by David Evans
“And did he have a young girl with him?”
“You know about it then?”
“Her missing friend, yes. Any thoughts, Kelly?”
Stainmore considered her response. “First reaction, I’d have said that it was par for the course for young girls to move around in that game.”
“But? …” Strong questioned.
“But the young girl, Sammy, she seemed genuinely concerned. They have a lot of history together and it appears to be totally out of character for her friend, Maria, to fail to return and not make any contact. It’s over a week now.”
“So a girl working the streets, another involved to some extent in the sex trade … what’s the likelihood of a connection?”
“Too early to say, guv, but I’ve got Luke instigating another missing persons for Maria.”
Fifteen minutes after crossing the bridge, Strong and Stainmore approached the docks complex and realised the enormity their task could have been. Hundreds of containers stacked about eight high and God knows how many deep lined one area visible from the road.
Detective Sergeant James Cowling met them at the dock gates and escorted them to a small portakabin office used by security as a base. Cowling checked the warrant Strong had brought with him and showed them the paperwork accompanying the containers they held in a shed used for routine inspections.
“The lads are still on a high from last Toosday,” Cowling explained in his Suffolk burr. He’d amused Strong earlier when he referred to his ‘compooter’ in the same fashion. “Yes, second biggest haul of cocaine we’ve ever uncovered,” he went on, “Hidden in the hollow sections of the trailer’s chassis.”
As he was talking, Strong was studying the documents for the two vehicles. “This is good,” Strong finally said, indicating the V5 registration for the Lexus. “This is very good, but it’s a fake.” He was comparing the details with those he’d brought with him in a file. “And so is this,” he continued, referring to the Mercedes document. “Whoever’s produced these has done an excellent job. They’ve managed to reproduce the watermarks, all the coloured sections as they should be but the VIN numbers and engine numbers relate to the stolen vehicles which, I’ll lay money will be what we’ll find on the cars in those containers. The registration marks are from the cloned vehicles, so any checks here would show everything to be in order.”
Cowling picked up the vehicle registrations and held them up to the light, turning them over and looking closely at the type. “You’re quite right,” he said, “these do look genuine.” He looked at Strong, then walked to the door. “Shall we have a look?”
Strong rose to his feet and followed the Suffolk man outside, Stainmore close behind.
Gulls screeched overhead in the warm sunshine as they made their way along the concrete road towards the large shed about a hundred yards away. Strong breathed deeply, enjoying the salty, ozone-laden air.
“Get some of that in your lungs, Kelly,” he quipped.
Stainmore glanced across to Cowling. “Sorry about this,” she said, “my boss doesn’t get out much.”
Cowling smiled. “We don’t do too badly down here weather-wise. Only trouble we have sometimes is if the wind whips in off the North Sea and the cranes have to stop working. Then we have to implement Operation Stack on the A14. Wagons parked up for miles.”
They entered the warehouse through a single door, Cowling exchanging pleasantries with colleagues. “Okay, Simon,” he said to one of them, “let’s open them up and see what we’ve got.”
Inside the large well-lit hangar were a number of articulated lorries and vans in various states of undress. White boiler-suited inspectors, some with instruments and a couple with dogs, pored over them, searching every possible void. Towards the rear stood two maroon-painted containers. They headed in their direction.
Simon released the catches and lifted the levers before turning them to release the door. As the light flooded in, they could see the distinctive rear end of the dark blue Lexus 400.
Stainmore had managed to obtain spare sets of keys from the owners of the stolen vehicles and Strong pulled a set from his pocket and pressed a button. The door locks clicked and the orange indicator lamps flashed several times. He turned towards Cowling. “I’d say that was the one we’ve been looking for.”
“I’ll get a forensics officer to check it out.” Cowling then addressed his colleague, “The other one now.”
Simon repeated the unlocking operation on the second container. Just as the seal broke, it was as if the air was sucked into it.
Strong shivered. He felt his pulse quicken and an unease descend upon him. A faint but distinctive aroma seeped out.
“Oh, Christ,” he muttered and began fumbling in his pocket for the other set of keys. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Kelly.” He pressed the fob and the indicators flashed on the white Mercedes inside. He put on a pair of latex gloves and slowly stepped into the container. As the others looked on, his hand carefully reached for the boot’s catch. He squeezed the button and the lock clicked. Gradually, the lid rose and the odour grew in intensity. Then he saw her, head wrapped in a clear plastic bag, lying on her back. His eyes pricked and he turned away. He answered Stainmore’s questioning look with a shake of the head. Taking a deep breath, he strode over to an exit door and burst out into the fresh air.
Stainmore followed a minute later and joined her boss on the dockside.
“It’s her,” he said, staring out to the North Sea through a gap between two huge ships.
“DS Cowling’s arranging for a forensic team from Ipswich.”
Strong automatically reached inside his jacket, then patted his side pockets. “Shit,” he said.
“Looks like you chose the wrong month to quit smokin’,” Stainmore said in a mock American accent.
