The Badge & the Pen Thrillers

by Roger A Price

  ‘He’s just being obstructive, surely?’

  ‘That’s what the chief thought, but according to him, when he pressed the DG he stated categorically that the National Crime Agency does not have a detective sergeant named Susan Grady, and furthermore, that they have no officer working undercover in Preston CID at all.’

  Chapter Forty

  The only good thing to come from that bombshell was that it took Harry’s mind off Vinnie’s misdemeanour. They chewed over what it all meant, but did not come up with any theories. Vinnie asked whether they should go back to see the judge and Harry rang Jill at the CPS. While he was on the phone to her, Vinnie’s own phone rang and he smiled when he saw that it was Christine. ‘Hello stranger,’ he started.

  ‘Hopefully, not for much longer. Are you still in Preston?’ Christine asked.

  ‘Yes, are you?’

  ‘I am and I could do with seeing you; you won’t believe what a little digging has turned up. Well, nearly turned up.’

  ‘A dead body would provide light relief after the day I’m having,’ he answered, and they arranged to meet in a city centre wine bar as soon as he was through. Call ended, he turned to face Harry. ‘What did Jill say?’

  ‘Says to sit tight. Says that the judge had already ruled Grady an unreliable witness with undoubtedly unreliable evidence, and any new disclosures over her status simply emphasises that.’

  ‘True, I suppose,’ Vinnie answered.

  ‘Says that the reasons for not disclosing anything to the defence barrister, or anything at all to Fletcher, remain the same; the danger posed to Amal Sadiq as evidenced by police observations at the house, relayed by you on oath.’

  Vinnie didn’t answer, he didn’t like the way the conversation was swinging back to him. Harry went on to say that he would give Vinnie the benefit for now, until he’d slept on it. He suggested that Vinnie should also have an earlier finish, although he asked him to stay local. He wanted them both to have an early start.

  Vinnie apologised again, and hoped that Harry would wake up in a more lenient mood. He had a good and close working relationship with Harry, which he didn’t want to damage. It was easy to forget sometimes that Harry was a super. Not that he’d ever do so intentionally. He told Harry that he’d stop at the police training centre on the outskirts of Preston that night, but Harry didn’t say if he would do the same. Vinnie suspected he’d opt for somewhere more comfortable; a break from each other would probably be a good thing.

  Harry bade him good evening, and as soon as the super had left the office, Vinnie rang Christine.

  *

  ‘My God, you won’t believe the day I’ve had,’ Christine announced, as she arrived at their table. Vinnie hadn’t been there long.

  ‘Do you a blind swap,’ Vinnie said.

  ‘That good, huh?’

  ‘Let me get you a drink, and then we can exchange tales of woe. The menu looks good, if you fancy eating here?’

  ‘I’m starving; I’ll check it out while you get me a large Aussie white.’

  Vinnie nodded and headed to the bar. As he was waiting there he couldn’t help a backward glance at Christine from distance, as she read the menu. Tight-fitting blue jeans complemented her baggy flowing top; she looked beautiful. He felt guilty at coming straight here from the office without first sprucing himself up. He turned to catch his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, which only served to emphasise the point.

  Back at the table Christine spoke first, she was obviously buzzing with the events of her day. And so was Vinnie, once she had explained.

  ‘My God, we had no idea of a second, or should I say a third, brothel run by Babik,’ he said.

  ‘Who is Babik?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s the top man we are chasing at the mo. Wanted for two murders and the missing from home, which we believe is abduction.’

  ‘Wow, he sounds nasty.’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘But he’s not the top man.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Vinnie said, as the waiter arrived. Christine didn’t answer until he’d taken their orders and walked away.

  ‘He’s not the man in total charge of the brothels, as in, he’s not the one who is actually trafficking the women into the country,’ Christine said.

  ‘I can’t go into it too much, Christine, but as he is running the business, we are sure he is the one bringing the women in,’ Vinnie said, immediately regretting how patronising he had just sounded.

  ‘You sure, Mr Bigshot Detective?’

