Torment

by David Evans

  “No sign of Susan, though?”

  “Not at the moment. I’ll let Gillian know soon as I have anything concrete.” With that, he ended the call.

  “What now, guv?” Stainmore asked, getting in to the passenger seat.

  “Back to Wood Street I think. Do some digging on Chapman. Known associates. Also try National Insurance records; see if he’s one of the great employed.” Strong was about to start the engine. “And give Luke a call. See if they discovered anything in the farmhouse.”

  Driving through the mid-morning traffic as Stainmore spoke to Ormerod, his unease grew. He didn’t like the way the part of the conversation he could hear was going.

  When she finished, Stainmore rubbed her eyes. “Luke waited with Susan’s car until a uniformed constable in a patrol vehicle from Pontefract turned up. Apparently, the traffic duo shot off under blue lights about five minutes after we left; accident on the M62, so they didn’t get up there.”

  “Shit! So nobody’s checked the farmhouse?”

  “He told the uniform to stay with the Micra until the recovery truck appeared then made his way back to Wood Street.”

  “I’ll take that as a no, then.”

  “He also said to remind you, you have a ten-thirty with the Chief Super before he reports for his meeting this afternoon.”

  “Bollocks,” Strong said, under his breath.

  “Promotion brings such a heady lifestyle, guv.”

  Strong just gave her a disdainful look. “When we get back to Wood Street,” he said, “find Ormerod and if you’ve nothing better to do, get your arses back out there and check that farmhouse. Take some uniforms if you have to but get it checked.”

  The rest of the journey passed in an awkward silence.

  * * *

  Souter initiated a search on his computer for Meadow Woods Farm and came up with the details he wanted, including a map and postcode. Ten minutes later, he was slipping on to the M1 prior to picking up the M62 eastbound.

  Any doubts he had about finding the location dissolved when he spotted the police patrol vehicle, its blue lights providing a lurid disco effect blending with the orange versions on the flatbed recovery vehicle parked alongside. He pulled his Escort onto the farm track.

  As he got out, a young constable approached. “Excuse me, sir. Can I ask your business?”

  Souter had to control himself from chuckling at the officious way the question was phrased. “Business? Oh, sorry, you’ve probably not been told but Detective Inspector, oh,” he paused and smiled, “that should be Detective Chief Inspector Strong asked me to pop down and take a look around.”

  The officer produced a notebook. “Did he, sir. And your name is?”

  “Souter. Robert Souter,” he said, straightening himself to his full six foot two inches.

  The policeman made a note. “Well if you’d just keep clear of the recovery vehicle operations, for your own safety, you understand.”

  “Sure, no problems.” Souter turned away smiling.

  He walked up the dusty track as Strong and Stainmore had done an hour before. At the top, he stopped and looked out over the surrounding countryside. Below, Susan’s car was on the lorry, being driven away and the police vehicle was about to follow. Elsewhere, open fields rolled out. Unless the car was driven here and abandoned by a third party, this farmyard seemed the most logical place for Susan to have come.

  He checked out the newer building, peering through the window. He could see nothing of interest.

  Next the house. He pushed the door, testing it wouldn’t fall off its one remaining hinge as he stepped past. The wooden floor boards groaned and he could feel the floor give slightly. After the bright sunshine outside, he paused, allowing his eyes time to adjust to the semi-darkness. The central section of the hallway flooring had given way so he kept close to the edge and began to make his way slowly round towards the open door of one of the front rooms. As he moved away from the front door, he allowed sunlight to stream down into the void beneath the floor. He hesitated. A shape could just be made out below. At first he thought it was some discarded rags but then he saw them for what they were; a pair of trouser-clad legs. Kneeling down to look further in, he saw the dust covered body propped up against the brick wall in the basement; the head slumped forward onto the chest.

  “Shit,” he said softly. “Susan? Susan?” he repeated louder each time.

  A low moan came from the body below and the head moved slightly.