Strong flashed a quick smile at his colleague, then grew serious. “Helena was a lovely looking girl, Kelly. Not much older than Amanda. Not unlike Amanda to look at too.” Stainmore said nothing. “You know I’ve lost count of the number of bodies I’ve seen in my career. I used to think it would get easier. But it never does.”
“If it did, you wouldn’t be able to do your job, guv.”
“They come here for a better life, to escape persecution and exploitation by bigoted bastards and hardened criminals in their own country. And she ends up like that. Discarded in a car boot. In a foreign land.”
“You want me to let Jim Ryan know?”
“No, Kelly. I’ll do that. He’ll have the difficult task of breaking the news to her sister. She’ll have to come down and identify Helena.”
They were silent for a few seconds before Stainmore, sensing her boss wanted to be alone, began to walk away. “I’ll just go and check where they’re likely to take her, guv.”
Strong nodded then turned seaward again before taking out his mobile and dialling a number. After several rings, a female voice answered, “Dad?”
“Hi, Amanda.”
“Dad, is everything okay?”
“Of course, lovey, I just wanted to hear your voice, that’s all.”
31
“Mr Souter, it’s Paul Duggan here,” the voice on the telephone announced.
Souter was at his desk on the first floor of the Yorkshire Post building, drafting a follow-up piece on the murder of Chris Baker, when Patricia on reception put the call through. He’d been trying to gain access to Baker’s widow but Halliday’s team were keeping her off the radar for now, so he’d had to make do with some neighbour reaction. He was trying to knock the usual, ‘shocked that anything like this could happen to someone round here,’ and ‘he seemed such a nice man,’ into something interesting for the readers.
“Paul. Listen, I’m sorry if I upset you yesterday,” Souter said.
“It were just a bit of a shock, really. I mean I weren’t expecting anyone to come knocking after all this time. I think in my heart I’ve always known that Mary’s gone. It’s just, as I said …”
“Have you spoken to DCI Strong yet?”
“That’s why I’m ringing you. Well, one of the reasons anyway.”
“Let me guess,” Souter interrupted, “One was to see if I was genuine?”
There was a slight pause before Duggan answered. “I suppose, if I’m honest, yes.”
“Don’t worry, Paul, I’d do the same.”
“The thing is, I re-arranged my morning so I could go down to Wood Street but they tell me your Inspector Strong isn’t in all day and they couldn’t tell me when he’s back. I just wondered if there’s anybody else I could talk to?”
“They didn’t suggest anyone, did they?”
“They mentioned a DC Ormerod but with you being so specific, I didn’t know if he would know what I were on about.”
“All right, Paul. Let me have your number and I’ll see what I can find out and get back to you.”
After Duggan had given him his contact details, the call ended and Souter dialled Strong’s mobile. At first it was engaged, but after a couple of minutes he tried again.
“Bob?” Strong answered.
“Colin, how’re you doing?”
“You’re quick off the mark.”
Puzzled, Souter decided on a guarded response. “You know me,” he said.
“It’s her.”
“Who exactly?”
“Helena Cryanovic. But I don’t want that to get out just yet.”
“I understand.” He was desperately trying to coordinate his thoughts. “That was the Albanian asylum seeker you were telling me about?”
“Yes.”
“Whereabouts are you, Col?”
“Felixstowe Docks, why? Wait a minute, I thought … bollocks. You don’t know anything about this do you?”
Souter stayed silent, scribbling a few notes on a pad.
“Why did you call?”
“I just wanted to know when you’d be back because there’s someone I need you to see.”
“Who’s that?”
“Paul Duggan, Mary’s brother.”
“You’re not still on about that, are you?”
“It’s important. You should hear what he has to say.”
Strong hesitated and Souter could hear him take a deep breath. “I’ll probably be back tomorrow sometime”, he finally said. “But listen Bob, don’t report any of this until we have a chance to inform the sister.”
“Okay Col, I understand.” Souter then pressed the red button.
He was thoughtful for a moment before checking his computer for another number. He found it and dialled, this time from his land line. After the receptionist on the East Anglian Daily Times answered, he asked to be put through to the newsdesk. Eventually, a male voice came on the line.
“Is there a breaking major incident at Felixstowe Docks, do you know?” he asked.
“Er, not that we know of at the moment. Is there some information you have, sir?”
“Not to worry, my mistake.” Souter replaced the handset.
32
Cowling organised two rooms at the Novotel in Ipswich for Strong and Stainmore. After checking in and freshening up, they all met up in an Italian restaurant nearby that the Suffolk detective had recommended.
“You’ve spoken to your colleague back in Yorkshire then?” Cowling asked, as the waiter fussed around bringing bottled water and a carafe of house red wine.
Strong waited until they were on their own once more before responding. “About the sister?”
Cowling nodded.
“DS Ryan broke the news this afternoon. He’s bringing her down first thing in the morning.”
“The PM’s scheduled for nine tomorrow, so give us time to make her presentable, she could make the identification around one, say?”
“That should be fine.” Strong offered round the bread sticks. “Any thoughts from your forensic people as to cause of death then, James?”
“Ah, you probably didn’t see it when you opened the boot but there was a gunshot wound to the back of the head.”
