by Sarah Flint
Ayeisha spoke fast, her mood today upbeat, her shock from finding Dutch clearly forgotten now. It was the news that Caz had been awaiting, but she couldn’t talk now, not within Razor’s hearing. This was secret and needed to be passed on secretly.
‘Come round first thing in the morning and tell me all about it,’ Caz enthused, keeping her tone normal. ‘It sounds exciting.’
Before she could return the phone to her boot, another number pulsed on to the screen. This one was even more risky, but just as necessary. This one could potentially earn her enough cash to pay for a reprieve from the streets, at least for a while, and the chance to show Razor there was no necessity for her to return.
She glanced around and saw Razor glaring at her from behind a gate in the shadowy recess of a nearby garden. This would have to be quick.
Pressing the button, she tried to keep her voice as natural as possible, composing a greeting to give the correct message. ‘Hi, there. I’m just at work at the moment, and it’s likely to be busy tomorrow,’ she said evenly. ‘But I’ll phone you in the morning for a proper chat.’
‘All right mate, I understand,’ Angie answered. ‘So it’s going ahead tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have what we need?’
‘Yes,’ Caz replied, ending the call and smiling as she replaced the phone in her boot. Or at least I will have, she thought.
*
Charlie punched the air as she put the phone down from Angie.
‘That was Angie and it looks like tomorrow is a goer,’ she shouted. ‘We should get everything we need in the morning.’
Hunter gave a thumbs up and headed towards the door. ‘I’ll let the DCI know.’
The pair had just returned on a late flight from Ireland and the news was just what was required to perk up an otherwise flagging team. Charlie pushed the button on the kettle, searching the room for empty mugs. If anything could be gleaned from the expressions of her friends, it was that a shot of caffeine would clearly not go amiss.
Within a minute, the water was churning and the team were sipping gratefully on steaming mugs of hot, strong coffee.
Hunter turned towards Bet. ‘You look as though you’ve all been busy while we’ve been gone. What do we need to know?’
Bet pulled a printout from a file on her lap and passed it around. ‘Paul and I have gone back over the CCTV at the hire car company and this is the best image we could find of Dimitri, or whoever he really is.’
Charlie stared at the printout. The image they now had clearly showed a muscular, shaven-headed white man with a large scar running across his face. Whatever his true identity, he was certainly a man well used to giving and receiving violence.
‘Dimitri had been a regular customer for six months and changed his vehicle every fortnight approximately, always using the same fake driving licence,’ Bet continued. ‘He was usually unaccompanied, but on one occasion, he was with another man, presumably Albertas, the security guy that Angie’s CHIS mentioned.’
Charlie turned the paper over and gazed at the new image, scanning each feature to memorise the man’s features. He had the appearance of a prize fighter; extremely stocky, with a pockmarked face and a nose that appeared to have been broken on more than one occasion.
‘We’re still waiting for the forensics to come back on the brothel, but to be honest, there’re likely to be dozens of DNA profiles, so we haven’t been able to make a start on trying to identify either of these two yet, but at least we have images. I’ve had both photos sent out to be put on the daily briefings at all surrounding stations in the Met and Angie has passed them around to other DSUs in case other CHIS know them.’
‘And I’ve sent them to the other forces and agencies we’ve been liaising with on human trafficking,’ Paul added. ‘But so far, nothing’s come back.’ He pulled his own file open. ‘I’ve checked the registration numbers for the different vehicles hired by Dimitri against the ANPR cameras for the times he had them, but there’s no real pattern. The vehicles ping up a lot all over Lambeth and South London, particularly around the area of the brothel in Streatham and further south on the main road towards Norbury.’
‘Any idea why he goes there?’ Hunter looked quizzical.