  “Hang on, Susan. I’ll get you out.”

  He looked round the hallway. There were doors to the right and left, a staircase dead ahead and another door in the opposite wall to the side of it. There had to be access to the basement and he reasoned the most logical point would be below the stairs. Gingerly, he made his way round the edge of the hallway towards the rear. His instincts were correct. An angled door was featured in the timber panelling to the side of the staircase. He slid the bolt and pulled on the handle. It resisted for two attempts then, reluctantly gave with a loud creak; obviously never used for years. Carefully, he tried the steps, one at a time, aware they could be weak. Fortunately, they were sound and he finally stood on the basement floor.

  Susan mumbled incoherently as Souter reached her.

  “Susan. Susan, can you hear me?” He took hold of her hand.

  “I’m, mmm,” she struggled.

  “Okay, don’t try and speak, I’ll get …” he hesitated, his hand touched the matted blood in her hair, “… help.”

  Pulling out his mobile, he checked the signal. Three bars, good. 999 for ambulance first then he tried Colin. Strong’s mobile was switched off but he left a message anyway.

  Susan’s pulse was slow and erratic and her breathing was shallow. He hoped the ambulance would be quick.

  “Come on, Susan,” Souter said softly. “Stay with me.” He took hold of her hand. “Just squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

  He could feel her grip tighten slightly.

  “You’re doing well. The ambulance is on its way. We’ll soon get you to hospital.” She gently squeezed again in acknowledgement. “Your sister, Gillian, was worried about you. She’ll be glad to know you’re okay.”

  For the next ten minutes, he kept talking to her, kept making her respond. Finally, he could hear a siren in the distance and made his way up the basement staircase and out into the yard to make sure the ambulance crew would know where to come.

  They were a good fifteen minutes attending to Susan below before they brought her out on a spinal board. The paramedic seemed concerned for her condition. Souter could hear him radio in and the conclusion reached was that they take her straight to the General Infirmary in Leeds.

  * * *

  Strong stormed into the CID room just after eleven and discovered Stainmore and Ormerod poring over paperwork.

  “Have you two been here all morning?”

  “Yes, guv,” Stainmore replied.

  “We’ve found out where …”

  Strong interrupted Ormerod. “What did I ask both of you to do? One thing. One bloody thing and you can’t even be arsed to do it. You’d rather spend time fucking about with paperwork.”

  The pair looked shocked.

  Sam Kirkland was the only other detective present. Strong turned his attention to him. “Did you and Trevor sort out some house to house by Susan Brown’s flat?”

  “Er, yes, guv,” Newell replied nervously. “Trevor’s down there now with a couple of PC’s.”

  “Right, at least there are still some detectives I can rely on. You come with me, forget those dud fivers you’ve been investigating. There’s something far more important.” He turned to face Stainmore and Ormerod. “Susan Brown has been found in the basement of Meadow Woods Farmhouse. And before you ask, she’s in a bad way; broken leg and a head injury.”

  Strong turned and left the room with Newell in his wake, leaving Stainmore and Ormerod speechless.

  * * *

  Souter spotted Strong and Newell ap
proaching the Accident and Emergency entrance and stepped outside to meet them.

  “Thanks, Bob,” Strong said.

  “How come you never found her?”

  Strong turned to Newell. “Trevor, I’ll see you inside.” He waited until the detective was out of earshot. “People let me down,” he said, in a low voice.

  Souter just gave a withering look.

  “I know, I know.” Strong held up his hands as if in submission. “The buck stops here. If it’s any consolation, I feel like shit myself.”

  “I’m sure Gillian will be relieved.”

  “Never mind that,” Strong retorted, “Don’t you dare use me as an excuse for gaining entry to a scene under investigation again.”

  “Hold on, there was no police tape, only some wet behind the ears plod who asked me some stupid question then gave me some safety advice. Nothing about not being able to wander up to the farm. And don’t forget, if I hadn’t, Susan would still be there.”