Strong looked sharply at Stainmore.
“I steered clear after I spoke to you on the dockside,” she responded. “I thought it best to let them get on with it, so it’s the first I’ve heard too.”
Strong turned back to Cowling. “Any idea what kind of weapon was used?”
“At first sight, probably a small calibre weapon but, I must admit, I’ve not seen too many shootings.”
“Tell me, I didn’t see one, was there an exit wound?”
The Suffolk man thought for a second before shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Strong was lost in thought and the conversation stalled as the waiter brought the starters.
Cowling sampled some of his minestrone, then spoke. “We’ve had the press sniffing round.”
Strong swallowed some garlic mushrooms before responding. “Who exactly?”
“East Anglian. Heard we’d found a body at the docks and wanted some details.”
“No mention of Yorkshire connections then?”
“Not as far as I’ve heard but we’ve got the press officer dealing with it. There’ll probably be a press conference tomorrow.”
“Not till after Magda’s identified her sister though?” Strong said.
“Of course.”
“Have we got any other forensics from the car?” Stainmore asked.
“I spoke to my colleagues just before I came out and they told me the car was fairly clean. Nothing on the handles, steering wheel or gear stick where you’d expect.”
The waiter returned, collected the plates and topped up their wine.
“Probably wiped thoroughly before it was put in the container,” Strong suggested.
“But they did get some from inside the glove box and a couple of partials from under the bonnet – screen wash filler, that sort of thing.”
They were silent again as their main courses arrived, chicken in a spicy pasta sauce for Cowling, a pepper steak for Strong and a pizza for Stainmore.
“They probably belong to the rightful owner,” Stainmore said. “I’ll have to organise his for elimination.”
Cowling took up his knife and fork. “In the meantime, we’ll run them through the system. Just in case we get a hit.”
Strong nodded. “Thanks, let me know as soon as you get anything.”
Cowling took a sip of wine. “We also got some fibres from the boot and on her clothes, so we’ll see what that shows up.”
“Any indication of time of death?”
“The pathologist reckons at least a week but he’ll have a better idea in the morning once he’s completed a few tests.”
“That figures. I mean it’s unlikely anyone’s tampered with the container since it arrived at the docks so she was in the boot when it left Yorkshire.”
“That’s what my boss reckoned too, so he’s happy for me just to assist on this one until the coroner releases the body.”
The rest of the meal passed without any further revelations. Cowling spoke of some of the investigations he’d been involved with and picked Strong’s brains about some of his cases in Yorkshire. With coffees to round off, Strong thanked his host and walked back to the hotel with Kelly Stainmore.
“It got to you today, didn’t it?” she asked.
Strong sighed. “Must admit, I’m not looking forward to tomorrow.”
“Do you think this is linked with the Baker case?”
“Let’s just see what the PM throws up. Might be an opportunity to piss Halliday off, though.” He stepped aside to let Stainmore through the hotel’s revolving door first.
“Fancy a nightcap, guv?” she asked, nodding towards the bar.
“Not this time, Kelly,” he said, “I’m knackered. You carry on, though.”
She did and Strong went to his room.
He switched on the television and began to undress, making use of the wall-mounted trouser press. Trevor McDonald was just rounding off the news bulletin with a light-hearted item but he wasn’t
paying any attention. He wasn’t in the mood. He went into the bathroom, rinsed his face then cleaned his teeth. He’d have a shower in the morning. Back in the room, he lay down on the bed and decided the TV was irritating him. With no real interest in the latest C list celebrity’s upcoming true story about how having breast implants was the key to making her feel a complete woman, he switched it off with the remote. A complete airhead, he thought.
Lying back, he went over the events of the past few days. He was annoyed with himself for not taking the missing person’s report more seriously when Jim Ryan discussed it with him. There again, he did have the Susan Brown report to deal with. At least that ended better than Helena. And what of Bob’s friend? Another missing young woman. The image of the open car boot in the container flashed into his mind yet again. Helena, such a lovely looking girl treated like that; wrapped in plastic. Was her death connected to Chris Baker? No exit wounds in both cases. What had she got herself into? She was obviously involved with Szymanski and Mirczack. Had she been working as a masseur in the parlours? Or some other role? Questions, all these questions. But the most important question of all, who was the lucky bastard next door making the bedhead bounce off the wall?
God, he missed Laura.
33
The bus dropped Veronica off at the end of her road. It had been another unremarkable day in the shoe shop where she worked in the Ridings Centre in Wakefield. There had been no further unpleasant visits. She also felt relieved by her decision to leave and her girlfriend’s offer to let her rent the spare room in her flat. With just the last few things to pack, she’d be ready when her friend called to pick her up shortly. And then, they would discuss where they would be going in town tonight. Beginning to feel more relaxed already, she wasn’t paying much attention to anything in her street.
The big car was squeezed into a space opposite her house. The two men inside had followed her progress since she’d come into view. The driver nodded in her direction. “She must know something.”
The passenger zipped up his jacket and placed a hand on the door handle in anticipation. “I’ll find out,” he said.