‘Not as yet.’ Paul shook his head. ‘The ANPR cameras only pick up the number plates, but I’ve checked the council CCTV cameras for the times the vehicles have tripped the ANPR and have spotted them several times. I would hazard a guess he’s picking someone up. When he heads south, he’s usually alone, but when he returns it appears there is a passenger, and vice versa, though the shots are far too grainy and distant to even tell whether it’s a male or female.’
Charlie grimaced. ‘What about the night the baby was dumped?’
Bet shook her head. ‘No, nothing. That was the first thing we checked. On the date Dr Crane estimates the baby died, Dimitri had possession of the Luton van that we know about, but there’s no trace of it near to Ramilles Close, where the body was found. It moves around as normal, but nothing unusual.’
‘So, if it was him, he was probably on foot,’ Charlie interjected. ‘Ramilles Close is not that far from the brothel. It’s easily within walking distance, especially if he’s switched on to the possibility of cameras, as seems likely, looking at his last visit to the hire company.’
‘That’s what we thought.’ Bet shook her head again. ‘We’ve also tried all the local hospitals for the Luton van, in case Dimitri did drop the mother off, but managed to dupe hospital staff into believing there was nothing wrong, and therefore nothing to report to police.’ Bet chewed on her bottom lip and turned towards Charlie. ‘But there was no trace of the van. So we still don’t know who the mother is.’
‘Or where she is.’ Charlie’s thoughts immediately flipped to Angie’s information about the forthcoming trip. ‘Or why Dimitri is looking for a replacement.’
The room silenced momentarily at the comment, before Hunter stood up. ‘Well, we don’t know for certain that he is. Let’s hope it was all planned and that they just have a bigger house and therefore more space.’ He sat down again heavily.
‘I did find a photograph of a girl who was with Dimitri on an earlier trip.’ Paul tried to be upbeat. ‘You never know. It could be our missing mother.’
He passed around a further printout and Charlie stared down into the eyes of a teenager, younger even than her own two half-sisters, Lucy and Beth.
‘When I was checking the ANPR for the previously hired vehicles, there was one journey that went further afield than London and that was when it travelled to Folkestone, about three months ago. Interestingly, it was a car rather than a van,’ Paul explained.
‘Go on,’ Charlie caught his optimism.
‘I phoned the Border Force, as it seemed too much of a coincidence, knowing what we know about his activities. They checked the manifests for the vehicle and found it shown travelling on the Eurotunnel to Calais, with Dimitri Ivanov as the named driver. The outbound ticket was a single, not a return.’
‘But he did come back in the same car, later the same day, so maybe he was trying to hide the fact it was a quick turnaround,’ Bet interrupted. ‘Because, on his return journey, he had a female with him.’
‘So he went and collected a girl from Europe?’ Charlie tilted her head.
‘Well, yes, and we were really excited as we managed to get some CCTV from Folkestone which showed the car going straight into a petrol station at the port on its return.’ Paul pointed to the photo that Charlie held in her hand. ‘Dimitri filled the car up and then they both went into the shop. They’re pretty clear images.’
Bet sighed heavily and turned to another page. ‘But we still don’t know their real identities. The details on Dimitri’s ticket were exactly the same as he’d given at the car hire; same name, same date of birth et cetera, so we had to assume that the passport he used at the time was also probably fake.’
‘And it was. We contacted the Passport Office and they s
ent across a scan of both Dimitri and the female’s genuine passports.’ Paul took over again. ‘And, like we thought, Dimitri’s genuine passport showed the same photo as the genuine Dimitri Ivanov on his DVLA driving licence, not the one on the fake driving licence photocopy we seized at the car hire or on the CCTV.’
‘And the girl’s passport is the same.’ Bet shook her head disbelievingly. ‘It’s a very professional set-up. The fakes that are being produced are of a very high quality. They select genuine people with genuine passports and driving licences, but then make identical fake identity documents with the photos of the people they want inserted in them instead. Someone sitting on passport control at a port or in a car hire office would never spot they’re fake.’