  “You know what I’m saying.”

  For a second or two, there was an uneasy silence before Strong broke it. “So how is Susan?”

  “She’s about to have an operation on her leg. They need to set it and they’re worried about the circulation. She must have been down there for three days. I heard mention of infection but I don’t know for sure. Also her head injury was being checked out. She was never really conscious from when I found her to getting here. Once she’s out of theatre, there’ll be a bed in Intensive Care. I think they were talking about an induced coma to give her time to recover, but I couldn’t be one hundred per cent on that.”

  “So no clue as to how she ended up out there?”

  “Not really. Like I said, it would appear that she fell through the rotten floor of the farmhouse but why she was there …” Souter shrugged.

  “All right, thanks again. I’ll just have a word with the medics.” Strong began to walk towards the doors.

  “Listen, Col, before you go, have you had any other missing women reported?”

  Strong turned.

  There was no mistaking the reaction.

  “Why?”

  “There is something isn’t there?” Souter caught up with his friend again. “Is it to do with prostitutes?”

  “Prostitutes? What makes you say that?”

  “There is at least one other girl missing though isn’t there?”

  “Well, yes but we’ve no reason to suspect she was on the game.”

  “So you know nothing about a street girl going missing on Sunday night?”

  Strong shook his head.

  “Or any others in recent weeks?”

  “No. The only Misper case we have is an Albanian woman who hasn’t been seen since Thursday.”

  “All right, mate. I’ll let you get on,” Souter said and then, almost as an afterthought, “Listen, don’t beat yourself up. At least Susan’s safe.”

  10

  “You two. My office please.”

  Stainmore and Ormerod dutifully followed the DCI.

  Strong sat down at his desk. “Close the door will you.”

  Ormerod did as asked.

  “Look, guv, we’re really sorry about letting you down this morning but …”

  Strong interrupted Stainmore. “Sit down.”

  He waited until they were seated across the desk from him. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t have bawled you out like that, at least not in front of anyone else.”

  “We let you down, guv,” Ormerod said. “You asked us to do something and we got distracted.”

  Strong leaned forward, arms on the desk. “You’re right. You did let me down. We’ve got a young woman in hospital in a serious condition. I don’t know if the doctors will be able to save her leg. Minutes might have been vital, never mind the two hours delay it took for someone else to find her.”

  Stainmore and Ormerod shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

  Finally, he judged sufficient time had passed. “Look, you two and Jim Ryan are my best officers. If I can’t rely on you, we’re all in trouble.” Again, Strong let the silence hang for a second or two. “Okay, I think you know how pissed off I am but let’s just let it lie.

  “Tell me, what have you got?”

  “I spoke to the Ingleby Estates Office.” Stainmore flipped open her notebook. “And according to their records, the new barn is rented on a six-month lease to Chris Baker.”

  “What do we have on him?”

  “Nothing on record but his younger brother is Gary Baker. Lots of previous for driving while disqualified, no insurance, joy riding and a couple of burglary offences. Known associate of Stephen Chapman. They served two terms in Doncaster Young Offenders Institution together.”

  Strong stood up and stared out of the window. “Gary,” he pondered. “The Gaz on the phone message?”

  “That’s what I was thinking, guv,” Stainmore said.

  “And,” Ormerod added, “Chapman currently works at Westgate End Garage as a mechanic. So, they’re either very understanding or he hasn’t exactly given them a full c.v.”

  Strong turned and faced them. “Have we got an address for Chris Baker?”

  “Yes, Outwood.”

  “Any idea what his business is? I mean, why would he want to rent an industrial shed?”

  “Don’t know. I’m still looking into that. Do you want me to bring Chapman in?”

  “No, not yet, Luke. Let’s find out a bit more about the fabulous Baker boys first. At the moment, we’re not sure if there’s been any offence committed.” He turned to Stainmore. “Is this the only building Ingleby Estates rent out?”