  ‘Sure,’ Vinnie said, ignoring the wide grin on Christine’s face.

  ‘Are you £50 sure?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said again.

  ‘But £50 sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ Vinnie said, already feeling he’d just walked into a trap.

  ‘Your man Babik might be running things locally, but that’s it. Effectively, the number two in the food chain,’ Christine started.

  Vinnie smiled at the moniker ’number two’; fitting, he thought.

  ‘But the top honcho is a bloke called Boldo. A Romanian gypsy who is believed to be staying somewhere around here.’ Christine leaned back into her chair and looked pleased. Vinnie knew that she loved to play detective with him, and he also knew that she won more often than he would like to admit. But if what she was saying was true, this was a serious development. ‘What, here in the UK?’ he asked.

  ‘Here in Preston,’ she answered. ‘Find him, and you’ll find your murderer no doubt.’

  She was certainly right about that, he thought. Then she went on to explain about her trip to the Iqbals’ home and her surveillance of a dirty old man posing as some sort of rep.

  ‘You really are in the wrong job,’ Vinnie said, when she’d finished.

  ‘I look forward to spending your money on a new top.’

  ‘We’ll need to prove it first, but I’ll be on it straight away in the morning.’

  ‘Promise you’ll share?’ she asked.

  ‘As much as I can, you know that.’

  ‘I can feel the story from my side taking shape.’

  ‘Another scoop?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t use that word; you know it sends me crazy.’

  Vinnie laughed, and their meals arrived. He waited until the waiter had finished serving before he spoke. ‘Now it’s my turn.’

  ‘Can’t wait,’ she said.

  Then Vinnie talked her through the events of his day.

  ‘Do you think Harry will suspend you again?’ Christine asked, after he’d finished his tale.

  He remembered when he’d first been forced underground for irresponsibly firing his gun, whilst chasing the monster Daniel Moxley. It had forced him to work unofficially, in order to clear his name; it was how he’d first linked up with Christine, so she could be the public face of his underground enquiries. They got their man, he got reinstated, Christine got her scoop — and look at them now.

  ‘I hope not,’ he said, pausing to take a sip of his beer. ‘I can’t see it ending well for me this time if he does.’

  ‘Harry won’t suspend you, he needs you; he’s just making you sweat, to prove a point. After all, you should have heeded his earlier warning,’ she said.

  ‘I hope you are right, and you are definitely right on the last point. Do you want another drink?’

  Christine said that she did, but as they both had to drive back to Manchester, they should leave it. Vinnie then told her that he was staying locally, and then an idea hit him. ‘I don’t suppose you fancy roughing it in police training school accommodation?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I could do with staying local; I want to have a sniff around tomorrow in the vicinity where I lost that van. But don’t they have basic rooms with single beds in them?’

  ‘They do, but you can squeeze two in at a push.’

  ‘Sounds like you are talking from experience, Vinnie Palmer,’ Christine said, grinning.

  Vinnie could feel his cheeks heat up so didn’t answer straightaway. ‘So
I’m told,’ he said and then moved the conversation on. ‘There’s a pub opposite called The Anchor, we can leave our cars there and then wander across when we want. That way, we can have a proper drink and make a night of it.’

  Christine agreed on two conditions. One, that when they went past the gatehouse he would use his warrant card but introduce her as a detective chief inspector. He rolled his eyes before agreeing. ‘And two?’ he asked.

  ‘I get the side of the bed with a wall, you can fall out onto the floor, but I’m not.’

  They both laughed and it took away any embarrassment. Not that they hadn’t shared a bed before, they had done so in Majorca for the couple of nights they stayed. But due to all the ensuing drama, they hadn’t had the opportunity for any intimacy, then or since. Vinnie could read the subtext; it looked as if that was going to change tonight.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Babik drove the blue Vauxhall into Fletcher Road, in the Deepdale area of the city that had once been a popular haunt for street workers, and still was but to a lesser degree. Babik knew that the smackheads selling themselves here were from the bargain basement, and attracted the same standard of punter. He was heading to their main premises, it was a working mill by day and a brothel by night, and he only had five girls working it, but they were premier league. That was why it was so important the cops didn’t know about the place. The few lucky punters who were allowed in there, paid top money for the privilege. He explained this to Susan as he drove from Fletcher Road into a side street

  ‘I’m certain they have no idea; you’d have known by now if they had,’ Susan said.