‘The girl’s details are genuine and match a girl living in Ukraine, but when we did some further checks at the Ukrainian Embassy, we found the same story as with Dimitri. The photo on the genuine passport is the same as the image of the girl in their records and identity papers, but it’s not the same girl as in our garage photo, or probably on the passport that she used to gain entry.’
‘So do you think she could be our mother?’ Naz asked. She and Sabira had been sitting silently listening, having been working instead on Redz’ murder case. ‘Or could she just be another poor girl who has been trafficked in for Dimitri’s pleasure?’
Charlie shrugged. She didn’t know and she was trying desperately to be optimistic. They didn’t have much, but they did have something. Dimitri would be heading to Europe the next day. He would probably have a car, rather than a van, and he would probably go from Folkestone to Calais using the Tunnel… but there was no doubt they were going to struggle.
Charlie stared back down at the photo of the girl, her youthful exuberance not yet dulled by the reality of her new life. She imagined the fear, hope and excitement the girl must have felt, travelling to a new land to make money to help her family back home, catapulted into a city, worlds apart from the humble existence she probably knew. Little would she have comprehended the nightmare in which she’d find herself, especially if she was indeed the baby’s mother. The comparison between the girl’s plight and Charlie’s sisters’ cosy existence was almost more than she could bear.
If they were to nail Dimitri, they had to catch him red-handed. Angie and her CHIS would have to come up with a mobile number, to give them the means to track him through his phone. They then would have to sort out the rest. Numerous reports and requests for authority would be required, as well as a surveillance team and backup officers to follow him to the site of the new brothel and get him stopped with the girl, in possession of the fake documents… and all without him suspecting the reason they knew his movements.
A new sense of urgency was infecting them all. Tomorrow morning could see the culmination of their enquiry and they all knew the stakes were high. Lives could literally be saved or lost. They had the manpower on standby, but what they didn’t yet have was the information. They needed more and they needed it now. Failure was not an option.
Chapter 37
The Punter pulled into his allotted parking space and watched as the electric aerial retreated smoothly into the bodywork and the automatic rain sensor front wipers turned themselves off. How he loved the luxury of his new car.
It was early and there were only a handful of vehicles already in their designated positions, but he couldn’t help scanning the office windows to check if he’d been seen. Carefully, he lifted his leather briefcase from the passenger seat and climbed out, noting the presence of his boss’s car tucked into its usual bay.
Confirmation of his promotion was due this morning and within the next hour he expected it to be delivered. The pay rise would provide the extra funds he required to cover the monthly loan repayments for the car and keep his wife from moaning. She’d already lambasted his choice of motor. It wasn’t a sensible, economical family car; it was an extravagance, but then he wasn’t a sensible practical family man. Work gave him the chance to be leader of the pack and if he used a small percentage of his wages to pay for his own indulgences, then so be it. Nothing and no one would stop him.
He walked into the building, waved a greeting to the receptionist and stepped into the lift, emerging into the shiny chrome and beech interior of his company office. A couple of other early birds turned to watch as he strutted towards his workstation, his gait upright, nodding a greeting regally as he passed. Organisation was the key to his success and he always arrived ahead of time to look through his list of appointments and make any necessary adjustments. He was the employee with the largest client base and the fact that many of his work colleagues resented his success did not bother him. They were just losers.
An email flashed on to his screen as he fired up his computer. It was a request from his boss asking for a meeting upon his arrival at work. This was it then. The rumours and speculation were true. The next time he left the building it would be as the South East Regional Manager; he would be taking charge of the bottom rung of financial advisors, the position where, until now, he had been trapped. Never again would he be forced to bow to ignorant clients or take humiliating lectures from his equally stupid bosses.
He checked his tie and rose, aware of the eyes of his colleagues watching his every step, before knocking smartly on the door to his boss’s office.
‘Come in,’ a voice called.
As he entered, his boss, Malcolm Ferrier, rose and indicated the seat across from him.