  “Yes. The house is unfit and the old barn just houses some obsolete machinery.”

  “Okay. We need to check out the new barn. Let’s see if we can find out what it’s being used for.”

  “Barnton Estate Agents in town are handling the rental. They’re spare key holders, apparently. I’ll get on to them.”

  “The pair of you get out there and keep me informed.”

  As they rose and made for the door, Strong thought of something else. “Before you disappear, have there been any reports of missing street girls in the last few weeks?”

  Stainmore looked at Ormerod, puzzled. “No, not that I’m aware of.”

  Ormerod shook his head in agreement. “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just something somebody said to me today. I hadn’t heard anything myself. There again I’ve been away for the past two weeks.”

  “No, sorry, guv.”

  After they left, Strong automatically reached into his inside jacket pocket. For years a packet of small cigars would normally be found there. Now it was empty. It had been two weeks, four days and, with a quick bit of mental arithmetic, sixteen hours since his last. Finally, after years of nagging, he’d bowed to the inevitable wishes of Laura. He felt he could do with one now, though. I love them, I could eat them, he used to say. He didn’t feel any healthier. Not yet, but he didn’t doubt the wisdom of giving up.

  Shortly afterwards, he walked into the CID room, hands in his pockets. Jim Ryan was tapping away on his computer keyboard.

  “Any news on Helena, Jim?”

  “Nothing so far,” Ryan said, eyes never leaving the screen. “Malcolm’s at the bus station checking possible routes she might have taken; which drivers might have been on duty on Thursday night; seeing who’s around who may well remember her.”

  Strong rested a buttock on the adjacent desk. “Well that’s about all you can do at the moment I suppose. Do we know who she visited?”

  “She had a female friend who shares a house in Harehills with some other girls. Magda said she was going there to see her.”

  “Presumably you’ve spoken to this friend?”

  Ryan hit the send button with a flourish, leaned back and turned to face his boss. “Well, that’s the thing, Magda has no address, only what Helena told her. We don’t even have a street. No telephone number either.”

  “Do
es Helena have a mobile?”

  “Switched off. That’s one of the reasons Magda’s fearful. Helena never switches it off. She’s always careful to keep it charged up.”

  “Is there any possibility she might have been on the game?”

  Ryan looked surprised. “Never really considered it, guv. I suppose it’s a possibility but…”

  “You think not?”

  “Never say never but no, I don’t think so.”

  Ryan got up out of his chair, walked over to the display board and studied the photograph of Helena. After a few seconds, he turned and faced Strong. “Am I missing something here?”

  “Like what?”

  “I overheard Kelly and Luke say you were asking about missing street girls.”

  Strong stood up and began to pace the room. “Have you?”

  Ryan blew his cheeks out. “Not since that one from Holbeck. But that was about a year ago.”

  Strong said nothing.

  “Why are you asking, guv?”

  “Forget it, Jim. It’s just something someone said to me in passing this morning that’s all.”

  Ryan’s desk phone chirruped for his attention. Returning to answer the call, he listened for a few seconds then told the caller he’d be down.

  “Could be timely,” he said. “Magda’s downstairs and wants to see me. Want to come along?”

  “Sure.”

  Ryan grabbed some notes in a file and led the way.

  Dressed in tight fitting jeans, trainers and a white tee shirt, Magda Cryanovic was an attractive woman of around thirty. At five feet four inches tall, she was slim and her dark hair was tied back. She was sitting at the table in the interview room on the ground floor, nervously positioning and repositioning the polystyrene cup of coffee the desk sergeant had provided for her.

  Ryan introduced Strong to her.

  “DCI; you very important policeman?”

  He smiled, amused by the assertion that a DCI may be perceived as important, but also intrigued by her accent. “Some may say that, but I don’t see it that way.”

  Ryan and Strong sat down opposite her.