘That’s way more than they lost.’
‘That’s what they want. They want their money back and potential earnings from the girls.’
‘There’s three girls, Gary, I want them all for that money. They’re all reported missing to the police.’
‘You can have two girls for that, the ones you mentioned. China and her friend, the ones who lost the money.’
‘I told you of another, the one they took in retaliation; she’s also been reported missing. The heat won’t be off, Gary, until all three are returned. Make sure she’s there.’
The phone line went dead in response. Temple still had no idea who he was dealing with. That bastard Lewis was enjoying this. He went back inside the café and sat down opposite Paul Wallace, who made no effort to question him.
Temple jabbed his thumbs on his phone to send Sloper a further text; this time it contained a photo of the money and drugs laid out on his bedroom floor. After a minute went by he received a response. It had had the desired effect. It was from Sloper.
‘Who are you?’ Sloper had asked.
Temple responded. ‘You lost something?’
‘We need to meet.’
‘Yes we do.’
‘Where?’
Temple replied, telling Sloper to meet him in an hour in a Swindon pub. He turned to Paul Wallace.
‘Right, I have the makings of a plan and this is what I want you to do.’ Wallace listened intently. When Temple finished telling Paul what he wanted from him, they went back over it again and he answered his questions.
Wallace had no idea if what Temple was suggesting was going to work, but for some reason, he trusted him. If what he said was true about Megon being caught up with drug dealers, he knew he needed Temple’s help. Without him, he had no hope of finding Megon. The thought of losing his daughter when he was so close to finding her choked him.
‘I really need you to hold it together now, Paul, we need to pull this off. Follow my lead, confirm what I say to Sloper. Be ready to have an answer for anything he asks. Remember what I’ve told you. Remember we’re doing this for Megon, to get her back safely and quickly.’
They went out to Temple’s car and he drove them both to the pub where they were to meet Sloper. Once inside, Temple looked round; there was the normal Thursday night trade and as it was early evening, it wasn’t too busy. He indicated to Paul Wallace that they’d take a table near the back where they could see who was coming and going. They didn’t have to wait long. Eager to see who was sending him text messages of the inside of his home, Simon Sloper arrived early.
From his vantage point, Temple watched as Sloper came into the pub. Slowly, his beady eyes scanned round, searching the faces of the people at tables, at the bar, walking around, until suddenly he saw Temple sitting at a table with some guy he didn’t recognise.
At first his eyes brushed over him, as if he hadn’t seen him, discounting him. Then, after a double take, he fixed on him. In one look Sloper knew it was Temple he was after. Temple saw Sloper’s jaw tighten as he came towards him, manoeuvring his bulk around the tables and chairs until he stood in front of him. By now, Sloper’s breathing was shallow and fast.
Sloper had been expecting a welcome from some of his Eastern European colleagues – when he saw Temple, it was almost a relief. But he had better things to do than have Temple give him the runaround and he wanted the contents of his safe back.
‘You?’ he spat. ‘It was you sending me texts. You fucking twat.’ Sloper stared down at Temple, who remained seated. Temple responded calmly. Paul Wallace didn’t move but fixed his eyes on Sloper.
‘Sit down, Simon.’
‘I haven’t got time for this bollocks. What the fuck are you playing at?’
Temple was unmoved and repeated himself. Slowly and calmly.
‘Sit down.’
Sloper pulled a chair away from a table opposite and sat facing the two of them.
‘What the fuck’s going on? You’re a fucking clown, Temple.’ Sloper’s tone was low and menacing. He leaned forward as far as the bulk of his large stomach would allow. ‘You
– or someone – has been in my house. Now, you’re going to give me the fucking money back.’ Sloper looked from Paul Wallace back to Temple. ‘And who the fuck is this?’ His breathing was heavy. He put his mobile on the table in front of him. Temple leaned forward to put his face close to Sloper. He spoke quietly and purposefully.
‘You, Simon, have been caught. This is DI Paul Wallace from the Met Vice Squad. They’ve been running an operation on some London traffickers who have led them to Swindon, and during the course of their investigations they’ve come across you. There’s been a job running on you, watching you, gathering evidence on you, on your activities in Swindon, for months.’
Sloper was quick to react. ‘Fuck off! You’re fucking suspended, I heard that in the canteen earlier and Clive Harker confirmed it when I rang him.’
‘Clive Harker doesn’t know about this operation. Clive Harker thinks I’m suspended. I work for Buller. I’ve been working for Buller since the Met approached the force asking about you. I was working for Buller when we worked on the Ashton-Jones murder investigation. I was watching you then. Clive Harker doesn’t know because, as we all know, Clive Harker is your friend, so it was always important that he didn’t know. He has no idea about this operation. He has no idea what we’ve been gathering on you. If you put a call in to him now to help you, you’ll bring him down too.’
Sloper looked at him, quickly processing what he’d heard. Temple didn’t give him time to answer. If this was going to work, he didn’t want to give Sloper too much time to think about it. He pressed on.
‘The operation has been run from the offices that I share. It was made to look like I was on a disciplinary. Clive Harker gave Buller the ideal cover by initiating the complaint against me. The complaint never went to the IOPC but Buller used it as my cover. The other officers in my office, they’ve all been working on this case too. If you look over your shoulder, you’ll see DS Sam Mendoza. He’s been working on it; he’s part of the team too.’