‘Good morning Malcolm,’ The Punter said. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine thank you. Take a seat,’ his boss replied.
Malcolm Ferrier was a middle-aged, middle-income personnel manager. A shock of pure white hair gave him the air of a suave actor, but it masked a steely determination to make the right staffing judgments and not be swayed from his decision.
‘Firstly, may I congratulate you on your personal achievements this year. Your work is faultless and your determination is commendable.’ He paused. ‘Secondly, may I also congratulate you on the financial results you have achieved for the company. Your client base has grown substantially this year, but the way you also maintain relationships with existing clients has been noted. In light of this, the management feel that you deserve a reward for all your hard work.’
It was coming now. The Punter held his breath, barely able to keep the grin of satisfaction from his lips.
‘And we would like to offer you a bonus of £2,000 which will be paid directly into your account this month. Well done!’ Malcolm Ferrier rose and leant forward, offering his hand to shake. The Punter stayed seated, ignoring the offer. Two thousand pounds? Was this some kind of joke? This was absolutely not what he had expected.
‘But I thought I was going to be offered promotion,’ he spluttered, unable to keep his composure.
‘It was a hard decision, which is why we thought we should offer an incentive for the runner-up. We wanted to keep the pair of you chasing new business because that’s the area where you both excel. You only narrowly missed selection.’
‘So who did get it?’
‘Well, after careful consideration, I decided that Kavya should be given it. She has also built up a very impressive client base, but in addition to that, she has the necessary personnel management skills to lead the workforce effectively. I told her late last night as she was leaving. It was a very close decision though.’
He knew the last sentence was supposed to assuage his disappointment but it had the opposite effect. In his head he heard the voice of reason. It should make no difference. They lived in a modern society of gender equality where both sexes had the same opportunities. Deep down in his gut though, he knew it was wrong. It couldn’t be happening. Culturally it just wasn’t right. Yes, Kavya was good. She was almost as good as he. But she was a woman; and an Asian woman at that. It was humiliating. Her place was at home, not in business… and certainly not beating him to promotion.
‘What personnel management skills does she have, th
at I don’t?’ he asked, a little too forcefully. ‘I would easily command the respect of my staff.’
‘I think that’s the trouble.’ Malcolm Ferrier paused, fixing him with a stare. ‘You would command it, but you wouldn’t necessarily earn it.’
‘Well, I think you’re making a big mistake.’ He rose to his feet, his voice icy with rage. The man was an idiot. What did he know? With that he turned and slammed out of the office, without waiting for a reply.
He ignored the half-smiles playing on the lips of his colleagues as he strode straight through the main office and he turned his head away from Kavya, anxious to avoid any false sympathy that might be forthcoming. Climbing into his car, he screeched out of the car park, accelerating through the nearby streets, now filling with early-morning rush-hour traffic and children preparing for the last few days at school before Christmas.
Kavya was a bitch! A scheming fucking bitch! All women were!
Chapter 38
The phone call when it arrived provided almost everything that Charlie could have hoped for and the relief amongst the team was tangible.
Angie relayed the approximate time Dimitri would be leaving London, confirmation that he would be driving towards Folkestone and crossing to Calais on the Eurotunnel and the fact that he would be returning later that evening with a new girl. The clincher though was Dimitri’s mobile phone number.
Everything would, however, hinge on them identifying the car by the time he and the new girl returned, but with a phone number this should not be an issue. They would be able to get the phone cell-sited and follow the course of his journey. By establishing when his mobile left the country they should easily be able to see which Eurotunnel train he had used and take a look at the manifest. Any Russian-sounding names could be noted and, with the number of possible vehicles narrowed down, checks could then establish those that were hire cars, and enquiries made with individual hire companies. A quick scan of the driving licence tendered by the hirer would confirm whether it was their suspect, and the name he was using. For ease of memory they were continuing to call him Dimitri, until they established his correct identity.