  ‘That’s what I thought, but I need to be sure. They might know of the place, but not where it is. That’s why I need you to go back in and check things out.’

  ‘No problems. But why are we calling in during the day?’ Babik gave her a glance. She must have read his mind as she went on. ‘I mean, won’t it be a problem, a risk?’

  ‘I wouldn’t normally, but we may have a small problem to attend to,’ Babik said, before explaining further. He told Susan that the five girls who worked there were normally kept elsewhere during the day. That the roof level of the mill was usually sealed off and secured, but if there were any women present, they wouldn’t be working. The mill workers had no idea that up there, were en suite luxury boudoirs.

  ‘How do you keep the workers from nosing around?’

  The manager who runs the mill is on our books and paid a healthy wage to ensure that doesn’t happen. They all think it is just a disused storage space.’

  Babik then cut the chat short, as he pulled into the mill’s car park and found a space at the end where there was plenty of room. He told Susan to wait in the car; he wouldn’t be long.

  He walked into the mill and five minutes later he was barely able to contain his anger at what he’d been told. He grabbed the piece of paper the manager offered, which had a name and mobile phone number written on it.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ the manager asked.

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about. Look, I’d better get going; I don’t want any of your skivvies to notice me.’ And with that, he turned and left. Once outside he marched straight to his vehicle and climbed in without speaking.

  ‘You look happy,’ Susan said.

  ‘I will be in a few minutes,’ he replied, and then put his finger to his mouth as he pulled his phone out. She took the hint and he dialled the number on the paper. It was answered after two rings.

  ‘Hello, who is this?’

  ‘I’m the owner of the mill,’ Babik said.

  ‘What mill? I don’t—’

  Interrupting him, Babik said, ‘Cut the crap. You are gold card holder number 27.’

  ‘Oh,’ the gold card holder answered. ‘Is there a problem?’

  Babik calmed a little; he knew he needed to be careful. He adopted a more contrite tone. ‘Sorry for my abruptness, it’s just one of those days, and I’m in a bit of a hurry.’

  ‘That’s OK, I’m having a similar day, three drop offs in Preston, all out,’ the card holder said, sounding more relaxed.

  ‘Oh, if you are still local I could do with a face to face, it’ll only take a mo,’ Babik said.

  ‘Problem with my subscription?’

  ‘No, nothing like that, but I would like a quick chat regarding your special requirements.’

  ‘I, I didn’t mean to… but that was ages ago. Last time I was around.’

  ‘Quite the reverse, I have something uniquely special for you, which is why I can’t say too much on the phone.’

  ‘Understood,’ the card holder said, with an upturn in his tone of voice.

  Babik could almost hear him salivating. He then arranged to meet him in an hour and ended the call. He turned toward Susan and could see the look on her face. ‘Don’t ask; you don’t want to know. Come on, I’ll drop you at the pig shed on the way.’

  Babik had arranged to meet gold card holder number twenty-seven at a quiet street corner, not far from the mill. It was early evening now but the mill wouldn’t be open for business until after dark. That was the rule. They charged the punters more in summer, but they received extras. Babik hoped his hint on the phone and the proximity of the meeting point were enough to whet the man’s appetite. He knew with this fellow, that wouldn’t take much.

  Babik had only been there two or three minutes when he saw the punter’s vehicle pull over behind his. He quickly got out and made his way towards the driver’s door. The window came down as he reached it.

  ‘You’ve certainly got me interested, I just hope the subscriptions don’t go up,’ the man said.

  ‘For you, no. Let’s just say we want to try something different, something that requires a certain taste. You were the obvious choice. I do have an admin issue to straighten out with you, but we are more interested to test a new extra with you. You’ll get it for free. And if you recommend it, we will offer it to other gold card holders for a modest increase in subscription, but we’ll keep yours the same for twelve months. As a thank you, for being our tester.’

  Babik could see the man’s eyes widen with perverted glee. He couldn’t begin to imagine what thoughts were now traversing the synapses of his warped imagination. Before the man could reply, Babik continued. ‘But not here, too open. Just follow me, I’ll find somewhere quieter, it’s too early to go to the mill. I chose here to meet as I knew you would know it.’

  The man just nodded without comment, his ugly face still supporting its eerie smirk. Babik turned and headed back to his motor.

  Before he’d dropped Susan off he’d asked her to suggest somewhere to meet the gold card holder, and she had suggested a place out of a town on the Chorley side. It was a motorway bridge over the M6, but the road itself was seldom used. He wondered what she had used the location for, but hadn’t asked. He’d also done a quick recce before meeting up with his man. The road was indeed very quiet. A backroad which linked two major A roads, but without other purpose. The bridge was high above the busy M6 motorway, just south of Preston. The embankments of the motorway both had a ridge of established trees towards their summit which provided further cover high above the bridge. There was a row of houses which backed into the other side of the trees on the westerly edge, but any view above their garden fences was totally obscured by foliage at this time of year.

  It only took 10 minutes to reach the bridge and Babik pulled over onto the wide footpath next to the bridge’s railing. He’d often seen cars parked up on motorway bridges and always wondered why they chose to stop there. He’d assumed they were some kind of traffic spotters, as opposed to train or plane. He could just about understand the latter two but had always found the concept of traffic spotting beyond geeky. He was sure of one thing though; his reason would be a first for this particular bridge, or most bridges, for that matter.

  The punter pulled up behind him; Babik alighted and walked towards the railing. He leaned on it and waited for the man to take the hint. He joi
ned him a few moments later.

  ‘What are we doing here? I was expecting to follow you to some sort of premises,’ the man said.

  ‘The mill’s not open yet and as you know we have lost two premises, one very recently.’

  ‘I know about the house by the docks, I was there earlier,’ the man said.

  Babik was surprised by this and turned to face him. ‘What, today?’

  ‘Yes, before I tried my luck at the mill. Incidentally, you need to have a word with the manager there; she was well arsey with me for calling during the day. Anyway, I’ve been working all over as of late, first time back in Preston for ages.’

  Babik could feel rage rising again within. The manager had reassured him that no one working at the mill had clocked this idiot, but it would only have taken one of the workers to have overheard and the whole place could have been compromised. He knew how pissed off his associate already was. If they lost the mill as well, he would lose far more himself. He was just about to speak when the man continued.

  ‘I saw one of your girls leaving the old place, and I’m telling you, if it’s her that is doing the new thing, I won’t mind paying extra, I’m flush at the moment.’

  ‘Where?’ Babik asked.

  ‘The house on the docks.’

  Babik had no idea who he could be talking about. ‘You sure it was one of our girls?’

  ‘Well, she never said as such, but she didn’t say she wasn’t,’ the man said.

  ‘You spoke to her?’ Babik asked, with incredulity. This idiot was a real risk. ‘Recognise her?’ he pushed.

  ‘No, she must be new.’

  Babik relaxed now, he knew that they hadn’t had any knew girls for quite a while. Something he intended to sort out with his associate soon. Whoever this idiot thought he had seen, it wasn’t one of his girls. ‘Look, forget that, there must have been a misunderstanding.’

  ‘OK, if you say so. Are we waiting to be taken somewhere else?’ The man asked.

  Babik weighed the man up for the first time before he answered. The man was in his fifties, overweight, but not too much, and fortunately quite tall. He was unkempt and smelt bad; no wonder he couldn’t find a woman without paying for one. Not that too many women would approve of this deviate’s predilections even if he was Prince Charming. As if reading his mind, the man asked, ‘What exactly is on offer here?’